“Riverdale,” I say.
“Nope. Dalton,” he says.
“Maybe Choate?” I suggest.
“Definitely Dalton,” Robert says.
“I bet you it’s Vassar,” I say, positive.
Robert’s working on Wall Street now and doesn’t seem to mind. Robert and I went to boarding school together. He went to Yale, and that’s where he met Holly. After I beat him at squash today at The Seaport, while we were drinking beers, he told me he’s dumping her, but I got the feeling that Holly dumped him in Monte Carlo and that’s why she’s not back.
We used to go to the Village, I vaguely remember now, sitting in Trader Vic’s, sniffing at the flower at the bottom of the barrel.
“Let’s do the coke,” Robert suggests.
“I’m okay,” I say, still on a rum high, trying to make eye contact with at least one of the girls.
“I’ll be in the bathroom,” he says, getting up. “Order me a St. Pauli Girl.”
He leaves. I smoke another cigarette. The four girls are now looking over at me. I order another one of these scorpion bowls. They suddenly all burst out laughing. The Polynesian bartender gives me a dirty look. I flash him a gold American Express card. He makes the drink.
I cross my legs and the girl I was making eye contact with doesn’t come over. But one of her friends does.
“Hi,” she says and giggles. “What’s your name?”
“Blaine,” I say. “Hi.”
“What’s going on, Blaine?” she asks.
“Not too much,” Blaine says.
“Great,” she says.
“Where have you been?” Blaine asks.
“Nowhere. Palladium,” she says. “How about you and your friend?”
“Just hanging,” I say. The bartender places the fresh new drink on the bar. I nod.
“This is going to sound really stupid,” she says.
“Go ahead.” I bet it is.
“But, is your friend Michael J. Fox?” she asks.
“Uh, no,” I say.
“Are you two gay or anything?” she asks, steadying herself.
“No,” I say. “Are you and your friends dykes?”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
Blaine thinks: forget this girl, even though he wouldn’t mind sleeping with her, but she smokes menthol cigarettes and looks a little overweight.
Michael J. Fox comes back and gives the girl a fuck-off look and he whispers something in my ear and hands me the vial. I tell him to deal with this girl and whisper back to him, “She thinks you’re Michael J. Fox.” I leave, head for the bathroom. “So, did you see Back to the Future?” he asks.
In the men’s room I sit in a stall and flush the toilet whenever I do a hit. I come out of the stall feeling better, actually feeling pretty good and I go over to the sink to wash my hands, make sure my nose is clean. I can hear someone throwing up in one of the other stalls as I stare at myself in the mirror carefully, wipe whatever residue there was under my nose off. I go back to the bar.
Michael J. Fox has talked the girls into coming out with us. So we take them to Palladium where we leave them on the dance floor and split for the Mike Todd Room where we hang out and get even more wasted. Somewhere along the line I lose my Concord quartz watch, make a rude comment about Bianca Jagger’s breasts to her face, and end up with some bimbo back at my father’s place at The Carlyle. Robert’s in the next room with some other bimbo, some Camden drop-out named Janey Fields, who I think he had an affair with. It always ends up this way. No Big Surprise.
LAUREN End up with Noel tonight. Cute, long-haired post-punk, neo-hippie whose girlfriend Janet is in New York for the weekend and who’s really seeing Mary, this girl from Indiana. I had seen Janet’s old boyfriend Neal for a little while before Noel, who was Neal’s best friend, started seeing Janet. After driving to a Chinese restaurant in town in the snow in Noel’s dark blue Saab, and after ordering food with all MSG removed and after checking out a bad party in Fels we go to Noel’s room, where he puts 2001 on the VCR that sits on a milk crate at the foot of his futon. Then we split a hit of Blue Dragon and watch the movie, waiting to trip. All I can think of is the night last term when Victor and I made out in Tishman while they were changing reels for the movie, and how it snowed so hard for April and we were drunk on sake and “The Unforgettable Fire” was playing and he smelled like Chap-stick…. But Noel gets excited and won’t stop leaving me alone, and I want to watch the movie which I can’t really concentrate on anyway—it’s too long and slow and scenes and shots go on forever. I need something clear and fast, and I’m not even sure if the acid is taking effect. Don’t understand what’s going on. Noel’s kissing my neck and rubbing the inside of my thigh and even though I have this urinary tract infection and have been taking horse pills to get rid of it, I let him do what he wants. When the movie snaps off, and he rolls over to put music on, I say, “But I hate the Beatles.”
