Mutt just kind of smiles at me and it's freezing in the apartment and I'm slouching in a big pile of white satin pillows that the crew brought and some Japanese guy is filming the interview that MTV will be filming and another Japanese guy is taking photographs of the video crew and I start throwing out names of bands they should play over the segment when it airs: Supergrass, Menswear, Offspring, Phish, Liz Phair ("Supernova"), maybe Pearl Jam or Rage Against the Machine or even Imperial Teen. I'm so lost that I don't even notice Mutt standing over me until he snaps his fingers twice right under my nose and I purse my lips and wink at him and wonder how cool I look in other people's eyes.

"I'm going to smoke a big Cohiba during the interview," I tell Mutt.

"You're going to look like a big ass**le during the interview."

"Hey, don't forget who you're talking to."

"MTV policy. No smoking. Advertisers don't like it."

"Yet you sell Trent Reznor's hate to millions of unsuspecting youth. Tch-tch-tch."

"I want to get out of here, so let's start this thing."

"I was chased through SoHo earlier tonight."

"You're not that popular, Victor."

I buzz JD on my cell phone. "JD-find out who just chased me through SoHo." I click off and since I'm in my element I'm all smiles so I call out to the really muscular girl with the clip-on nose ring, "Hey pu**ycat, you could hail a cab with that ass."

"My name's David," he says. "Not Pussycat."

"Whoa-you got that whole boy/girl thing going down," I say, shivering.

"Who is this clown?" David asks the room.

"The same old story," Mutt sighs. "Nobody, up-and-comer, star, has-been. Not necessarily in that order."

Hey, keep the vibe alive," I say halfheartedly to nobody and then the makeup girl brushes my sideburns teasingly and I snarl "Don't touch those" and then, in a more vacant mode, "Can somebody get me a Snapple?" It's at this precise moment I finally notice the thing that's totally lacking in my apartment: Cindy. "Wait, wait a minute-where's Cindy?"

"Cindy's not conducting the interview," Mutt says. "She's just introducing it, in her own faux-inimitable style."

"That sucks pretty majorly if you ask me," I say, stunned.

"Does it?"

"I wouldn't be sitting here now if I knew this earlier."

"I doubt that."

"Where the f**k is she?"

"In Beirut, at the opening of a new Planet Hollywood."

"This is seriously demeaning."

"Tough shit, you big baby."

"That-gosh, Mutt-that really shocks me," I say, tears welling up. "That really shocks me that you would talk that way to me."

"Uh-huh." Mutt closes his eyes, holds a viewfinder up to his ear. "Okay."

"Wait a minute, so wait..." I look over at the VJ on his cell phone underneath a giant Nan Goldin that Chloe gave me for a Christmas present. "That pederast over there's going to do it?" I'm asking, appalled. "That fag pederast?"

"Hey, what's your life? A G-rated movie?"

"I don't want to be interviewed by someone who is known in this business as a big fag pederast."

"You ever sleep with a guy, Victor?"

Remembering MTV's new all-consuming the-entire-world-is-full-of-homos mentality, I smirk and semi-nod and choke out "Maybe" and then compose myself to add, "But now I am a strict heterosexual." Long pause. "Devout, in fact."

"I'll alert the media."

"You are the media, Mutt," I exclaim. "You and the fag pederast VJ are the media."

"Ever sleep with a fifteen-year-old?" Mutt asks tiredly.

"Girl?" Pause. "Maybe."

"So?"

Trying to decipher what Mutt's getting at, I pause, squinting, then yelp out, "What the f**k does that mean, bozo? Are you trying to make a point? Because it's like, um, eluding me."

The VJ comes over, all boyish smiles and Versace.

"He dates Chloe Byrnes," Mutt says. "That's all you really need to know."

"Super," the VJ says. "Can we work it in?"

"You will work it in," I answer for Mutt. "And no questions about my father."

"You're shooting from the hip," the VJ says. "And I like it."

"And I'm camera ready."