Welcome To Wherever You Are (Part I)
“Don’t confuse this with me trusting you, or even liking you. This is just business and you’re all I’ve got to turn to.” This is what Miles in his typical french kind of b-s said, to try and convince me to go score him some ecstacy. Actually, because of his accent replace every ‘you’ with ‘zoo’ ,every ‘don’t’ with ‘zon’t’ and every ‘too’ with tu.’ Apart from that that was exactly what he said.
Next sentence was; "so go" ( saw goo.)
So here I am going to score for the french fucker, so he can try and nail some chick ,who ,apparently, can't score for herself. I was watching the Akira movie on DVD and having a few beers and some Doritos. It just really pisses me off ya know.
Truth is I was going to go score some coke anyway, but that's not the point. I still flipped him the bird as I left. Who does that fucker think he’s dealing with?
There are four places I’d recommend you go for all your pharmaceutical needs here at NYU. Jack Bailey and Chad Bullard will hook you up with grass, but they're two dodgy old stoners. They don't like each other either. Maxwell Greem is guy no one wants to admit to knowing. He carries your garden-variety street stuff. If you have the unpleasantness to meet him at a campus party,and you will, you’ll no doubt hear about the time he was busking in Times Square and Axl Rose spat on him. His stuff's dubious as fuck.
This leaves the only real option for the discerning customer; Simon Rafferty. That's where I am, in his red brick walled apartment trying to score MDMA for Miles.
His girlfriend Natalie's letting me know that she's wearing no panties under her red denim skirt.
Meanwhile, Simon's telling me that he's thinking of going back to school.
"Sure, why not,"I shrug, "you think they'll let you back in man?"
"Nah fuck The New School,NYU."
I shake my head, he calls me a wanker. I know what that means.
Simon used to be a theatre student at the New School. Acting and playwright. He was good too. He wrote plays. His best one, I thought, was his adaptation of Othello into a Wall Street drama. It was called 'The Merchant Banker of Venice.'
Iago became this corporate raider trying to force Othello out. Made me think of Dad when I saw it.
He eventually got chucked out when he didn't get Stanley in a production of 'Streetcar.' He cut himself with the prop bottle and punched the director.
"So what was it you wanted?"
"What? Oh yeah, a dozen Ecstasy."
He walks over to this desk and divides out a dozen or so pills on top of it, and puts them in this plastic jar with a childproof lid. He chucks it, and it settles into my lap.
I lay down a wad of bills.
"Cool," he says while counting them, just to piss me off.
Natalie moves up next to him as he does this. She puts her arms on his shoulder and kisses his cheek. Guess they're back together I think.
Simon's a big man, or at least likes to pretend so. Except around Natalie. She's ,what he's told me is, his semi-permanent girlfriend. She seems to have this mystic controlling power over him. Around her he goes into this whole weird loyal boyfriend mode.
Maybe its because she's so smoking hot. Twenty-four. Half English, half Cuban with one of the hottest bods in the five boroughs. Pseudo-nympho, Pseudo-bi. Silky brown hair except down below where a laser has given her a permanent full Brazilian wax.
The only guy who has been able to have a 'relationship' with her is Simon. And, yeah, both of them know that the other fuck's around on them.
How to worry Simon: tell him you've seen Natalie with the same guy (or girl) for two weeks straight.
He passes me a beer and then the buzzer rings and he buzzes the skinny, probably fourteen, black Domino's delivery kid up. Three extra meat pizzas.
"You staying?" He says to me.
" Nah. I'd better get Miles his shit. Fuckwit will throw a hissy fit and slap me to death if I don’t get it there on time."
"Fuck that.Stay for a slice and a pint. Fucker knows where I live."
"That fucking dick. He said he didn't have any connections. He's not gonna pay is he?"
"I'd seriously doubt it."
"Fuck him. Since when am I that fake French prick's runner."
"Damn right mate."
"Hell yeah," I nod as we clink our beers together.
“Why do I have to this man? Can’t you pick up chicks on your own, you’re a big boy ditch those training wheels, be a man.”
“Hey you owe me man; I lent you that c-note two weeks ago. I don’t even know what you spent it on; I don’t even want to know. All I’m asking is you to run a little interference, on her friend.”
Fuck it, fuck it. The bastard had to bring up the c-note. Mother-fucking blackmailing mother-fucker.
Ok. So this is ok actually, really. So I have to run some-wing-man action for ‘Endless’ Mike Beckett, so he can try and pick up a chick he met sitting next to him in one of his classes. By the way judging from his description, meeting is being used very liberally.
But, I guess I have to. Why do these things happen to me? Haven’t I been a good person? Ok, maybe not. Anyways it’s not fair. And how the fuck do you actually go about trying to make a borderline alcoholic who reeks of salami and Brut, and is quite possibly insane look good. We are talking about a guy who once jumped from the window of a fifth floor apartment and almost impaled himself on a wrought-iron railing after all. Should be easy.
We’re on the outskirts of Washington Square as we debate this, the chick and her friend sitting on the edge of the fountain. He points her out, she’s only moderately cute. My target is her Asian girlfriend next to her, who looks like one of those Japanese chicks who wear a perpetual scowl as her nominal facial expression.
She’s talking on her cell as we approach and I sit down next to her on the edge of the fountain. I try to say hello, but she waves me quiet. Oh great. I fucking hate it when chicks do that? Like we’ve got nothing better to do than wait for them to hang up? And then they have these twenty-minute conversations while we try and pretend that we don’t care, when in reality it’s almost as painful as reading the complete Jane Austen.
All of which means you’re left with two options.
A: walk away. This makes you look like a wuss and you don’t get digits or laid down the line.
Or
B: You wait. This immediately gives her the power advantage, as you’re basically telling her you’re so desperate you’ll put up with any amount of shit. This usually ends up with you taking her out on five dates, blowing money you don’t actually have in college and maybe getting some pussy down the line. And that’s if you’re lucky.
I look her over while I wait for her to get off the phone. I guess she’s kind of cute.
She's wearing a retro-style t-shirt with a Manga character on it and the words 'Action Girl.' On top of that, a cut-off Betsey Johnson army jacket with the embroidered symbols of a fictional South American country, complete with dog-tags. Her stretch denim jeans are positively dull by comparison. She has a baby blue flower shaped hair clip on the side of her hair at the front, apart from that her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing these oversized vintage Bill Blass sunglasses.
Mikey’s seems to be doing pretty well with his chick, least this is all in some kind of point.
The Asian chick clicks her cell off and looks over her sunglasses at me.
“Yeah, can I help you?”
“Damon Chandler, I smile. “Friend of Mike’s.”
“Umm…like, who’s Mike?” She says while giving me this bemused ‘what’s the joke’ look, until Mike’s chick gives her this play along look after which she turns back to me, smiles and let’s me shake her hand.
“Chloe, Chloe Yamamoto,” she beams completely fake like.
“So…you go to school here?”
“Yeah,”she replies only half-sarcastically.
“Cool, cool…what you study.”
“Broadcast journalism. At the moment anyway…”
She laughs, I fake a laugh back.
“Sounds cool. English Lit. and Politics.”
“What?”
“English Lit. and Politics. That’s me.”
“Oh…great. Hey you got the time?”
“Five to three.”
She apologizes profusely, says she’s got a lecture, kisses the other girl on the cheek and says it’s really great to meet you to me, and gets up and walks off.
I wait maybe a minute before I leave, ‘cause it’s not like I have anything to do here now anyway. I need a caffeine fix anyway.
Ignore the coffee cart guy, I’ve had a, well let’s say, disagreement with him. Besides he’s a born again Christian, and like all B.A.G’s, he insists on nagging me about this. So fuck him.
I head for the Violet instead.
As I wait in line to order whatever gay coffee they have when I notice that the girl at the start of the line, taking forever and holding everyone up is that Chloe chick. I watch her as she walks back with her coffee, not noticing, and make a note of where she sits (outside) and go over and sit down at her table.
“So, I thought you had a lecture or something?” I say lighting a smoke and offering her one, which she takes and lights.
“So I lied,” she shrugs and exhales out of the side of her mouth. “I had to get outta there anyway, what with your friend and all.”
“Wow you’re quick. Most chicks I’ve met won’t ever leave when a guy’s trying to scam on her friend.”
“Bet most of them do it deliberately too.”
“I bet.”
“Like this is the first time this has ever happened, besides I noticed you didn’t stick around.”
“Once you left, hey, my work was done.”
“How’d you get roped into it anyway? I mean, you don’t mind me asking that, do you?”
“Why the fuck should I? Mike there lent me some booze money last week, and well you know how blackmail works.”
She laughs. This is going well, funny thing is I don’t know if I actually intended it to or not. Just weird. I mean this girl’s pretty attractive and all, and I wouldn’t mind doing her, and she’s even relatively interesting, by college girl standards anyway.
I never noticed it before, because she really didn’t talk at length, but she speaks with one of those Connie Chung type Asian-American voices. Must be the broadcast journalism stuff she does. It’s really endearing actually, almost a turn on even.
“I do have a lecture, just not at three, at four. I’m going to skip it anyway,” she smiles at me.
“Don’t let me sway your decision. So what are you anyway, Japanese, Korean what?”
“Japanese, born there, grew up here.”
“Fascinating,” I say respond dryly, with only a slight roll of maybe one eye.
‘Hey shut up,” she whacks me across the arm, but knocks my coffee off the table ,smashing the cup and making a really cool coffee stain on the ground.
We both look at each other, like we’re about to laugh, trying to figure out what to make of this. Eventually I say; “you know this is one of those time where words fail me, actually not so much fail me as trying to find some that won’t make you hit me on the arm again.”
We both burst out laughing.
“You got time to stay around; I’ll buy you another coffee.”
“Yeah sure, I’m not going anywhere.”
We start talking about the usual bullshit college students do, bitching about term papers, roommates, we expend an inordinate amount of time bad-mouthing those two idiots back in the Square. Eventually however I look at my watch and holy shit it’s near five. Guess I should have known by the light.
“Fuck, will you look at the time. Hey what are you doing later?”
“Going to the library for a couple of hours, why?” She giggles.
“Well there’s this party later, I mean it’ll almost definitely suck, but there’ll be free hooch, so I don’t know, it might be worth stopping by.”
“You’re funny.”
“Thanks. So…do you…want to go?”
“Actually it sounds cool, meet me outside Bobst at say…eight?”
“Meet you there,” she says as we get up to leave.
From out of nowhere she kisses me on the cheek. “Later.”
I smile as we walk off in separate directions.
Why does she have to flirt with me? I'm fucking sick of Adele flirting with me.
And, its not that I like her, at all ,she's a friend of a friend of a friend, if I'm honest. One of those people you never invite or plan to hang with, but is always there.
She's pushing her breasts out across the table and sucking a lollipop. She hates any chick I hit on vocally, even though her opinion means nothing to me.
When I was going out with Katie I went out of my way to find her a boyfriend. This wasn't easy. Eventually I found this cro-magnon well to do med student called Dorian. I thought this would work. It has, she's still fucking him, but the flirting remains.
Right now I'm trying to get this hard body Lisa into bed. Adele's happy to ask embarrassing questions to her, and position herself so it looks like we're attached.
I abort. Say I've got a class to go to and leave. Adele does too, but later.
I walk past undercover and spy on Lisa. She looks sad and downcast and she's sitting alone. Has this 'what did I do wrong?' look.
I feel like strangling Adele, but something better will come up for that bitch.
It's taken me two skipped lectures, which I really kinda had to go to to find him, but Jimmy is in the dorms. Wasn't there the first time, but that wasn't his dorm anymore. I need information. Who else would I go to?
"James what do you know about a guy called Dorian O’Hara?"
"Why?"
"Indulge me," I say with a wave of my hand.
"He's smart, nice guy… oh yeah he takes med."
I laugh sarcastically at just how helpful he is.
"Wow that’s all very incriminating Jimmy. Maybe’ll be a character reference when he applies for his medical internship. Something more incriminating please?"
He forces alaugh
"What makes you think I know anything anyway?"
"Jimmy, you know everything about everyone on campus. Think harder."
"Ok, Ok. I know one thing."
"Spill it."
"Ian told me, that Dorian told him , that, well, his girlfriend likes him to rear end her. Full on, not doggy, rectally. "
"No shit," I smile, actually amazed. ‘Can’t say I’m stunned. It’s always the preppy fuckers. Had a guy on my first dorm floor. His roommate found man on dog porn on his Apple. Man-cow too. He said it was from Kentucky, that he bought the thing from some redneck and never cleaned the hard disk. Bullshit. Everyone ended up calling him ‘Shaggy’
"Will you shut up,’ he says throwing a Nerf tennis ball at my head. “It Gets better. He likes it."
"You're shitting me?"
He shakes his head quickly.
"Use your phone Jimmy?"
"What are you up to?" He asks suspiciously, yet interested.
"Trust me," I whisper, "Hello, Alistair? Great. I've a favour to ask you....Yeah, yeah I'll hook you up , usual fee? Cool. You want a nice fresh ass....Good. Meet me at Wreck Room at lets say eightish..... No it isn't me you freak...eightish. Later."
"Sick bastard," Jimmy says. ‘Was that dog story true?’
‘Think so. Peterson told me about it.’
10:10 PM, Wreck Room.
"Cheers."
"I think I'm getting a lee-ttl-e drunk," Dorian complains.
"Just a little?" Alistair asks him smugly.
"Trust me," I say, reassuringly, "I'll get the next round."
"You know you're a great friend..."
"No I'm not."
"You really are dude."
"If you say so."
He must have six or seven rum and cokes in him by now and when I come back with more Dorian's got his arm over Alistair's shoulder.
"Will you be my friend?" He asks him.
"Sure."
This is proceeding quicker than expected. Shouldn't surprise me though. Combine the campest fag on campus (Alistair Brighton) and a repressed med school dickhead prone to rectal adventures. Mix with tequila shots stir with bacardi and this is what you get.
I'm back at the bar talking to Tony, whose got these horrible ethical complications.
"You do realise what you're doing," He says nodding at the table. I look. Alistair is telling one of his dirty jokes. Dorian's laughing and he slaps the tabletop.
I feign ignorance. "Match making?"
He gives me his disapproval look.
"Mind If I join you?"
"Yes actually," I grin. But he does decide to join us. He looks puzzled on the way. I call him on it.
"What's your motivation."
"Nothing."
"I bet…" he says too smugly. Fuck him.
"What's your favourite band of all time?" Dorian asks Alistair. It comes out all mumbled his head resting on his arms.
"Of all time?" He replies eyes bulging, "tough,no, I lie. 'Right Said Fred' maybe, or 'C+C Music Factory'."
"Yeah...?"
I look at Alistair as if to say slow down. His look confirms it's not really necessary. I have to agree. One of the barmen gives us a look like Dorian's had enough as he goes past. Check my watch. Elevenish. Band's packing up. Decide to leave. Alistair agrees.
"Where's your dorm Dorian?" Alistair asks when we're outside.
"Huh?" He replies barely able to stand upright.
"Where-do-you-live?" He asks again in an almost whisper.
"Oh, ah Third North."
"God, that's really far. Maybe you should crash at my place."
"Where, where ,ah where do you live?"
"Hayden."
"Thanks man, that's cool of you."
"See you boy's later," I say chirpily.
I walk away. Turn back just once. Alistair's trying to prop him up and walk him home.
I can't believe I'm eating this shit," I say to Alistair while I'm eating this creamy white gunk which is something to do with chicken. Don't know what exactly.
"Can't all have trust funds sweety."
"Don't call me sweety. So what happened?"
"Oh yes your boy. Well. It was the all I could do to keep the fucker awake. But the booze did get rid of those nasty conservative little morals..."
