The Rules Of Attraction Part 9

'Why don't you unlock it?' I suggested. 'Oh.' There was a silence. 'Mimi, get over here. My son tells me that I should unlock the door,'

'h.e.l.lo, Paul dear,' Mrs. Jared said through the door.

'Hi, Mrs. Jared,' I called back.

'It appears that this door is locked,' she commented.

I pulled on it again but the door wouldn't open.

'Mother?'

Tes, dear?'

'Is the key in the lock?'

'Yes. Why?'

'Why don't you turn it to the, let's say ... left? Okay?'

To the left?'

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'Oh, why not.'

Try it Eve,' Mrs. Jared urged.

I stopped pulling the door. There was a click. The door opened.

'Darling,' my mother screamed, looking wigged out of her mind, coming toward me, her arms outstretched. She looked quite pretty, actually. Perhaps too much make-up, but thinner, and she's dressed to the hilt, her jewelry's clanking all over the place, but it was all in an elegant way, not tacky. Her hair, brunette, darker than I remembered, had been stylishly cut and it gave her the appearance of looking much younger. Or maybe it was that eye job, or the eye tuck, she had last summer, before we went to Europe, that gave me this impression.

'Mother,' I said, standing still.

She hugged me and said, 'Oh, it's been so long.'

'Five weeks?'

'Oh that's a long time, dear,' she said.

'Not really,'

'Say h.e.l.lo to Mrs Jared,' she said.

'Oh Paul, you look so cute.' Mrs Jared said and hugged me also.

'Mrs. Jared,' I said.

'So big and away at college. We're so proud of you,'

'He's so handsome,' my mother said, walking over to the window and opening it, waving the smell of cigarette smoke out.

'And tall,' Mrs. Jared said. Yeah and I've f.u.c.ked your son, I was thinking.

I sat down on the bed, refrained from lighting a cigarette and crossed my legs.

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My mother rushed to the bathroom and immediately started to brush her hair.

Mrs Jared took her shoes off and sat down opposite from me and asked, Tell me Paul, why are you wearing so much black?'

STUART After dinner and a shower, I had some friends over for wine and we all had a hair-dyeing party. While they were monopolizing the bathroom and was.h.i.+ng their hair in the sinks, I walked across the hall to Paul Denton's room. I stood there for a long time, too nervous to knock. I read the notes that people had left on his door, then I ran my hand over it. I was going to invite him over and I was stoned enough to get up the nerve to do so. I knocked softly at first, and when there was no answer I knocked with more force. When no one opened the door I walked away, confused and relieved. I told myself I would talk to him at the party tonight; that was when I would make my move. I came back to my room and Dennis was sitting on my bed. His hair was wet and freshly dyed red and he was looking 149.

through the new Voice and playing my Bryan Ferry tape. I spent last night with him. I don't say anything. He tells me, 'Paul Denton will never ever sleep with you.' I don't say anything. Just get more drunk, turn the music up and dress to get screwed.

PAUL 'How was the flight?' I asked them.

'Oh lurid, lurid,' Mrs. Jared said. Tour mother met this absolutely gorgeous doctor from the North Sh.o.r.e in first cla.s.s who was going to Parents' Weekend at Brown and you know what your mother did?' Mrs. Jared was smiling now, like a naughty little girl.

'No.' Oh, I couldn't wait.

'Oh Mimi,' my mother moaned, coming out of the bathroom.

'She told him that she was single,' Mrs. Jared exclaimed and got up and took my mother's place in the bathroom and closed the door.

There mustn't be any silence so my mother asked me, 'Did I tell you about the car?'

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'Yes.' I could hear Mrs. Jared urinating. Embarra.s.sed, I spoke louder, *Yes. Yes, you did. I think you did tell me about the car.'

'Typical. It's all so typical. I was seeing Dr. Vanderpool and the two of us were going to lunch at The 95th and -'

'Wait. Dr. Vanderpool? Your shrink?' I asked.

She started brus.h.i.+ng her hair again and asked, 'Shrink?'

'Sorry,' I said. 'Doctor.'

'Yes. My doctor.' My mother gave me a strange look.

'Going out to lunch?' I reminded her.

'Yes,' she said. I had thrown her off balance. She stood there, stumped.

'I thought this happened at Neiman's,' I said, amused, but, oh s.h.i.+t, who cares?

'No. Why?' she asked, still brus.h.i.+ng her hair.

'Forget it.' I've forgotten I shouldn't be amused by things like that anymore. I mean, I've only been away, what, three years, right? The toilet flushed and I flinched, looking back at the TV, pretending that Mrs. Jared didn't even take a p.i.s.s.

'Well.. .' My mother was looking at me like I was a real weirdo. A real KooKoo. 'Go on,' I urged. 'Go on.'

'Well,' she continued. 'I came out of his office and it was gone. Completely gone. Can you believe it?' she was asking me.

'Typical,' I told her. Just pretend she's not crazy and things will go smoothly.

