Blair suddenly kisses me on the cheek and sits down along with Alana and Kim. Blair tells me that Muriel was hospitalized for anorexia today. “She passed out in
film class. So they took her to Cedars-Sinai which is not exactly the closest hospital to U.S.C.,” Blair says in a rush, lighting a cigarette. Kim is wearing pink sunglasses and she also lights one and then Alana asks for one.
“You are coming to Kim’s party, Clay? Aren’t you?” Alana asks.
“Oh yes, Clay. You’ve totally got to,” Kim says.
“When is it?” I ask, knowing that Kim always throws these parties, once a week or something like that.
“Sometime near the end of next week,” she tells me, though I realize that probably means tomorrow.
“I don’t know who to go with,” Alana says suddenly. “Oh, God, I don’t know who the fuck to go with.” She pauses. “I just realized that.”
“What about Cliff? Weren’t you going with Cliff?” asks Blair.
“I’m going with Cliff,” Kim says, looking at Blair.
“Oh, that’s right,” Blair says.
“Well, if you’re going with Cliff, I’ll go with Warren,” Alana says.
“But I thought you were going out with Warren,” Kim says to Blair.
I glance over at Blair.
“I was, but I’m not ‘going-out’ with Warren,” Blair says, missing a beat.
“You were not. You fucked. You didn’t ‘go-out,’ ” Alana says.
“Whatever, whatever,” Blair says, flipping through her menu, glancing over at me, then away.
“Did you sleep with Warren?” Kim asks Alana.
Alana looks at Blair and then at Kim and then at me
and says, “No. I didn’t.” She looks back at Blair and then at Kim again. “Did you?”
“No, but I thought Cliff was sleeping with Warren,” Kim says, confused for a moment.
“That might be true, but I thought Cliff was sleeping with that creepy Valley-turned-Punk, Didi Hellman,” says Blair.
“Oh, that is not true. Who told you that?” Alana wants to know.
I realize for an instant that I might have slept with Didi Hellman. I also realize that I might have slept with Warren also. I don’t say anything. They probably already know.
“Didi did,” says Blair. “Didn’t she tell you that?”
“No,” Kim says. “She didn’t.”
“Me either,” Alana says.
“Well, she told me,” Blair says.
“Oh, what does she know? She lives in Calabasas for God’s sakes,” Alana moans.
Blair thinks about it for a moment and then says slowly, evenly, “If Cliff slept with Didi, then he must have slept with … Raoul.”
“Who’s Raoul?” Alana and Kim ask at the same time.
I open my menu and pretend to read it, wondering if I slept with Raoul. Name seems familiar.
“Didi’s other boyfriend. She was always getting into these disgusting threesomes. They were ridiculous,” Blair says, closing her menu.
“Didi is ridiculous,” says Alana.
“Raoul is black, isn’t he?” Kim asks after a while.
I haven’t slept with Raoul.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because I think I met him at a backstage party at The Roxy once.”
“I thought he O.D.’d.”
“No, no. He’s really cute. He’s like the best-looking black guy I think I’ve ever seen,” Blair says.
Alana and Kim nod in agreement. I close my menu.
“But isn’t he gay though?” Kim asks, looking concerned.
“Who? Cliff?” Blair asks.
“No. Raoul.”
“He’s bi. Bi,” Blair says, and then, not too sure, “I think.”
“I don’t think he ever slept with Didi,” says Alana.
“Well, I really don’t either,” Blair says.
“Then why did she go out with him?”
“She thought it was chic to have a black boyfriend,” Blair says, by now bored with the subject.
“What a sleaze,” Alana says, shivering in mock disgust.
The three of them stop talking and then Kim says, “I had no idea Cliff slept with Raoul.”
“Cliff has slept with everyone,” Alana says, and rolls her eyes up, and Kim and Blair laugh. Blair looks at me and I try to smile and then the waitress comes and takes our order.
A
s I predicted, Kim’s party is tonight. I follow Trent to the party. Trent’s wearing a tie when he comes to my
house and he tells me to wear one and so I put a red one on. When we stop at Santo Pietro’s to get something to eat before the party, Trent catches his reflection in one of the windows and grimaces and takes his tie off and tells me to take mine off, which is just as well since no one at the party is wearing one.