"I see."
"Can I continue? Good. Boy's got a great big..."
"Please, I'm trying not to eat here."
"Fine.Really poor oral. Kept complaining. I don't know must have thought I was his girlfriend because he kept screaming some girl's name."
"Charming. Anyway well done..."
I'm suddenly distracted or attracted by an ex-fuck that's not fat enough. She waves. I nod back.
"So Damon where's my little 'study aid'?" He actually uses his fingers to spell out the inverted commas. Christ.
"Yeah I'm going by Simon's later. Stop by your dorm tonight probably."
"Simon's 'stuff' is awful," he does it again.
"Don't deal with any one else..."
"Guess it's alright. Give Simone my regards."
"Pleasure doing business with you," I offer my hand as I get up.
"Oh I had the pleasure."
"I bet you did."
"What with his giant..."
"Hey."
So, I'm sitting in this class that I don't really want to be in, but I felt kinda guilty this morning, so I am. anyway , it's been going for a whole fifteen minutes and the desire to leave and have a smoke is overwhelming.
The lecturer, with her typically uncomfortable posture and outdated late 80's wardrobe, knows how bad this is going and is trying to keep our attention with a video clip. You can still hear mumbling and chattering amongst us during the clip. This makes her look more uncomfortable. The less brave who feel bad for her simply pass notes.
I've got to twenty minutes now , and the need to pay any attention seems to have passed. Start scanning the class instead, I.Ding and catergorizing. Always fun.
Down the front is easy. It's either the 'mature' students enjoying their second chance at life and treating everything way too seriously, or the geeks , those actually interested in this beyond course credit. They ask three part questions in class, visit lecturers when they don't want an extension , never party and get straight A's. Basket cases. We should be admiring them really. They'll leave
with a pocket full of A's a masters degree and a great job. But there's smething alltogether pathetic about them that you can't get past.
The middle part. Bit harder. Some are moderate students, but not fanatical, others for no more insightful reason than course credit. See in the fifth row there, there's 'Haystack' Colhoun. Smile Haystack, good boy.
He can't think I want to talk to him can he? Probably, fucking paramecium.
One row down there's the average guy who's maybe kinda cool , but probably not.
His parents re-eally love him and he chucks after three Coor's at frat parties. Probably.
The back row, much like in High School, is the domain of the educational reprobates, the losers who seem to pass despite no effort, and infuriate the the front row geeks in the process. It's an attack on their value system you see.
We sit here to avoid being seen , and to be able to leave if the class bites, as it always seems to. I do that in twenty minutes , but until I do I'll examine the rest. God, what a bunch of tryhards. I feel like yelling 'be more interesting.'
I've got no idea what the lecturer bitch is getting excited about. Something about racism in 'Heart of Darkness' I think.
Hold the line...who is that? There's this really cute brunette in the third row. I think Cam had a crush on her once but got nowhere with her, so she's fair game.
Class is over, waiting outside for the brunette. My sexual mechanism is out of whack because I haven't been laid in two weeks. I'm approaching the level of a sexually frustrated teacher's aide. Had to do that paper in case I decide to pass. Fucking recluse in a dorm room that smells of beer, chitos and sleep depravation. Can't fucking fake essays, they cross-check your writing style. My brother told me that years ago.I deserve a reward.
Here she comes bounding along happily , very perky and pleased with herself. I purposefully bump into her, knocking her notes to the ground, and introduce myself.
'Hi.'
'Hi.'
'I'm Da...Dylan Robson_'
'Emma,' she replies, shaking my hand.
'Listen, I know this'll sound weird , but I've been really sick , missed a few classes , and you look smart , could yoy y'know help me catch up?'
'What right now?"
'Well , yeah.'
She agrees, they always do , and I suggest going uptown, reasonably sure my sister won't be around.
My sister wasn't in the apartment, thank fucking god, and we've finished exchanging notes. I offer her a drink.
'I really shouldn't, under twenty-one and all.'
God she's so moral I could be sick.
But like all stupid college ditzes who are away from , and still naive, it's not long before I've talked her into 'one drink not doing any harm.'
It's now four-fifty-one and poor Emma has found that after a four or five large glasses of Riesling , her normally responsible self has gone. Well, it was the Riesling and the Rohypnol I slipped into one of them.
Now she feels the uncontrollable urge to act like a flirty little school girl.
Capital as Dad would say. Soon she doesn't feel like this anymore , and collapses on her back on the leather couch.
I pick her up and carry her into my bedroom.
I toss Emma onto the bed with a loud plumpf, which causes her to regain some perspective on things.
'Wait...wait...why am I in da bedroom?' she says in a cloudy, dis-orientated voice.
Her more sophisticated , put on college accent has given weay to a new voice. Possibly Bronx?
I respond in a bored voice, 'because I want to make love to you.'
She looks on confused as I unbutton her white blouse and tan 3/4 lenghth skirt, and dispose of these unnecessary bitems on the floor. Her mildy un-filled out form lays before me on the bed, only constrined by a pink push up bra and panties. I move slowly but deliberatly to my closet and fetch my sister's borrowed steadycam.
As I line her up in shot Emma wakes and asks ,'what's wid da camera?'
'I'm just filming you a little bit babe.'
She's still unsure. Reading what's left of her mind I say in advance of her next protest,' yeah, I'm going to film you and show you to all of my friends.'
She's way too drunk for sarcasm, and takes me seriously. This is turning into a major drag. I have to mollify her now.
'I just think you're beautiful, Ok?'
Amazingly this works. She lies on the bed doing her best little Lolita impersonation while I keep filming her. I crawl on top of her and unfasten her bra and remove the panties, still filming. I step back and take a wide sshot of her there. Her tits are small. I'll still fuck her though, I'm as horny as a rabbit on vitamins.
I turn the camera off. I go down on her, she giggles a lot. She's relatively comatose, which puts me off a bit, I start to screw her instead. She's pretty tight for a college girl...oh shit is she a virgin?
I try and wake her up by shaking her head hard, but it doesn't work. I start fucking her again. It's like fucking a foam sponge. Limp with occaisional moaning, in a way where I can't figure out if it's pain or orgasm. She starts complaining as she climaxes, and I have to tell her I'm sorry, without meaning it at all.
I take out the disposable camera.
There's too many people around you. You feel lost, and a drowning sensation overwhelms you. Can't move without walking sideways into people and when you do you're greeted with a chorus of "watch where you're walking."
You yell out your name, but no one hears or they pretend not to.
You yell out "help" more loudly, but only a street vendor responds. He tries to sell you a knock-off Nokia.
You start running as quick as you can, but never seem to get anywhere.
You run into people ,and almost fall, your lungs burning. The same market stalls still seem to be next to you no matter how far you run. Your lungs burn. You keep running but don't know from what.
You can see the edge of the market now and 14th Street ahead. It seems to take minutes to get there. Your head floods, and you notice the sweat pouring off of your forehead. Your hands are shaking.
You can't remember where you are anymore, and your mind goes blank and dark.
"Help," you scream again.
You reach 14th and keep running. Streets don't matter any more, and you quickly lose track.
You end up in a mini-mart. Browsing too many soft drinks you're thinking. They all promise to quench your thirst, but you know they're designed to do the opposite.
Goddamn lies.
You pass a security camera , and just stare at it. Who's looking? At what? Is anyone there at all?
It moves. A shop assistant walks over and puts his hand on your shoulder. He asks if you're feeling alright. You mumble something and run.
The desk jockey at Third North keeps asking for your ID card.
You're standing ,swaying and sweating.
"Can I see you're ID card please?"
Eventually you're able to find it and show it to him, and he just looks at it. You're here wobbling and shaking and he's still looking at it squinting, really squinting. He finally gives up says that , yeah that's OK and that you can go.
Up in your dorm room you get the large salad bowl that passed as a birthday gift from your Dad one year. Put Lots of ice and cold water in it. You take off your shirt and sit down on the chair with your arm in the bowl full of ice. Hope no one comes home you think.
After an hour the arm stopped hurting , but feels really numb. Head clearer now. Know what you have to do now. Get the box cutter out of the kitchen and sit down grinding it open. You can't avoid staring at the blade. You're all a tingle. So excited. So excited. Teeth are chattering and you imagine a grin fills your face.
Cut across your left wrist and blood spurts out hot and thick. Cut up the centre of the wrist deeper again trying to get past the vein and into the artery. It's taking a while, cut damn you, bleed. Feeling really cold now, shivering uncontrollably. The artery won't cut. Can't see the wrist for blood. It's all over you. You try to cut deeper , but the box-cutter slips from your fingers.
The blood from the slashed arteries keeps pumping out in time with your heart. Like water trying to go down a blocked drain. Belching it back up. Feel weak. You're fading. Time to die. Is this it? Or are you just passing out?
Blood everywhere, still pumping out.
If you can't find anything worth ... right?
Hope its death. Stomach's churning. Oh god. your wrist, its still splurting blood. Here we go...
When you wake up it's thanks to a paramedic slapping you across your face. You try and lift the wrist but its being stitched and bandaged by another paramedic. You just want to fall asleep. Too tired. Your focus is starting to go.
The first guy, who you can't focus on, is yelling stay awake at you. Cam's on one side smoking a cigarette. He doesn't smoke. Hold on, does he live here? You tell him to give you one. The paramedic thinks it's a good idea. You pull yourself more upright and look yourself over. There's bile all over your shirt. It smells disgusting. Blood all over your arm, your shirt and on the the floor in puddles. The other paramedic is stitching your wrist up with thread. You hadn't noticed it's so numb. The wrist you cut looks grey.
You feel sick and the good wrist is pale too. Weak too.
You manage to say something. "I'm OK right?"
They don't respond, and you start to be able to feel the wrist again.
Suddenly you vomit and the paramedic jumps clear. Then another bout. Start to fall asleep.
Thursday April 29th 1999.
I’m in the midst of one of those really exciting days, where I can find nothing better to do but hang out at the Washington Square News offices on E. 12th St. My friend acquaintance Bernard James’ the student feature’s editor or some such crap, I don’t really care. He has a desk with a phone though. He does some film reviews, some local theatre and a column under a weekly column ‘The Inarticulate N.Y.U Student.’ I do some op/ed writing from time to time under a pseudonym, Ferris’ Cooler Brother, where I basically let fire on whatever’s bothering me this week.
So I’m loitering here at Bernard
Highlight of the day so far, the writer/director of some MA student play at Provincetown , who’s play I did a hatchet job on last week , rang up an threatened me. Piece of shit play, some Gen-X slacker ‘Singles’ rip-off. Simon came along when I reviewed it and laughed his head off the whole way through.
Here’s the transcript.
(PHONE RINGS)
“Yeah, Washinton Square News.
[Is this Bernard James?]
“…ahh… yeah it is.”
[You fucking asshole. Why the fuck did you say that about my play.]
“Who is this?”
[Who is this? Oh that’s fuckin’ funny. Who is this he says. I’m the guy who’s play you trashed. And I want a goddamn apology.]
It’s the writer/director of some MA student play at Provincetown , who’s play Bernard did a hachet job on last week. Piece of shit play, some Gen-X slacker ‘Singles’ rip-off. I came along with Simon when Bernard reviewed it, Simon laughed his head off the whole way through.
Anyway, this is too much fun to miss.
“So what you want is a big kiss to make things better. Fuck you asshole. Get a grip. Play blowed , no apology.”
[I spent three years writing this. You’ve caused myself and my actors a lot of pain. I’m getting graded on this.]
“Well I should certainly hope so, that was the point you idiot.”
[Don’t call me an idiot.]
“Why not? Come on the review wasn’t that bad. There criticism in there I think,” I say trying not to sound too sarcastic.
[You compared me to Ed Wood.]
“Oh, you’re right, that was uncalled for, I apologise. That’s a terrible way to talk about Ed Wood.”
[Oh that’s fucking it. What about this , and I’m quoting here, ‘Matthews directs plays like old people fuck,’ ‘The whole thing has the wit and insight of an ‘Ernest Movie Festival…]
“Yeah, that’s my personal favourite too.”
[‘…you know it happens , but you don’t want to see it’ , what’d’ya call that…?]
“The truth.”
[…and I think you’re way out of line on my performance too. I’ve been to acting classes since I was ten…]
“Ok I’m so sorry then, it all makes sense now. It’s the teachers fault.”
[What?]
“He should obviously have told you that you were wasting your time, because you have no talent.”
[You know what , fuck you , my work stands for itself , I don’t care what you say.]
“Your work stands as a good cheap constipation cure alternative. But that’s just my opinion, some people probably liked it. Me? I like good theatre, so go fuck yourself. If you wanna complain write a fucking letter, otherwise go to hell ass-wipe.”
(CLICK)
People.
All right it’s official that’s been the highlight. Apart from that it’s been pretty dull, I’m sitting there cruising the net for good cheap porn, thinking of loading those Emma pics to this dating website and getting 50 responses in the first half hour, mainly from Delaware.
“Who the fuck was that?” Bernard says leaning up.
“Just that guy whose play you savaged.”
“What you say?”
“Told him to fuck off.”
“Good,” he says rolling over and going back to sleep.
Then she walks in , sweet and innocent and bubbling with enthusiasm. Most potential volunteers are discouraged by the reality of the place. She was as upbeat as I've seen. Cute too with that blonde pony tail. There’s something about my stalker where you just want to jump her.
I fail to intercept her before she can approach Bernard first.
"Hiya. I'd like to volunteer I'd like to write for your periodical," she asks in a voice with a southern undercurrent.
Bernard stirs from his hung over sleep on a couch.
"What you say?"
She begins again. "Hi, I'm Charlotte Alcott, but everyone calls me just plain old Becky, anyway I'd like to volunteer for a writing position..."
He smiles, he’s just made the association about who he’s talking to and me. He thinks for an eon before saying in his sleazy back alley sorta way ,
“Well… I'm sure I can think of a position for you beautiful."
She looks puzzled. I intervene saying that Bernard's on a deadline and why doesn't she talk to me. Bernard yells out that I'm a jerk-off before losing interest and falling back asleep.
She sits down at the desk I'm not working at.
"Great first a few details. Do you have any writing experience?"
She pulls out a stack of High School paper's and puts them on the desk and smiles.
"Great," I say, taken aback.
"What writing do you like to do?"
"Anything really. I've been reading your newspaper since I got to NYU. I'll do anything."
"Oh really," I say dripping innuendo. She giggles.
Dr.Hunter, the supposed editor, storming in, yelling that he wants to see me, interrupts me.
“Is that shit head Chandler in here?”
“His masters voice,” I mumble. "I've got to go." I tell Charlotte. "But I've got a ton of articles I need to be written. Maybe we can, hmm grab a bite, or a drink, later on. Say fourish?"
"OK" she smiles.
This is crap, of course. It's two weeks 'til the end of semester we don't need more volunteers.
‘Dr.’ Jim Hunter is this guy in his thirties who edit-in-chiefs the paper. He’s from So-Cal buts lived out here since he was in college. The joke around the paper is that he was told there was good surf out here, but never found any, and eventually ended up here. Real asshole.
What Hunter, Dr my ass, was bitching about was some op/ed piece I submitted for a column. called 'Meet your Rep.' I let Bruce McCahill write it instead. He basically insulted the student senator I was supposed to profile.
This week on Thomas (has no friends) Benjamin. Bruce referred to him as and I quote;'...a spineless jellyfish with no friends, no dick and no dress sense.' Apparently Hunter is pissed about it.
“Chandler I’m not even going to think about publishing this. The Office of Student Activities will tear us apart.”
“So don’t?”
“Yeah, well, now I’ve gotta find a ,y’know, new piece by five.”
