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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!
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