I'm talking about the fact that you might have feelings for her.

His mother's voice follows him down the stairs. (If you are having such a hard time with her leaving --) He hears it over the music from the party.

(-- you need to give her a reason to stay.) He hears it over the murmurs from the floor above him. (A reason to stay reason to stay reason to stay reason to –)

He's taking the steps two at a time now. Faster. The slap of good leather on tile. Louder. Now he's actually running, leaping, pure speed; he is outgunning the pain in his chest. Good, good. I can still do this. I'm as fast as I was with Alex. I'm as fast as I was against Alex. Alex is here. I've gotta go faster. I can beat him. (I'm talking about the fact that you might have feelings for her, feelings for her, feelings for herrrrr…I saw the layout you made for Fabia. I thought it was very smart. And beautiful!) Oh, CHRIST.

The door to the lobby is nothing to him. He bangs through it like it was –

"Mr. Meade?" He doesn't stop in time, and the night security chief grabs him as he's overbalancing, nearly diving headfirst. Good, he thinks, a second before he doesn't hit the ground. This'll hurt. I'll break my nose, I'll break my teeth, and it'll hurt, and I won't hear (I picked you, didn't I? didn't I? didn't I?...Please send an email to all creative. Vincent Bianchi will be shooting our December feature….Do you have another copy of that paper for me to sign?...Shut. Up!...Call me. I'll meet you….You have tonight. Otherwise, I'll probably be out of a job as well….It's half-off if you sing!).

He's only vaguely aware that the night air has hit him, that the security guard, and now the driver, are saying something he can't process, because (We make a good team….Would it be really childish of me to high-five you right now?... You were right, she made me dumb…. I'll buy you a slice!)…

And now there's traffic, not much for midnight on a Wednesday, even for New York (You should've let me tell him it was your idea….So what's going on? "He's back!" and "It's a date!"…Are you asking me on a date?...You have to believe me when I say…You just don't give up, do you?).

But it's busy enough; he steps off a curb and nearly into the oncoming car; dimly he hears the blare and the angry voices that follow him as he turns some corner and (I wanted to see the look on your face when you're not disappointed in me!...It is a problemo….your glitter period….I think we make a good team, you and me…That's "Poser-Daniel". You're not that guy anymore….I've never been happier to find out about one of your sleazy affairs…"They sayyy our love don't pay the rent/before it's earned, our money's all been spent…") there's a door and it's a bar.

Scotch follows gin follows beer follows (Five months ago, you thought Cavalli was a kind of pasta!... Fine! I can't help it! He was being a jerk.... 'Cause I gotta tell you, there's no way (I'm talking about) I coulda done (the fact that you might have) this job without you (feelings for her)…I'm sorry, Betty sorry, Betty sorry, Betty…)…it doesn't taste, doesn't burn on the way down, and the voices are muting and he can hardly hear (You're leaving aren't you?...I picked you, didn't I?...Do you have another copy of the paper you wanted me to sign?... Call me. I'll meet you…when I say this: you are beautiful…On behalf of all the girls who wear oversize t-shirts…because I can't imagine being here without you…I listened to the wrong people…. That's love, right?).

This must be an elevator. His stomach is sloshing and rising and falling and he wonders if he's going to be (…Cavalli was a kind of…wanted to see your face when…if there wasn't a risk involved, Alex wouldn't…call me, I'll be there…When you love someone better than they do, and you would do anything in the world to love someone better than love someone you're getting smarter already love her --)

"STAAHHH! STT-TTAAHH! NO!!" He's actually jumping up and down in that moment, and it's not making it better.

He's home. Or he thinks he's home. Look, there's some guy with his hands over his ears. Poor bastard. Expensive suit all stained, tie come undone, face blotchy and wet, hair standing on end, poor drunk bastard, what's he doing in my apartment?

Ohhhhh…oh.

The world is silent. Daniel Meade sees himself as his hands drop from the sides of his face. He watches, fascinated, as his reflected self watches back. But after a moment, that's too much, too.

It's dark in his bedroom but he can't be bothered with the lamp. He's undressing, blindly. Now naked, he drops to his bed. On his jacket. There's the fabric. The tailoring. Italian. Her favorite. Her. Favorite. Her. (Are we good? We're good. Daniel…I'm supposed to be (That's love, right?) at a meeting (you might have feelings) right now (I think I have to let her go)…smart. And beautiful...You're gonna get back in your Town Car…)

There's something he can see, even through the blur. There's a lump. In the jacket. In the pocket. He fumbles over the silk. His fingers touch it (You're leaving, aren't you?...He's back and It's a date!...give her a reason to stay…"Cause I gotta tell you, there's no way I coulda done this job without…That's love, right?..."They say our love won't pay the rent"…Love you…love you…I love you, Betty, Betty I love…you might have feelings for her…for me…I'll meet you there…"I got you to love me sooo…"")…

What the hell?

But he knows. He knows what it is.

Even as a pink bunny with a green belly and a graduation cap slides from his jacket pocket, slips from his trembling hand, and bounces softly on the floor.

("I got youuuu-uu-uuu, babe!")