‘And?”
‘You’re gonna write it. Get out of here. I want it on my desk by four.”
Shit.
6:08 PM.
After I finished the re-write for the third time, Hunter was being a real jerk-off about it, kept refusing it, I took Charlotte to ‘The Peculiar.’ I explain that '‘W.S.N’ really welcomes any new writers.' and that she can pretty much write whatever she likes. Charlotte (love that name) comes from Louisiana. She is a freshman majoring in journalism.
"You know, most journalism students refuse to write for us out of principal,” I crack wise.
We seem to be getting on well over this assortment of meat and salad then she asks me; "is this a date?"
I'm thrown off guard by her bluntness. I have to think. Is it? I wasn't sure either, but I picked up on her vibe of her almost wanting it to be.
"Do you want it to be?"
"I don't mind," she replies, "can I tell you a secret?"
"Shoot."
"I think you're cute. Actually I only came in because I see you around and I followed you."
She frowns as she waits for me to reply.
"Really," I respond sarcastically, "I hadn’t noticed,you still want to write for us?"
"OK. I mean I guess so."
"I'm attracted to you too," I tell her to put her at ease.
"You want to go on a proper date sometime, my little southern belle."
"Sure, I mean that'd be great…"
"I think you should know I'm incredibly rich."
"My family's wealthy too. So, Damon Chandler. What can you do to impress me with your New York money."
"Anything. Play catch at Yankee Stadium , have a party on top of the World trade Center… Hell, I could have Freddie Prinze Jr dance in Times Square in a pink tutu, if I wanted."
"Can you do the last one for me, he's dreamy."
"Well I don't have him in my pants..."
"No silly, I was ribbing you."
"I see."
I don't.
After lecture drinking session with Bernard at Wreck Room. Sitting at the bar, well and truly onto my third beer.
Fisher’s here too, friend of Bernard’s. I hate this guy. One of those people who you’re nice to once and then they invite themselves to every get-together from then on. Lowest of the fucking low. And, no matter how obvious you make it that you don’t want them around they never take the hint. Bernard treats him like his own personal dogsbody, even though he’s meant to be his friend.
My stalker’s here again this evening. I’m almost kinda flattered. Never had a stalker before. Well, there was this one fag my freshman year, but that was just creepy. Actually I think he was the R.A.
She’s kind cute I’m thinking.
Just caught her looking at me, she turns away and hides her eyes. I love doing that.
“Hey Chandler, I think that chick’s lookin’ at you,” Bernard says pointing.
“Shut up,” I say through clenched teeth.
I’ve told him about the stalker at least twice, this is unacceptable.
“Seriously she’s fucking vibing you dude.”
My stalker get’s up , gathers her bag off the floor and leaves the bar.
“Well thank you fuck wad. That was the stalker, remember?”
“No shit,” he says laughing, “That was her.”
“You’re a dick, ya know that?”
“She’s kinda cute, you should date her,” Fischer butts in.
‘Fuck you monkey man.’
I shoot him my ‘I hate you look’ and start looking for a table with only two chairs.
The Nightmare before Finals.
( A Poem?)
Twas the night before finals, and all through the bar
The creatures did gripe that the pumps were too far.
The alcohol they did tuck into with glee
While looking for an excuse to forgo study.
And then in the dorm's, an echo of sound
All just the same, but ten times as loud.
The crackle of college flings dying there and then
Surely meant summer was nigh to begin
The girlfriend said no, the boyfriend said yes
And the reason, 'I'm tired with this jest!
Those not at study at the kegger be found
To puff on joints, and drink beer by the pound
Excuses were made, and debated on out
To fool one's parents one needs extra clout.
One said I've failed( before testing was done.)
His excuse, alas, was believed by no one.
For If he had failed already, twas thought
Why not earlier had you done nothing but snort
The geeks were in bed by just 10 O'Clock
For up they must be, and of refreshed stock.
The roommate despised her and this much was clear
Her desire to pass was her over-riding care.
And oddly enough all through the night
Where only the DJ was as lively as a sprite.
The rooms were all quite through all Washington Square
For finals tomorrow they had top prepare.
By Bernard James II
Monday 24th May 1999. 12:41PM.
I'm already late meeting 'Mom number one' when I sit down in the rotunda at 'The Pierre.' It's cool though, she already called my phone and said she'd be late. She rushes in five minutes later with a lot of motion. This guy blonde tanned guy in, I'm guessing, his early fifties accompanies her. White turtleneck, khakis and a blue blazer with the monogram 'A.J.M.' The Steinbrenner look.
"Damon.My god you've grown," she says sitting down. "This is Arthur Morris, my fiancee."
Say what!!!???
He extends his hand towards me and says, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"You've heard a lot about me right?"
His eyes move nervously.
I shake it ,and sip some of my green jasmine tea.
"I did tell you I was remarrying, didn't I?"
"Not really, no." I say creasing my brow. I start noticing the engagement ring she's wearing. It's huge.
"How old is he?" Artie says.
"Twenty four." I smile, the grin I'm holding in place making me nauseous.
"Are you really now? Goodness," she says. "Damon is still at University dear."
"He is? Doing what?"
"As little as possible…"
"Man after my own heart." Artie laughs, trying to win me over with it.
I force a laugh and feel seedy.
‘What are you majoring in?’
‘Sarcasm.’
‘Mom number one’ looks at me sternly, and clears her throat.
"English. I’m still coming to grips with it. It’s such a difficult language, don’t you think? What do you do Arthur?"
"Oh." He seems genuinely shocked. "I work in a brokerage firm."
"Really."
"Vice President. In charge of mergers."
"Great , an investment banker," I smile.
The waiter comes over and puts a bear plate of scones on the table. Artie immediately takes one and starts buttering it.
"Tea sir, madam?"
"Earl Grey I think dear?" Artie replies.
"Yes that’s fine," she says quickly dismissing the waiter
"So Mom, how long you in town for?"
"A couple of weeks dear."
"Cool."
I finish off my tea and motion for a re-fill.
"How's your father Damon?"
"Fine I think. Think he made 250 grand last week. So he's happy probably."
"I mean how is he personally?"
"Yeah, oh, oh. I think he's OK."
"Your sister?"
"Fine."
"Do you have any lectures today? I thought we might go to Central Park if you're free."
"Actually College is…really hectic this time of year. Finals and all."
"Can you skip it today?" She asks me, looking sad.
"I really need to go actually…"
"Oh well,if you must, we could do dinner couldn't we dear?"
"Oh yes definitely. Could you direct me to the toilet in here, please Damon?"
I point out the directions.
"Excuse me won't you all?"
"Oh, of course," I find myself saying.
"You look well Damon. I like your hair…"
"Thanks? Are you really gonna marry him mom?'
"Not that it's your business, but yes."
"Oh great," I sigh rolling my eyes. "Now I've got three mothers and two fathers. I think I've got a winning hand."
She doesn't say anything and sips her tea, so I refuse the urge to drink mine.
"Actually, I was hoping you'd be there."
"Jesus Mom.Another stocks and bonds guy. Didn't the whole Dad nightmare teach you anything?"
"Don't lecture me."
Artie starts to come back.
"We shall continue this later," she whispers.
"Fine, fine."
"What are you two talking about."
He leans over and kisses Mom while he says this.
"Nothing," we reply as one.
Tuesday May 25th 1999.
Dylan keeps reminding me about the restaurant opening tonight. I keep replying that I won't. He's been driving his black SAAB around the Hampton's for about an hour, because he can't remember where he lives, because he lost the address , because he moved house. Crispin keeps complaining how he never noticed that everything looks the same out here.
It's getting really hot in the car so I ask Dylan to open the roof up. He doesn't. I light a cigarette, and he does. Dylan's old man's a Managing Director at AMEX. Dylan's got a job there now. He's only on a seventy grand a year because he's just starting.. At school he was one of those guys with a huge group of ... yeah, well groupies
We were at a Yank's game earlier. Sat in his Dads' dugout level seats. His old man is sick , so they flashed his name on the scoreboard with 'Get well soon' ,Dylan cringed when he saw it. Boston's short stop hit a home run in the ninth off some Yankee reliever. So as he entered the dug out Dylan called his mother a rancid whore. The guy ignored him, so Dylan waited outside near their team bus, and insulted him again. Some other player, a big Dominican, told him to go fuck himself. Dylan bitched about calling ESPN all the way to the express way.
"Can't you ring?" Crispin asks.
"Forgot his number."
"Shit," he seethes.
"What is your dealer doing in the Hamptons anyway?" I ask as I stare out the window, looking for a neo-Georgian two-storey house with a lawn. I seem to be surrounded by them.
"Use a city dealer. One with a pager or a cell."
"Or free lance."
"Are you looking?"
We eventually find the place, only after the dealer, this guy called Rico, rang Dylan's mobile. Door's unlocked so we just go in. Crispin brings up the rear.
Rico's a barrel gutted Puerto Rican wearing a pink tank top, with Rico Suave printed on it, that doesn't hide his gut, and an orange speedo. He's making out in a chair with a girl who used to be hot in school. Her younger friend sits in a faded denim skirt, Bill Blass's and no top. Her legs are draped over one arm of the couch.
"Rico my man," Dylan yells as he enters the living room, "what you changed teams again?"
"Si Amigo.This is April and Chrissie.What can I do you for today?"
"I know April.Damon and Crispin," he says waving his hand in our direction.
"I presume thees ain't a social call hombre."
"Yeah, I just enjoy your company so much."
"Dil-ann, you're hurtin' my feelings. What took you so long anyway?"
"Got lost."
"You grew up out here,"he says, shaking his head disapprovingly.
"So where's the coke?"
He gets up and goes to a cupboard in the stairwell, and comes back with a wooden cigar box.
"You boys want anything?" he says turning to us.
"Couple of grams of ko-caine."
"Same as Dil-ann cool?"
I hand him a roll of hundreds.
"You?" He looks at Crispin.
"PCP?"
"Oh I am sorry, I'm all out of the Angel Dust."
"Gram of the same."
"Okay.Hey nice shades man," he says clicking his fingers for Crispin to let him see them.
"Very nice," he says giving them back.
Rico points a remote at the stereo, Frankie Goes To Hollywood 'Two Tribes' starts blaring out.
"I love this song," he says and starts singing the chorus. Think he was singing the ‘suck to it’ at me.
The hot Chrissie chick heads out back towards a pool.
Dylan indicates that we better be leaving. Rico asks what the rush is invitingly, so we stay. He sits down next to me, putting his hand on my thigh. My eyes practically bulge out of my head as I stare across at Dylan, who just shrugs.
‘I need some air,’ I say getting up quickly and walking back out by the pool to look for that Chrissie chick.
She’s diving into the pool and swimming on her back. She smiles when she sees me.
Sitting on the leather couch by the pool next to Crispin.Chrissie's lying across both of us, despite a chair being free. Rico does atom bombs in the pool.
"This is really comfortable,"she says rolling her hips across my dick.
"How'd you afford this place?" Dylan asks surveying the house.
"Didn't amigo.Guy I'm humping does."
"He knows you're not gay anymore," I laugh mid grind.
"I'm still gay muchacho," he says in an offended tone then more up beat,"you boys like a drink?"
Crispin follows him inside and does two massive lines on the glass coffee table with a gold card and a fifty.
Rico comes back with two strawberry daiquiri's , three marguirita's and a White Russian. He sits in a sun chair and April sits in his lap. Crispin starts sucking on Chrissie's toes, while I feed her the daiquiri. 'You Spin Me' comes on the stereo followed by 'Are Friends Electric' and 'Kids in America.' Rico finishes making out, and heads up this winding white carpeted staircase with April.
"We off?" Dylan asks standing up.
"I'm taking a dip,"Crispin says.
"Got a point. You coming Chandler?"
"Maybe later," I wink as Chrissie giggles. I turn to her and she's smoking a joint and looking spaced.
"You going swimming babe?"
She whispers some different idea in my ear.
I'm lying on top of her on this four poster bed. I reach down and untie the strings on her bikini brief, and start to head down. She stops me and says.
"Don't."
"What?"
"What is it with guys , can't anyone just fuck anymore?"
"No harm, no foul," I say as I shake and shrug.
"I hate you," she says deadpan out of nowhere.
"What are you talking about?"
"I hate you. I can only fuck guys I hate," she says pulling my polo shirt over my head and loosening my belt.
‘Right.’
The restaurant's called Perche on 51st street. I don't know what that means, but it's Italian. Its really dark inside, with these spotlights the only illumination. The invites describe it as a restaurant for young people with high disposable incomes. In other words kids with trust funds. Chloe cancelled on me, so I'm here with Karen. She's pretty high or drunk ,or both. I've been drinking martini's, smoking since I got there. The martinis are way too dry.
The placelooks like it was done on the cheap. The tables are formica with metal siding. There’s V.I.P rooms out back I’ve been told, but they haven’t bothered to open them. DiCaprio and a whole list of Southampton celebs were meant to be here, they’ve either bailed before I got here, or they had something better to do. Like anything.
Rebecca , Dylan's squeeze of the season , tells me he put money into this stupid idea. He's been asking everyone if his or her food's ok like a fucking waiter. I tell him my cannelloni's a little overdone, just to piss him off.
Ashley Cartwright's sitting next to me at our table. She brought the usual idiot, one of her muscle bound studs from her gym, as her date. He didn't get half the menu, and couldn't order off the wine list I need some coke or scotch or vodka and the other type of coke . STAT.
"This is like prom, Damon. Remember prom?" Ashley turns my way and says.
"Yours or mine?"
"Didn't go to mine, so yours?"
"My prom."
"Yeah. Do-you-remember-it."
"No.And neither do you."
"What? Why?" She says and looks me disgust.
"Because you were drunk, and so was I. I don't know what the fuck you’re remembering."
"I remember Jason Priestley was there."
"That was the 90210 prom."
"No it wasn't," Karen interrupts. "He was there. We paid him to."
"Really ? Why don't I remember that?"
I don't like the décor of the restaurant I've decided. It's so tacky and bogus art nouveau type stuff is everywhere. Ashley likes it. What does that….
EXPLODING MYTH'S ABOUT ASHLEY CARTWRIGHT.
1. That she's a nice person.
TRUTH: Oh really? Well at least she pulls the illusion off well.
2. Ashley's a great lover.
TRUTH: Well she's great in bed. Lover? Who knows.
3. Ashley's smarter than most of her friends because she does Psych at Columbia.
TRUTH: This one seems solely based on that one A she got in her freshman year, and not her subsequent B- average
4. Ashley would never sleep with a tutor would she?
TRUTH: No. Lecturers and tutors. Many believe this to be the real reason behind the A.
So she's a slut,right?
Yeah, but she's a gorgeous pouty brunette, with a nice body and a fat trust fund, they get away with such things. They're promiscuous.
6. Ashley doesn't just date himbo's with nice bodies.
TRUTH: Duh! They're obvious dumber than her, so she's in charge. Her friends may embarrass her or even out smart her. See point 4.
...and I'm only at this thing because it's my step-sister Alice's birthday. I gave her a necklace. But I don't care about that ,couldn't even tell you which one. 22nd?
What I care about is that she currently lives in Dad's Trump Tower apartment.
She lets me crash there, but recently she's been threatening to rat me out to Dad. Dad refuses to let me live there. Something about the wild party I through there last year. Can’t even get a fucking key.
I'm sucking up unashamedly so she won't tell him. So far so good. Diamond's work on any girl.
Nobody's eaten much and Karen looks pretty gone. I'm a little stoned. I order another martini , and start thinking about going home with Ashley instead. Her date's pretty drunk, so she's probably thinking the same thing.