At the house in Holmby Hills I talk to a lot of people who tell me about shopping for suits at Fred Segal and buying tickets for concerts and I hear Trent telling everyone about how much fun he’s having at the fraternity he joined at U.C.L.A. I also talk to Pierce, some friend from high school, and apologize for not calling him when I got in and he tells me that it doesn’t matter and that I look pale and that someone stole the new BMW his father bought him as a graduation present. Julian is at the party and he doesn’t look as fucked up as Alana said: still tan, hair still blond and short, maybe a little too thin, but otherwise looks good. Julian tells Trent that he’s sorry he missed him at Carney’s the other night and that he’s been really busy and I’m standing next to Trent, who has just finished his third gin and tonic, and hear him say, “That’s just really fucking irresponsible of you,” and I turn away, wondering if I should ask Julian what he wanted when he called and left the message, but when our eyes meet and we’re about to say hello, he looks away and walks into the living room. Blair dances over to me, singing the words to “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” probably stoned out of her mind, and she says that I look happy and that I look good and she hands me a box from Jerry Magnin and whispers “Merry Christmas, you fox,” in my ear, and kisses me.
I open the box. It’s a scarf. I thank her and tell her that it’s really nice. She tells me to put it on and see if it fits and I tell her that scarves usually fit all people. But she insists and I put the scarf on and she smiles and murmurs “Perfect” and goes back to the bar to get a drink. I stand alone with the scarf wrapped around my neck in the corner of the living room and then spot Rip, my dealer, and am totally relieved.
Rip’s wearing this thick, bulky white outfit he probably bought at Parachute, and an expensive black fedora, and Trent asks Rip, as he makes his way toward me, if he’s been going parachuting. “Going Parachuting? Get it?” Trent says, giggling. Rip just stares at Trent until Trent stops giggling. Julian comes back into the room and I’m about to go over and say hello, but Rip grabs the scarf around my neck and pulls me into an empty room. I notice that there’s no furniture in the room and begin to wonder why; then Rip hits me lightly on the shoulder and laughs.
“How the fuck have you been?”
“Great,” I say. “Why is there no furniture in here?”
“Kim’s moving,” he says. “Thanks for returning my phone call, you dick.”
I know that Rip hasn’t tried to call me, but I say, “Sorry, I’ve only been back like four days and … I don’t know … But I’ve been looking for you.”
“Well, here I am. What can I do for you, dude?”
“What have you got?”
“What did you take up there?” Rip asks, not really interested in answering me. He takes two small folded envelopes out of his pocket.
“Well, an art course and a writing course and this music course—”
“Music course?” Rip interrupts, pretending to get excited. “Did you write any music?”
“Well, yeah, a little.” I reach into my back pocket for my wallet.
“Hey, I got some lyrics. Write some music. We’ll make millions.”
“Millions of what?”
“Are you going back?” Rip asks, not missing a beat.
I don’t say anything, just stare at the half gram he’s poured onto a small hand mirror.
“Or are you gonna stay … and play … in L.A.” Rip laughs and lights a cigarette. With a razor he cuts the pile into four big lines and then he hands me a rolled up twenty and I lean down and do a line.
“Where?” I ask, lifting my head up, sniffing loudly.
“Jesus,” Rip says, leaning down. “To school, you jerk.”
“I don’t know. I suppose so.”
“You suppose so.” He does both his lines, huge, long lines, and then hands me the twenty.
“Yeah,” I shrug, leaning back down.
“Cute scarf. Real cute. Guess Blair still likes you,” Rip smiles.
“I guess,” I say, doing the other long line.
“You guess, you guess,” Rip laughs.
I smile and shrug again. “It’s good. How about a gram?”
“Here you go, dude.” He hands me one of the small envelopes.
I give him two fifties and a twenty and he hands me the twenty back and says, “Christmas present, okay?”
“Thanks a lot, Rip.”
“Well, I think you should go back,” he says, pocketing the money. “Don’t fuck off. Don’t be a bum.”
“Like you?” I regret saying this. It comes out wrong.
“Like me, dude,” Rip says, missing a beat.
“I don’t know if I want to,” I begin.
“What do you mean, you don’t know if you want to?”
“I don’t know. Things aren’t that different there.”
Rip is getting restless and I get the feeling that it doesn’t matter a whole lot to Rip whether I stay or go.
“Listen, you’ve got a long vacation, don’t you? A month, right?”
