The Rules Of Attraction Part 8

'Is that seat taken?' he asked.

And for a minute I wanted to say yes, but of course that would have been ridiculous, so I shook my head and swallowed hard and stood up to let The Boy sit down. The seats were close together and I had to move over to the edge of mine to accommodate us. He had the same color hair on his head and arms and he also had one eyebrow and tight ripped jeans. It was hard to deal with.

The bus pulled away from the curb before everyone was seated and hurled back onto the highway. I tried to read the book but couldn't. It started to rain, the sound of the Talking Heads coming from the gleaming ca.s.sette player, the girls pa.s.sing Diet Pepsi and nachos back and forth and trying to flirt with me, the incessant yapping from the college boys in back, smoking clove cigarettes, an occasional joint, talking about how some s.l.u.t named Ursula was f.u.c.ked by some guy named Phil in the back of some guy's Toyota Nissan named Mark and how Ursula lied to Phil and said it wasn't his baby but he paid for the abortion 1 35.

anyway and it was all so irritating I couldn't even concentrate on anything. And by the time we were near Boston I was so angry with my mother for asking me to come that I just kept staring over at The Sean Boy, who, in turn, stared out the window, smoothing the creases out of his ticket with his grease-stained hands, his Swatch ticking loudly.

SEAN I get another note in my box today from Lauren Hynde. It says 'I will meet you tonite - once the sun sets -E-L-O-V will no longer be spelled this way. . . .' I can't wait until the party, until 'the sun sets' so I try to talk to Lauren at lunch. She's standing, smoking a cigarette, by the desserts, with Judy Holleran (who I screwed last term and who I occasionally score for; she's also really f.u.c.ked-up, she's been in psychological counseling forever) and I come up behind them slowly, and suddenly I want to touch Lauren, I'm about to touch her, gently, on the neck, but the Frog roommate, who I haven't seen in days, excuses himself and reaches for a croissant or something and lingers. He notices 136.

me and says 'Ca va.' I say 'Ca va.' Lauren says 'Hi' to him and she blushes and looks at Judy and Judy smiles too. He keeps looking at Lauren and then goes away. Lauren's telling Judy how she lost her I.D.

'What's going oh?' I ask Judy, picking up a plate of melon.

'Hi, Sean. Nothing,' she says.

Lauren's looking over the cookies, playing hard to get. It's so obvious I'm embarra.s.sed.

'Going to the party tonight?' I ask. 'Once the sun sets?'

'Totally psyched,' Judy says, sarcastic as h.e.l.l.

Lauren laughs, like she agrees. I bet, I'm thinking.

The geek from LA. grabs an orange from the fruit tray and Lauren looks down, at what? His legs? They're really tan and I've never seen him with his sungla.s.ses off, big deal. He lifts his eyebrows in recognition. I do the same. I look back at Lauren and I'm struck by how great-looking she is. And standing here, even if it's only for something like a millisecond, I overload on how great-looking this girl is. I'm amazed at how her legs affect me, the b.r.e.a.s.t.s, braless, beneath a 'We Are the World' T-shirt, thighs. She looks over at me in what seems like slow motion. I can't meet her blue-eyed gaze back. She's too gorgeous. Her perfect, full lips locked in on this s.e.xy uncaring smile. She's constructed perfectly. She smiles when she notices me staring and I smile back. I'm thinking, I want to know this girl.

'I think it's supposed to be a toga party too,' I say.

'Toga? Jesus,' she says. 'What does this place think it is? Williams?'

'Where's the party?' Judy asks.

137.

'Wooley,' I tell her. She can't even f.u.c.king look at me.

'I thought we already had one,' she says, and inspects a cookie. Her fingers are long and delicate. The nails have clear polish on them. Her hand, small and clean, scratches at her perfect, small nose, while the other hand runs through her blond, short hair and then back over her neck. I try to smell her.

'We did,' I say.

'A toga party,' she says. You've got to be kidding. Who's on Rec Committee anyway?'

'I am,' I say, looking directly at her.

Judy pockets an oatmeal cookie and takes a drag off her, Lauren's, cigarette.

'Well, Getch and Tony are gonna steal some sheets. There's a keg. I don't know,' I say, laughing a little. 'It's not really a toga party.'

'Well, it sounds really happening,' she says. She leaves abruptly, taking a cookie, and asks Judy, Tm going into town with Beanhead, wanna come?' Judy says, Tlath paper. Can't.'

Lauren leaves without saying anything to me. Obviously embarra.s.sed, fl.u.s.tered, by my presence. Tonight, I think. I go back to the table. 'The weight room opened today,' Tony says. 'Rock'n'roll,' I say. You're an idiot,' he says. Once the sun sets, I'm thinking.

138.

PAUL I got off the bus with the other college students and the blind man and the fat woman with the blond kid and got lost amid the flotsam in the large terminal in Boston. Then I was outside and it was rush hour and overcast and I looked around for a cab. There was a sudden tap on my shoulder and when I turned around I was confronted by The Boy Who Looks Like Sean.

Yeah?' I lowered my sungla.s.ses. I was experiencing an adrenaline rush.

