The Informers - Bret Easton Ellis [23]
“You both look nice,” she says.
“You look great,” Tim says, smiling at her.
“Yes,” I say. “You do.”
Tim looks at me, then at her.
“Thanks, Mr. Price,” she says.
The maître d’ seats us outside. There’s a warm night breeze. Rachel sits across from me and she looks even more beautiful in candlelight. Tim, clean-shaven, wearing an expensive Italian suit I bought him over the summer, his tan darker than Rachel’s even, his hair combed back slickly, complements Rachel unnervingly, almost as if they were related. Tim seems comfortable with this girl and I’m almost happy for him. I order a Mai Tai and Rachel has a Perrier and Tim has a beer. After drinking the Mai Tai and ordering another and after listening to the two of them drone on about MTV, college, videos they like, a movie about a deformed girl who learns to accept herself, I feel relaxed enough to tell a joke that ends with the punch line: “May I please have some mouthwash please?” When both of them confess to not understand it and I need to explain it to them, I move on.
“What’s that stuff in your hair?” I ask Tim.
“It’s Tenax, Dad. It’s a gel for your hair.” He looks at me with mock exasperation and then at Rachel, who smiles at me.
“Just wanted to know,” I say idly.
“So what do you do, Mr. Price?” Rachel asks.
“Call me Les,” I tell her.
“Okay. What do you do, Les?”
“I’m into real estate.”
“I told you that,” Tim tells her.
“You did?” she asks, looking at me blankly.
“Yeah,” Tim says sourly. “I did.”
She finally looks away. “I forgot.”
An image of Rachel, naked, hands on her breasts, lying on my bed, flashes past my line of vision and the idea of taking her, having her, does not seem unappealing to me. Tim pretends to ignore my constant staring but I know he’s watching me watching Rachel, very carefully. Rachel flirts boldly with me and I keep debating whether to flirt back. Dinner comes. We eat quickly. More drinks are ordered afterward. By this time I am comfortably drunk enough to lean forward and smile suggestively at Rachel. Tim is so deflated it doesn’t even seem like he exists.
“Did you know that Robert Waters is here?” Rachel asks us.
“Who?” Tim asks sullenly.
“Come on, Tim,” I say. “Robert Waters. He’s on ‘Flight Patrol,’ that TV show.”
“I guess I don’t watch enough TV,” Tim says.
“Yeah, right,” I snort.
“You don’t know who Robert Waters is?” Rachel asks him.
“No, I don’t,” Tim says, an edge in his voice. “Do you?”
“I actually met him at Reagan’s inauguration,” Rachel says, then, “God, I thought everybody knew who Robert Waters is.” She shakes her head, amused.
“I don’t” Tim says, plainly irritated. “Why?”
“Well, it’s kind of embarrassing.” Rachel smiles, looks down.
“Why?” Tim asks again, a fraction of coldness evaporating.
“He’s here with three guys.” I say.
“So?” Tim asks.
“So?” Rachel laughs.
“One of them tried to pick up on Tim today,” I tell Rachel, attempting to gauge her response because at first there isn’t one but then she starts laughing and then I’m laughing with her. Tim is not laughing.
“Me?” he asks. “When?”
“At the bar,” Rachel says. “Today on the beach.”
“Him? That guy?” Tim asks, remembering.
“Yeah, him,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Tim blushes. “He was nice. He was a nice guy. So what?”
“Nothing,” Rachel says.
“I’m sure he was real nice,” I say, laughing.
“Real nice,” Rachel repeats, giggling.
Tim looks at her, then sharply at me since I’m to blame, and then back at Rachel and his face changes as if he understands something might be heading toward something else and this realization seems to relax him.
“I guess you two would notice,” Tim says, still smiling at her, then, grimly, my way. He lights a cigarette, taunting me. But I only smile back and pretend not to notice.
“I guess we would,” I say, patting Rachel’s arm.
“Come on, Tim,” she says, pulling back a little. “They like you. You’re probably the youngest guy here.”
Tim smiles, takes a deep drag on the cigarette. “I haven’t noticed how many