"I thought the pinto beans with salmon and mint were really,really ... you know," Elizabeth says, walking into the living roomof my apartment and in one graceful movement kicking oʃ bothsatin and suede Maud Frizon pumps and ɻopping onto the couch,"good, but Patrick, my god it was expensive and," then, bristling,she bitches, "it was only pseudo nouvelle.""Was it my imagination or were there goldɹsh on the tables?" Iask, undoing my Brooks Brothers suspenders while searching therefrigerator for a bottle of sauvignon blanc. "Anyway, I thought itwas hip."Christie has taken a seat on the long, wide sofa, away fromElizabeth, who stretches out lazily."Hip, Patrick?" she calls out. "Donald Trump eats there."I locate the bottle and stand it on the counter and, beforeɹnding a wine opener, stare at her blankly from across the room."Yes? Is this a sarcastic comment?""Guess," she moans and follows it with a "Duh" so loud thatChristie ɻinches."Where are you working now, Elizabeth?" I ask, closingdrawers. "Polo outlet or something?"Elizabeth cracks up at this and says blithely, while I uncork theAcacia, "I don't have to work, Bateman," and after a beat sheadds, bored, "You of all people should know how that feels, Mr.Wall Street." She's checking her lipstick in a Gucci compact;predictably it looks perfect.Changing the subject, I ask, "Who chose that place anyway?" Ipour the two girls wine and then make myself a J&B on the rockswith a little water. "The restaurant, I mean.""Carson did. Or maybe Robert." Elizabeth shrugs and then aftersnapping the compact shut, staring intently at Christie, asks, "Youlook really familiar. Did you go to Dalton?"Christie shakes her head no. It's almost three in the morning.I'm grinding up a tab of Ecstasy and watching it dissolve in thewineglass I plan to hand Elizabeth. This morning's topic on ThePatty Winters Show was People Who Weigh Over Seven HundredPounds—What Can We Do About Them? I switch on the kitchenlights, ɹnd two more tabs of the drug in the freezer, then shut thelights oʃ.Elizabeth is a twenty-year-old hardbody who sometimes modelsin Georges Marciano ads and who comes from an old Virginiabanking family. We had dinner earlier tonight with two friends ofhers, Robert Farrell, twenty-seven, a guy who's had a rathersketchy career as a ɹnancier, and Carson Whitall, who wasRobert's date. Robert wore a wool suit by Belvest, a cotton shirtwith French cuʃs by Charvet, an abstract-patterned silk-crepe tieby Hugo Boss and sunglasses by Ray-Ban that he insisted onwearing during the meal. Carson wore a suit by Yves SaintLaurent Rive Gauche and a pearl necklace with matching pearland diamond earrings by Harry Winston. We had dinner at FreeSpin, the new Albert Lioman restaurant in the Flatiron district,then took the limousine to Nell's, where I excused myself,assuring an irate Elizabeth I'd be right back, and directed thechauʃeur to the meat-packing district, where I picked up Christie.I made her wait in the back of the locked limousine while Ireentered Nell's and had drinks with Elizabeth and Carson andRobert in one of the booths up front, empty since the place hadno celebrities in it tonight—a bad sign. Finally, at two-thirty,while Carson bragged drunkenly about her monthly ɻower bill,Elizabeth and I split. She was so pissed oʃ about somethingCarson told her was in the latest issue of W that she didn't evenquestion Christie's presence.In the ride back toward Nell's Christie had admitted that shewas still upset about the last time we shared together, and thatshe had major reservations about tonight, but the money I'veoʃered is simply too good to pass up and I promised her thatnothing like last time will be repeated. Though she was stillscared, a few shots of vodka in the back of the limo along withthe money I'd given her so far, over sixteen hundred dollars,relaxed her like a tranquilizer. Her moodiness turned me on andshe acted like a total sex kitten when I ɹrst handed her the cashamount—six bills attached to a Hughlans silver money clip—butafter I urged her into the limo she told me that she might needsurgery after what happened last time, or a lawyer, so I wrote outa check to cash in the amount of one thousand dollars, but since Iknew it would never be cashed I didn't have a panic attack aboutit or anything. Looking over at Elizabeth right now, in myapartment, I'm noticing how well endowed she is in the chestarea and I'm hoping that after the Ecstasy hits her system I canconvince the two girls to have sex in front of me.Elizabeth is asking Christie if she's ever met some assholenamed Spicey or been to Au Bar. Christie