I kiss Karen and she comes to a little bit and mumbles something through a closed lipped smile.
I ask Alice where she found her date Mikhael, a lean tall guy in a leather jacket and jeans, with fashion stubble that's almost becoming a beard.
Says she met him at Tunnel.
"What were you doing at Tunnel?"
"Dancing."
Mikhael keeps sticking his hand down her dress and copping a feel. I feel uneasy that I don’t know how I feel about. Can’t get any sibling protection ‘cause she’s not related, but still...
Rebecca leans over and whispers in my ear that can't I do something.
I take a sip of my martini and eat the olive.
"Happy?" I say back.
She rolls her eyes and shrugs lighting another smoke.
‘Action through inaction babe.’
‘Kiss off.’
‘That’s why I like you, the long conversations we have.’
I stare down at the scuff mark on my right shoe and notice the floor for the first time. It’s made of semi-reflective glass squares which catch the light. If you look closer they have little particles, like frozen water inside them.
"What happened to Chloe?" Crispin asks as my phone rings to 'Video Killed the Radio Star'. Gotta change that.
"Who?" The phone rings again. Karen's disappeared.
"Chloe."
"Sick or something. That girls got an immune system like Ashley’s panties. Pretty much anything gets through."
Ashley slaps me hard across the back of the head.
‘Oww. Fuck you. Psycho bitch. What the fuck are you doing?’
She just mumbles ‘dick’ shaking her head.
I eventually pick up the call and head off to do some more coke. Rico's coke is shit and badly cut with Amyl, or something. I put a message on my organiser to call Simon.
Karen's on the phone. ["Where are you?"] The voice says chirpily.
"In the can."
["Where?"]
"The restaurant."
["Which?"]
"Perche."
[That's where I am,"] her voice says enthusiastically.
"I know I brought you."
[You did? Cool come back. Love you"]
"Whatever."
I hang up bored.
Two-something, and by now the vodka I've been drinking, on and off all night is starting to get the best of me. I'm telling Ashley, "do you know how fucking rich I am?"
She's telling me yes and shoves my arm away from her. I tell the guy she brought the same. He's dissing me, but I'm not listening.
Karen's got her head on my lap , half asleep, making a kind of purring sound. Start thinking about taking her home and screwing her.
"I used to think I was above this," I say. But no one hears me.
I remember Senior Prom. It was at the Waldorf-Astoria I think or the Plaza maybe the Carlyle but that’s unlikely…..Anyway everyone was really drunk or high or both. I shared this limo with Crispin and his date Kathy, Lloyd (who you don't know) and his date Lindsey.And Katie whose date was this guy, this guy Alan. Her white prom dress looked really hot on her. My date, whose name I forget, kept trying to make me notice her. The group of us were drinking champagne.
The teachers at the door were checking everyone for booze, cigarettes and drugs. They asked us to empty our pockets the Nazis. We'd come up with a way to beat this. Crispin had a hip flask taped to his back. I had two pack's of Marlboro Lloyd had some Coke.
We met in the can to stash it all.
I hardly did coke then but thought what the fuck.
Needed to, had to get past the elevator band playing. Least the food was good.
Was sitting at a round table with the people I came with plus Wesley who brought Ashley even though she went to Riverdale..
My date moved in thisclose. I guess I was going to fuck her. I had the room after all.
I really wanted to take Katie in there.
I'm talking to her a lot because Alan had gone somewhere. My date was getting really pissed off at this.
And it got late ,and we all got really drunk, because we found a wine bladder someone else had stashed.
Something else happened that night...but I really don’t want to talk about it.
Reggie vs Endless Mike.
Friday June 4th 1999.
The Knicks are playing Indiana in the playoffs on the big screen in Mike Beckett's Dad's apartment. Bruce and Cam are here too. The Knicks are winning, I think, because Mike and Bruce keep saying things like "Atta boy Spree," and, "take it to the hole."
They keep clapping and shaking their fists when the Knicks score, and calling the Indiana players ass-holes when they do. The TV focuses in on the crowd in a time out. Woody Allen looks nervous. Well… more nervous. Spike Lee looks happy. He's yelling at the Indiana players.
The game starts again.
Then something strange starts happening. This guy called Reggie Miller starts kicking the Knicks asses. He's just dropping 'jumpers,'like that, the Knick lead disappears.
[Miller for three. Yes!]
[Miller on the steal. He pulls up for the jumper. Is it good? Yes!]
Mike swears, Bruce yells ,and then they swear and yell at each other.
Bruce yells for the Knicks to, "Stay on him."
"Guard him. Foul him. Oh Fuck shit," Mike joins in.
Reggie Miller pulls up from outside and shoots.
[Miller for three. Yes! ] Marv Albert yells. Van Gundy calls a Time Out. Mike Fratello starts off on some insight on how the tide might be turning, and that Van Gundy has to double Miller and stop letting him gettting open looks.
Mike throws his beer at the TV turning it off. Amazing accuracy.
“Beckett for three. Yes!” I yell out.
"Numbnuts. Turn it back on," Bruce yells.
"Fuck you, I'm trying."
But he can't get any pressure from behind his foam finger. He takes it off and presses the on button.
[Miller for three.Yes!]
"Godamnit! Mother fucking Miller," Mike stamps his feet.
The Knicks call a timeout. Woody Allen still looks nervous Spike Lee looks pissed and is still swearing at the other team. Most of it directed at Reggie Miller.
The game comes back on. Reggie Miller hits another eight points.
"He's good that Miller guy...," I offer.
"Go fuck yourself Chandler."
Spike Lee is shown insulting Reggie Miller as he walks by in front of him. He swears back. Mike thinks he should be thrown out of the game.
They ignore Cam when he says "But didn't Spike Lee start it..."
Reggie Miller keeps on kicking the Knicks asses. He's got thirty-two points the screen says.
The screen then says that Indiana is leading by eleven. No now it's thirteen.
The game ends. The Knicks are eliminated.
Mike's still swearing. Bruce sits there holding his beer, mouth wide open in shock.
Mike springs up suddenly and picks up the TV, yanking it out of the socket with a little spark. The psycho's going to throw it out the window.
"Mike. You don't want to do this man."
"Fuck it."
"Chandler...," Bruce pleads.
"Mike, what the fuck. You're six floors up. You'll fucking kill somebody."
He yells screw this and gets ready to chuck it.
"Don't be a dick," Bruce yells.
He lets go of it. The window shatters, and about five seconds later a crash.
The TV's crushed on the sidewalk. A circle of people turns, and looks up at us.
About twenty minutes later a cop car turns up. Then there's a knock on the door. They enter. They've got their guns out but put them away once Mike starts freaking.
They keep asking him why he did this. He keeps telling them,
"because Reggie Miller sucks my dick."
The bigger white cop tells him to calm down. Mike kicks the coffee table and it shatters into little pieces of pebbled glass. A shard flies up and sticks in Cam's forearm. The Latino cop pulls it out, and wraps a cloth around the wound.
Karen.
Going to lunch in the Hamptons with Damon, my boyfriend.
"Ex-boyfriend. We broke up, remember."
Fine ex-boyfriend. He's driving me to this dinner party...
"Lunch."
"What?"
"Its lunch."
"OK lunch. Thank you Damon."
"Pleasure."
"Drop it will you?"
Jesus. Anyway, it's this lunch party that Wesley's parents are throwing. Weather's fine. Damon picked me up in his little red Ferrari.
"1961 Ferrari GT California. Only about seventy were made. Cost dad like three mill to get it, so naturally I drive it everywhere. Pisses him off massively.
"Thank you Ferris."
"Sorry, it's a very expensive car. You called it a little Ferrari. Its not accurate."
"And people care why?"
"I'm guessing they probably do. It does rock..."
"Damon."
Anyway I passed all my finals and my psych got an A+...
"Congrats. I got two C's and a DNS. That's a Did Not Sit."
Whatever. Its fine today but I see clouds , and that could mean rain later. Nothing spoils an outdoor dinner, sorry lunch, more than rain.
"Could rain. Have to store the car if it does. No roof."
"We will." God he's frustrating me. "You better have some coke Damon."
"Regular or Diet. Anyway, I thought you quit."
"And now I've unquit. Ok?"
"Whatever. Where does Wesley live now anyway?"
"East Hampton."
"Oh thank you, that's very helpful."
"How do I look?"
He glances at me. Still thinks I'm hot, even in casuals.
"You look fine."
"Hair?"
"Nice, it suits you. Can you get the map out please."
A couple of rain specks hit the windshield.
"Sun shower," he says.
Could be thunder too.
"This the street?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
"There's Dylan's BMW."
"Dylan doesn't drive a BMW sweetie"
"What does he drive?" I ask.
"SAAB convertible."
"Well who owns a BMW?"
"Everyone on the island?"
I love it when my boyfriend's sarcastic.
"Ex-boyfriend," he sighs.
Dad's visiting the London office. Ostensibly it's a mini-vacation, but come on. The last time he took a vacation he ended up investing in a uranium mine in Australia. In his absence I've decided to go near the house on the island for once.
Actually, he asked Alice and I to watch the place. Actually, he didn't invite me, only Alice.
On the first night Steve and me raided the beer fridge and liquor cabinet.
Tonight I've invited that Chloe chick over. She needed a ride, so I picked her up outside the registrar in the Ferrari. She chirped greetings and hugged me.
Right now we're sitting outside by the pool eating dinner. I've given Tom the night off, after he cooked cannelloni and Roquefort cheese for us. She loved it. I agreed with her, even though I've had it before. I think I like pasta, I know I love blue cheese. Chloe's wearing this blue string bikini, probably because it's slightly muggy tonight. It looks really good on her. I've never noticed how nice her breasts are before.
After dinner we swim in the kidney shaped pool. Then we're in Dad's room. She's lying on the bed in the string bikini dripping wet. I can't resist the urge to jump on top of her and unfasten the bikini top. She resists half-heartedly, but I whisper for her to trust me as I put my head between her breasts and blow gently on them. She giggles girlishly when I do this.
I move out of my trunks and kick them off on the floor. Her hands move down and unfasten the brief at both sides. It falls away and my dick just falls in and I start humping her. She squeals.
I'm driving Chloe home, I asked her to stay ,but you know.
She seems really subdued and neither of us has been saying much except that was odd from her and I guess so from me.
It's fucked up.
She gets out when I pull up outside her friend's place that she's staying at.
She just says "thanks." I say later and lean in to kiss her. She backs away.
"Later," and "I'll call you."
I get home and make myself a sandwich and head upstairs. Can hear fucking noises and Alice's voice from her room. Never knew there was someone else here. Think about bursting in on them to freak them out. Don't care enough though.
Crack open a cold one from the mini fridge in Dad's room. Do a line. Sleep.
Alice is throwing a party at home and its about 6:49 on a Saturday. Chloe couldn't turn up , and the phone conversation was really cryptic and detached. Like a different person.
I'm sitting out back by the pool on a lounge chair drinking beer. I've lost count . Six? Seven?
Ashley's next to me gazing at the people behind her Dolce & Gabbana's. She's been talking about...god, I don't even know. She's finally caught on.
"Oh what's bothering you Mr.Elsewhere?"
I look her way properly for the first time. I'm disturbed by the fact that she's wearing a similar bikini as Chloe was last week. And I'm just staring at her while she keeps asking what is it.
"I slept with Chloe?"
"Which one's she?"
"My girlfriend," I reply and think about the term. Is she? I've never thought of it that way.
"What's the big deal? You sleep with lots of girls."
"I think I love her," I mumble, and for a moment I feel stupid saying it.
"What? Repeat that?" Ashley says grinning.
"I think I love her," I say louder.
"Thought that's what you said," she replies, rolling her eyes. "Hold on, love her? This is this going to be like the time you fell for that sap Benjamin isn't it?"
"Jealously is so unbecoming. I want to love her...but I've fucked her and I'm not sure anymore Ash... Is she another conquest?"
"Get a grip putz."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you."
"I'm going for a dip," she says.
"Same here."
"Fine."
"Fine."
The water's warm in the pool. I start thinking about old summers when I was twelve or thirteen. I close my eyes and I'm almost there. Difference is back then a real knockout of a brunette hadn't just swum over and leaned next to me in the water. She starts pushing me back to the side of the pool and pins me against it. It feels nice, and I smile at her. She reaches behind me and pours a glass of champagne. One of her friends ,hot blonde, paddles over. They whisper something to each other and giggle.
Then I think of unpleasant memories in this pool. Cracking my head, sun burn, Chloe...
The blonde straddles me and removes her bikini top. I think about Chloe even more.
The brunette plunges underwater with a plip. I can feel my trunks being pulled down. She re-surfaces and holds them up smiling. I guess I smile back. She plunges back down with more of a splash and begins sucking me off. Little bubbles appear on the surface. She surfaces once in a while and goes down again. Good tongue technique, gentle yet firm.
Keeps sucking on it. Then she stops for no reason.
‘Why are you stopping? You can’t just stop. It’s like robbing a bank, getting out the door and deciding it was a bad idea with the S.W.A.T team in front of you.’
‘What the fuck are you saying.’
‘That aborted blow jobs can get messy. Like robbing a bank.’
‘Weirdo.’
The way she said that sounded like another girl I used to know. It just crossed my mind that I slept with the brunette’s older sister in high school.
The brunette deep throats me.
Off to Russia in a week. Some dumb-ass poli sci trip I signed up for.
Convinced Cam to tag along on it. He really needs to get away from this film he's made. The guy he made it with Keith Colhoun, who put Cam's name on it as sole-director.
He's still unable to get laid and he's been drinking heavily.
I'm going because I can't stand the thought of another Long Island Summer.
Neither of us have ever taken poli sci.
I'm sitting in Dad's place. Just where I don't want to be.
Cam's showing me his film. He's smoking another joint, and drinking from this bottle of Bacardi. I'm trying, really trying to be positive but it really is a piece of crap. Every so often you can see the boom in the shot. Cam groans when this happens. I say it could be worse when this happens. He asks how. I can't answer.
"We're going to re-edit and re-shoot some stuff of course. Need an editing machine though. Haystack's working on that."
The film finishes, I put the edited Emma footage on instead.
"What the fuck is this?"
"It's that girl you used to be obsessed with, you can see what you missed."
The phone rings.
"I'll get it."
It's Colhoun, predictably, he wants Cam. Don't know why he knew he was here.
"Where did you get this?"
"Forget about it, the phone's for you, Colhoun."
Cam gets up and picks up the phone. I start watching the footage again, it loops back to the start.
I can hear them have a heated argument before Cam yells, "Fine," and slams the phone down.
"We've got to go," he says picking up his jacket.
"Huh?"
"We've gotta go bail Haystack out."
"You're shitting me."
I'm half drunk and I have to drive to town to bail this cock out. What a wonderful experience.
"What'd he do try and pick up another undercover cop on St.Mark’s?" I ask.
"Tell you in the car."
"Whatever," I sigh.
Colhoun got arrested for breaking into Tisch to steal, sorry, borrow a load of film equipment. It was going well, until a campus security guy found him and he dropped a nine hundred dollar editing machine down a staircase.
The cop at the desk looks bewildered that anyone would want to bail Colhoun out. He said that actually. Kinda cool I think.
They go and drag him out. He's wearing this black suit (second hand) with a black shirt with white polka dots. He's putting on his ray-ban's
Someone's spray painted 'faggot' on the back of his jacket. Cam's about to tell him,but I motion for him not to. Colhoun collects his discman and puts on the earphones. Turns around and calls the desk guy a fuckin' pig.
Slap him across the head.
He starts chanting Attica over and over
"Hey tell ya friend if he don't shut up I'll arrest his ass again."
"Fine with me dude."
