"You're not sharing me," I say, which is useless.

"You sleep with her, Victor."

"Baby, if I didn't some HIV positive scumbag would and then-"

"Oh god!"

"-we'd all be in a whole helluva lotta trouble."

"End it!" Alison wails. "Just end it!"

"And you're gonna dump Damien?"

"Damien Nutchs Ross and I are-"

"Baby, don't use the full monicker. It's a bummer."

"Victor, I keep explaining something to you and you act like you haven't heard me."

"What?" I ask, gulping again. "You u-used to be a man?"

"Without me, and by extension without Damien, you would have no club. Now, how many times do we need to go over this?" Pause, exhale. "Nor would you have a chance to open that other club you're planning to-"

"Whoa!"

"-open behind all our backs."

We're both silent. I can envision a slow, triumphant smile pulling Alison's lips upward.

"I don't know why you think these things, Alison."

"Shut up. I will only continue this conversation at Indochine." A pause that I let happen. Because of it, Alison calls out, "Ted-could you ring up Spy Bar for me?" She clicks off, daring me.

Past the limousine parked out front next to a giant pile of black and white confetti and up the stairs into Indochine, where Ted the maitre d' is being interviewed by "Meet the Press" wearing a giant top hat, and I ask him, "What's the story?" Never breaking eye contact with the camera crew, I follow his finger as it points to a booth in the rear of the empty, freezing restaurant, noise from the latest PJ Harvey CD in the dank background. Alison spots me, stubs out a joint and gets up from a table where she's on her Nokia 232 cell phone to Nan Kempner and eating cake with Peter Gabriel, David LaChapelle, Janeane Garofalo and David Koresh, all of them discussing lacrosse and the new monkey virus, a copy of this month's Mademoiselle next to each plate.

Alison pulls me into the back of the restaurant, pushes me into the men's room and slams the door.

"Let's make this quick," she growls.

"As if there's any other way with you," I sigh, spitting out a piece of bubble gum.

She lunges at me, clamping her mouth onto mine. In a matter of seconds she pulls back and frantically tears open a zebra-print waistcoat.

"You were so cold to me earlier," she pants. "As much as I hate to admit it, I got wet."

"I haven't seen you all day, baby." I'm pulling her tits out of a beige push-up bra.

"At the Alfaro show, baby." She pulls an electro-cut miniskirt with charred seams up over tan thighs, pushing down a white pair of panties.

"Baby, how many times do we need to go through this?" I'm unbuttoning my jeans. "I wasn't at the Alfaro show."

"Oh my god, you're such an absolute dick," she groans. "You spoke to me at the Alfaro show, baby." She glares cross-eyed while thrusting her tongue in and out of my mouth. "Barely, but you spoke."

I'm at her neck and in mid-lick I straighten up, my pants falling to the floor, and just stare into her sex-crazed face. "You're smoking wa-a-a-ay too much weed, baby."

"Victor..." She's delirious, my hand in her crotch, two now three fingers inside her, lolling her head back, licking her own lips, grinding down on my hand, her pu**y tightening around my fingers. "I'm just about through with this-"

"With what?"

"Just come here." She grabs my dick, squeezes it hard and pulls it condomless toward her, rubbing its head along the lips of her pu**y. "Feel this? Is this real?"

"Against my better instincts, yes," I say, slamming into her, just how Alison likes it. "But baby, I sense someone is causing major mischief."

"Baby, just f**k me harder," she groans. "And lift up your shirt. Let's see that bod work."

Afterwards, walking slowly back through the deserted restaurant, I grab a half-drunk Greyhound off a table and swish some around in my mouth before, spitting it back into the highball glass. While I'm wiping my lips with the sleeve of my jacket, Alison turns to me, sated, and admits, "I've been followed all day."

I stop moving. "What?"

"Just so you know, I've been followed all day." She lights a cigarette while moving past me, drifting by busboys setting up tables for tonight.

"Alison-are you telling me that those goons are outside right now?" I slam my hand against a table. "Oww-oh shit, Alison."