References to Part One
real ones know part one is goated. most of these aren't exactly "references" moreso just nice continuities. everything that happens in Glamorama is a direct reflection of Victor, after all ...
these also line up nicely with Victor, who loves his references
"So I don’t want a lot of description, just the story, streamlined, no frills, the lowdown: who, what, where, when and don’t leave out why."
The mountain will take you to any point beyond that you need to arrive at, because behind that mountain is a highway and along that highway are billboards with answers on them—who, what, where, when, why.
“The whole point of Super Mario Bros. is that it mirrors life.”
“I’m following.” She checks her nails. “God knows why.”
“Kill or be killed.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Time is running out.”
“Gotcha.”
“And in the end, baby, you … are … alone.”
“I don’t know, Victor, but I’m sure you’ll wake up and figure it all out,” she says. “I wouldn’t necessarily bet on it but I think you’ll figure it all out. In the end.”
When Jamie glances over at me it’s with a look that reminds me: You. Are. Alone.
The next day production assistants from the French film crew feed me heroin as they fly me into Milan on a private jet someone named Mr. Leisure has supplied, which is piloted by two Japanese men.
One night Davide moves me to the Hotel Diana and the following morning I’m moved back to the Principe di Savoia. I’m told that the crew is now filming exteriors outside La Posta Vecchia. I’m told that they will be leaving Milan within the week. I’m told to relax, to stay beautiful.
this is meant to be representative of part 6 but yeah i mean the entirety of part 6 here
Richard has turned his attention to a journalist standing by us who’s interviewing a very good-looking busboy.
“Victor, this is Byron from Time magazine.” Richard motions with a hand.
“Love your work, man. Peace,” I tell Byron. “Richard, about—”
“Byron’s doing an article on very good-looking busboys for Time,” Richard says dispassionately.
“He’s madly in love with that busboy.” Jamie smiles, lighting a cigarette.
We all turn our heads.
“I read an article about good-looking busboys in Time magazine.” Bentley shrugs. “What can I say? I’m easily influenced.”
“Um, oh shit, Buddy …” I stop. “This is totally not from me.”
“I never reveal my sources, so please just tell your master what’s going on.”
“Baby,” I say, “let me tell you something.”
“Yeah?” she asks expectantly.
“I never reveal my sources,” I whisper to her in the empty restaurant and then lean back, satisfied.
(this must have been such a "full circle" moment for him lmfao. he says this shit purely for his own enjoyment. i hate him)
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” I hold my hands up in front of me. “If you think for one second I’d share Chloe—Chloe Byrnes—with that pipsqueak … oh baby, spare me.”
“Who said you’re sharing anybody, Victor?” someone asks.
“What does that mean?”
“Who said it was your idea?” David asks. “Who said you were happy about it?”
i am referring to the threesome but i am not quoting it
“What’s with the glasses?” she asks.
“Reef says it’s fashionable to look like an intellectual this season.” It’s so cold our breath frosts, comes out in puffs.
[...]
“Take those glasses off,” she says sourly. “You look like somebody who’s trying too hard. You look like Dean Cain.”
I’m laughing, relaxed, wearing wire-rimmed glasses. I’m dressed preppily in a Brooks Brothers suit. I’m nodding at everything that is being asked of me.
Chloe’s asking “Why?” and the phone keeps ringing, a reminder.
“Why … what?”
“Just why, Victor.”
“Baby,” I say, holding my hands up, about to offer an explanation. “You’re a, um, great source of … inspiration to, um, me.”
“I want some kind of answer from you,” she says calmly. “Don’t freeassociate. Just tell me why.”
I start crying again. Chloe’s asking “Why?” She touches my arm. She’s asking “Why?” again.
“But I can’t find anything else … to put in its place,” I say, choking.
HE FINALLY ANSWERED HER YEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!!!!!!!
“Maybe … ,” I start, haltingly. “Maybe if you didn’t expect so much from me you might not be so … disappointed,” I finally admit, and then, watching her reflection in the mirror, “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying,” she says, surprised. “I’m yawning.”
“You’re white,” she says. “You look like you’ve been … crying.” She reaches out a hand to touch my face. Instinctively I pull away.
“No, no, no,” I’m saying. “No, I haven’t been crying. I’m cool. I was just yawning. Things are cool.”
not part one, but still:
“Nice eyebrows, bud,” I tell Bruce.
“Thanks,” he says. “They’re mine.”
He checks out my wrist. “Nice arm veins.”
“Thanks. They’re mine,” I say.