Russia's looking better and better.
“Don’t confuse this with me trusting you, or even liking you. This is just business and you’re all I’ve got to turn to.” This is what Miles in his typical french kind of b-s said, to try and convince me to go score him some ecstacy. Actually, because of his accent replace every ‘you’ with ‘zoo’ ,every ‘don’t’ with ‘zon’t’ and every ‘too’ with tu.’ Apart from that that was exactly what he said.
Next sentence was; "so go" ( saw goo.)
So here I am going to score for the french fucker, so he can try and nail some chick ,who ,apparently, can't score for herself. I was watching the Akira movie on DVD and having a few beers and some Doritos. It just really pisses me off ya know.
Truth is I was going to go score some coke anyway, but that's not the point. I still flipped him the bird as I left. Who does that fucker think he’s dealing with?
There are four places I’d recommend you go for all your pharmaceutical needs here at NYU. Jack Bailey and Chad Bullard will hook you up with grass, but they're two dodgy old stoners. They don't like each other either. Maxwell Greem is guy no one wants to admit to knowing. He carries your garden-variety street stuff. If you have the unpleasantness to meet him at a campus party,and you will, you’ll no doubt hear about the time he was busking in Times Square and Axl Rose spat on him. His stuff's dubious as fuck.
This leaves the only real option for the discerning customer; Simon Rafferty. That's where I am, in his red brick walled apartment trying to score MDMA for Miles.
His girlfriend Natalie's letting me know that she's wearing no panties under her red denim skirt.
Meanwhile, Simon's telling me that he's thinking of going back to school.
"Sure, why not,"I shrug, "you think they'll let you back in man?"
"Nah fuck The New School,NYU."
I shake my head, he calls me a wanker. I know what that means.
Simon used to be a theatre student at the New School. Acting and playwright. He was good too. He wrote plays. His best one, I thought, was his adaptation of Othello into a Wall Street drama. It was called 'The Merchant Banker of Venice.'
Iago became this corporate raider trying to force Othello out. Made me think of Dad when I saw it.
He eventually got chucked out when he didn't get Stanley in a production of 'Streetcar.' He cut himself with the prop bottle and punched the director.
"So what was it you wanted?"
"What? Oh yeah, a dozen Ecstasy."
He walks over to this desk and divides out a dozen or so pills on top of it, and puts them in this plastic jar with a childproof lid. He chucks it, and it settles into my lap.
I lay down a wad of bills.
"Cool," he says while counting them, just to piss me off.
Natalie moves up next to him as he does this. She puts her arms on his shoulder and kisses his cheek. Guess they're back together I think.
Simon's a big man, or at least likes to pretend so. Except around Natalie. She's ,what he's told me is, his semi-permanent girlfriend. She seems to have this mystic controlling power over him. Around her he goes into this whole weird loyal boyfriend mode.
Maybe its because she's so smoking hot. Twenty-four. Half English, half Cuban with one of the hottest bods in the five boroughs. Pseudo-nympho, Pseudo-bi. Silky brown hair except down below where a laser has given her a permanent full Brazilian wax.
The only guy who has been able to have a 'relationship' with her is Simon. And, yeah, both of them know that the other fuck's around on them.
How to worry Simon: tell him you've seen Natalie with the same guy (or girl) for two weeks straight.
He passes me a beer and then the buzzer rings and he buzzes the skinny, probably fourteen, black Domino's delivery kid up. Three extra meat pizzas.
"You staying?" He says to me.
" Nah. I'd better get Miles his shit. Fuckwit will throw a hissy fit and slap me to death if I don’t get it there on time."
"Fuck that.Stay for a slice and a pint. Fucker knows where I live."
"That fucking dick. He said he didn't have any connections. He's not gonna pay is he?"
"I'd seriously doubt it."
"Fuck him. Since when am I that fake French prick's runner."
"Damn right mate."
"Hell yeah," I nod as we clink our beers together.
“Why do I have to this man? Can’t you pick up chicks on your own, you’re a big boy ditch those training wheels, be a man.”
“Hey you owe me man; I lent you that c-note two weeks ago. I don’t even know what you spent it on; I don’t even want to know. All I’m asking is you to run a little interference, on her friend.”
Fuck it, fuck it. The bastard had to bring up the c-note. Mother-fucking blackmailing mother-fucker.
Ok. So this is ok actually, really. So I have to run some-wing-man action for ‘Endless’ Mike Beckett, so he can try and pick up a chick he met sitting next to him in one of his classes. By the way judging from his description, meeting is being used very liberally.
But, I guess I have to. Why do these things happen to me? Haven’t I been a good person? Ok, maybe not. Anyways it’s not fair. And how the fuck do you actually go about trying to make a borderline alcoholic who reeks of salami and Brut, and is quite possibly insane look good. We are talking about a guy who once jumped from the window of a fifth floor apartment and almost impaled himself on a wrought-iron railing after all. Should be easy.
We’re on the outskirts of Washington Square as we debate this, the chick and her friend sitting on the edge of the fountain. He points her out, she’s only moderately cute. My target is her Asian girlfriend next to her, who looks like one of those Japanese chicks who wear a perpetual scowl as her nominal facial expression.
She’s talking on her cell as we approach and I sit down next to her on the edge of the fountain. I try to say hello, but she waves me quiet. Oh great. I fucking hate it when chicks do that? Like we’ve got nothing better to do than wait for them to hang up? And then they have these twenty-minute conversations while we try and pretend that we don’t care, when in reality it’s almost as painful as reading the complete Jane Austen.
All of which means you’re left with two options.
A: walk away. This makes you look like a wuss and you don’t get digits or laid down the line.
Or
B: You wait. This immediately gives her the power advantage, as you’re basically telling her you’re so desperate you’ll put up with any amount of shit. This usually ends up with you taking her out on five dates, blowing money you don’t actually have in college and maybe getting some pussy down the line. And that’s if you’re lucky.
I look her over while I wait for her to get off the phone. I guess she’s kind of cute.
She's wearing a retro-style t-shirt with a Manga character on it and the words 'Action Girl.' On top of that, a cut-off Betsey Johnson army jacket with the embroidered symbols of a fictional South American country, complete with dog-tags. Her stretch denim jeans are positively dull by comparison. She has a baby blue flower shaped hair clip on the side of her hair at the front, apart from that her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing these oversized vintage Bill Blass sunglasses.
Mikey’s seems to be doing pretty well with his chick, least this is all in some kind of point.
The Asian chick clicks her cell off and looks over her sunglasses at me.
“Yeah, can I help you?”
“Damon Chandler, I smile. “Friend of Mike’s.”
“Umm…like, who’s Mike?” She says while giving me this bemused ‘what’s the joke’ look, until Mike’s chick gives her this play along look after which she turns back to me, smiles and let’s me shake her hand.
“Chloe, Chloe Yamamoto,” she beams completely fake like.
“So…you go to school here?”
“Yeah,”she replies only half-sarcastically.
“Cool, cool…what you study.”
“Broadcast journalism. At the moment anyway…”
She laughs, I fake a laugh back.
“Sounds cool. English Lit. and Politics.”
“What?”
“English Lit. and Politics. That’s me.”
“Oh…great. Hey you got the time?”
“Five to three.”
She apologizes profusely, says she’s got a lecture, kisses the other girl on the cheek and says it’s really great to meet you to me, and gets up and walks off.
I wait maybe a minute before I leave, ‘cause it’s not like I have anything to do here now anyway. I need a caffeine fix anyway.
Ignore the coffee cart guy, I’ve had a, well let’s say, disagreement with him. Besides he’s a born again Christian, and like all B.A.G’s, he insists on nagging me about this. So fuck him.
I head for the Violet instead.
As I wait in line to order whatever gay coffee they have when I notice that the girl at the start of the line, taking forever and holding everyone up is that Chloe chick. I watch her as she walks back with her coffee, not noticing, and make a note of where she sits (outside) and go over and sit down at her table.
“So, I thought you had a lecture or something?” I say lighting a smoke and offering her one, which she takes and lights.
“So I lied,” she shrugs and exhales out of the side of her mouth. “I had to get outta there anyway, what with your friend and all.”
“Wow you’re quick. Most chicks I’ve met won’t ever leave when a guy’s trying to scam on her friend.”
“Bet most of them do it deliberately too.”
“I bet.”
“Like this is the first time this has ever happened, besides I noticed you didn’t stick around.”
“Once you left, hey, my work was done.”
“How’d you get roped into it anyway? I mean, you don’t mind me asking that, do you?”
“Why the fuck should I? Mike there lent me some booze money last week, and well you know how blackmail works.”
She laughs. This is going well, funny thing is I don’t know if I actually intended it to or not. Just weird. I mean this girl’s pretty attractive and all, and I wouldn’t mind doing her, and she’s even relatively interesting, by college girl standards anyway.
I never noticed it before, because she really didn’t talk at length, but she speaks with one of those Connie Chung type Asian-American voices. Must be the broadcast journalism stuff she does. It’s really endearing actually, almost a turn on even.
“I do have a lecture, just not at three, at four. I’m going to skip it anyway,” she smiles at me.
“Don’t let me sway your decision. So what are you anyway, Japanese, Korean what?”
“Japanese, born there, grew up here.”
“Fascinating,” I say respond dryly, with only a slight roll of maybe one eye.
‘Hey shut up,” she whacks me across the arm, but knocks my coffee off the table ,smashing the cup and making a really cool coffee stain on the ground.
We both look at each other, like we’re about to laugh, trying to figure out what to make of this. Eventually I say; “you know this is one of those time where words fail me, actually not so much fail me as trying to find some that won’t make you hit me on the arm again.”
We both burst out laughing.
“You got time to stay around; I’ll buy you another coffee.”
“Yeah sure, I’m not going anywhere.”
We start talking about the usual bullshit college students do, bitching about term papers, roommates, we expend an inordinate amount of time bad-mouthing those two idiots back in the Square. Eventually however I look at my watch and holy shit it’s near five. Guess I should have known by the light.
“Fuck, will you look at the time. Hey what are you doing later?”
“Going to the library for a couple of hours, why?” She giggles.
“Well there’s this party later, I mean it’ll almost definitely suck, but there’ll be free hooch, so I don’t know, it might be worth stopping by.”
“You’re funny.”
“Thanks. So…do you…want to go?”
“Actually it sounds cool, meet me outside Bobst at say…eight?”
“Meet you there,” she says as we get up to leave.
From out of nowhere she kisses me on the cheek. “Later.”
I smile as we walk off in separate directions.
Why does she have to flirt with me? I'm fucking sick of Adele flirting with me.
And, its not that I like her, at all ,she's a friend of a friend of a friend, if I'm honest. One of those people you never invite or plan to hang with, but is always there.
She's pushing her breasts out across the table and sucking a lollipop. She hates any chick I hit on vocally, even though her opinion means nothing to me.
When I was going out with Katie I went out of my way to find her a boyfriend. This wasn't easy. Eventually I found this cro-magnon well to do med student called Dorian. I thought this would work. It has, she's still fucking him, but the flirting remains.
Right now I'm trying to get this hard body Lisa into bed. Adele's happy to ask embarrassing questions to her, and position herself so it looks like we're attached.
I abort. Say I've got a class to go to and leave. Adele does too, but later.
I walk past undercover and spy on Lisa. She looks sad and downcast and she's sitting alone. Has this 'what did I do wrong?' look.
I feel like strangling Adele, but something better will come up for that bitch.
It's taken me two skipped lectures, which I really kinda had to go to to find him, but Jimmy is in the dorms. Wasn't there the first time, but that wasn't his dorm anymore. I need information. Who else would I go to?
"James what do you know about a guy called Dorian O’Hara?"
"Why?"
"Indulge me," I say with a wave of my hand.
"He's smart, nice guy… oh yeah he takes med."
I laugh sarcastically at just how helpful he is.
"Wow that’s all very incriminating Jimmy. Maybe’ll be a character reference when he applies for his medical internship. Something more incriminating please?"
He forces alaugh
"What makes you think I know anything anyway?"
"Jimmy, you know everything about everyone on campus. Think harder."
"Ok, Ok. I know one thing."
"Spill it."
"Ian told me, that Dorian told him , that, well, his girlfriend likes him to rear end her. Full on, not doggy, rectally. "
"No shit," I smile, actually amazed. ‘Can’t say I’m stunned. It’s always the preppy fuckers. Had a guy on my first dorm floor. His roommate found man on dog porn on his Apple. Man-cow too. He said it was from Kentucky, that he bought the thing from some redneck and never cleaned the hard disk. Bullshit. Everyone ended up calling him ‘Shaggy’
"Will you shut up,’ he says throwing a Nerf tennis ball at my head. “It Gets better. He likes it."
"You're shitting me?"
He shakes his head quickly.
"Use your phone Jimmy?"
"What are you up to?" He asks suspiciously, yet interested.
"Trust me," I whisper, "Hello, Alistair? Great. I've a favour to ask you....Yeah, yeah I'll hook you up , usual fee? Cool. You want a nice fresh ass....Good. Meet me at Wreck Room at lets say eightish..... No it isn't me you freak...eightish. Later."
"Sick bastard," Jimmy says. ‘Was that dog story true?’
‘Think so. Peterson told me about it.’
10:10 PM, Wreck Room.
"Cheers."
"I think I'm getting a lee-ttl-e drunk," Dorian complains.
"Just a little?" Alistair asks him smugly.
"Trust me," I say, reassuringly, "I'll get the next round."
"You know you're a great friend..."
"No I'm not."
"You really are dude."
"If you say so."
He must have six or seven rum and cokes in him by now and when I come back with more Dorian's got his arm over Alistair's shoulder.
"Will you be my friend?" He asks him.
"Sure."
This is proceeding quicker than expected. Shouldn't surprise me though. Combine the campest fag on campus (Alistair Brighton) and a repressed med school dickhead prone to rectal adventures. Mix with tequila shots stir with bacardi and this is what you get.
I'm back at the bar talking to Tony, whose got these horrible ethical complications.
"You do realise what you're doing," He says nodding at the table. I look. Alistair is telling one of his dirty jokes. Dorian's laughing and he slaps the tabletop.
I feign ignorance. "Match making?"
He gives me his disapproval look.
"Mind If I join you?"
"Yes actually," I grin. But he does decide to join us. He looks puzzled on the way. I call him on it.
"What's your motivation."
"Nothing."
"I bet…" he says too smugly. Fuck him.
"What's your favourite band of all time?" Dorian asks Alistair. It comes out all mumbled his head resting on his arms.
"Of all time?" He replies eyes bulging, "tough,no, I lie. 'Right Said Fred' maybe, or 'C+C Music Factory'."
"Yeah...?"
I look at Alistair as if to say slow down. His look confirms it's not really necessary. I have to agree. One of the barmen gives us a look like Dorian's had enough as he goes past. Check my watch. Elevenish. Band's packing up. Decide to leave. Alistair agrees.
"Where's your dorm Dorian?" Alistair asks when we're outside.
"Huh?" He replies barely able to stand upright.
"Where-do-you-live?" He asks again in an almost whisper.
"Oh, ah Third North."
"God, that's really far. Maybe you should crash at my place."
"Where, where ,ah where do you live?"
"Hayden."
"Thanks man, that's cool of you."
"See you boy's later," I say chirpily.
I walk away. Turn back just once. Alistair's trying to prop him up and walk him home.
I can't believe I'm eating this shit," I say to Alistair while I'm eating this creamy white gunk which is something to do with chicken. Don't know what exactly.
"Can't all have trust funds sweety."
"Don't call me sweety. So what happened?"
"Oh yes your boy. Well. It was the all I could do to keep the fucker awake. But the booze did get rid of those nasty conservative little morals..."
