"The quintessence of anybody is defined by what they are not", she said. Her hair bounced up and down with the certainty of what she was saying. What did she mean? I wasn't very sure. For some reason though, this chap and I followed all her words with the devotion a Pomeranian showed to its mistress counting beads and pearls from the satin sofa she perched herself on.
A strange sort of power radiated from her. In fact it was pure power and like pure things it was evil. It was attractive, strong, addictive and tuned us into slave like zombies. We spent days, hours and what seemed like eons just listening to her. And I wanted to be like her. The curator of a fancy gallery, with her own fashion label, a couple of books with fancy phrases and lots of high teas.
And I feared to admit it. But she was my idol. My star. Some part me knew that it was all pseudo, a gimmick… but some part wanted a part of that stage. That life. Some part of me wanted those stars and their silvery fickleness. Some part of me knew… that was what heaven was about.