I was trying to piece together Katy’s life, without asking her too directly what she was up to. I was glad Annalika’s exhibition was over. I watched from my desk as workmen carefully wrapped the 8ft by 6ft pornographic prints. Too embarrassed even to make a lewd comment, there was something reverent in the way the worked. Placing each piece in a crate, and labelling it with a number. Sticking a “this way up” sticker, with a huge arrow. This amused me because half the pictures showed Annalika hanging upside-down in various poses.
I knew Katy was friends with several people on the indie-film circuit, so I called up a few of them. Katy had been spotted at several events, mainly with Fraser. She was still working hard on the film, and had attended a workshop run by Patricia Field. Her so-called friends from the film circuit sounded too blase when speaking of her. She was fun, and moderately talented as a film stylist. Did any of them really care about her? I doubt it. Wannabe scenes are difficult for friendships, aspiring film-makers, aspiring fashion designers, aspiring actors. Everyone is chasing after the same few opportunities, so it’s not exactly a crucible for perfect platonic friendship.
Porsche-guy asked me if I would meet up with The Model. Apparently she was lonely, and he was too busy to see her. “I’m busy,” I said. “Please,” he begged, “I’ve been a bit of a shit, leading her on, and now she’s got really clingy.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” I asked,
“God-knows, she stays over quite a lot, but really, I’m way too old for her, and we have nothing to talk about, she’s from Ohio.”
I felt sorry for her. “One drink,” I said, “tell her to meet me at Hollywould’s, five thirty.”
Image: Eye, print by Connie