As Reed walks me out onto Fifth Avenue he asks, "How's that apple diet working out?"
"Great," I say, waving down a cab. "My girlfriend says my seminal fluid tastes sweeter."
"That's cool, man," Reed says.
I hop into a cab.
Before the door closes, Reed leans in and, offering his hand after a pause, says, "I'm sorry about Chloe, man."
7
After some impassioned clothing removal I'm sucking lightly on Alison's br**sts and I keep looking up at her, making eye contact, rolling my tongue across her ni**les and holding on to her br**sts, applying slight pressure but not squeezing them, and she keeps sighing, content. Afterwards Alison admits she never faked an orgasm for my benefit. We're lying on her bed, the two dogs-Mr. and Mrs. Chow-snuggled deeply in the folds of a neon-pink comforter at our feet, and I'm running my hands through their fur. Alison's talking about Aerosmith as a Joni Mitchell CD plays throughout the room at low volume.
"Steven Tyler recently admitted that his first wet dream was about Jane Fonda." Alison sighs, sucks in on a joint I didn't hear her light. "How old does that make him?"
I keep stroking Mr. Chow, scratching his ears, both his eyes shut tight with pleasure. "I want a dog," I murmur. "I want a pet."
"You used to hate these dogs," Alison says. "What do you mean, a pet? The only pet you ever owned was the Armani eagle."
"Yeah, but I changed my mind."
"I think that's good," Alison says genuinely.
A long pause. The dogs reposition themselves, pressing in close to me.
"I hear you're seeing Damien tomorrow," Alison says.
Chapter Twenty
I stiffen up a little. "Do you care?"
"What are you seeing him about?" she asks.
"I'm telling him"-I sigh, relax-"I'm telling him that I can't open this club with him. Law school's just too... time-consuming."
I take the joint from Alison. Inhale, exhale.
"Do you care?" I ask. "I mean, about Damien?"
"No," she says. "I've totally forgiven Damien. And though I really can't stand Lauren Hynde, compared to most of the other wenches that cling to guys in this town she's semi-acceptable."
"Is this on the record?" I grin.
"Did you know she's a member of WANAH?" Alison asks. "That new feminist group?"
"What's WANAH?"
"It's an acronym for We Are Not A Hole," she sighs. "We also share the same acupuncturist." Alison pauses. "Some things are unavoidable."
"I suppose so." I'm sighing too.
"And she's also a member of PETA," Alison says, "so I can't totally hate her. Even if she was-even if she is-fucking what was once my fiance."
"What's PETA?" I ask, interested.
"People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals." Alison slaps me playfully. "You should know that, Victor."
"Why should I know that?" I ask. "Ethical treatment of... animals?"
"It's very simple, Victor," she says. "We want a world where animals are treated as well as humans are."
I just stare at her. "And... you don't think that's... happening?"
"Not when animals are being killed as indiscriminately as they are now. No."
"I see."
"There's a meeting on Friday at Asia de Cuba," Alison says. "Oliver Stone, Bill Maher, Alec Baldwin and Kim Basinger, Grace Slick, Noah Wyle, Mary Tyler Moore. Alicia Silverstone's reading a speech that Ellen DeGeneres wrote." Alison pauses. "Moby's the DJ."
"Everyone will be wearing camouflage pants, right?" I ask. "And plastic shoes? And talking about how great fake meat tastes?"
"Oh, what's that supposed to mean?" she snaps, rolling her eyes, distinctly less mellow.
"It doesn't mean anything."
"If you heard about leg-hold traps, the torture of baby minks, the maiming of certain rabbits-not to even mention medical experiments done on totally innocent raccoons and lynxes-my god, Victor, you'd wake up."
"Uh-huh," I say. "Oh baby," I mutter.
"It's animal abuse and you're just lying there."
"Honey, they save chickens."
"They have no voice, Victor."
"Baby, they're chickens."
"You try seeing the world through the eyes of an abused animal," she says.