is shaking her head. Ihand Elizabeth the Ecstasy-laden sauvignon blanc while shestares at Christie like she was from Neptune, and after recoveringfrom Christie's admission she yawns. "Anyway, Au Bar sucks now.It's terrible. I went to a birthday party there for Malcolm Forbes.Oh my god, please." She downs the wine, grimacing. I take a seatin one of the chrome and oak Sottsass chairs and reach over tothe ice bucket that sits on the glass-top coʃee table, adjusting thebottle of wine in order to chill it better. Immediately Elizabethmakes a move for it, pouring herself another glass. I dissolve twomore tabs of the Ecstasy in the bottle before bringing it into theliving room. A sullen Christie sips her untainted wine cautiouslyand tries not to stare at the ɻoor; she still seems scared, andɹnding the silence unbearable or incriminating she asks Elizabethwhere she met me."Oh god," Elizabeth starts, moaning as if she falselyremembered something embarrassing. "I met Patrick at, oh god,the Kentucky Derby in '86—no, '87, and ..." She turns to me."You were hanging out with that bimbo Alison something ...Stoole?""Poole, honey," I reply calmly. "Alison Poole.""Yeah, that was her name," she says, then with unmaskedsarcasm, "Hot number.""What do you mean by that?" I ask, oʃended. "She was a hotnumber."Elizabeth turns to Christie and unfortunately says, "If you hadan American Express card she'd give you a blow-job," and I'mhoping to god that Christie doesn't look over at Elizabeth,confused, and say "But we don't take credit cards." To make surethis doesn't happen, I bellow "Oh, bullshit," but good-naturedly."Listen," Elizabeth tells Christie, holding her hand out like afag oʃering gossipy information. "This girl worked at a tanningsalon, and"—and in the same sentence, without changing tone—"what do you do?"After a long silence, Christie turning redder and even morescared, I say, "She's ... my cousin."Slowly, Elizabeth takes this in and says, "Uh-huh?"After another long silence, I say, "She's ... from France."Elizabeth looks at me skeptically—like I'm completely crazy—but chooses not to pursue this line of questioning and asksinstead, "Where's your phone? I've got to call Harley."I move over to the kitchen and bring the cordless phone to her,pulling up its antenna. She dials a number and, while waiting forsomeone to answer, stares at Christie. "Where do you summer?"she asks. "Southampton?"Christie looks at me and then back at Elizabeth and quietlysays, "No.""Oh god," Elizabeth wails, "it's his machine.""Elizabeth." I point at my Rolex. "It's three in the morning.""He's a goddamn drug dealer," she says, exasperated. "Theseare his peak hours.""Don't tell him you're here," I warn."Why would I?" she asks. Distracted, she reaches for her wineand downs another full glass and makes a face. "This tastesweird." She checks the label, then shrugs. "Harley? It's me. I needyour services. Translate that any way you'd like. I'm at—" Shelooks over at me."You're at Marcus Halberstam's," I whisper."Who?" Leaning in, she grins mischievously."Mar-cus Hal-ber-stam," I whisper again."I want the number, idiot." She waves me away and continues,"Anyway, I'm at Mark Hammerstein's and I'll try you later and if Idon't see you at Canal Bar tomorrow night I'm going to sic myhairdresser on you. Bon voyage. How do I hang this thing up?"she asks, even though she expertly pushes the antenna down andpresses the Oʃ button, tossing the phone onto the Schrager chairthat I've moved next to the jukebox."See." I smile. "You did it."Twenty minutes later Elizabeth is squirming on the couch andI'm trying to coerce her into having sex with Christie in front ofme. What started out as a casual suggestion is now at theforefront of my brain and I'm insistent. Christie stares impassivelyat a stain I hadn't noticed on the white-oak ɻoor, her wine mostlyuntouched."But I'm not a lesbian," Elizabeth protests again, giggling. "I'mnot into girls.""Is this a ɹrm no?" I ask, staring at her glass, then at the nearempty bottle of wine."Why'd you think I'd be into that?" she asks. Because of theEcstasy, the question is ɻirtatious and she seems genuinelyinterested. Her foot is rubbing against my thigh. I've moved overto the couch, sitting between the two girls, and I'm massagingone of her calves."Well, you went to Sarah Lawrence for one thing," I tell her."You never know.""Those are Sarah Lawrence guys, Patrick," she points out,giggling, rubbing harder, causing friction, heat, everything."Well, I'm sorry," I admit. "I don't usually deal with a lot ofguys who wear panty hose on the Street.""Patrick, you went to