'Yes.' She stopped brus.h.i.+ng her hair, but continued gazing into the mirror.

The bellboys brought the bags up - all eight of them. That's right. Of course, a weekend in Boston, eight bags for 151.

two people, sure. There were eight pieces of luggage: four pieces of Louis Vuitton, my mother's; and four pieces of Gucci, Mrs. Jared's.

'How's school?' my mother asked after she tipped the bellboys (who were not s.e.xy, contrary to Mrs. Jared's allusions that they were).

'Fine,' I said.

'Cla.s.ses,' she reminded herself. 'How are your cla.s.ses?' 'All right.'

'What are you taking?' she asked.

I must have told her this, given her a list over the phone, at least five times. 'Cla.s.ses. Just cla.s.ses. Acting. Improv. Scene Design. Cla.s.ses. Drama.'

'How is that lovely friend of yours? Michael? Monty? What?' she asked, unzipping one of the bags and looking through it.

I couldn't believe she did s.h.i.+t like that. She d.a.m.n well knew his G.o.dd.a.m.n name but I couldn't even get angry, so I laid back and sighed his name. 'Mitch.e.l.l. His name was Mitch.e.l.l.'

Yes. Mitch.e.l.l. That's it,'

'How is he?' I asked.

Yes.'

'Fine.' I started to worry about Sean again. Sean at the party. Sean f.u.c.king someone. Who? That girl leaving notes in his box? Or worse . .. what if he went home with Raymond or Harry or Donald? What am I doing here?

'When is Richard coming in?' I asked, changing the subject.

'I don't know,' my mother whispered, suddenly concerned. 'Mimi?'

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'I'd say sixish,' Mrs. Jared said. 'I told him that we had dinner reservations downstairs at nine, so he knows when to be here.'

What am I doing here? My mother wants to speak to me about nothing. It's only a ploy to get me here so she can complain about the way I dress and eat and smoke and live and G.o.d only knows what else. My mother and Mrs. Jared move to the other room. 'We'll leave this room to you boys so you can talk and whatever. ..." It sounds ominous and suspicious and what am" I doing here? I look over at the copy of The Fountainhead on top of the TV set, a reminder of Michael? Monty? I watch a cartoon. My mother and Mrs. Jared split a Seconal or whatever and start to worry about what they're going to wear tonight. I watch more cartoons and curse Sean and order room service. I decide to get drunk early SEAN After I got drunk this afternoon I looked for Lauren at dinner tonight. She wasn't there. I looked for her after Getch and Tony and Tim and I fixed up Wooley. I 153.

looked for her after I put my toga on. (Since I'm on Wreck Committee I've got to wear a toga but I put my leather jacket on over it so it looked hip.) I even looked for her room, walking around campus in the dark, trying to remember which house she lived in. But it was too cold to look, so I stopped and watched TV in Commons, and drank some beer instead. I didn't know what I was going to say to her once I found her. It was just that I wanted to see her. And thinking about her like that, searching all over the place for her, I went back to my room and jerked off, fantasizing about her. It was something completely spontaneous, something I couldn't help doing. It was like walking past a beautiful girl on the street, someone you can't help but look at, someone you can't suppress whistling at, someone who gets you that excited, that h.o.r.n.y. That's how I was feeling about Lauren, my toga raised above me, touching myself feverishly in the darkness. What does she like, I was thinking. Questions raced through my mind -does she go wild during s.e.x, does she come easily, does she freak out about oral s.e.x, does she mind a guy coming in I her mouth? Then I realized I won't go to bed with a girl if she won't do that. I also won't go to bed with a girl if she can't or won't have an o.r.g.a.s.m because then, what's the point? If you can't make a girl come why even bother? That always seemed to me to be like writing questions in a letter.

PAUL I call Sean up. Someone answers the Booth 154.

phone.

'Yeah?' Person is obviously stoned.

'Can I talk to Sean Bateman? I think he lives upstairs,' I ask.

'Yeah.' Really long pause. 'If he's asleep should I wake him?'

'Yes. Please.' The idiot probably is asleep.

I look at myself in the mirror and turn away. Next door, either my mom or Mrs. Jared is taking a shower. The TV is still on. I reach over and turn the volume down.

'Yeah? h.e.l.lo?' Sean says.

'Sean?'

'Yeah? Who is this? Patrick?'

Patrick? Who the h.e.l.l is Patrick? 'No. It's Paul.'

'Paul?'

'Yeah. Remember me?'

'No. This better be good,' he says.

'I just wanted to know what's going on,' I say. 'Who's Patrick?'

'No, Paul. That's not it. What did you want?'

'Were you asleep?'

'No, of course I wasn't asleep.'

'What are you doing?'

'I was just about to go to the party,' he says.

'With who?' I ask. 'With Patrick?'

'What?'

'With who?' I ask again.

'I thought you asked me that,' he says.

'Well?'

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