One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [92]
The Halloween party Lola insisted she and Philip attend wasn’t at the Bowery Hotel after all, but in an abandoned building on the next block. Lola was dressed as a showgirl, in a sequined bra and panties, fishnet stockings, and high heels. She looked sensational, like a girl on the cover of a men’s magazine. “Are you sure you want to go out like that?” Philip asked.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“You’re practically naked.”
“No more naked than I am at the beach.” She wrapped a feather boa around her neck. “Is that better?”
Trying to get into the spirit of things, Philip was dressed as a pimp, in a striped suit, white sunglasses, and a fur hat. On Eighth Street, Lola had bought him an imitation diamond necklace, at the bottom of which dangled a diamond-encrusted skull.
“Isn’t this fun?” Lola exclaimed, walking to the party. The streets were filled with revelers dressed in every kind of costume. Yes, Philip thought, taking her hand. This was fun. He hadn’t allowed himself to have this kind of silly fun for years. What had happened to him? When had he become so serious?
“You’re going to love Thayer Core,” she said, tugging on his hand to hurry him along.
“Who’s he?” And seeing Lola’s irritated expression, said, “I know, I know—the young impresario who wants to be a writer.”
“Not wants, is,” Lola said. “He writes every day for Snarker.”
Philip smiled. Lola seemed incapable of making distinctions between the artist and the hack, the real and the wannabe. In her mind, a blogger was the same as a novelist, a star on a reality show was equal to an actress. It was her generation, he reminded himself. They had grown up in a culture of insistent democracy in which everyone was the same and everyone was a winner.
A large crowd was gathered in front of a decrepit building. Gripping Lola’s hand, Philip pushed through. At the entrance were two guys with pierced faces, a transvestite in a pink wig, and Thayer Core himself, smoking a cigarette. He shook Philip’s hand. “It’s a destructor party, man,” Thayer said. “Building’s going to be torn down tomorrow. We do our best to destroy the place until the police get here.”
Philip and Lola went in the door and up a wooden staircase. The air was hot and thick with smoke, lit by a single bulb. There was the sound of retching, and upstairs, music thumped out of two speakers set in the windows. The room was packed. “What is the point of this?” Philip said into Lola’s ear.
“There is no point. Isn’t it great?” Lola said.
They pushed their way up to a makeshift bar, where they were handed a slosh of vodka and cranberry juice in a red plastic cup, no ice. “When can we get out of here?” Philip shouted over the music.
“You want to leave already?” Lola said.
Philip looked around. I don’t know one person here, he thought. And they were all so young, with their smooth faces and their attitudes, preening and shouting at each other. And the music. Loud, thumping, with no discernible melody. Yet they were all dancing, moving their hips while keeping their upper bodies still. I can’t do this, Philip thought.
“Lola,” he shouted into her ear. “I’m going home.”
“No,” she shrieked.
“You stay. Have a good time. I’ll meet you back at the apartment in an hour.”
Walking back to One Fifth, Philip was relieved and then perplexed. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than being stuck at that crowded, hot, filthy party. How was that possibly fun? But he had gone to parties like that when he was twenty-two, and they were fun. There were