"I'm not in a realistic mood, JD, so spare me."

Passing a pool table, I grab the 8 ball and slam-roll it into thecorner pocket. The group is moving farther down into the club. We'renow at the first floor and it's getting darker and Peyton introducesme to a huge black guy with wraparound sunglasses standing by thefront entrance eating takeout sushi.

"Victor, this is Abdullah, but we shall call him Rocko, and he'shandling all the security and he was in that TLC video directed byMatthew Ralston. That toro looks good."

"My middle name is Grand Master B."

"His middle name is Grand Master B," JD says.

"We shook hands last week in South Beach," Abdullah tellsme.

"That's nice, Abdullah, but I wasn't inSouth Beach last week even though I'm semi-famous there." Iglance over at the Details girl. "You can write thatdown."

"Yeah man, you were in the lobby of the Flying Dolphin, gettingyour photo taken," Rocko tells me. "You were surrounded byclams."

But I'm not looking at Rocko. Instead my eyes have focused on thethree metal detectors that line the foyer, a giant white chandelierhanging above them, dimly twinkling.

"You did, um, know about these, right?" JD asks. A meekpause. "Damien ... wants them."

"Damien wants what?"

"Um." Peyton gestures with his arms as if the metaldetectors were prizes. "These."

"Well, why don't we just throw in abaggage check-in, a couple of stewardesses and a DC-10? I mean, whatin the hell are these?"

"This is security, man," Abdullah says.

"Security? Why don't you just spend thenight frisking the celebrities as well?" I ask. "What? Youthink this is a party for felons?"

"Mickey Rourke and Johnny Depp both RSVP'd yes for dinner,"Peyton whispers in my ear.

"If you'd like us to frisk the guests—"Rocko starts.

"What? I'm gonna have Donna Karan frisked? I'm gonna have MarkyMark frisked? I'm gonna have fucking Diane Von Furstenberg frisked?"I shout. "I don't think so."