"A cause?" I moan. "Oh god, Ican only imagine what kind of cause you'd want. Scholarshipfund for Keanu. Find Marky Mark a gay brain. Send Linda Evangelistato the rain forest so we can pounce on Kyle MacLachlan. No thankyou."

"Victor, shouldn't we have a cause?" JD says. "Whatabout global warming or the Amazon? Something. Anything."

"Passe. Passe. Passe." I stop."Wait—Beau! Is Suzanne DePasse coming?"

"What about AIDS?"

"Passe. Passe."

"Breast cancer?"

"Oh groovy, far out," I gasp before slapping him lightly onthe face. "Get serious. For who? David Barton? He's the only onewith tits anymore."

"You know what I'm trying to say, Victor,"JD says. "Something like Don't Bungle the Jungle or—"

"Hey, don't bungle my jungle, youlittle mo." I consider this. "A cause, hmm? Because wecan"—I mindlessly light another cigarette—"makemore money?"

"And let people have some fun,"JD reminds me, scratching at a tattoo of a little muscle man on hisbicep.

"Yeah, and let people have some fun." I take a drag. "I'mconsidering this, you know, even though the opening is in, oh, lessthan twenty-four hours."

"You know what, Victor?" Peyton asksslyly. I'm getting the, ah, perverse temptation, baby, to, ah—nowdon't get scared, promise?"

"Only if you don't tell me who you've slept with in the lastweek."

Wide-eyed, Peyton claps his hands together andgushes, "Keep the specks." Then, after seeing my facecontort, more timidly offers, "Save . . . the specks?"

"Save the specks?" JD gasps.

"Yes, save the specks," Peyton says. "Damien wantstechno, and those little fellas can definitely be construed astechno."

"We all want techno, but we wanttechno without specks," JD moans.

The camcorder guy zooms in on the specks, and it's very quiet untilhe says, yawning, "Far out."