“Unused,” she says. “Totally unused.”

“Pumpkin, he’s a dickweed.”

“Will you stop calling me pumpkin,” she asks, annoyed.

“Listen, Cindy, if you had a choice to read WWD or…” I stop, unsure of what I was going to say. “Listen, is there anything going on tonight?” I ask. “Something not too… boisterous?”

“What do you want, Patrick?” she sighs.

“I just want peace, love, friendship, understanding,” I say dispassionately.

“What-do-you-want?” she repeats.

“Why don’t the two of you come with us?”

“We have other plans.”

“Hamlin made the goddamn reservations,” I cry, outraged.

“Well,you guys use them.”

“Why don’t you come?” I ask lasciviously. “Dump dickweed off at Juanita’s or something.”

“I think I’m passing on dinner,” she says. “Apologize to ‘the guys’ for me.”

“But we’re going to Kaktus, uh, I mean Zeus Bar,” I say, then, confused, add, “No, Kaktus.”

“Are you guys really going there? ” she asks.

“Why?”

“Conventional wisdom has it that it is no longer the ‘in’ place to dine,” she says.

“But Hamlin made the fucking reservation!” I cry out.

“Did he make reservations there? ” she asks, bemused.

“Centuries ago!” I shout.

“Listen,” she says, “I’m getting dressed.”

“I’m not at all happy about this,” I say.

“Don’t worry,” she says, and then hangs up.

I get back on the other line.

“Bateman, I know this sounds like an impossibility,” McDermott says. “But the void is actually widening.”

“I am not into Mexican,” Van Patten states.

“But wait, we’re not having Mexican, are we?” I say. “Am I confused? Aren’t we going to Zeus Bar?”

“No, moron,” McDermott spits. “We couldn’t get into Zeus Bar. Kaktus. Kaktus at nine.”

“But I don’t want Mexican,” Van Patten says.

“But you, Van Patten, made the reservation,” McDermott hollers.

“I don’t either,” I say suddenly. “Why Mexican?”

“It’s not Mexican Mexican,” McDermott says, exasperated “It’s something called nouvelle Mexicana, tapas or some other south of the border thing. Something like that. Hold on. My call waiting.”

He clicks off, leaving Van Patten and myself on the line.

“Bateman,” Van Patten sighs, “my euphoria is quickly subsiding.”

“What are you talking about?” I’m actually trying to remember where I told Jeanette and Evelyn to meet us.

“Let’s change the reservation,” he suggests.

I think about it, then suspiciously ask, “Where to?”

“1969, “ he says, tempting me. “Hmmm? 1969?”

“I would like to go there,” I admit.

“What should we do?” he asks.

I think about it. “Make a reservation. Quick.”

“Okay. For three? Five? How many?”

“Five or six, I guess.”

“Okay. Hold.”

Just as he clicks off, McDermott gets back on.

“Where’s Van Patten?” he asks.

“He… had to take a piss,” I say.

“Why don’t you want to go to Kaktus?”

“Because I’m gripped by an existential panic,” I lie.

“You think that’s a good enough reason,” McDermott says. “I do not.”

“Hello?” Van Patten says, clicking back on. “Bateman?”

“Well?” I ask. “McDermott’s here too.”

“Nope. No way, José.”

“Shit.”

“What’s going on?” McDermott asks.

“Well, guys, do we want margaritas?” Van Patten asks. “Or no margaritas?”

“I could go for a margarita,” McDermott says.

“Bateman?” Van Patten asks.

“I would like several bottles of beer, preferably un -Mexican,” I say.

“Oh shit,” McDermott says. “Call waiting. Hold on.” He clicks off.

If I am not mistaken it is now eight-thirty.

An hour later. We’re still debating. We have canceled the reservation at Kaktus and maybe someone has remade it. Confused, I actually cancel a nonexistent table at Zeus Bar. Jeanette has left her apartment and cannot be reached at home and I have no idea which restaurant she’s going to, nor do I remember which one I told Evelyn to meet us at. Van Patten, who has already had two large shots of Absolut, asks about Detective Kimball and what we talked about and all I really remember is something like how people fail between cracks.

“Did you talk to him?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What did he say happened to Owen?”

“Vanished. Just vanished. Poof,” he says. I can hear him opening a refrigerator. “No incident. Nothing. The authorities have nada.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m in heavy turmoil over it.”

“Well, Owen was… I don’t know,” he says. I can hear a beer being opened.

“What else did you tell him, Van Patten?” I ask.

“Oh the usual,” he sighs. “That he wore yellow and maroon ties. That he had lunch at ‘21.’ That in reality he was not an arbitrageur—which was what Thimble thought he was—but a merger-maker. Only the usual.” I can almost hear him shrug.

“What else?” I ask.

“Let’s see. That he didn’t wear suspenders. A belt man. That he stopped doing cocaine, simpatico beer. You know, Bateman.”

“He was a moron,” I say. “And now he’s in London.”

“Christ,” he mutters, “general competence is on the fucking decline.”

McDermott clicks back on. “Okay. Now where to?”

“What time is it?” Van Patter asks.

“Nine-thirty,” both of us answer.

“Wait, what happened to 1969?” I ask van Patter.

“What’s this about 1969?” McDermott doesn’t have a clue.

“I don’t remember,” I say.

“Closed. No reservations,” Van Patter reminds me.

“Can we get back to 1500?” I ask.

“1500 is now closed,” McDermott shouts. “The kitchen is closed. The restaurant is closed. It’s over. We have to go to Kaktus.”

Silence.

“Hello? Hello? Are you guys there?” he hollers, losing it.

“Bouncy as a beach ball,” Van Patter says.

I laugh.

“If you guys think this is funny,” McDermott warns.

“Oh yeah, what? What are you going to do?” I ask.

“Guys, it’s just that I am apprehensive about failure in terms of securing a table before, like, well, midnight.”

“Are you sure about 1500?” I ask. “That seems really bizarre.”

“That suggestion is moot!” McDermott screams. “Why, you may ask? Because-they-are-closed! Because-they-are-closed-they-have-stopped-taking-reservations! Are-you-following-this?”

“Hey, no sweat, babe,” Van Patter says coolly. “We’ll go to Kaktus.

“We have a reservation there in ten, no, fifteen minutes ago,” McDermott says.

“But I canceled them, I thought,” I say, taking another Xanax.

“I remade them,’. McDermott says.

“You are indispensable,” I tell him in monotone.

“I can be there by ten,” McDermott says.

“By the time I stop at my automated teller, I can be there by ten-fifteen,” Van Patter says slowly, counting the minutes.

“Does anyone have any idea that Jeanette and Evelyn are meeting us at Zeus Bar, where we do not have a reservation? Has this passed through anyone’s mind?” I ask, doubting it.

“But Zeus Bar is closed. and besides that we canceled a reservation we didn’t even have there,” McDermott says, trying to stay calm.

“But I think I told Jeanette and Evelyn to meet us there,” I say, bringing my fingers up to my mouth, horrified by this possibility.

After a pause McDermott asks, “Do you want to get into trouble? Are you asking for it or something?”

“My call waiting,” I say. “Oh my god. What time is it? My call waiting.”

“It’s gotta be one of the girls,” Van Patten says gleefully.

“Hold on,” I croak.

“Good luck,” I hear Van Patten say before I click off.

“Hello?” I ask meekly. “You have reached the—”

“It’s me,” Evelyn shouts, the noise in the background almost drowning her out.

“Oh hi,” I say casually. “What’s going on?”

“Patrick, what are you doing.at home?”