32

Zigzagging toward Chemical Bank by the new Gap it's a Wednesday butoutside feels Mondayish and the city looks vaguely unreal, there's asky like from October 1973 or something hanging over it and right nowat 5:30 this is Manhattan as Loud Place: jackhammers, horns, sirens,breaking glass, recycling trucks, whistles, booming bass from the newIce Cube, unwanted sound trailing behind me as I wheel my Vespa intothe bank, joining the line at the automated teller, most of it madeup of Orientals glaring at me as they move aside, a couple of themleaning forward, whispering to each other.

"What's the story with the moped?" some jerk asks.

"Hey, what's the story with those pants? Listen, the bikedoesn't have a card, it's not taking out any cash, so chill out.Jesus."

Only one out often cash machines seems to have any cash in it, sowhile waiting I have to look up at my reflection in the panel ofsteel mirrors lining the columns above the automated tellers: highcheekbones, ivory skin, jet-black hair, semi-Asian eyes, a perfectnose, huge lips, defined jawline, ripped knees in jeans, T-shirtunder a long-collar shirt, red vest, velvet jacket, and I'mslouching, Rollerblades slung over my shoulder, suddenly rememberingI forgot where I'm supposed to meet Chloe tonight, and that's whenthe beeper goes off. It's Beau. I snap open the Panasonic EBH 70 andcall him back at the club.

"Ihope Bongo's not having a fit."

"It'sthe RSVPs, Victor. Damien's having a fit. He just called,furious—"

"Didyou tell him where I was?"

"Howcould I do that when I don't even know where you are?"Pause. "Where are you? Damien was in a helicopter. Actuallystepping out of a helicopter."

"Idon't even know where I am, Beau. How's that for an answer?" Theline moves up slowly. "Is he in the city?"