He looks at me and he takes his Grateful Dead T-shirt off revealing a beautiful body I cannot resist, and pulling off his Reebok tennis shoes, says, “Hey, I hate the Beatles too.”
SEAN I drive to New Hampshire and find myself back on campus, looking for Lauren, remember my mouth on her neck, her arms around me. I go to her room but she’s not there. Roxanne’s in the living room of Canfield and tells me that Rupert wants to talk to me, that he’s after my ass. I end up in The Pub but she’s not there either. Neither are too many other people, most of them probably at a party somewhere. I order a beer. There are around fifteen people in The Pub tonight, either sitting at tables or standing next to the video games, a couple of girls standing by the jukebox, two Freshmen sitting by themselves in the corner discussing movies. I pay for the beer and sit at an empty table near the video games. I realize with depressing crystal clarity that I have slept with three of the girls in The Pub tonight.
One of them is standing by the jukebox. Susan is standing at the bar. The other one is the girl Freshman sitting on the couch talking with her friend. And I tell myself that I’m going to avoid random one-night stands after Friday night parties, and drunken meaningless fucks on slow Saturday nights and I realize I don’t want anyone but Lauren. “Heaven,” sad Talking Heads plays from the jukebox. I get depressed. Susan walks over.
“Hi, Sean,” she says.
“Hi, Susan,” I say, hoping she won’t sit down.
“Going to the party?” she asks, smiling, not sitting.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I shrug. “After I finish this beer.”
She looks around the room. “Yeah. I hear it’s pretty good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Where’s Lauren?” she asks.
“Probably there. I guess.”
“Oh,” Susan says. “I heard you two were having some trouble.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not at all. Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, around.”
“Well no,” I say. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay.”
“Great.” I take a sip of beer and wonder how many people know about this; how many care?
“Well, I’ll see you at the party maybe later, okay?” she asks, standing there, dying to sit down, with me.
“Okay, sure,” I nod, can’t remember how it was with us, smile.
She stands there a while longer.
I look up and smile once more.
She finally walks back to her friend.
I hope Lauren and I never have a conversation like that: slight, depressing, hopeless. And I miss her so badly and want her back that the urge to hold and feel her stabs at me, blinding me momentarily and I finish the beer quickly, feeling better, since I’m sure she feels the same way. One of the guys playing Crystal Castles kicks the machine and growls, “Fuck you, bitch.” The song “Heaven” keeps playing.
There are things that I will never do: I will never buy cheese popcorn in The Pub. I will never tell a video game to fuck off. I will never erase graffiti about myself that I
happen to catch in bathrooms on campus. I will never sleep with anyone but Lauren. I will never throw a pumpkin at her door. I will never play “Burning Down the House” on the jukebox.
PAUL I pretend to look at old notes from last week’s Student Council meeting, which are crumpled and muddied on the floor in the backseat of Lizzie’s car. Gerald’s sitting next to me, trying to give me a hand-job, both of us crammed in the back. Somehow Sean got dragged into the huge Buick, and he’s up front with about five other people, eleven of us piled into the car altogether. Everyone is drunk, no one knows where we’re going, vague idea about a road trip. Gerald keeps rubbing my thighs. It’s freezing. We are lost.
The last time I saw Sean he had stopped by my room sometime in mid-November. I was sitting at my desk doing nothing and I heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” I said. There was a silence followed by another knock, this one louder. “Come in,” I stood up. The door opened. He walked in. I sat back down. I sat there looking at him and then I got up very slowly.
