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But then Judy has to ruin it as we’re walking out of her house, the night autumn cold, both of us shivering in our togas, heading toward the music at Wooley.

“Have you heard from Victor?” she asks.Advertisement

I hated saying it, but did anyway. “Who?”

PAUL Richard arrives sometime around eight. I’m sitting in the “boys’” room, in some plush chair, already dressed in this gray suit and silk red tie I bought at Bigsby and Kruthers, watching MTV, smoking, thinking about Sean. My mother and Mrs. Jared are in the other room getting dressed for dinner. Richard opens the door, wearing a tuxedo and sunglasses, hair greased back, walks in, lets the door slam and shouts, “Hi ya, Paul!”

I stare at Richard only slightly shocked. His long blond hair is now short, cropped and dyed a bright platinum blond that, because of the rain or mousse, looks dark. He’s wearing a ripped white tuxedo shirt, one black sock, one white sock, and black Converse Hi-Tops, and a long overcoat with a Siouxsie and the Banshees decal stuck on the back. A tiny diamond stud earring in the left ear, the Wayfarers still on, black and shiny. He’s only carrying one small black bag with Dead Kennedys and Bronski Beat stickers on it, and in the other hand a very large cassette player and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, almost empty. He staggers in, then leans against the doorway, catching his balance.

“Richard,” I say. I’m starting to feel that my entire world is beginning to turn into an issue of Vanity Fair.

“When are we gonna eat?” he asks.

“Richard? Is that you?” his mother calls from the other room.

“Yeah. It is,” he says. “And my name’s not Richard.”

My mother and Mrs. Jared walk into the room, both in the middle of getting dressed and they stare at Richard who looks like a total Sarah Lawrence ass**le but, maybe, sexy.

“It’s Dick,” he says lewdly and then, “Like, when’s dinner?” He takes a deep swig from the Jack Daniel’s bottle then belches.

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SEAN Tense scene with Rupert.

Rupert shaved his head. I had to stop by Roxanne’s place before the party to score for some Freshman idiots and the f**ker had shaved his head. He was doing coke on the floor in the living room and staring at himself in the mirror, Hüsker Dü was blasting and some Brazilian guy was sitting on the couch fooling around with a portable Casio machine when I walked in.

“What’s going on?” I shouted over the music. I walked over to the stereo and turned the volume down.

“You’re gonna have to sell that bike of yours,” Rupert growled, wiping the mirror off with his finger and then sucking on it.

“Yeah?” I laughed nervously. “What’s going on?”

“Where’s the money, chump?” he asked.

“Take American Express?” I joked.

Rupert threw his big white bald head to one side, a couple of razor cuts dried black made it look even creepier, and laughed for too long. I wondered if the Brazilian shaved Rupert’s head. The thought made me queasy. “Oh, Bateman, you’re not funny.”

“Funny guy,” I said.

“And because you’re not funny, I’m going to give you some time.” He stood up. He looked big, almost menacing but in a wimpy way and came near me.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, backing away a little.

“I’m not gonna remind you, Bateman,” he said, running his hand over the shiny head. He looked over at the gun case, considering which ones were loaded, but he was too coked out to do anything to me.

“There’s an orgy in Booth tonight,” I said, though I didn’t care. I was going to be with Miss Hynde anyway, and the thought of kissing her momentarily got me excited and calmed me down at the same time and all I said was, “Need to score for some Freshmen.”

“I need my money,” Rupert said, pissed but judging from his tone of voice would probably let it slide. He walked over to the desk near the gun case and opened a drawer.

“You know I’m broke,” I said. “Stop picking on poor boys.”

“What about the bike?” Rupert smiled, walking over to the stereo and turning the volume up but not as loud as it was before.

“What about it?” I asked.

“You’re such a jerk,” he sighed.

Before I left I asked him, “Where’s Roxanne?”

“She’s f**king the Brazilian,” Rupert shrugged, pointed.

He handed me a bag.

The Brazilian waved.

“How hip can you get?” I said. pqdm.com