Glamorama: a novel by Bret Easton Ellis

Author:Bret Easton Ellis
Language: pt
Format: mobi
Tags: Literary, Psychological fiction, General, Fiction - General, Popular American Fiction, Experimental fiction, Thrillers, Young men, Fiction
ISBN: 9780375404122
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 1999-07-15T17:12:56+00:00

American Psycho

“Well, it's easy to find a good fur now,” Daisy says slowly. “Since more ready-to-wear designers have now entered the fur field, the range increases because each designer selects different pelts to give his collection an individual character.”

“It's all so scary,” Caron says, shivering.

“Don't be intimidated,” Daisy says. “Fur is only an accessory. Don't be intimidated by it.”

“But a luxurious accessory,” Libby points out.

I ask the table, “Has anyone ever played around with a TEC nine-millimeter Uzi? It's a gun. No? They're particularly useful because this model has a threaded barrel for attaching silencers and barrel extensions.” I say this nodding.

“Furs shouldn't be intimidating.” Taylor looks over at me and blankly says, “I'm gradually uncovering some startling information here.”

“But a luxurious accessory,” Libby points out again.

The waitress reappears, setting the drinks down along with a bowl of grapefruit sorbet. Taylor looks at it and says, blinking, “I didn't order this.”

“Yes you did,” I tell him. “In your sleep you ordered this. You ordered this in your sleep.”

“No I didn't,” he says, unsure.

“I'll eat it,” I say. “Jjust listen.” I'm tapping my fingers against the table loudly.

“Karl Lagerfeld hands down,” Libby's saying.

“Why?” Caron.

“He created the Fendi collection, of course,” Daisy says, lighting a cigarette.

“I like the Mongolian lamb mixed with mole or” - Caron stops to giggle - “this black leather jacket lined with Persian lamb.”

“What do you think of Geoffrey Beene?” Daisy asks her.

Caron ponders this. “The white satin collars… iffy.”

“But he does marvelous things with Tibetan lambs,” Libby says.

“Carolina Herrera?” Caron asks.

“No, no, too fluffy,” Daisy says, shaking her head

“Too schoolgirl,” Libby agrees.

“James Galanos has the most wonderful Russian lynx bellies, though,” Daisy says.

“And don't forget Arnold Scaasi. The white ermine,” Libby says. “To die for.”

“Really?” I smile and lift my lips into a depraved grin. “To die for?”

“To die for,” Libby says again, affirmative about something for the first time all night.

“I think you'd look adorable in, oh, a Geoffrey Beene, Taylor,” I whine in a high, faggy voice, flopping a limp wrist on his shoulder, but he's sleeping again so it doesn't matter. I remove the hand with a sigh.

“That's Miles…” Caron peers over at some aging gorilla in the next booth with a graying crew cut and an eleven-year-old bimbo balanced on his lap.

Libby turns around to make sure. “But I thought he was filming that Vietnam movie in Philadelphia.”

“No. The Philippines,” Caron says. “It wasn't in Philadelphia.”

“Oh yeah,” Libby says, then, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. In fact it's over,” Caron says in a tone that's completely undecided. She blinks. “In fact it's… out.” She blinks again. “In fact I think it came out… last year.”

The two of them are looking over at the next booth disinterestedly, but when they turn back to our table, their eyes falling on the sleeping Taylor, Caron turns to Libby and sighs. “Should we go over and say hello?”

Libby nods slowly, her features quizzical in the candlelight, and stands up. “Excuse us.” They leave. Daisy stays, sips Caron's champagne. I

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