At the last minute, he changes his mind and veers off-course, away from the gay-friendly pub he usually frequents in favor of the more newsworthy Viper Room. As he drives past the club, he wishes again he had an assistant, someone who could drop him off at the front door then park the car while he navigates through the gauntlet of cameramen lining the entrance. But he’s alone in the car—for now—and has to fork over a twenty to squeeze into a private parking deck. A ten-minute walk back to the club puts him behind the cameras, not where he wants to be. He has to bully his way through the paparazzi, and not one of them bothers to snap his picture.
Just you guys wait, he thinks, flipping his ID at the bouncer who guards the door. This time next week, once Lou’s circulated his headshots, onc
