"Guess?,Victor!" she calls out.
"Baby,you're a face to watch," I say, already putting a Walkman on,already on 61st. "A star of tomorrow," I call out, waving."Let's have drinks at Monkey Bar after the shows are over onSunday!" I'm speaking to myself now and moving toward Alison'splace. Passing a newsstand by the new Gap, I notice I'm still on thecover of the current issue of YouthQuake, looking prettycool—the headline 27 AND HIP in bold purple letters above mysmiling, expressionless face, and I've just got to buy another copy,but since I don't have any cash there's no way.
31
From72nd and Madison I called Alison's doorman, who has verified thatoutside her place on 80th and Park Damien's goons are notwaiting in a black Jeep, so when I get there I can pull up to theentrance and roll my Vespa into the lobby, where Juan—who's apretty decent-looking guy, about twenty-four—is hanging out inuniform. As I give him the peace sign, wheeling the moped into theelevator, Juan comes out from behind the front desk.
"HeyVictor, did you talk to Joel Wilkenfeld yet?" Juan's asking,following me. "I mean, last week you said you would and—"
"Heybaby, it's cool, Juan, it's cool," I say, inserting the key,unlocking the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor.
Juanpresses another button, to keep the door open. "But man, yousaid he'd see me and also set up a meeting with—"
"I'msetting it up, buddy, it's cool," I stress, pressing again forthe top floor. "You're the next Markus Schenkenberg. You're thewhite Tyson." I reach over and push his hand away.
"Heyman, I'm Hispanic—" He keeps pressing the Door Openbutton.
"You'rethe next Hispanic Markus Schenkenberg. You're the, um, HispanicTyson." I reach over and push his hand away again. "You'rea star, man. Any day of the week."
"Ijust don't want this to be like an afterthought—"
"Heyman, spare me." I grin. "`Afterthought' isn't in this guy'svocabulary," I say, pointing at myself.