“You know, sometimes I think you’re very smart, Bateman,” McDermott says. “Other times…”

“Oh shit, what the hell am I saying?” I ask myself out loud, annoyed. “You and I can have a goddamn business dinner together. Jesus. I’m not going. That’s it. I’m not going.”

“Not even if Luis doesn’t come?” he asks.

“No. Nope.”

“Why not?” he whines. “We have reservations at 1500.”

“I… have to… watch The Cosby Show.”

“Oh tape it for Christ sakes, you ass. ”

“Wait.” I’ve realized something else. “Do you think Hamlin will”—I pause awkwardly—“have some drugs, perhaps… for the Texan?”

“What does Bateman think?” McDermott asks, the jaded asshole.

“Hmmm. I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about this.”

After a pause McDermott says “Tick-tock, tick-tock” in singsong. “We’re getting nowhere. Of course Hamlin is going to be carrying.”

“Get Hamlin, have him… get him on three-way,” I sputter, checking my Rolex. “Hurry. Maybe we can talk him into 1500.”

“Okay,” McDermott says. “Hold on.”

There are four clicking noises and then I hear Hamlin saying, “Bateman, is it okay to wear argyle socks with a business suit?” He’s attempting a joke but it fails to amuse me.

Sighing inwardly, my eyes closed, I answer, impatient, “Not really, Hamlin. They’re too sporty. They interfere with a business image. You can wear them with casual suits. Tweeds, whatever. Now Hamlin?”

“Bateman?” And then he says, ‘“Thank you.”

“Luis cannot come,” I tell him. “And you’re welcome.”

“No prob,” he says. “The Texan’s not coming anyway.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Hay letsyall go to See Bee Jee Bees I har that’s pretty new wave. Lifestyle difference,” Hamlin explains. “The Texan is not accepted until Monday. I quickly, and quite nimbly I might add, rearranged my hectic schedule. A sick father. A forest fire. An excuse.”

“How does that take care of Luis?” I ask suspiciously.

“Luis is having dinner with the Texan tonight, which saves me a whole lotta trouble, pardner. I’m seeing him at Smith and Wollensky on Monday,” Hamlin says, pleased with himself. “So everything is A-okay.”

“Wait,” McDermott asks tentatively, “does this mean that Courtney isn’t coming?”

“We have missed or are going to miss our reservations at 1500,” I point out. “Besides, Hamlin, you went there last night, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s got passable carpaccio. Decent wren. Okay sorbets. But let’s go somewhere else and, uh, then go on the search for the, uh, perfect body. Gentlemen?”

“Sounds good,” I say, amused that Hamlin, for once, has the right idea. “But what is Cindy going to say about this?”

“Cindy has to go to a charity thing at the Plaza, something—”

“That’s the Trump Plaza,” I note absently, while finally opening the Perrier bottle.

“Yeah, the Trump Plaza,” he says. “Something about trees near the library. Money for trees or a bush of some kind,” he says, unsure. “Plants? Beats me.”

“So where to?” McDermott asks.

“Who cancels 1500?” I ask.

“You do,” McDermott says.

“Oh McDermott,” I moan, “Just do it.”

“Wait,” Hamlin says. “Let’s decide where we’re going first.”

“Agreed.” McDermott, the parliamentarian.

“I am fanatically opposed to anywhere not on the Upper West or Upper East side of this city,” I say.

“Bellini’s?” Hamlin suggests.

“Nope. Can’t smoke cigars there,” McDermott and I say at the same time.

“Cross that one out,” Hamlin says. “Gandango?” he suggests.

“Possibility, possibility,” I murmur, mulling it over. “Trump eats there.”

“Zeus Bar?” one of them asks.

“Make a reservation,” says the other.

“Wait,” I tell them, “I’m thinking.”

“Bateman …,” Hamlin warns.

“I’m toying with the idea,” I say.

“Bateman …”

“Wait. Let me toy for a minute.”

