"Victor," she says, squirming. "I want to know."
"Baby," I say, "let me tell you something."
"Yeah?" she asks expectantly.
"I never reveal my sources," I whisper to her in the empty restaurant and then lean back, satisfied.
She relaxes and, to prove she's okay with this, takes a final spoonful of chowder and licks the spoon thoughtfully. Now it's her turn to lean in. "We have ways of making you talk," she whispers back.
Playfully, I lean in again and say with a husky voice, "Oh, I bet you do."
But Jamie doesn't smile at this-just suddenly seems preoccupied with something else, which may or may not concern me. Withdrawn and pensive, she sighs and fixes her eyes on a point behind my back. I turn around and glance at a row of David Bailey photographs lining the wall.
"Hey baby," I start, "you seem tired all of a sudden. Are you like really beat?"
"If you had to deliver lines like 'Once Farris gets hold of the scepter it's over for your planet' all day, you'd be soul-sick too," she says tiredly. "Japanese investors-what's left to say?"
"Hey, but I am soul-sick," I exclaim, trying to cheer her up. "A girlfriend once told me so," I say mock-proudly.
"Who are you seeing now?" she asks listlessly.
"I'm off relationships for now. 'Be more sensitive, be more macho.' Jesus, forget it." Pause. "I'm chasing hookers instead."
Chapter Twelve
"Speaking of which-what ever happened to Chloe Byrnes?" she asks. "Or did she OD yet?" Jamie shrugs, then reconsiders. "I suppose I would've heard about that."
"No, she's cool," I say, figuring out how to play the current situation, landing on: "We're on hiatus. Like on vacation."
"What? That's code for she dumped your ass?"
"No," I start patiently. "It means every... relationship has its, like, um-oh yeah-ups and downs."
"I take it this is a down?"
"You could say so."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," I say glumly.
"I heard she had a run-in with heroin," Jamie says lightly.
"I can't confirm that rumor," I say.
"Because it isn't true?" Jamie pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
"Hey baby-"
"It's okay," she says patiently. "You can smoke in restaurants in London."
"That's not what I'm hey-babying about."
"So just give me the lowdown. Chloe's not dead: have I got that much right?" she asks.
"No, she's not dead, Jamie," I say, mildly pissed off.
"Well, rumor has it, Victor...," Jamie says, shaking her head faux-sadly, lighting the cigarette.
"I don't give a shit about what gossip you've heard."
"Oh, stop right there, please." Jamie sits back, exhaling smoke, arms crossed, marveling at me. "Is this the same Victor Johnson I knew way back when, or have you suddenly got your act together?"
"I'm just saying Chloe-"
"Oh, I don't really want to hear about your relationship with Chloe Byrnes." She cuts me off irritably, nodding at a waiter to remove a bowl. "I can just imagine. Weekends in South Beach, lunches with An8ie MacDowell, discussions revolving around 'Will Chloe get into fashion heaven or not,' debating the color yellow, you keep finding syringes in Chloe's Prada handbag-"
"Hey," I snap. "It was a nasal habit."
"Ooh." Jamie's eyes light up. "Is that on the record?"
"Oh shit, I don't give a crap what people think," I mutter, pushing myself away from the table. "Like I really care what people think, Jamie."
A pause. "I think you're adapting well," she says, smiling.
"Yeah, I'm a genius, baby."
"So why is the genius in London and not back in New York?" Jamie asks herself. "Let me guess: he's doing research on that screenplay he always wanted to write."
"Hey, I'm a genius, baby," I tell her. "I know you might find that hard to believe, but there it is."
"How snazzy," she says, then fatigue overtakes her and she whimpers, "Oh no, I'm having flashbacks-the eighties are coming back to me and an anxiety attack is imminent." She holds herself, shivering.
"That's a good thing, baby," I say, urging, "Float into it."