Patrick, I mean, Harvard, oh god, I'm sodrunk. Anyway, listen, I mean, wait—" She pauses, takes a deepbreath, mumbles an unintelligible remark about feeling bizarre,then, after closing her eyes, opens them and asks, "Do you haveany coke?"I'm staring at her glass, noticing that the dissolved Ecstasy hasslightly changed the color of the wine. She follows my gaze andtakes a gulp of it as if it were some kind of elixir that couldsoothe her increasing agitation. She leans her head back, woozily,on one of the pillows on the couch. "Or Halcion. I'd take aHalcion.""Listen, I would just like to see ... the two of you ... get it on,"I say innocently. "What's wrong with that? It's totally diseasefree.""Patrick." She laughs. "You're a lunatic.""Come on," I urge. "Don't you ɹnd Christie attractive?""Let's not get lewd," she says, but the drug is kicking in and Ican sense that she's excited but doesn't want to be. "I'm in nomood to have lewd conversation.""Come on," I say. "I think it would be a turn-on.""Does he do this all the time?" Elizabeth asks Christie.I look over at Christie.Christie shrugs, noncommittal, and studies the back of acompact disc before setting it on the table next to the stereo."Are you telling me you've never gotten it on with a girl?" Iask, touching a black stocking, then, beneath it, a leg."But I'm not a lesbian," she stresses. "And no, I never have.""Never?" I ask, arching my eyebrows. "Well, there's always aɹrst time....""You're making me feel weird," Elizabeth moans, losing controlof her facial features."I'm not," I say, shocked.Elizabeth is making out with Christie, both of them naked onmy bed, all the lights in the room burning, while I sit in the LouisMontoni chair by the side of the futon, watching them veryclosely, occasionally repositioning their bodies. Now I makeElizabeth lie on her back and hold both legs up, open, spreadingthem as wide as possible, and then I push Christie's head downand make her lap at her cunt—not suck on it but lap at it, like athirsty dog—while ɹngering the clit, then, with her other hand,she sticks two ɹngers into the open, wet cunt, while her tonguereplaces the ɹngers and then she takes the dripping ɹngers she'sfucked Elizabeth's cunt with and forces them into Elizabeth'smouth, making her suck on them. Then I have Christie lie on topof Elizabeth and make her suck and bite at Elizabeth's full,swollen tits, which Elizabeth is also squeezing, and then I tell thetwo of them to kiss each other, hard, and Elizabeth takes thetongue that's been licking at her own small, pink cunt into hermouth hungrily, like an animal, and uncontrollably they starthumping each other, pressing their cunts together, Elizabethmoaning loudly, wrapping her legs around Christie's hips,bucking up against her, Christie's legs spread in such a way that,from behind, I can see her cunt, wet and spread, and above it, herhairless pink asshole.Christie sits up and turns herself around and while still on topof Elizabeth presses her cunt into Elizabeth's gasping face andsoon, like in a movie, like animals, the two of them startfeverishly licking and ɹngering each other's cunts. Elizabeth,totally red-faced, her neck muscles straining like a madwoman's,tries to bury her head in Christie's pussy and then spreadsChristie's ass cheeks open and starts tonguing the hole there,making guttural sounds. "Yeah," I say in monotone. "Stick yourtongue up that bitch's asshole."While this is going on I'm greasing with Vaseline a large whitedildo that's connected to a belt. I stand up and hoist Christie oʃElizabeth, who is writhing mindlessly on the futon, and I attachthe belt around Christie's waist, and then I turn Elizabeth aroundand position her on all fours and I make Christie fuck her with itdoggy style, while I ɹnger Christie's cunt, then her clit, then herasshole, which is so wet and loose from Elizabeth's saliva I'm ableto force my index ɹnger into it eʃortlessly and her sphinctertightens, relaxes, then contracts around it. I make Christie pullthe dildo out of Elizabeth's cunt and have Elizabeth lie on herback while Christie fucks her in the missionary position. Elizabethis ɹngering her clit while madly French-kissing Christie until,involuntarily, she brings her head back, legs wrapped aroundChristie's pumping hips, her face tense, her mouth open, herlipstick smeared by Christie's cunt juice, and she yells "oh god I'mcoming I'm coming fuck me I'm coming" because I told both ofthem to let me know when they had orgasms and to be very vocalabout it.Soon it's Christie's turn and Elizabeth eagerly straps on thedildo and fucks Christie's cunt with