“Yeah. Four weeks.”
“A month, right. Think about it.”
“I’ll do that.”
Rip walks over to the window.
“Are you deejaying anymore?” I ask, lighting a cigarette.
“No way, man.” He runs his finger over the mirror and rubs it over his teeth and gums, then slips the mirror back into his pocket. “The trust is keeping things steady for now. I might go back when I run out. Only problem is, I don’t think it’s ever gonna run out,” he laughs. “I got this totally cool penthouse on Wilshire. It’s fantastic.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You gotta stop by.”
“I will.”
Rip sits on the windowsill and says, “I think Alana wants to fuck me. What do you think?”
I don’t say anything. I can’t understand why since Rip
doesn’t look anything like David Bowie, he’s not left-handed and doesn’t live in the Colony.
“Well, should I fuck her or what?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Sure, why not?”
Rip gets off the windowsill and says, “Listen, you’ve got to come over to the apartment. I got
Temple of Doom
bootleg. Cost me four hundred dollars. You should come over, dude.”
“Yeah, sure, Rip.” We walk to the door.
“You will?”
“Why not.”
When the two of us enter the living room these two girls who I don’t remember come up to me and tell me I should give them a call and one of them reminds me about the night at The Roxy and I tell her that there have been a lot of nights at The Roxy and she smiles and tells me to call her anyway. I’m not sure if I have this girl’s number and just as I’m about to ask her for it, Alana walks up to me and tells me that Rip has been bothering her and is there anything I can do about it? I tell her I don’t think so. And as Alana starts to talk about Rip, I watch Rip’s roommate dance with Blair next to the Christmas tree. He whispers something into her ear and they both laugh and nod their heads.
There’s also this old guy with longish gray hair and a Giorgio Armani sweater and moccasins on who wanders past Alana and me and he begins to talk to Rip. One of the boys from U.S.C. who was at Blair’s party is also here and he looks at the old man, guy maybe forty, forty-five, and then turns to one of the girls who met me at The Roxy and makes a face. He notices me looking at
him when he does this and he smiles and I smile back and Alana keeps going on and on and luckily someone turns the volume up and Prince starts to scream. Alana leaves once a song she wants to dance to comes on, and this guy from U.S.C., Griffin, comes up to me and asks if I want some champagne. I tell him sure and he goes to the bar and I look for a bathroom to do another line.
I have to go through Kim’s room to get to it, since the lock on the one downstairs is broken, and as I get to her door, Trent comes out and closes it.
“Use the one downstairs,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because Julian and Kim and Derf are fucking in there.”
I just stand there. “Derf’s here?” I ask.
“Come with me,” Trent says.
I follow Trent downstairs and out of the house and over to his car.
“Get in,” he says.
I open the door and get into the BMW.
“What do you want?” I ask him as he gets in on the driver’s side.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small vial.
“A little co-kaine,” he says in a fake southern drawl.
I don’t tell him I already have some and he takes out a gold spoon and presses the spoon into the powder and then holds it up to his nose and does this four times. He then pushes the same tape that is on at the party into the car’s stereo and hands me the vial and the spoon. I do four hits also and my eyes water and I swallow. It’s different coke than Rip’s and I wonder if he got it from Julian. It’s not as good.
“Why don’t we go to Palm Springs for a week while you’re back,” he suggests.
“Yeah. Palm Springs. Sure,” I tell him. “Listen, I’m going back in.”
I leave Trent alone in the car and walk back to the party and over toward the bar, where Griffin is standing, holding two glasses of champagne. “I think it’s a little flat,” he says.
“What?”
“I said your champagne’s flat.”
“Oh.” I pause, confused for a minute. “That’s all right.”
I drink it anyway and he pours me another glass.
“It’s still pretty good,” he says after finishing his glass and pouring himself another. “Want some more?”
“Sure.” I finish my second glass and he pours me a third. “Thanks.”
“The girl I came with just left with that Japanese guy in the English Beat T-shirt and tight white pants. You know who he is?”
“No.”
“Kim’s hairdresser.”
“Wild,” I say, finishing the glass of champagne and looking at Blair from across the room. Our eyes meet and she smiles and makes a face. I smile back, don’t make a face. Griffin notices this and says loudly, over the din of the music, “You’re the guy who’s going out with Blair, right?”