Bret Ellis - Less than zero

Finally Blair stops laughing and brushes past me to the door, telling me that I should try the punch.

"I'll get the punch," Daniel says. "You want some, Trent?"

"No thanks." Trent looks at me and says, "You look pale."

I notice that I do, compared to Trent's deep, dark tan and most of the other people's complexions around the room. "I've been in New Hampshire for four months."

Trent reaches into his pocket. "Here," he says, handing me a card. "This is the address of a tanning salon on Santa Monica. Now, it's not artificial lighting or anything like that, and you don't have to rub Vitamin E capsules all over your bod. This thing is called an Uva Bath and what they do is they dye your skin."

I stop listening to Trent after a while and look over at three boys, friends of Blair's I don't know, who go to U.S.C., all tan and blond and one is singing along with the music coming out of the speakers.

"It works," Trent says.

"What works?" I ask, distracted.

"An Uva Bath. Uva Bath. Look at the card, dude."

"Oh yeah." I look at the card. "They dye your skin, right?"

"Right."

"Okay."

Pause.

"What have you been doing?" Trent asks.

"Unpacking," I say. "What about you?"

"Well," he smiles proudly. "I got accepted by this modeling agency, a really good one," he assures me. "And guess who's going to be not only on the cover of International Male in two months, but who is also the month of June in U.C.L.A.'s college man calendar?"

"Who?" I ask.

"Me, dude," Trent says.

" International Male? "

"Yeah. I don't like the magazine. My agent told them no nude stuff, just like Speedos and stuff like that. I don't do any nude stuff."

I believe him but don't know why and look around the room to see if Rip, my dealer, is at the party. But I don't see him and I turn back to Trent and ask, "Yeah? What else have you been doing?"

"Oh, like the usual. Going to Nautilus, getting smashed, going to this Uva place... But, hey, don't tell anyone I've been there, okay?"

"What?"

"I said don't tell anyone about this Uva place, okay?" Trent looks worried, concerned almost, and I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze to reassure him. "Oh, yeah, don't worry."

"Hey," he says, looking around the room. "Gotta do a little business. Later. Lunch," he jokes, leaving.

Daniel comes back with the punch and it's very red and very strong and I cough a little as I take a swallow. From where I'm standing, I can see Blair's father, who's this movie producer and he's sitting in a corner of the den talking with this young actor I think I went to school with. Blair's father's boyfriend is also at the party. His name's Jared and he's really young and blond and tan and has blue eyes and incredibly straight white teeth and he's talking to the three boys from U.S.C. I can also see Blair's mother, who is sitting by the bar, drinking a vodka gimlet, her hands shaking as she brings the drink to her mouth. Blair's friend Alana comes into the den and hugs me and I introduce her to Daniel.

"You look just like David Bowie," Alana, who is obviously coked up out of her mind, tells Daniel. "Are you left-handed?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Daniel says.

"Alana likes guys who are left-handed," I tell Daniel.

"And who look like David Bowie," she reminds me.

"And who live in the Colony," I finish.

"Oh, Clay, you're such a beasty," she giggles. "Clay is a total beasty," she tells Daniel.

"Yes, I know," Daniel says. "A beasty. Totally."

"Have you had any punch? You should have some," I tell her.

"Darling," she says, slowly, dramatically. "I made the punch." She laughs and then spots Jared and stops suddenly. "Oh, God, I wish Blair's father wouldn't invite Jared to these things. It makes her mother so nervous. She gets totally bombed anyway, but having him around makes it worse." She turns to Daniel and says, "Blair's mother is an agoraphobic." She looks back at Jared. "I mean he's going to Death Valley next week on location, I don't see why he can't wait until then, can you?" Alana turns to Daniel, then me.

"No," Daniel says solemnly.

"Me neither," I say, shaking my head.

Alana looks down and then back at me and says, "You look kind of pale, Clay. You should go to the beach or something."

"Maybe I will." I finger the card Trent gave me and then ask her if Julian is going to show up. "He called me and left a message, but I can't get in touch with him," I say.

"Oh God, no," Alana says. "I hear he is like completely fucked up."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Suddenly the three boys from U.S.C. and Jared laugh loudly, in unison.

Alana rolls her eyes up and looks pained. "Jared heard this stupid joke from his boyfriend who works at Morton's. 'What are the two biggest lies?' 'I'll pay you back and I won't come in your mouth.' I don't even get it. Oh God, I better go help Blair. Mummy's going behind the bar. Nice to meet you, Daniel."

"Yeah, you too," Daniel says.

Alana walks over to Blair and her mother by the bar.

"Maybe I should have hummed a few bars of 'Let's Dance,' " Daniel says.

"Maybe you should have."

Daniel smiles. "Oh Clay, you're such a total beasty."

We leave after Trent and one of the boys from U. S. C. fall into the Christmas tree in the living room. Later that night, when the two of us are sitting at the end of the darkened bar at the Polo Lounge, not a whole lot is said.

"I want to go back," Daniel says, quietly, with effort.

"Where?" I ask, unsure.

There's a long pause that kind of freaks me out and Daniel finishes his drink and fingers the sunglasses he's still wearing and says, "I don't know. Just back."

My mother and I are sitting in a restaurant on Melrose, and she's drinking white wine and still has her sunglasses on and she keeps touching her hair and I keep looking at my hands, pretty sure that they're shaking. She tries to smile when she asks me what I want for Christmas. I'm surprised at how much effort it takes to raise my head up and look at her.

"Nothing," I say.

There's a pause and then I ask her, "What do you want?"

She says nothing for a long time and I look back at my hands and she sips her wine. "I don't know. I just want to have a nice Christmas."

I don't say anything.

"You look unhappy," she says real suddenly.

"I'm not," I tell her.

"You look unhappy," she says, more quietly this time. She touches her hair, bleached, blondish, again.

"You do too," I say, hoping that she won't say anything else.

She doesn't say anything else, until she's finished her third glass of wine and poured her fourth.

"How was the party?"

"Okay."

"How many people were there?"

"Forty. Fifty." I shrug.

She takes a swallow of wine. "What time did you leave it?"

"I don't remember."

"One? Two?"

"Must of been one."

"Oh." She pauses again and takes another swallow.

"It wasn't very good," I say, looking at her.

"Why?" she asks, curious.

"It just wasn't," I say and look back at my hands.

I'm with Trent in a yellow train that sits on Sunset. Trent's smoking and drinking a Pepsi and I stare out the window and into the headlights of passing cars. We're waiting for Julian, who's supposed to be bringing Trent a gram. Julian is fifteen minutes late and Trent is nervous and impatient and when I tell him that he should deal with Rip, like I do, instead of Julian, he just shrugs. We finally leave and he says that we might be able to find Julian in the arcade in Westwood. But we don't find Julian at the arcade in Westwood, so Trent suggests that we go to Fatburger and eat something. He says he's hungry, that he hasn't eaten anything in a long time, mentions something about fasting. We order and take the food to one of the booths. But I'm not too hungry and Trent notices that there's no chili on my Fatburger.