Bret Ellis: Less than zero

"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 lefthanded 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?"

"Well, used to go out with her."

"I thought you still were."

"Maybe we are," I say, pouring another glass of champagne. "I don't know."

"She talks about you a lot."

"Really? Well..." My voice trails off.

We don't say anything for a long time.

"Like your scarf," Griffin says.

"Thanks." I drain the glass and pour myself another, and wonder what time it is and how long I've been here. The coke is wearing off and I'm starting to get a little drunk.

Griffin takes a deep breath and says, "Hey, you wanna go to my house? Parents are in Rome for Christmas." Someone changes a tape and I sigh and look at the glass of champagne he's holding, then finish my glass fast and say sure, why not.