"Warhol," I say softly, hurt. "Baby..."
She gets up off the bed and moves into the bathroom, splashes water on her face, then rubs Preparation H under her eyes. "The fashion world is dying anyway," Chloe yawns, stretching, walking over to one of her walk-in closets, opening it. "I mean, what else can I say?"
"Not necessarily a bad thing, baby," I say vaguely, moving over to the television.
"Victor-whose mortgage is this?" she cries out, waving her arms around.
I'm looking for a copy of the Flatliners tape I left over here last week but can only find an old Arsenio that Chloe was on, two movies she was in, Party Mountain with Emery Roberts and Teen Town with Hurley Thompson, another documentary about breast-implant safety and last week's "Melrose Place." On the screen now, a commercial, grainy fuzz, a reproduction of a reproduction. When I turn around, Chloe is holding up a dress in front of a full-length mirror, winking at herself.
The dress is an original Todd Oldham wraparound: not-so-basic black-slash-beige dress, strapless, Navajo-inspired and neon quilted.
My first reaction: she stole it from Alison.
"Um, baby..." I clear my throat. "What's that?"
"I'm practicing my wink for the video," she says, winking again. "Rupert says I wasn't doing it right."
"Uh-huh. Okay, I'll take some time off and we'll practice." I pause, then carefully ask, "But the dress?"
"You like it?" she asks, brightening up, turning around. "I'm wearing it tomorrow night."
"Um... baby?"
"What? What is it?" She puts the dress back in the closet.
"Oh honey," I say, shaking my head. "I don't know about that dress."
"You don't have to wear it, Victor."
"But then neither do you, right?"
"Stop. I can't deal with-"
"Baby, you're gonna look like Pocahontas in that thing."
"Todd gave me this dress especially for the opening-"
"How about something simpler, less multicult? Less p.c., perhaps? Something closer to Armani-ish?" I move toward the closet. "Here, let me choose something for you."
"Victor." She blocks the closet door. "I'm wearing that." She suddenly looks down at my ankles. "Are those scratches?"