“I’m really too irritated to be dealing with this right now,” McDermott says.

“Why don’t we just forget this shit and bash some Japs,” Hamlin suggests. “Then find the perfect body.”

“Not a bad idea, actually.” I shrug. “Decent combo.”

“What do you want to do, Bateman?” McDermott asks.

Thinking about it, thousands of miles away, I answer, “I want to…”

“Yes…?” they both ask expectantly.

“I want to… pulverize a woman’s face with a large, heavy brick.”

“Besides that,” Hamlin moans impatiently.

“Okay, fine,” I say, snapping out of it. “Zeus Bar.”

“You sure? Right? Zeus Bar?” Hamlin concludes, he hopes.

“Guys. I am finding myself increasingly incapable of dealing with this at all,” McDermott says. “Zeus Bar. That’s final.”

“Hold on,” Hamlin says. “I’ll call and make a reservation.” He clicks off, leaving McDermott and myself on hold. It’s silent for a long time before either one of us says anything.

“You know,” I finally say. “It will probably be impossible to get a reservation there.”

“Maybe we should go to M.K. The Texan would probably like to go to M.K.,” Craig says.

“But, McDermott, the Texan isn’t coming,” I point out.

“I can’t go to M.K. anyway,” he says, not listening, and he doesn’t mention why.

“I don’t want to know about it.”

We wait two more minutes for Hamlin.

“What in the hell is he doing?” I ask, then my call waiting clicks in.

McDermott hears it too. “Do you want to take that?”

“I’m thinking.” It clicks again. I moan and tell McDermott to hold on. It’s Jeanette. She sounds tired and sad. I don’t want to get back on the other line so I ask her what she did last night.

“After you were supposed to meet me?” she asks.

I pause, unsure. “Uh, yeah.”

“We ended up at Palladium which was completely empty. They were letting in people for free.” She signs. “We saw maybe four or five people.”

“That you knew?” I ask hopefully.

“In... the… club,” she says, spacing each word out bitterly.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say. “I had to… return some videotapes…” And then, reacting to her silence, “You know, I would’ve met you—”

“I.don’t want to hear about it,” she sighs, cutting me off. “What are you doing tonight?”

I pause, wondering how to answer, before admitting, “Zeus Bar at nine. McDermott. Hamlin.” And then, less hopefully, “Would you like to meet us?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. Without a trace of softness she asks, “Do you want me to?”

“Must you insist on being so pathetic?” I ask back.

She hangs up on me. I get back on the other line.

“Bateman, Bateman, Bateman, Bateman, “ Hamlin is droning.

“I’m here. Shut the fuck up.”

“Are we still procrastinating?” McDermott asks. “Don’t procrastinate.”

“I’ve decided I’d rather play golf,” I say. “I haven’t been golfing in a long time.”

“Fuck golf, Batsman,” Hamlin says. “We have a nine o’clock reservation at Kaktus—”

“And a reservation to cancel at 1500 in, um, let’s see… twenty minutes ago, Batsman,” McDermott says.

“Oh shit, Craig. Cancel them now,” I say tiredly.

“God, I hate golf,” Hamlin says, shuddering.

“You cancel them,” McDermott says, laughing.

“What name are they under?” I ask, not laughing, my voice rising.

After a pause, McDermott says “Carruthers” softly.

Hamlin and I burst out laughing.

“Really?” I ask.

“We couldn’t get into Zeus Bar,” Hamlin says. “So it’s Kaktus.”

“Hip,” I say dejectedly. “I guess.”

“Cheer up.” Hamlin chortles.

My call waiting buzzes again and before I can even decide whether to take it or not, Hamlin makes up my mind for me. “Now if you guys don’t want to go to Kaktus—”

“Wait, my call waiting,” I say. “Hold on.”

Jeanette is in tears. “What aren’t you capable of?” she asks, sobbing. “Just tell me what you are not capable of.”