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fuck, I suppose. We did have great sex. I’m fairly certain
he thought of me as another dumb chick. The few times that he did
come home with me, he only stayed for an hour or so after sex,
before putting his pants back on, buckling his belt in front of
the mirror (giving himself a macho look of a man who just got laid),
and taking a cab home. He always said he had to wake up early the
next day, but I knew he only worked nights. Anyway, I won’t
get into all that. I really don’t care that much. And besides,
I’m not writing this to contaminate the reputation of a dead
man. I am just here as an introduction, really. The truth is this.
Craig, an old school buddy of Gray’s, walked into Serena
a few weeks ago when I was bartending. I mentioned something about
having Gray’s journal, and he offered to pay me $1,000 for
a written introduction and some juicy journal excerpts. He said
he was making a documentary about Gray’s legendary nightlife
and that his offer was a research expenditure. So, I guess this
is my first freelance writing assignment. [Craig: I hope it’s
OK that I included our deal. I wanted to be real all the way. If
you don’t like it, you can take it out.] Here is the answering
machine story, written by the late Gray:
4/4/00
I have decided to document my recent experiences in writing.
I want to clarify that it is not that I think I am special.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a classic New
York City slut. I sleep with at least two girls a month that
I meet that same night. I own a pair of Prada leather pants.
I always wear my Bottega Veneta sunglasses. I have a Palm Pilot.
I like cocaine. I love sushi. But then I am also a slob. I
smoke a lot of dope, and I usually don’t go to bed before
five in the morning. I have a weak spot for deli pizza. Sometimes
in the winter I don’t shower for four or five days because
I’m too cold or too lazy. But one special thing differentiates
me from the crowd. It was revealed to me two months ago and
now I see myself as a chosen
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