“Hi, Sean,” I said.
“Hi, Dent,” he said.
Dent? Had he ever called me that? I wondered about his as we drove into town, had dinner, came back to campus. He parked in front of Booth. We went upstairs to his room. His room looked bigger and emptier than I remembered it. The narrow bed on the floor, the desk, a chair, a chest of drawers, a broken stereo, no posters, no photos, a lot of records leaning against a wall in the corner. And I woke up the next morning laying on the small mattress. He was already up, sitting in his armchair, staring out the window at the morning’s snowfall. He needed a shave, his hair was sticking up. I dressed quietly. It was hot in the room. He wasn’t saying anything. He just sat in the chair and smoked Parliaments. I went up behind the chair to tell him I was leaving. I stood so close that I could have touched the side of his face, his neck, but I didn’t do this. I just left. Then I stood in the hallway and heard him lock the door….
Gerald realizes I’m not interested but keeps trying. I look out the window of the car, at the snow, wondering how I got forced into this. I don’t know half the people in the car: heroin addicts, a Freshman, a couple who lives off-campus, someone who works behind the snack bar, Lizzie, Gerald, Sean and me, and this Korean guy.
I have my eye on the Korean boy, some Asian Art major punk I think I made out with last term who only paints self-portraits of his penis. He’s sitting on my other side, tripping and he keeps repeating the word “wow.” Lizzie keeps driving and circling Main Street, then she’s on the highway leaving Camden, looking for a place that’s open where we can get beer. A joint is passed around, then another. We get lost again. The Smiths are singing and someone says “Turn that gay angst music off.” The Replacements replace them singing “Unsatisfied.” No one has I.D. is the consensus so we can’t get beer since Camden kids are almost always asked. We almost get stopped by the police. Lizzie almost drives us into a lake. The Korean boy keeps screaming, “Let’s call this art,” and I keep whispering to him in his calmer moments, “Come to my room.” But by the time we get back to campus and I wait in my room for him, Gerald comes by instead and takes his clothes off which means, I guess, for me to take mine off too.
While in bed, later, we hear someone knocking on the door.
Gerald goes, “Sssshhhh.”
I get up and pull my jeans on and a sweater. I open the door. It’s Sean, not the Korean. He’s holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a box with The Smiths playing. “Can I come in?” he whispers.
“Wait.” It’s dark behind me. He can’t see anything. “I’ll come out,” I say.
I close the door and put my boots on, grabbing my coat, any coat, from the darkness of the closet. Gerald asks, “Who in the hell is it?”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I tell him.
He says, “You better.”
Sean and I end up walking through the woods near campus. It’s snowing lightly and not too cold, the moon is high and full and makes the ground glow white. The Smiths are singing “Reel Around the Fountain.” He hands me the bottle. I tell him, “I find myself talking to you when you’re not around. Just talking. Carrying on conversations.” I really don’t, but it just seems like the thing to say and he’s really so much better-looking than Gerald.
“I wish you wouldn’t tell me shit like that,” he says. “It’s creepy. It weirds me out.”
Later, we make love in the snow. Afterwards I tell him I have tickets for the REM concert in Hanover next week. He covers his face with his hands.
“Listen,” he says, getting up. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say. “Things like this happen.”
“I don’t want to go with you.”
“I don’t want things to turn out this way,” I warn him.
“I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“Yeah? Well, is there…” I stop. “Can you do anything about it?”
He pauses, then, “No, I guess I can’t. Not anymore.”
I tell him, “But I want to know you. I want to know who you are.”
He flinches and turns to me and says, raising his voice at first and then letting it drop softer, “No one will ever know anyone. We just have to deal with each other. You’re not ever gonna know me.”
“What in the hell does that mean?” I ask.
“It just means you’re not ever gonna know me,” he says. “Figure it out. Deal with it.”
