"Are you sure these specks aren'tsupposed to be here?" JD tentatively touches the panel. "Imean, maybe it's supposed to be, oh, I don't know, in orsomething?"

"Wait." I raise a hand. "You'resaying these specks are in?"

"Victor—we've got a long list ofthings to check, baby." JD holds up the long list of things tocheck. "The specks will be taken care of. Someone will escortthe specks out of here. There's a magician waiting downstairs."

"By tomorrow night?" I roar. "Byto-mor-row night, JD?"

"It can be handled by tomorrow, no?" JD looks at Peyton,who nods.

"Around here, `tomorrow night' means anywhere from five days toa month. Jesus, does anybody notice I'm seething?"

"None of us have been exactly sedentary, Victor."

"I think the situation is simple enough:those"—I point—"are specks. Do you needsomeone to decipher that sentence for you, JD, or are you, y'know,okay with it?"

The "reporter" from Detailsstands with us. Assignment: follow me around for a week. Headline:THE MAKING OF A CLUB. Girl: push-up bra, scads of eyeliner, a Sovietsailor's cap, plastic flower jewelry, rolled-up copy of W tuckedunder a pale, worked-out arm. Uma Thurman if Uma Thurman was fivefeet two and asleep. Behind her, some guy wearing a Velcro vest overa rugby shirt and a leather windjammer follows us, camcording thescene.

"Hey baby." I inhale on a Marlboro someone's handed me."What do you think about the specks?"

Girl reporter lowers her sunglasses. "I'm really not sure."She thinks about what position she should take.

"East Coast girls are hip," I shrug. "I really digthose styles they wear."

"I don't think I'm really part of the story," she says.

"You think any of these bozos are?" I snort. "Spareme."

From the top floor, Beau leans over the railingand calls down, "Victor—Chloe's on line ten."