Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Cast of Characters
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Part Two
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- A note on the Author
A few days later, I came home to a message from Rachel, recommending Cyrinda Del’Aqua, whom she had met at a gallery opening the night before. I screwed up my nose as I wrote down the number, because I had a nasty inkling I had already met my potential roommate. I opened my eyes and she came into focus: tall, frozen mochaccino skin, long black hair piled on top of her head, faux messy, pink diamonds on her fingers, chipped red polish at the ends of them, demanding she be let into the VIP room.
Cyrinda is a downtown nightclub queen. You’ve read about her in Page Six. She organizes parties. People pay her to pick the venue, pick the DJ, the food, and the guest list. They pay her to make decisions. High-powered decision makers get paid high-powered money. She can pull in twenty grand for throwing a party. Her father is a Syrian banker of huge wealth. Her mother was a second-tier sixties supermodel of immaculate WASP stock. In family photos, says Cyrinda, she and her father “look like darkies out to steal the silver.”
Why the hell would she need a roommate? Despite all the money, she is a downtown girl. She likes having someone on hand to listen to her coke rants. That was the deal. She lost the lease on her fabulous SoHo loft because she was too high to bother paying the rent. Plus she needed someone to wake her up in the morning, by stroking her ear, because, she says, she “can’t abide being woken by an alarm clock.”
I couldn’t believe Rachel thought I could possibly be a stabilizing influence on anyone.
“Listen, honey, this girl’s pretty screwy. I thought it would be useful for you to realize that you’re saner than you think. And don’t underestimate the cachet it has for her to be rooming with a movie star.”
And so Cyrinda Del’Aqua moved in the next day, although she didn’t treat me as if I had much cachet. Contrary to what Rachel implied, she was rich enough to know that actors are really not worthy of the tables her father gets in restaurants. I soon realized that I was to be her court jester. “Can you help me with that?” she asked, as she shook my hand, leaving her suitcase on the stoop for me to carry up the stairs.