"I see."
"Can I continue? Good. Boy's got a great big..."
"Please, I'm trying not to eat here."
"Fine.Really poor oral. Kept complaining. I don't know must have thought I was his girlfriend because he kept screaming some girl's name."
"Charming. Anyway well done..."
I'm suddenly distracted or attracted by an ex-fuck that's not fat enough. She waves. I nod back.
"So Damon where's my little 'study aid'?" He actually uses his fingers to spell out the inverted commas. Christ.
"Yeah I'm going by Simon's later. Stop by your dorm tonight probably."
"Simon's 'stuff' is awful," he does it again.
"Don't deal with any one else..."
"Guess it's alright. Give Simone my regards."
"Pleasure doing business with you," I offer my hand as I get up.
"Oh I had the pleasure."
"I bet you did."
"What with his giant..."
"Hey."
So, I'm sitting in this class that I don't really want to be in, but I felt kinda guilty this morning, so I am. anyway , it's been going for a whole fifteen minutes and the desire to leave and have a smoke is overwhelming.
The lecturer, with her typically uncomfortable posture and outdated late 80's wardrobe, knows how bad this is going and is trying to keep our attention with a video clip. You can still hear mumbling and chattering amongst us during the clip. This makes her look more uncomfortable. The less brave who feel bad for her simply pass notes.
I've got to twenty minutes now , and the need to pay any attention seems to have passed. Start scanning the class instead, I.Ding and catergorizing. Always fun.
Down the front is easy. It's either the 'mature' students enjoying their second chance at life and treating everything way too seriously, or the geeks , those actually interested in this beyond course credit. They ask three part questions in class, visit lecturers when they don't want an extension , never party and get straight A's. Basket cases. We should be admiring them really. They'll leave
with a pocket full of A's a masters degree and a great job. But there's smething alltogether pathetic about them that you can't get past.
The middle part. Bit harder. Some are moderate students, but not fanatical, others for no more insightful reason than course credit. See in the fifth row there, there's 'Haystack' Colhoun. Smile Haystack, good boy.
He can't think I want to talk to him can he? Probably, fucking paramecium.
One row down there's the average guy who's maybe kinda cool , but probably not.
His parents re-eally love him and he chucks after three Coor's at frat parties. Probably.
The back row, much like in High School, is the domain of the educational reprobates, the losers who seem to pass despite no effort, and infuriate the the front row geeks in the process. It's an attack on their value system you see.
We sit here to avoid being seen , and to be able to leave if the class bites, as it always seems to. I do that in twenty minutes , but until I do I'll examine the rest. God, what a bunch of tryhards. I feel like yelling 'be more interesting.'
I've got no idea what the lecturer bitch is getting excited about. Something about racism in 'Heart of Darkness' I think.
Hold the line...who is that? There's this really cute brunette in the third row. I think Cam had a crush on her once but got nowhere with her, so she's fair game.
Class is over, waiting outside for the brunette. My sexual mechanism is out of whack because I haven't been laid in two weeks. I'm approaching the level of a sexually frustrated teacher's aide. Had to do that paper in case I decide to pass. Fucking recluse in a dorm room that smells of beer, chitos and sleep depravation. Can't fucking fake essays, they cross-check your writing style. My brother told me that years ago.I deserve a reward.
Here she comes bounding along happily , very perky and pleased with herself. I purposefully bump into her, knocking her notes to the ground, and introduce myself.
'Hi.'
'Hi.'
'I'm Da...Dylan Robson_'
'Emma,' she replies, shaking my hand.
'Listen, I know this'll sound weird , but I've been really sick , missed a few classes , and you look smart , could yoy y'know help me catch up?'
'What right now?"
'Well , yeah.'
She agrees, they always do , and I suggest going uptown, reasonably sure my sister won't be around.
My sister wasn't in the apartment, thank fucking god, and we've finished exchanging notes. I offer her a drink.
'I really shouldn't, under twenty-one and all.'
God she's so moral I could be sick.
But like all stupid college ditzes who are away from , and still naive, it's not long before I've talked her into 'one drink not doing any harm.'
It's now four-fifty-one and poor Emma has found that after a four or five large glasses of Riesling , her normally responsible self has gone. Well, it was the Riesling and the Rohypnol I slipped into one of them.
Now she feels the uncontrollable urge to act like a flirty little school girl.
Capital as Dad would say. Soon she doesn't feel like this anymore , and collapses on her back on the leather couch.
I pick her up and carry her into my bedroom.
I toss Emma onto the bed with a loud plumpf, which causes her to regain some perspective on things.
'Wait...wait...why am I in da bedroom?' she says in a cloudy, dis-orientated voice.
Her more sophisticated , put on college accent has given weay to a new voice. Possibly Bronx?
I respond in a bored voice, 'because I want to make love to you.'
She looks on confused as I unbutton her white blouse and tan 3/4 lenghth skirt, and dispose of these unnecessary bitems on the floor. Her mildy un-filled out form lays before me on the bed, only constrined by a pink push up bra and panties. I move slowly but deliberatly to my closet and fetch my sister's borrowed steadycam.
As I line her up in shot Emma wakes and asks ,'what's wid da camera?'
'I'm just filming you a little bit babe.'
She's still unsure. Reading what's left of her mind I say in advance of her next protest,' yeah, I'm going to film you and show you to all of my friends.'
She's way too drunk for sarcasm, and takes me seriously. This is turning into a major drag. I have to mollify her now.
'I just think you're beautiful, Ok?'
Amazingly this works. She lies on the bed doing her best little Lolita impersonation while I keep filming her. I crawl on top of her and unfasten her bra and remove the panties, still filming. I step back and take a wide sshot of her there. Her tits are small. I'll still fuck her though, I'm as horny as a rabbit on vitamins.
I turn the camera off. I go down on her, she giggles a lot. She's relatively comatose, which puts me off a bit, I start to screw her instead. She's pretty tight for a college girl...oh shit is she a virgin?
I try and wake her up by shaking her head hard, but it doesn't work. I start fucking her again. It's like fucking a foam sponge. Limp with occaisional moaning, in a way where I can't figure out if it's pain or orgasm. She starts complaining as she climaxes, and I have to tell her I'm sorry, without meaning it at all.
I take out the disposable camera.
There's too many people around you. You feel lost, and a drowning sensation overwhelms you. Can't move without walking sideways into people and when you do you're greeted with a chorus of "watch where you're walking."
You yell out your name, but no one hears or they pretend not to.
You yell out "help" more loudly, but only a street vendor responds. He tries to sell you a knock-off Nokia.
You start running as quick as you can, but never seem to get anywhere.
You run into people ,and almost fall, your lungs burning. The same market stalls still seem to be next to you no matter how far you run. Your lungs burn. You keep running but don't know from what.
You can see the edge of the market now and 14th Street ahead. It seems to take minutes to get there. Your head floods, and you notice the sweat pouring off of your forehead. Your hands are shaking.
You can't remember where you are anymore, and your mind goes blank and dark.
"Help," you scream again.
You reach 14th and keep running. Streets don't matter any more, and you quickly lose track.
You end up in a mini-mart. Browsing too many soft drinks you're thinking. They all promise to quench your thirst, but you know they're designed to do the opposite.
Goddamn lies.
You pass a security camera , and just stare at it. Who's looking? At what? Is anyone there at all?
It moves. A shop assistant walks over and puts his hand on your shoulder. He asks if you're feeling alright. You mumble something and run.
The desk jockey at Third North keeps asking for your ID card.
You're standing ,swaying and sweating.
"Can I see you're ID card please?"
Eventually you're able to find it and show it to him, and he just looks at it. You're here wobbling and shaking and he's still looking at it squinting, really squinting. He finally gives up says that , yeah that's OK and that you can go.
Up in your dorm room you get the large salad bowl that passed as a birthday gift from your Dad one year. Put Lots of ice and cold water in it. You take off your shirt and sit down on the chair with your arm in the bowl full of ice. Hope no one comes home you think.
After an hour the arm stopped hurting , but feels really numb. Head clearer now. Know what you have to do now. Get the box cutter out of the kitchen and sit down grinding it open. You can't avoid staring at the blade. You're all a tingle. So excited. So excited. Teeth are chattering and you imagine a grin fills your face.
Cut across your left wrist and blood spurts out hot and thick. Cut up the centre of the wrist deeper again trying to get past the vein and into the artery. It's taking a while, cut damn you, bleed. Feeling really cold now, shivering uncontrollably. The artery won't cut. Can't see the wrist for blood. It's all over you. You try to cut deeper , but the box-cutter slips from your fingers.
The blood from the slashed arteries keeps pumping out in time with your heart. Like water trying to go down a blocked drain. Belching it back up. Feel weak. You're fading. Time to die. Is this it? Or are you just passing out?
Blood everywhere, still pumping out.
If you can't find anything worth ... right?
Hope its death. Stomach's churning. Oh god. your wrist, its still splurting blood. Here we go...
When you wake up it's thanks to a paramedic slapping you across your face. You try and lift the wrist but its being stitched and bandaged by another paramedic. You just want to fall asleep. Too tired. Your focus is starting to go.
The first guy, who you can't focus on, is yelling stay awake at you. Cam's on one side smoking a cigarette. He doesn't smoke. Hold on, does he live here? You tell him to give you one. The paramedic thinks it's a good idea. You pull yourself more upright and look yourself over. There's bile all over your shirt. It smells disgusting. Blood all over your arm, your shirt and on the the floor in puddles. The other paramedic is stitching your wrist up with thread. You hadn't noticed it's so numb. The wrist you cut looks grey.
You feel sick and the good wrist is pale too. Weak too.
You manage to say something. "I'm OK right?"
They don't respond, and you start to be able to feel the wrist again.
Suddenly you vomit and the paramedic jumps clear. Then another bout. Start to fall asleep.
Thursday April 29th 1999.
I’m in the midst of one of those really exciting days, where I can find nothing better to do but hang out at the Washington Square News offices on E. 12th St. My friend acquaintance Bernard James’ the student feature’s editor or some such crap, I don’t really care. He has a desk with a phone though. He does some film reviews, some local theatre and a column under a weekly column ‘The Inarticulate N.Y.U Student.’ I do some op/ed writing from time to time under a pseudonym, Ferris’ Cooler Brother, where I basically let fire on whatever’s bothering me this week.
So I’m loitering here at Bernard
Highlight of the day so far, the writer/director of some MA student play at Provincetown , who’s play I did a hatchet job on last week , rang up an threatened me. Piece of shit play, some Gen-X slacker ‘Singles’ rip-off. Simon came along when I reviewed it and laughed his head off the whole way through.
Here’s the transcript.
(PHONE RINGS)
“Yeah, Washinton Square News.
[Is this Bernard James?]
“…ahh… yeah it is.”
[You fucking asshole. Why the fuck did you say that about my play.]
“Who is this?”
[Who is this? Oh that’s fuckin’ funny. Who is this he says. I’m the guy who’s play you trashed. And I want a goddamn apology.]
It’s the writer/director of some MA student play at Provincetown , who’s play Bernard did a hachet job on last week. Piece of shit play, some Gen-X slacker ‘Singles’ rip-off. I came along with Simon when Bernard reviewed it, Simon laughed his head off the whole way through.
Anyway, this is too much fun to miss.
“So what you want is a big kiss to make things better. Fuck you asshole. Get a grip. Play blowed , no apology.”
[I spent three years writing this. You’ve caused myself and my actors a lot of pain. I’m getting graded on this.]
“Well I should certainly hope so, that was the point you idiot.”
[Don’t call me an idiot.]
“Why not? Come on the review wasn’t that bad. There criticism in there I think,” I say trying not to sound too sarcastic.
[You compared me to Ed Wood.]
“Oh, you’re right, that was uncalled for, I apologise. That’s a terrible way to talk about Ed Wood.”
[Oh that’s fucking it. What about this , and I’m quoting here, ‘Matthews directs plays like old people fuck,’ ‘The whole thing has the wit and insight of an ‘Ernest Movie Festival…]
“Yeah, that’s my personal favourite too.”
[‘…you know it happens , but you don’t want to see it’ , what’d’ya call that…?]
“The truth.”
[…and I think you’re way out of line on my performance too. I’ve been to acting classes since I was ten…]
“Ok I’m so sorry then, it all makes sense now. It’s the teachers fault.”
[What?]
“He should obviously have told you that you were wasting your time, because you have no talent.”
[You know what , fuck you , my work stands for itself , I don’t care what you say.]
“Your work stands as a good cheap constipation cure alternative. But that’s just my opinion, some people probably liked it. Me? I like good theatre, so go fuck yourself. If you wanna complain write a fucking letter, otherwise go to hell ass-wipe.”
(CLICK)
People.
All right it’s official that’s been the highlight. Apart from that it’s been pretty dull, I’m sitting there cruising the net for good cheap porn, thinking of loading those Emma pics to this dating website and getting 50 responses in the first half hour, mainly from Delaware.
“Who the fuck was that?” Bernard says leaning up.
“Just that guy whose play you savaged.”
“What you say?”
“Told him to fuck off.”
“Good,” he says rolling over and going back to sleep.
Then she walks in , sweet and innocent and bubbling with enthusiasm. Most potential volunteers are discouraged by the reality of the place. She was as upbeat as I've seen. Cute too with that blonde pony tail. There’s something about my stalker where you just want to jump her.
I fail to intercept her before she can approach Bernard first.
"Hiya. I'd like to volunteer I'd like to write for your periodical," she asks in a voice with a southern undercurrent.
Bernard stirs from his hung over sleep on a couch.
"What you say?"
She begins again. "Hi, I'm Charlotte Alcott, but everyone calls me just plain old Becky, anyway I'd like to volunteer for a writing position..."
He smiles, he’s just made the association about who he’s talking to and me. He thinks for an eon before saying in his sleazy back alley sorta way ,
“Well… I'm sure I can think of a position for you beautiful."
She looks puzzled. I intervene saying that Bernard's on a deadline and why doesn't she talk to me. Bernard yells out that I'm a jerk-off before losing interest and falling back asleep.
She sits down at the desk I'm not working at.
"Great first a few details. Do you have any writing experience?"
She pulls out a stack of High School paper's and puts them on the desk and smiles.
"Great," I say, taken aback.
"What writing do you like to do?"
"Anything really. I've been reading your newspaper since I got to NYU. I'll do anything."
"Oh really," I say dripping innuendo. She giggles.
Dr.Hunter, the supposed editor, storming in, yelling that he wants to see me, interrupts me.
“Is that shit head Chandler in here?”
“His masters voice,” I mumble. "I've got to go." I tell Charlotte. "But I've got a ton of articles I need to be written. Maybe we can, hmm grab a bite, or a drink, later on. Say fourish?"
"OK" she smiles.
This is crap, of course. It's two weeks 'til the end of semester we don't need more volunteers.
‘Dr.’ Jim Hunter is this guy in his thirties who edit-in-chiefs the paper. He’s from So-Cal buts lived out here since he was in college. The joke around the paper is that he was told there was good surf out here, but never found any, and eventually ended up here. Real asshole.
What Hunter, Dr my ass, was bitching about was some op/ed piece I submitted for a column. called 'Meet your Rep.' I let Bruce McCahill write it instead. He basically insulted the student senator I was supposed to profile.
This week on Thomas (has no friends) Benjamin. Bruce referred to him as and I quote;'...a spineless jellyfish with no friends, no dick and no dress sense.' Apparently Hunter is pissed about it.
“Chandler I’m not even going to think about publishing this. The Office of Student Activities will tear us apart.”
“So don’t?”
“Yeah, well, now I’ve gotta find a ,y’know, new piece by five.”
