Last Night, She Said…
At 3 am, I crawl from the lap of a minor rock star to meet The Seeker. He waits on Ludlow, for no apparent reason, and holding a Red Bull like shark bait. I bite.
We walk to East Houston, but fearing yet another encounter with Bloc Party, we slide into a small deli stocked with Jewish food and Mexican cooks. We sit under flourescent lights, pounding Vitamin Water and Halvah bars, talking business - his upcoming birthday bash, a fete not yet planned but already legend.
“We’ll take my jet to Germany, if my dad okays it.” He peels the label from his bottle in a slow, steady curl. “It’ll be the best party ever.”
“Too showy,” I counter, feigning boredom (but really: Berlin!). “Why can’t we just use Bungalow?”
“No Bungalow,” he snaps firmly, “Amy’s on the outs. Plus, she has a crush on Boxer.”
“So? Isn’t that good?”
Boxer is our Third, though tonight he’s not invited. He’s also 10 years younger than Amy, at least, but this seems to make it better.
“No Bungalow,” answers The Seeker, and the issue folds. “And anyway,” he says with a shy smile, “I know you really want to go to Germany. Hang on.”
The Seeker sweeps from his chair, grabs a plastic tray from the counter, and slams it on a cockroach headed for the cookie case. It smashes, hatches open, dies. I stare at it, horrified, before cracking into a fit of laughter.
When I look up, I see through my newly sliced bangs that his eyes are clearer than mine, and wider, but otherwise the same.
[LEIGH LEZARK - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]