'Man, I was wondering if I could borrow five bucks,' he asked.

I got dizzy and wanted to say no but he looked so much like Sean that I fumbled for my wallet, couldn't find a five and ended up giving him a ten.

'Thanks man,' he says, slinging the pillow case over his shoulder, nodding to himself, walking away.

I nodded too, an involuntary reaction, and started to get a headache. 'I am going to kill her,' I whispered to myself as I finally wave down a cab.

'Where to?' the driver asked.

'Ritz-Carlton. It's on Arlington,' I told him, sitting back in the seat, exhausted.

The driver turned his neck and looked at me, saying nothing.

'The Ritz-Carlton,' I tell him again, getting uneasy.

He still stares. 'On . .. Arlington ...'

'I hear you,' the cab driver, an old guy, muttered, shaking his head, turning around.

Then what the f.u.c.k are you staring at? I wanted to scream.

139.

I rubbed my eyes. My hands smelled awful and I opened a package of Chuckles I bought at the bus station in Camden. I ate one. The cab moved slowly through the traffic. It started raining. The cab driver kept looking at me in the rearview mirror, shaking his head, mumbling things I couldn't hear. I stopped chewing the Chuckle. The cab had barely made it down one block, then turned and pulled over to the curb. I panicked and thought, Oh Jesus, what now? Was he going to kick me out for eating a G.o.dd.a.m.n Chuckle? I put the Chuckles away.

'Why have we stopped?' I asked.

'Because we're here,' the driver sighed.

'We're here?' I looked out the window. 'Oh.'

"Yeah, that'll be one forty,' he grumbled. He was right.

'I guess I forgot it was ... so, um, close,' I said.

'Uh-huh,' the driver says. 'Whatever,'

'I hurt my foot. Sorry,' I pushed two singles at him and tripped in the rain getting out of the cab and I just know Sean's going to f.u.c.k someone at the party tonight and I'm in the lobby now, soaked, and this just better be good.

140.

////He doesn't know it but I had seen Him over the summer. Last summer. I spent my summer vacation on Long Island, in the Hamptons with my poor drunken father. Southampton, Easthampton, Hampton Bays - wandering the island with other Gucci-clad nomads. I stayed with my brother one night and visited a recently widowed aunt on Shelter Island and I stayed in tons of motels, motels that were pink and gray and green and that glowed in the Hamptons light. I stayed in these havens of shelter since I could not bear anymore to look at my father's new girlfriends. But that is another story.

I saw Him first at Coast Grill on the South Sh.o.r.e and then at this oh-so-trendy Bar-B-Que place whose delightful name eludes me at the moment. He was eating undercooked chicken and trying not to sneeze. He was with a female (a wench, definitely) who looked anorexic. f.a.g bartenders stood around them, looking bored, and I would order Slow Comfortable Screws to bother and tease them. 'That's made with rum?' they'd lisp, and I'd lisp back Yes because you can't lisp No. Mouth-breathing waitresses came on to You, You, who were bronzed like a G.o.d, a GQ man, Your hair slicked back. I heard Your name called - a phone call. Bateman. They'd misp.r.o.nounce it - Dateman. I was sitting, shrouded in darkness at the long sleek bar and I had just found out oh-so-discreetly that I had failed three out of four cla.s.ses last term. Unfortunately I had forgotten to hand in, to even complete, the prerequisite 'Some Papers,' before I left for Arizona and hit the Hamptons. And there You sat. The last time I had seen You was at a Midnight Breakfast; You hurled a balled-up pancake at a table of Drama majors. Now You lit a cigarette. You 141.

did not bother to light the wench's. I followed You to the phone booth.

'Hey dude, like, didn't you speak to the dean and like, uh, tell them how unwrapped I am?'

I a.s.sumed it was Your psychiatrist.

You yawned and said, 'I am concerned.'

There was an indefinite pause and then You said, 'Just refill the Librium.'

Another pause. You looked around, didn't recognize me from school. Me, sunburned and stiff and trying to drink but oh-so-sober. Tm all set,' You said.

You hung up. I watched as You nonchalantly threw bills on the table and walked out of the restaurant before the wench. The door closed on her, but she followed you anyway. You both sped away in a bright red Alfa Romeo and I got drunk and waited for Tonight.

Tonight. I've spent an afternoon in a bath full of scented water, preparing, cleansing, soaping, shaving, oiling myself for You. I have not eaten in two days. I wait. I am good at that. I listen to old soon-to-be-forgotten songs and wait for Tonight and for You. Wait for that final moment. A moment so filled with such expectance and longing that I almost do not want to witness its occurrence. But I'm ready. One fine day you'll want me for your girl, my radio cries. That's right. Tonight.//// 142.

PAUL I walk up to the register desk and stand there, the urge to flee, to go back to Camden, just walk the two blocks, in the rain, to the terminal, just get on the bus, and intercept Sean at The Dressed To Get Screwed part)-, overwhelms me and I just stand there staring blankly at the snotty, well-dressed men behind the desk until one glides over and says, Yes, sir?' I'm tempted to leave, split, do it.

'Yes, sir?' he asks again.

