Kim shrugs and takes another swallow.
“Muriel, you look wonderful,” Blair says.
“Oh, Blair, you look gorgeous, as usual,” Muriel says, taking a swallow. “And oh my God, Clay, you must give me that vest.”
I look down while opening my bottle. The vest is just a gray-and-white argyle, one of the triangles dark red.
“It looks as if you got stabbed or something. Please let me wear it,” Muriel pleads, touching the vest.
I smile and look at her and then realize that she’s totally serious and I’m too tired to say no so I pull it off and hand it to her and she puts it on, laughing. “I’ll give it back, I’ll give it back, don’t worry.”
There’s this really irritating photographer in the room and he keeps taking pictures of everybody. He’ll walk up to someone and point the camera in their face and then take two or three pictures and he comes up to me and the flash blinds me for a second and I take another swallow from the champagne bottle. Kim starts to light candles all over the room and Spit puts on an X album and someone starts to pin balloons up to one of the bare walls and the balloons, only half blown up, just hang there, limply. The door that leads out to the pool and veranda is open and also has a couple of balloons pinned on it and we walk outside, over to the pool.
“What’s your mom doing?” Blair asks. “Is she going out with Tom anymore?”
“Where did you hear that? The Inquirer?” Kim laughs.
“No. I saw a picture of them in the Hollywood Reporter.”
“She’s in England with Milo, I told you,” Kim says as we get closer to the lighted water. “At least that’s what I read in Variety.”
“How about you?” Blair asks, starting to smile. “Who are you seeing?”
“Moi?” Kim laughs and then mentions some famous young actor I think we went to school with; can’t remember.
“Yeah, I heard about that. Just wanted you to verify.”
“It’s true.”
“He wasn’t at your Christmas party,” Blair says.
“He wasn’t?” Kim looks worried. “Are you sure?”
“He wasn’t,” Blair says. “Did you see him, Clay?”
“No, I didn’t see him,” I tell her, not remembering.
“That’s weird,” Kim says. “Must have been on location.”
“How is he?”
“He’s nice, he’s really nice.”
“What about Dimitri?”
“Oh, so what,” Kim says.
“Does he know?” Blair asks.
“Probably. I’m not sure.”
“Do you think he’s upset?”
“Listen, Jeff is a fling. I like Dimitri.”
Dimitri’s sitting on a chair by the pool playing a guitar and is really tan and has short blond hair and he just sits in the chaise longue playing these strange, eerie chords and then starts to play this one riff over and over again and Kim just looks at him and doesn’t say anything. The phone rings from inside and Muriel calls out, waving her hands, “It’s for you, Kim.”
Kim walks back inside and I’m about to ask Blair if she wants to go but Spit, still smoking the joint, comes over with some surfer to Dimitri and says, “Heston has some great acid,” and the surfer with Spit looks at Blair and winks and then she pats my ass and lights a cigarette. “Where’s Kim?” Spit asks when he doesn’t get an answer from Dimitri, who just stares into the pool, strumming the guitar. He then looks over at the four of us standing around him and for a minute it looks like he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t, just sighs and looks back at the water.
This young actress comes in with some well-known producer, who I met once at one of Blair’s father’s parties, and they check out the scene and walk over to Kim, who’s just gotten off the phone, and she tells them that her mother’s in England with Milo and the producer says that last he heard she was in Hawaii and then they mention that maybe Thomas Noguchi might be stopping by and then the actress and the producer leave and Kim walks over to where Blair and I’ve stood and she tells us that it was Jeff on the phone.
“What did he say?” Blair asks.
“He’s an ass**le. He’s down in Malibu with some surfer, some guy, and they’re holed up in his house.”
“What did he want?”
“To wish me a Happy New Year.” Kim looks upset.
“Well, that’s nice,” Blair says hopefully.
