I keenly regard her and suddenly wonder out aloud: “Do you think you and Brad will ever get together again?”
“Ha, he is not worth the time of day. Of course he still loves me. What’s he going to do? Everyone loves me.”
“Do you love you Misty?”
“What a silly question. Of course I do. More than ever…”
It’s at this moment the door buzzer rings and more guests start making their way into Misty’s strange and wonderful world. When they finally arrive, a bevy of club kids, and club promoters that one recognizes from the usual PMC sites make their way in. It’s a bunch of pseudo double kisses, awkward hand shakes and mock fascination of some girl’s hair braids.
” Penelope, I just love your braids. My gawd, you must let me know where you got them…”
In many respects it’s just what goes on a certain segment of New York every night of the week, the only difference here is that they all come to Misty’s. Misty is the cool uber mademoiselle where the good times are prone to go into overtime.
“Scallywag, really,” she whispers into my ear “you would think these people have a home to go to. But they always end up dropping by. I can never get rid of them.”
“They’re your fans, why would you want to get rid of them?”
“A girl has to rest,” she mock yawns.
It’s at this stage I am introduced to a Count of sorts who is violently holding onto some 21 year old red head.
“He just got back from the collections in Paris. He couldn’t wait to come by and see me. Isn’t that right Francois?”
“Mai oui!” extols the Count, the smell of his cologne a tad too pernicious for my taste.
Without barely an invitation, the count and his mistress are plucking at the aperitifs on the table.
“Hmm,” Misty sighs “I’m going to have to order some more. Who wants more blow?” she casually inquires.
Michelle KNOWS, I introcuded her to the MapleLeaf’s Captain because he was the most handsome muscular man out of the lot of them.
And Michelle, I even introduced you MORON to the Mapleleaf’s Captain, HELLO!
NO! I know what I am talking about here. THEY WERE ALL COMPLETE PSYCHOMANIC AND SOCIOPATHOLOGICAL! AND sexually dysfunctional.
GO WITH THE COKE WHORE! You have your pick Metallica. Sue Ernst, Jacqueline Zima, Julie Capone, Barbara Mitchell, Tara McCabe, why I could introduce you to the LOT OF THEM! Stay the fuck away from me.
what a crock of shit. Complete fiction, no ring at all of authenticity.
more gag inducing pretension. this shit is all fake and vapid. useless, meaningless, soulless, talent less. write about something interesting for once. not about something we know; inbred rich people do blow. big. fuckin. whoop.