It’s quiet, it stops snowing. From where we lay we can see the campus, lit, postcard-perfect, through the trees. The tape clicks off, and then automatically turns itself over. He finishes the Jack Daniel’s and walks away. I walk back to my room, alone. Gerald has left, leaving me a long note, describing how much of an asshole I am. But it doesn’t matter because there was something fun about tonight, in the snow, drunk, not with the Korean guy.
LAUREN It happens quite suddenly, while we’re at the Winter Carnival in town.
Earlier we had a half-hearted attempt at a snowfight on Commons lawn (actually I threw a snowball at his head; he didn’t have enough energy to make one, let alone throw one at me), then we drove in the friend’s MG to town and had brunch. After making out on the ferris wheel and smoking pot in the funhouse, I tell him. I tell him while we’re waiting for fried dough. I could have told him the truth, or I could have broken it off with him, or I could have gone back to Franklin. But none of those options seemed likely in the end, and there was a good chance none of them would have worked out. I stare at him. He’s stoned and holding a Def Leppard cocaine mirror that he won by throwing baseballs at tin milk bottles. He smiles as he pays for the fried dough.
S: What do you want to do when we get back?
Me: I don’t know.
S: Should we buy the eighth or rent a movie or what?
Me: I don’t know.
S: What is it? What’s your problem?
Me: I’m pregnant.
S: Really?
Me: Yes.
S: Is it mine?
Me: Yes.
S: Is it really mine?
Me: Listen, I’m going to … “deal with it” so don’t worry.
S: No. Don’t. You’re not.
Me: What? Why not?
S: Listen, I have an idea.
Me: You have an idea?
S: Let’s get married.
Me: What are you talking about?
S: Marry me. Let’s get married.
Me (unsaid): It could be Franklin’s and there’s always the possibility it could actually be Sean’s. But I was very late and had been carrying for a long time and I cannot remember when it was Sean and I met. It could also be Noel’s, though that’s unlikely and it could also be the Freshman Steve’s, but that’s even unlikelier. It could also be Paul’s. Those are the only people I’ve been with this term.
S: Well?
Me: Okay.
SEAN Lauren and I decided not to go to brunch today since there were bound to be too many eyes, too many people wandering around trying to figure out who
left with who from the party last night, the dining room would be cold and dark in the late morning, people finally realizing who they spent the night with staring at their soggy French toast with regret; there would be too many people we knew. So we went to The Brasserie on the edge of town to have brunch instead.
Roxanne was at The Brasserie but not with Rupert. Susan Greenberg was there with that asshole Justin. Paul Denton was sitting in a corner with that dyke Elizabeth Seelan from the Drama Division and some guy I didn’t even think went to Camden. A teacher who I was sure I owed at least four papers to was sitting in back. A townie who I dealt for was by the jukebox. Paranoia fulfilled.
Lauren and I looked at each other after we sat down and then cracked up. Over bloody Marys, I understood how much I did want to marry her, how much I wanted her to marry me. And after another drink, how much I wanted her to have my son. After a third drink it simply seemed like a fun idea and not a hard promise to keep. She looked really pretty that day. We had smoked pot earlier and we were high and starving. She kept looking at me with these eyes that were wildly in love and couldn’t help it and I was feeling good staring back and we ate a lot and I leaned over and kissed her neck but stopped when I noticed someone looking over at our table.
“Let’s go somewhere,” I told her, as she paid the check. “Let’s leave campus. We can go somewhere and do this.”
She said, “Okay.”
LAUREN We went to New York to stay with friends of mine who had graduated when I was a Sophomore. They were now married and had a loft apartment on Sixth Avenue in the Village. Sean and I drove down in his friend’s MG and they put us up there in an extra room in the back. We stayed at their place since Sean didn’t have enough money to stay in a hotel. But it worked out just as well. It was a big space, and there was plenty of privacy and room, and in the end it didn’t matter since I was still vaguely excited about the prospect of actually getting married, of actually going through the ceremony, of even becoming a mother. But after two days with Scott and Ann, I became more hesitant and the future seemed more distant and less clear than it had that day at the Winter Carnival. My doubts grew.
The Rules of Attraction Page 23