‘And?”
‘You’re gonna write it. Get out of here. I want it on my desk by four.”
Shit.
6:08 PM.
After I finished the re-write for the third time, Hunter was being a real jerk-off about it, kept refusing it, I took Charlotte to ‘The Peculiar.’ I explain that '‘W.S.N’ really welcomes any new writers.' and that she can pretty much write whatever she likes. Charlotte (love that name) comes from Louisiana. She is a freshman majoring in journalism.
"You know, most journalism students refuse to write for us out of principal,” I crack wise.
We seem to be getting on well over this assortment of meat and salad then she asks me; "is this a date?"
I'm thrown off guard by her bluntness. I have to think. Is it? I wasn't sure either, but I picked up on her vibe of her almost wanting it to be.
"Do you want it to be?"
"I don't mind," she replies, "can I tell you a secret?"
"Shoot."
"I think you're cute. Actually I only came in because I see you around and I followed you."
She frowns as she waits for me to reply.
"Really," I respond sarcastically, "I hadn’t noticed,you still want to write for us?"
"OK. I mean I guess so."
"I'm attracted to you too," I tell her to put her at ease.
"You want to go on a proper date sometime, my little southern belle."
"Sure, I mean that'd be great…"
"I think you should know I'm incredibly rich."
"My family's wealthy too. So, Damon Chandler. What can you do to impress me with your New York money."
"Anything. Play catch at Yankee Stadium , have a party on top of the World trade Center… Hell, I could have Freddie Prinze Jr dance in Times Square in a pink tutu, if I wanted."
"Can you do the last one for me, he's dreamy."
"Well I don't have him in my pants..."
"No silly, I was ribbing you."
"I see."
I don't.
After lecture drinking session with Bernard at Wreck Room. Sitting at the bar, well and truly onto my third beer.
Fisher’s here too, friend of Bernard’s. I hate this guy. One of those people who you’re nice to once and then they invite themselves to every get-together from then on. Lowest of the fucking low. And, no matter how obvious you make it that you don’t want them around they never take the hint. Bernard treats him like his own personal dogsbody, even though he’s meant to be his friend.
My stalker’s here again this evening. I’m almost kinda flattered. Never had a stalker before. Well, there was this one fag my freshman year, but that was just creepy. Actually I think he was the R.A.
She’s kind cute I’m thinking.
Just caught her looking at me, she turns away and hides her eyes. I love doing that.
“Hey Chandler, I think that chick’s lookin’ at you,” Bernard says pointing.
“Shut up,” I say through clenched teeth.
I’ve told him about the stalker at least twice, this is unacceptable.
“Seriously she’s fucking vibing you dude.”
My stalker get’s up , gathers her bag off the floor and leaves the bar.
“Well thank you fuck wad. That was the stalker, remember?”
“No shit,” he says laughing, “That was her.”
“You’re a dick, ya know that?”
“She’s kinda cute, you should date her,” Fischer butts in.
‘Fuck you monkey man.’
I shoot him my ‘I hate you look’ and start looking for a table with only two chairs.
The Nightmare before Finals.
( A Poem?)
Twas the night before finals, and all through the bar
The creatures did gripe that the pumps were too far.
The alcohol they did tuck into with glee
While looking for an excuse to forgo study.
And then in the dorm's, an echo of sound
All just the same, but ten times as loud.
The crackle of college flings dying there and then
Surely meant summer was nigh to begin
The girlfriend said no, the boyfriend said yes
And the reason, 'I'm tired with this jest!
Those not at study at the kegger be found
To puff on joints, and drink beer by the pound
Excuses were made, and debated on out
To fool one's parents one needs extra clout.
One said I've failed( before testing was done.)
His excuse, alas, was believed by no one.
For If he had failed already, twas thought
Why not earlier had you done nothing but snort
The geeks were in bed by just 10 O'Clock
For up they must be, and of refreshed stock.
The roommate despised her and this much was clear
Her desire to pass was her over-riding care.
And oddly enough all through the night
Where only the DJ was as lively as a sprite.
The rooms were all quite through all Washington Square
For finals tomorrow they had top prepare.
By Bernard James II
Monday 24th May 1999. 12:41PM.
I'm already late meeting 'Mom number one' when I sit down in the rotunda at 'The Pierre.' It's cool though, she already called my phone and said she'd be late. She rushes in five minutes later with a lot of motion. This guy blonde tanned guy in, I'm guessing, his early fifties accompanies her. White turtleneck, khakis and a blue blazer with the monogram 'A.J.M.' The Steinbrenner look.
"Damon.My god you've grown," she says sitting down. "This is Arthur Morris, my fiancee."
Say what!!!???
He extends his hand towards me and says, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"You've heard a lot about me right?"
His eyes move nervously.
I shake it ,and sip some of my green jasmine tea.
"I did tell you I was remarrying, didn't I?"
"Not really, no." I say creasing my brow. I start noticing the engagement ring she's wearing. It's huge.
"How old is he?" Artie says.
"Twenty four." I smile, the grin I'm holding in place making me nauseous.
"Are you really now? Goodness," she says. "Damon is still at University dear."
"He is? Doing what?"
"As little as possible…"
"Man after my own heart." Artie laughs, trying to win me over with it.
I force a laugh and feel seedy.
‘What are you majoring in?’
‘Sarcasm.’
‘Mom number one’ looks at me sternly, and clears her throat.
"English. I’m still coming to grips with it. It’s such a difficult language, don’t you think? What do you do Arthur?"
"Oh." He seems genuinely shocked. "I work in a brokerage firm."
"Really."
"Vice President. In charge of mergers."
"Great , an investment banker," I smile.
The waiter comes over and puts a bear plate of scones on the table. Artie immediately takes one and starts buttering it.
"Tea sir, madam?"
"Earl Grey I think dear?" Artie replies.
"Yes that’s fine," she says quickly dismissing the waiter
"So Mom, how long you in town for?"
"A couple of weeks dear."
"Cool."
I finish off my tea and motion for a re-fill.
"How's your father Damon?"
"Fine I think. Think he made 250 grand last week. So he's happy probably."
"I mean how is he personally?"
"Yeah, oh, oh. I think he's OK."
"Your sister?"
"Fine."
"Do you have any lectures today? I thought we might go to Central Park if you're free."
"Actually College is…really hectic this time of year. Finals and all."
"Can you skip it today?" She asks me, looking sad.
"I really need to go actually…"
"Oh well,if you must, we could do dinner couldn't we dear?"
"Oh yes definitely. Could you direct me to the toilet in here, please Damon?"
I point out the directions.
"Excuse me won't you all?"
"Oh, of course," I find myself saying.
"You look well Damon. I like your hair…"
"Thanks? Are you really gonna marry him mom?'
"Not that it's your business, but yes."
"Oh great," I sigh rolling my eyes. "Now I've got three mothers and two fathers. I think I've got a winning hand."
She doesn't say anything and sips her tea, so I refuse the urge to drink mine.
"Actually, I was hoping you'd be there."
"Jesus Mom.Another stocks and bonds guy. Didn't the whole Dad nightmare teach you anything?"
"Don't lecture me."
Artie starts to come back.
"We shall continue this later," she whispers.
"Fine, fine."
"What are you two talking about."
He leans over and kisses Mom while he says this.
"Nothing," we reply as one.
Tuesday May 25th 1999.
Dylan keeps reminding me about the restaurant opening tonight. I keep replying that I won't. He's been driving his black SAAB around the Hampton's for about an hour, because he can't remember where he lives, because he lost the address , because he moved house. Crispin keeps complaining how he never noticed that everything looks the same out here.
It's getting really hot in the car so I ask Dylan to open the roof up. He doesn't. I light a cigarette, and he does. Dylan's old man's a Managing Director at AMEX. Dylan's got a job there now. He's only on a seventy grand a year because he's just starting.. At school he was one of those guys with a huge group of ... yeah, well groupies
We were at a Yank's game earlier. Sat in his Dads' dugout level seats. His old man is sick , so they flashed his name on the scoreboard with 'Get well soon' ,Dylan cringed when he saw it. Boston's short stop hit a home run in the ninth off some Yankee reliever. So as he entered the dug out Dylan called his mother a rancid whore. The guy ignored him, so Dylan waited outside near their team bus, and insulted him again. Some other player, a big Dominican, told him to go fuck himself. Dylan bitched about calling ESPN all the way to the express way.
"Can't you ring?" Crispin asks.
"Forgot his number."
"Shit," he seethes.
"What is your dealer doing in the Hamptons anyway?" I ask as I stare out the window, looking for a neo-Georgian two-storey house with a lawn. I seem to be surrounded by them.
"Use a city dealer. One with a pager or a cell."
"Or free lance."
"Are you looking?"
We eventually find the place, only after the dealer, this guy called Rico, rang Dylan's mobile. Door's unlocked so we just go in. Crispin brings up the rear.
Rico's a barrel gutted Puerto Rican wearing a pink tank top, with Rico Suave printed on it, that doesn't hide his gut, and an orange speedo. He's making out in a chair with a girl who used to be hot in school. Her younger friend sits in a faded denim skirt, Bill Blass's and no top. Her legs are draped over one arm of the couch.
"Rico my man," Dylan yells as he enters the living room, "what you changed teams again?"
"Si Amigo.This is April and Chrissie.What can I do you for today?"
"I know April.Damon and Crispin," he says waving his hand in our direction.
"I presume thees ain't a social call hombre."
"Yeah, I just enjoy your company so much."
"Dil-ann, you're hurtin' my feelings. What took you so long anyway?"
"Got lost."
"You grew up out here,"he says, shaking his head disapprovingly.
"So where's the coke?"
He gets up and goes to a cupboard in the stairwell, and comes back with a wooden cigar box.
"You boys want anything?" he says turning to us.
"Couple of grams of ko-caine."
"Same as Dil-ann cool?"
I hand him a roll of hundreds.
"You?" He looks at Crispin.
"PCP?"
"Oh I am sorry, I'm all out of the Angel Dust."
"Gram of the same."
"Okay.Hey nice shades man," he says clicking his fingers for Crispin to let him see them.
"Very nice," he says giving them back.
Rico points a remote at the stereo, Frankie Goes To Hollywood 'Two Tribes' starts blaring out.
"I love this song," he says and starts singing the chorus. Think he was singing the ‘suck to it’ at me.
The hot Chrissie chick heads out back towards a pool.
Dylan indicates that we better be leaving. Rico asks what the rush is invitingly, so we stay. He sits down next to me, putting his hand on my thigh. My eyes practically bulge out of my head as I stare across at Dylan, who just shrugs.
‘I need some air,’ I say getting up quickly and walking back out by the pool to look for that Chrissie chick.
She’s diving into the pool and swimming on her back. She smiles when she sees me.
Sitting on the leather couch by the pool next to Crispin.Chrissie's lying across both of us, despite a chair being free. Rico does atom bombs in the pool.
"This is really comfortable,"she says rolling her hips across my dick.
"How'd you afford this place?" Dylan asks surveying the house.
"Didn't amigo.Guy I'm humping does."
"He knows you're not gay anymore," I laugh mid grind.
"I'm still gay muchacho," he says in an offended tone then more up beat,"you boys like a drink?"
Crispin follows him inside and does two massive lines on the glass coffee table with a gold card and a fifty.
Rico comes back with two strawberry daiquiri's , three marguirita's and a White Russian. He sits in a sun chair and April sits in his lap. Crispin starts sucking on Chrissie's toes, while I feed her the daiquiri. 'You Spin Me' comes on the stereo followed by 'Are Friends Electric' and 'Kids in America.' Rico finishes making out, and heads up this winding white carpeted staircase with April.
"We off?" Dylan asks standing up.
"I'm taking a dip,"Crispin says.
"Got a point. You coming Chandler?"
"Maybe later," I wink as Chrissie giggles. I turn to her and she's smoking a joint and looking spaced.
"You going swimming babe?"
She whispers some different idea in my ear.
I'm lying on top of her on this four poster bed. I reach down and untie the strings on her bikini brief, and start to head down. She stops me and says.
"Don't."
"What?"
"What is it with guys , can't anyone just fuck anymore?"
"No harm, no foul," I say as I shake and shrug.
"I hate you," she says deadpan out of nowhere.
"What are you talking about?"
"I hate you. I can only fuck guys I hate," she says pulling my polo shirt over my head and loosening my belt.
‘Right.’
The restaurant's called Perche on 51st street. I don't know what that means, but it's Italian. Its really dark inside, with these spotlights the only illumination. The invites describe it as a restaurant for young people with high disposable incomes. In other words kids with trust funds. Chloe cancelled on me, so I'm here with Karen. She's pretty high or drunk ,or both. I've been drinking martini's, smoking since I got there. The martinis are way too dry.
The placelooks like it was done on the cheap. The tables are formica with metal siding. There’s V.I.P rooms out back I’ve been told, but they haven’t bothered to open them. DiCaprio and a whole list of Southampton celebs were meant to be here, they’ve either bailed before I got here, or they had something better to do. Like anything.
Rebecca , Dylan's squeeze of the season , tells me he put money into this stupid idea. He's been asking everyone if his or her food's ok like a fucking waiter. I tell him my cannelloni's a little overdone, just to piss him off.
Ashley Cartwright's sitting next to me at our table. She brought the usual idiot, one of her muscle bound studs from her gym, as her date. He didn't get half the menu, and couldn't order off the wine list I need some coke or scotch or vodka and the other type of coke . STAT.
"This is like prom, Damon. Remember prom?" Ashley turns my way and says.
"Yours or mine?"
"Didn't go to mine, so yours?"
"My prom."
"Yeah. Do-you-remember-it."
"No.And neither do you."
"What? Why?" She says and looks me disgust.
"Because you were drunk, and so was I. I don't know what the fuck you’re remembering."
"I remember Jason Priestley was there."
"That was the 90210 prom."
"No it wasn't," Karen interrupts. "He was there. We paid him to."
"Really ? Why don't I remember that?"
I don't like the décor of the restaurant I've decided. It's so tacky and bogus art nouveau type stuff is everywhere. Ashley likes it. What does that….
EXPLODING MYTH'S ABOUT ASHLEY CARTWRIGHT.
1. That she's a nice person.
TRUTH: Oh really? Well at least she pulls the illusion off well.
2. Ashley's a great lover.
TRUTH: Well she's great in bed. Lover? Who knows.
3. Ashley's smarter than most of her friends because she does Psych at Columbia.
TRUTH: This one seems solely based on that one A she got in her freshman year, and not her subsequent B- average
4. Ashley would never sleep with a tutor would she?
TRUTH: No. Lecturers and tutors. Many believe this to be the real reason behind the A.
So she's a slut,right?
Yeah, but she's a gorgeous pouty brunette, with a nice body and a fat trust fund, they get away with such things. They're promiscuous.
6. Ashley doesn't just date himbo's with nice bodies.
TRUTH: Duh! They're obvious dumber than her, so she's in charge. Her friends may embarrass her or even out smart her. See point 4.
...and I'm only at this thing because it's my step-sister Alice's birthday. I gave her a necklace. But I don't care about that ,couldn't even tell you which one. 22nd?
What I care about is that she currently lives in Dad's Trump Tower apartment.
She lets me crash there, but recently she's been threatening to rat me out to Dad. Dad refuses to let me live there. Something about the wild party I through there last year. Can’t even get a fucking key.
I'm sucking up unashamedly so she won't tell him. So far so good. Diamond's work on any girl.
Nobody's eaten much and Karen looks pretty gone. I'm a little stoned. I order another martini , and start thinking about going home with Ashley instead. Her date's pretty drunk, so she's probably thinking the same thing.
I kiss Karen and she comes to a little bit and mumbles something through a closed lipped smile.
