“How would you begin to find out how many of these wankers—because Christ, they all look at least a bit like wankers—each individual woman has shagged?”
“I start by asking them. They’ll brag about it. It’s a badge of honor in Skankdom.”
“Visited Skankdom, have you?”
“With a badge and in the line. I’m going to contact them, start working on a cross-reference. You could take a look at the wankers, dig down a bit. Give me your take on which ones have the most potential. Musically, creatively. The guy in the book has some actual charm, talent, and that potential. Unless he’s too busy smoking, swallowing, guzzling, or popping whatever illegals come to hand—and chasing them down with a whole bunch of alcohol. Then he’s a dick.”
“So—to clarify,” Roarke said. “I’m rating the wankers on their level of potential as musicians and human beings if and when they cease the smoking, swallowing, guzzling, popping, and chasing themselves into a dick?”
“Yeah. Oh, and sex. Another addiction.”
On that, Roarke pushed up from the table. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. What an interesting way to spend our evening.”
Eve sat down and started at the top of her list by contacting Loxie Flash.
About ten minutes after Eve got a bang-brag list from Loxie and moved on to the next on the list, Loxie lit up a joint of Zoner, poured a glass from the bottle of top-shelf vodka she’d stolen at a party, and switched on the porn channel.
She hated winter in New York and wondered why the hell she wasn’t in St. Barts. The fact that her finances were, at the moment, a little squeezed added to her foul mood.
So fuck it, she’d head out to naked beaches in the morning. She could always hitch a ride on a private shuttle, talk Petra at the Beach House into a suite in exchange for some publicity.
Bored, irritated by the skinny cop, and since she’d reeled off all those sex partners, itchy, she reached for her ’link to start wrangling a ride and some digs in sunnier climes.
It pinged in her hand with an incoming text.
Hey bitch where u at? Got r jam going @ Screw U. Place is banging & I scored some prime. Guess who just walked in with a couple hos? G-man, u guessed it. Come on slut time 2 party.
Loxie took another pull of Zoner, drew deep as she considered. If Janis was there, probably most of the usual crew was, too, because Janis was too lame to party without the usual.
Still, she thought of the cold, the ice, the effort of pulling herself away from Zoner, vodka, and porn, getting herself dressed and sexed—mega-style, since her ex turned up.
A lot of work.
The warning about staying out of clubs, about poison and all that bullshit played through her mind. But the idea of pumping Janis—the bitch had the rich—for that private ride trumped all.
She left the porn running on-screen because now that itch felt real good, now she’d pick some lucky bitch or bastard to scratch it.
She answered the text.
B there in an hour. Save me a party favor.
Yola Bloomfield tossed her ’link aside and brooded. She wasn’t going to feel guilty for confessing—that’s what you did to cops—she’d cheated on the Stoner a few times.
Not all of it was cheating anyway. Sometimes they’d been on a break, and once they’d gotten trashed at some after-party and had had a free-for-all.
Besides, the Stoner had cheated right back.
And she was clean now, and mostly sober.
She studied the painting she’d just finished, decided it spoke to the inevitability of death, and the suffering that preceded it. The dark choices that made the suffering and the inevitability worthwhile.
She decided she really wanted a beer. Even if a lone beer in her empty apartment often made everything echo inside her head.
She shuffled in to check the friggie, cursed. She’d meant to get some brew delivered, but she’d gotten caught up in her work. And now that she didn’t have a single brew in the place, she wanted one even more.
> She could go out—screw the weather—get that brew, hear some noise, some music, do some sketching, and maybe inspire her next piece.
Stay out of the clubs, the hard-eyed cop had ordered. Well, screw that, too. She did what she wanted when she wanted.