创客小说网

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第12部分（第3页）

performance　artist　Vanessa　Beecroft；　Dan　stood　at　the　back　of　the　Harrison　Street　Club；　clutching

his　black　leather…bound　notebook　and　trying　to　look　writerly　in　case　Rusty　Klein　was　somewhere

nearby　and　was　secretly　studying　him。

The　show　was　set　to　strange　German　folk　music　and　there　was　straw　scattered　on　the　runway。

Little　boys　with　blond　pageboy　haircuts　wearing　lederhosen　led　bleating　white　goats　around　by

leather　leashes　as　impossibly　tall　models　stomped　by　them；　their　bare　breasts　bobbing。

Bestiality；　Dan　scribbled　furtively　in　his　notebook。　The　goats　were　crapping　all　over　the　place

and　he　noticed　that　the　hems　of　the　models？　skirts　had　been　shredded　on　purpose。

Tears　were　drawn　on　their　cheeks　in　iridescent　blue　eye　pencil。Ruined　milkmaids　；　Dan　wrote；

trying　not　to　feel　pletely　out　of　place。　What　the　hell　was　he　doing　at　a　fashion　show　anyway？

The　twenty…something…year…old　brunette　next　to　him　leaned　over　and　tried　to　read　what　he　was

writing。　？Who　are　you　with？？　she　demanded。　？Nylon？Time　Out　？？　She　was　wearing　pointy

rhinestone…studded　glasses　fastened　old…lady　style　to　a　gold　chain　around　her　neck　and　had　the

thickest　bangs　Dan　had　ever　seen。　？Why　aren？t　you　seated　with　press？？

Dan　closed　his　black　notebook　before　she　could　read　any　more。　？I？m　a　poet；？　he　said

importantly。　？Rusty　Klein　invited　me。？

The　woman　didn？t　seem　that　impressed。　？What　have　you　published　lately？？　she　asked

suspiciously。

Dan　tucked　his　notebook　under　his　arm　and　smoothed　down　his　new　set　of　sideburns。　One　of　the

goats　had　gotten　loose　and　jumped　off　the　runway。　Four　security　guards　ran　after　it。　？Actually；　one

of　my　more　recent　poems　is　in　this　week？s　issue　ofThe　New　Yorker　。　It？s　called　？Sluts。？？

？No　way！？　the　woman　gushed　in　a　loud　whisper。　She　pulled　her　lavender　leather　Better　Than

Naked　tote　bag　into　her　lap　and　retrieved　her　copy　ofThe　New　Yorker　。　Flipping　through　it；　she

turned　to　page　forty…two。　？You　don？t　understand。　I　read　this　poem　over　the　phone　toall　my

girlfriends。　I　can？t　believe　you　wrote　it。？

Dan　didn？t　know　what　to　say。　This　was　his　first　encounter　with　an　actual　fan　and　he　felt

simultaneously　embarrassed　and　thrilled。　？I？m　glad　you　liked　it；？　he　replied　modestly。

？Liked　it？？　the　woman　repeated。　？It　changed　my　life！　Would　you　mind　signing　this　for　me？？　she

asked；　thrusting　the　magazine　into　his　lap。

Dan　shrugged　and　retrieved　his　pen。Daniel　Humphrey　；　he　scribbled　just　beside　his　poem；　but　his

signature　looked　a　little　plain　and　impersonal　so　he　added　a　squiggly　little　flourish　underneath　it。

He？d　scribbled　over　a　few　lines　of　the　Gabriel　Garcia　Rhodes　story；　which　seemed　kind　of　like

sacrilege；　but　who　really　cared；　when　he？d　just　signed　his　first　autograph。　He　was　famous？a　real；

genuine　writer！