I ask Alice where she found her date Mikhael, a lean tall guy in a leather jacket and jeans, with fashion stubble that's almost becoming a beard.
Says she met him at Tunnel.
"What were you doing at Tunnel?"
"Dancing."
Mikhael keeps sticking his hand down her dress and copping a feel. I feel uneasy that I don’t know how I feel about. Can’t get any sibling protection ‘cause she’s not related, but still...
Rebecca leans over and whispers in my ear that can't I do something.
I take a sip of my martini and eat the olive.
"Happy?" I say back.
She rolls her eyes and shrugs lighting another smoke.
‘Action through inaction babe.’
‘Kiss off.’
‘That’s why I like you, the long conversations we have.’
I stare down at the scuff mark on my right shoe and notice the floor for the first time. It’s made of semi-reflective glass squares which catch the light. If you look closer they have little particles, like frozen water inside them.
"What happened to Chloe?" Crispin asks as my phone rings to 'Video Killed the Radio Star'. Gotta change that.
"Who?" The phone rings again. Karen's disappeared.
"Chloe."
"Sick or something. That girls got an immune system like Ashley’s panties. Pretty much anything gets through."
Ashley slaps me hard across the back of the head.
‘Oww. Fuck you. Psycho bitch. What the fuck are you doing?’
She just mumbles ‘dick’ shaking her head.
I eventually pick up the call and head off to do some more coke. Rico's coke is shit and badly cut with Amyl, or something. I put a message on my organiser to call Simon.
Karen's on the phone. ["Where are you?"] The voice says chirpily.
"In the can."
["Where?"]
"The restaurant."
["Which?"]
"Perche."
[That's where I am,"] her voice says enthusiastically.
"I know I brought you."
[You did? Cool come back. Love you"]
"Whatever."
I hang up bored.
Two-something, and by now the vodka I've been drinking, on and off all night is starting to get the best of me. I'm telling Ashley, "do you know how fucking rich I am?"
She's telling me yes and shoves my arm away from her. I tell the guy she brought the same. He's dissing me, but I'm not listening.
Karen's got her head on my lap , half asleep, making a kind of purring sound. Start thinking about taking her home and screwing her.
"I used to think I was above this," I say. But no one hears me.
I remember Senior Prom. It was at the Waldorf-Astoria I think or the Plaza maybe the Carlyle but that’s unlikely…..Anyway everyone was really drunk or high or both. I shared this limo with Crispin and his date Kathy, Lloyd (who you don't know) and his date Lindsey.And Katie whose date was this guy, this guy Alan. Her white prom dress looked really hot on her. My date, whose name I forget, kept trying to make me notice her. The group of us were drinking champagne.
The teachers at the door were checking everyone for booze, cigarettes and drugs. They asked us to empty our pockets the Nazis. We'd come up with a way to beat this. Crispin had a hip flask taped to his back. I had two pack's of Marlboro Lloyd had some Coke.
We met in the can to stash it all.
I hardly did coke then but thought what the fuck.
Needed to, had to get past the elevator band playing. Least the food was good.
Was sitting at a round table with the people I came with plus Wesley who brought Ashley even though she went to Riverdale..
My date moved in thisclose. I guess I was going to fuck her. I had the room after all.
I really wanted to take Katie in there.
I'm talking to her a lot because Alan had gone somewhere. My date was getting really pissed off at this.
And it got late ,and we all got really drunk, because we found a wine bladder someone else had stashed.
Something else happened that night...but I really don’t want to talk about it.
Reggie vs Endless Mike.
Friday June 4th 1999.
The Knicks are playing Indiana in the playoffs on the big screen in Mike Beckett's Dad's apartment. Bruce and Cam are here too. The Knicks are winning, I think, because Mike and Bruce keep saying things like "Atta boy Spree," and, "take it to the hole."
They keep clapping and shaking their fists when the Knicks score, and calling the Indiana players ass-holes when they do. The TV focuses in on the crowd in a time out. Woody Allen looks nervous. Well… more nervous. Spike Lee looks happy. He's yelling at the Indiana players.
The game starts again.
Then something strange starts happening. This guy called Reggie Miller starts kicking the Knicks asses. He's just dropping 'jumpers,'like that, the Knick lead disappears.
[Miller for three. Yes!]
[Miller on the steal. He pulls up for the jumper. Is it good? Yes!]
Mike swears, Bruce yells ,and then they swear and yell at each other.
Bruce yells for the Knicks to, "Stay on him."
"Guard him. Foul him. Oh Fuck shit," Mike joins in.
Reggie Miller pulls up from outside and shoots.
[Miller for three. Yes! ] Marv Albert yells. Van Gundy calls a Time Out. Mike Fratello starts off on some insight on how the tide might be turning, and that Van Gundy has to double Miller and stop letting him gettting open looks.
Mike throws his beer at the TV turning it off. Amazing accuracy.
“Beckett for three. Yes!” I yell out.
"Numbnuts. Turn it back on," Bruce yells.
"Fuck you, I'm trying."
But he can't get any pressure from behind his foam finger. He takes it off and presses the on button.
[Miller for three.Yes!]
"Godamnit! Mother fucking Miller," Mike stamps his feet.
The Knicks call a timeout. Woody Allen still looks nervous Spike Lee looks pissed and is still swearing at the other team. Most of it directed at Reggie Miller.
The game comes back on. Reggie Miller hits another eight points.
"He's good that Miller guy...," I offer.
"Go fuck yourself Chandler."
Spike Lee is shown insulting Reggie Miller as he walks by in front of him. He swears back. Mike thinks he should be thrown out of the game.
They ignore Cam when he says "But didn't Spike Lee start it..."
Reggie Miller keeps on kicking the Knicks asses. He's got thirty-two points the screen says.
The screen then says that Indiana is leading by eleven. No now it's thirteen.
The game ends. The Knicks are eliminated.
Mike's still swearing. Bruce sits there holding his beer, mouth wide open in shock.
Mike springs up suddenly and picks up the TV, yanking it out of the socket with a little spark. The psycho's going to throw it out the window.
"Mike. You don't want to do this man."
"Fuck it."
"Chandler...," Bruce pleads.
"Mike, what the fuck. You're six floors up. You'll fucking kill somebody."
He yells screw this and gets ready to chuck it.
"Don't be a dick," Bruce yells.
He lets go of it. The window shatters, and about five seconds later a crash.
The TV's crushed on the sidewalk. A circle of people turns, and looks up at us.
About twenty minutes later a cop car turns up. Then there's a knock on the door. They enter. They've got their guns out but put them away once Mike starts freaking.
They keep asking him why he did this. He keeps telling them,
"because Reggie Miller sucks my dick."
The bigger white cop tells him to calm down. Mike kicks the coffee table and it shatters into little pieces of pebbled glass. A shard flies up and sticks in Cam's forearm. The Latino cop pulls it out, and wraps a cloth around the wound.
Karen.
Going to lunch in the Hamptons with Damon, my boyfriend.
"Ex-boyfriend. We broke up, remember."
Fine ex-boyfriend. He's driving me to this dinner party...
"Lunch."
"What?"
"Its lunch."
"OK lunch. Thank you Damon."
"Pleasure."
"Drop it will you?"
Jesus. Anyway, it's this lunch party that Wesley's parents are throwing. Weather's fine. Damon picked me up in his little red Ferrari.
"1961 Ferrari GT California. Only about seventy were made. Cost dad like three mill to get it, so naturally I drive it everywhere. Pisses him off massively.
"Thank you Ferris."
"Sorry, it's a very expensive car. You called it a little Ferrari. Its not accurate."
"And people care why?"
"I'm guessing they probably do. It does rock..."
"Damon."
Anyway I passed all my finals and my psych got an A+...
"Congrats. I got two C's and a DNS. That's a Did Not Sit."
Whatever. Its fine today but I see clouds , and that could mean rain later. Nothing spoils an outdoor dinner, sorry lunch, more than rain.
"Could rain. Have to store the car if it does. No roof."
"We will." God he's frustrating me. "You better have some coke Damon."
"Regular or Diet. Anyway, I thought you quit."
"And now I've unquit. Ok?"
"Whatever. Where does Wesley live now anyway?"
"East Hampton."
"Oh thank you, that's very helpful."
"How do I look?"
He glances at me. Still thinks I'm hot, even in casuals.
"You look fine."
"Hair?"
"Nice, it suits you. Can you get the map out please."
A couple of rain specks hit the windshield.
"Sun shower," he says.
Could be thunder too.
"This the street?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
"There's Dylan's BMW."
"Dylan doesn't drive a BMW sweetie"
"What does he drive?" I ask.
"SAAB convertible."
"Well who owns a BMW?"
"Everyone on the island?"
I love it when my boyfriend's sarcastic.
"Ex-boyfriend," he sighs.
Dad's visiting the London office. Ostensibly it's a mini-vacation, but come on. The last time he took a vacation he ended up investing in a uranium mine in Australia. In his absence I've decided to go near the house on the island for once.
Actually, he asked Alice and I to watch the place. Actually, he didn't invite me, only Alice.
On the first night Steve and me raided the beer fridge and liquor cabinet.
Tonight I've invited that Chloe chick over. She needed a ride, so I picked her up outside the registrar in the Ferrari. She chirped greetings and hugged me.
Right now we're sitting outside by the pool eating dinner. I've given Tom the night off, after he cooked cannelloni and Roquefort cheese for us. She loved it. I agreed with her, even though I've had it before. I think I like pasta, I know I love blue cheese. Chloe's wearing this blue string bikini, probably because it's slightly muggy tonight. It looks really good on her. I've never noticed how nice her breasts are before.
After dinner we swim in the kidney shaped pool. Then we're in Dad's room. She's lying on the bed in the string bikini dripping wet. I can't resist the urge to jump on top of her and unfasten the bikini top. She resists half-heartedly, but I whisper for her to trust me as I put my head between her breasts and blow gently on them. She giggles girlishly when I do this.
I move out of my trunks and kick them off on the floor. Her hands move down and unfasten the brief at both sides. It falls away and my dick just falls in and I start humping her. She squeals.
I'm driving Chloe home, I asked her to stay ,but you know.
She seems really subdued and neither of us has been saying much except that was odd from her and I guess so from me.
It's fucked up.
She gets out when I pull up outside her friend's place that she's staying at.
She just says "thanks." I say later and lean in to kiss her. She backs away.
"Later," and "I'll call you."
I get home and make myself a sandwich and head upstairs. Can hear fucking noises and Alice's voice from her room. Never knew there was someone else here. Think about bursting in on them to freak them out. Don't care enough though.
Crack open a cold one from the mini fridge in Dad's room. Do a line. Sleep.
Alice is throwing a party at home and its about 6:49 on a Saturday. Chloe couldn't turn up , and the phone conversation was really cryptic and detached. Like a different person.
I'm sitting out back by the pool on a lounge chair drinking beer. I've lost count . Six? Seven?
Ashley's next to me gazing at the people behind her Dolce & Gabbana's. She's been talking about...god, I don't even know. She's finally caught on.
"Oh what's bothering you Mr.Elsewhere?"
I look her way properly for the first time. I'm disturbed by the fact that she's wearing a similar bikini as Chloe was last week. And I'm just staring at her while she keeps asking what is it.
"I slept with Chloe?"
"Which one's she?"
"My girlfriend," I reply and think about the term. Is she? I've never thought of it that way.
"What's the big deal? You sleep with lots of girls."
"I think I love her," I mumble, and for a moment I feel stupid saying it.
"What? Repeat that?" Ashley says grinning.
"I think I love her," I say louder.
"Thought that's what you said," she replies, rolling her eyes. "Hold on, love her? This is this going to be like the time you fell for that sap Benjamin isn't it?"
"Jealously is so unbecoming. I want to love her...but I've fucked her and I'm not sure anymore Ash... Is she another conquest?"
"Get a grip putz."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you."
"I'm going for a dip," she says.
"Same here."
"Fine."
"Fine."
The water's warm in the pool. I start thinking about old summers when I was twelve or thirteen. I close my eyes and I'm almost there. Difference is back then a real knockout of a brunette hadn't just swum over and leaned next to me in the water. She starts pushing me back to the side of the pool and pins me against it. It feels nice, and I smile at her. She reaches behind me and pours a glass of champagne. One of her friends ,hot blonde, paddles over. They whisper something to each other and giggle.
Then I think of unpleasant memories in this pool. Cracking my head, sun burn, Chloe...
The blonde straddles me and removes her bikini top. I think about Chloe even more.
The brunette plunges underwater with a plip. I can feel my trunks being pulled down. She re-surfaces and holds them up smiling. I guess I smile back. She plunges back down with more of a splash and begins sucking me off. Little bubbles appear on the surface. She surfaces once in a while and goes down again. Good tongue technique, gentle yet firm.
Keeps sucking on it. Then she stops for no reason.
‘Why are you stopping? You can’t just stop. It’s like robbing a bank, getting out the door and deciding it was a bad idea with the S.W.A.T team in front of you.’
‘What the fuck are you saying.’
‘That aborted blow jobs can get messy. Like robbing a bank.’
‘Weirdo.’
The way she said that sounded like another girl I used to know. It just crossed my mind that I slept with the brunette’s older sister in high school.
The brunette deep throats me.
Off to Russia in a week. Some dumb-ass poli sci trip I signed up for.
Convinced Cam to tag along on it. He really needs to get away from this film he's made. The guy he made it with Keith Colhoun, who put Cam's name on it as sole-director.
He's still unable to get laid and he's been drinking heavily.
I'm going because I can't stand the thought of another Long Island Summer.
Neither of us have ever taken poli sci.
I'm sitting in Dad's place. Just where I don't want to be.
Cam's showing me his film. He's smoking another joint, and drinking from this bottle of Bacardi. I'm trying, really trying to be positive but it really is a piece of crap. Every so often you can see the boom in the shot. Cam groans when this happens. I say it could be worse when this happens. He asks how. I can't answer.
"We're going to re-edit and re-shoot some stuff of course. Need an editing machine though. Haystack's working on that."
The film finishes, I put the edited Emma footage on instead.
"What the fuck is this?"
"It's that girl you used to be obsessed with, you can see what you missed."
The phone rings.
"I'll get it."
It's Colhoun, predictably, he wants Cam. Don't know why he knew he was here.
"Where did you get this?"
"Forget about it, the phone's for you, Colhoun."
Cam gets up and picks up the phone. I start watching the footage again, it loops back to the start.
I can hear them have a heated argument before Cam yells, "Fine," and slams the phone down.
"We've got to go," he says picking up his jacket.
"Huh?"
"We've gotta go bail Haystack out."
"You're shitting me."
I'm half drunk and I have to drive to town to bail this cock out. What a wonderful experience.
"What'd he do try and pick up another undercover cop on St.Mark’s?" I ask.
"Tell you in the car."
"Whatever," I sigh.
Colhoun got arrested for breaking into Tisch to steal, sorry, borrow a load of film equipment. It was going well, until a campus security guy found him and he dropped a nine hundred dollar editing machine down a staircase.
The cop at the desk looks bewildered that anyone would want to bail Colhoun out. He said that actually. Kinda cool I think.
They go and drag him out. He's wearing this black suit (second hand) with a black shirt with white polka dots. He's putting on his ray-ban's
Someone's spray painted 'faggot' on the back of his jacket. Cam's about to tell him,but I motion for him not to. Colhoun collects his discman and puts on the earphones. Turns around and calls the desk guy a fuckin' pig.
Slap him across the head.
He starts chanting Attica over and over
"Hey tell ya friend if he don't shut up I'll arrest his ass again."
"Fine with me dude."
Russia's looking better and better.