it while I spread Elizabeth'sasshole and tongue it and soon she pushes me away and startsɹngering herself desperately. Then Christie puts the dildo onagain and she fucks Elizabeth in the ass with it while Elizabethɹngers her clit, bucking her ass up against the dildo, grunting,until she has another orgasm. After pulling the dildo from her assI make Elizabeth suck on it before she straps it on again andwhile Christie lies on her back Elizabeth pushes it easily into hercunt. During this I lick Christie's tits and suck hard on each nippleuntil both of them are red and stiʃ. I keep ɹngering them tomake sure they stay that way. During this Christie has kept on apair of thigh-high suede boots from Henri Bendel that I've madeher wear.Elizabeth, naked, running from the bedroom, blood already onher, is moving with diɽculty and she screams out somethinggarbled. My orgasm had been prolonged and its release wasintense and my knees are weak. I'm naked too, shouting "Youbitch, you piece of bitch trash" at her and since most of the bloodis coming from her feet, she slips, manages to get up, and I strikeout at her with the already wet butcher knife that I'm gripping inmy right hand, clumsily, slashing her neck from behind, severingsomething, some veins. When I strike out a second time whileshe's trying to escape, heading for the door, blood shoots eveninto the living room, across the apartment, splattering against thetempered glass and the laminated oak panels in the kitchen. Shetries to run forward but I've cut her jugular and it's sprayingeverywhere, blinding both of us momentarily, and I'm leaping ather in a ɹnal attempt to ɹnish her oʃ. She turns to face me, herfeatures twisted in anguish, and her legs give out after I punchher in the stomach and she hits the ɻoor and I slide in next toher. After I've stabbed her ɹve or six times—the blood's spurtingout in jets; I'm leaning over to inhale its perfume—her musclesstiʃen, become rigid, and she goes into her death throes; herthroat becomes ɻooded with dark-red blood and she thrashesaround as if tied up, but she isn't and I have to hold her down.Her mouth ɹlls with blood that cascades over the sides of hercheeks, over her chin. Her body, shaking spasmodically,resembles what I imagine an epileptic goes through in a ɹt and Ihold down her head, rubbing my dick, stiʃ, covered with blood,across her choking face, until she's motionless.Back in my bedroom, Christie lies on the futon, tied to the legsof the bed, bound up with rope, her arms above her head, rippedpages from last month's Vanity Fair stuʃed into her mouth.Jumper cables hooked up to a battery are clipped to both breasts,turning them brown. I had been dropping lit matches from LeRelais onto her belly and Elizabeth, delirious and probablyoverdosing on the Ecstasy, had been helping before I turned onher and chewed at one of her nipples until I couldn't controlmyself and bit it oʃ, swallowing. For the ɹrst time I notice justhow small and delicately structured Christie is, was. I startkneading her breasts with a pair of pliers, then I'm mashing themup, things are moving fast, I'm making hissing noises, she spitsout the pages from the magazine, tries to bite my hand, I laughwhen she dies, before she does she starts crying, then her eyesroll back in some kind of horrible dream state.In the morning, for some reason, Christie's battered hands areswollen to the size of footballs, the ɹngers are indistinguishablefrom the rest of her hand and the smell coming from her burntcorpse is jolting and I have to open the Venetian blinds, whichare spattered with burnt fat from when Christie's breasts burstapart, electrocuting her, and then the windows, to air out theroom. Her eyes are wide open and glazed over and her mouth islipless and black and there's also a black pit where her vaginashould be (though I don't remember doing anything to it) and herlungs are visible beneath the charred ribs. What is left ofElizabeth's body lies crumpled in the corner of the living room.She's missing her right arm and chunks of her right leg. Her lefthand, chopped oʃ at the wrist, lies clenched on top of the islandin the kitchen, in its own small pool of blood. Her head sits onthe kitchen table and its blood-soaked face—even with both eyesscooped out and a pair of Alain Mikli sunglasses over the holes—looks like it's frowning. I get very tired looking at it and though Ididn't get any sleep last night and I'm utterly spent, I still have alunch appointment at Odeon with Jem Davies and Alana Burtonat one. That's very important to me and I have to debate whetherI should cancel it or not.