I snap out of it. I looked at him. It was too late. It was all too late.

'I think my mother made reservations for the weekend. The name's Denton.'

'Denton, very good,' the clerk said, looking me over dubiously before he checked the files. I looked down at myself, confused, then back at the clerk.

Yes, Denton. Three days. That's two rooms, right?' the clerk asked.

'I guess.'

'Could you please sign this?' The clerk handed me something.

I filled in the address of Camdcn but I didn't know why. My hands were still wet. They stained the card.

'Will your mother be paying cash or with VISA, Mr. Denton?' the clerk asked.

I could have paid with my American Express but why the h.e.l.l should I have done that? That would have been stupid; this whole thing was stupid. 'VISA, I guess.'

'Fine, Mr. Denton.'

'I guess the rest of them are coming later.' And don't call me Mister Denton. My name's Paul, you fools, Paul!

'Fine, Mr. Denton. Is that the only baggage you have?'

143.

I was standing there wet, my life ruined. It was over with Sean. Another one bites the dust.

'Sir?' the clerk persisted.

'What?' I blink.

'I'll have someone take it up right away,' he said.

I didn't even hear him, just 'Thanks' and unb.u.t.ton my coat and someone handed me a key and in a daze I walk into an open elevator and pushed a b.u.t.ton for the ninth floor, no, someone else pushed it for me and some person walked me down a hallway and helped me find the two rooms.

I laid on the bed for a long time before I decided to get up. I open the doors that connected the suites and ponder which room looked better. I laid on one of the double beds in the other room and decide that the first room was more comfortable. I look at the other double bed, where Richard would sleep. I wondered if we'd fool around, since we had in high school, back in Chicago. I had almost gone to Sarah Lawrence because of him. He had almost gone to Camden, but then opted out and told me, There's no f.u.c.king way I'm doing time in New Hampshire,' and I had told him Td rather go to college in Las Vegas than Bronxville.' Richard was definitely very good-looking, but getting together was a bad idea and, except for leaving Sean, was my main reservation about Boston. I turned the TV on and laid down again and then took a shower, the phone kept ringing, I kept hanging it up, got dressed, watched more TV, smoked more cigarettes, waited.

144.

LAUREN I'm dreaming about Victor. It's a Camden relocation dream. People from school are milling about a salad bar on a beach. Judy is standing by the sea. The sea behind her is sometimes white, sometimes red, sometimes black. When I ask her where Victor is, she says, 'Dead.' I wake up. For a long, painful moment, between the point at which I have the nightmare, and the moment at which, hopefully, it is forgotten, I lie there, thinking about Victor. A very common morning.

I look around the room. Franklin is gone. The things around me depress me, seem to define my pitiful existence, everything is so boring: my typewriter - no cartridges; my easel - no canvas; my bookshelf - no books; a check from Dad; an airline ticket to St. Tropez someone crammed in my box; a note about Parents' Weekend being cancelled; the new poems I'm writing, crumpled by the bed; the new story Franklin has left me called 'Saturn Has Eyes'; the half-empty bottle of red wine (Franklin bought it; Jordan, too sweet) we drank last night; the ashtrays; the cigarettes in the ashtrays; the Bob Marley tape unwound - it all depresses me immensely. I attempt to return to the nightmare. I can't. Look over at the wine bottles standing on the floor, the empty pack of Gauloises (Franklin smokes them; how pretentious). I can't decide whether to reach for the wine or the cigarettes or turn on the radio. Thoroughly confused I stumble into the hallway, Reggae music coming thump thump from the living room downstairs. It's supposed to be light out, but then I realize it's four-thirty in the afternoon.

I'm leaving Franklin. I told him last night, before we went to bed.

145.

'Are you kidding?' he asked.

Tm not,' I said.

'Are you high?' he asked.

'Beside the point,' I said. Then we had s.e.x.

PAUL I was thinking about taking another shower, styling my hair or calling Sean or jerking off or doing any number of things, when I heard someone trying to get into the room. I stood next to the door and heard my mother and Mrs. Jared babbling about something.

'Oh Mimi, help me with this d.a.m.n lock,' It was my mother b.i.t.c.hing.

'Jesus, Eve,' I heard Mrs. Jared's whiny voice answer back. 'Where's the bellboy?'

I ran over to the bed and flung myself upon it and placed a pillow over my head, trying to look casual. I looked ridiculous and stood up, tentatively.

'd.a.m.nit, Mimi, this is the wrong key. Try the other room,' I heard, m.u.f.fled, a complaint.

146.

My mother knocked on the door, asking 'Paul? Paul, are you in there?'

I didn't know if I should say anything, then realized that I had to and said, 'Yes? Who is it, please?'

'It's your mother, for G.o.d's sake,' she said, sounding exasperated. 'Who do you think it is?' 'Oh,' 1 said. 'Hi.'

'Could you please help me open this door?' she pleaded. I walked over to the door and turned the k.n.o.b, trying to pull it open, but my mother had screwed it up somehow and had locked it from the outside. 'Mother?' Be patient, patient. "Yes, Paul?' 'You locked it,' Pause. 'I did?' 'You did,' 'Oh my,'