The Rules of Attraction

MITCHELL I could sense it wasn’t going to go well when I found out I had to drive with Sean Bateman to get a simple dime bag of pot. I didn’t really know Bateman that well but I could tell from the way he looked what type of guy he was: probably listened to a lot of George Winston, ate cheese and drank white wine, played the cello. I was pissed off that he had the nerve to come over to my room and tell me we had to go to that scummy idiot Rupert’s house, which I really wasn’t keen on to begin with, but it was almost end of term and I needed some grass to take with me on the drive back to Chicago. I argued with him for a little while, but Candice was sitting there on my bed trying to finish an overdue paper and she told me to go and I couldn’t resist, even though all term I’d been planning to break up with her. I took a Xanax and got in his car and drove off-campus to North Camden where Rupert and Roxanne lived. The roads were slick and he was driving too quickly and a couple of times we came close to spinning out, but we made it there without losing any limbs or causing a major pile-up.

The house was dark and I mentioned maybe no one was home. There was a party going on across the street. I told him I’d wait in the car.

He said, “No, it’s okay. Only Roxanne’s here.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. “I don’t want to go in.”

“Just come in,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

I followed him up the walk to the door and he knocked apprehensively. There was no answer. He knocked again, then tried the door. Someone abruptly yanked it open. And there was Guest, grinning like an idiot. He told us to come in, then laughed ghoulishly.

There were other townies in the darkened living room listening to Led Zeppelin. Someone had lit candles. I was getting suspicious.

Rupert was walking around the kitchen. “So what are you here for, boys?”

The townies giggled from the living room. There were four or five of them. Something glinted against the light of a candle in the darkness.

I yawned nervously, my eyes started watering.

“Came over to pick up some stuff,” Bateman said, innocently enough.

“Did you?” Rupert asked, moving in and out of the darkness, circling us.

“Where’s Roxanne?” Bateman asked. “You’re impossible.”

“Where is my money goddamnit, Bateman?” Rupert roared as if he was deaf and hadn’t heard Bateman. I couldn’t believe this.

“You’re crazy,” Sean said, perplexed. “Where’s Roxanne?”

One of the townies had gotten up. He was mean looking: beer-belly, a crew-cut. He leaned against the kitchen door. I moved back and bumped into a cabinet. I had no idea what the problem was, though it seemed clear to me that it had to do with money. I didn’t know if Rupert owed Bateman or if Bateman owed Rupert, but something was clearly fucked. Rupert was coked-up and trying to act tough, but the act was unconvincing and not very threatening. There was little light in the kitchen and where it was coming from I couldn’t tell. Something flashed in the darkness and glinted again.

“Where’s the money, you asshole?” Rupert demanded.

“I’m waiting in the car,” I said. “Excuse me.”

“Wait,” Bateman said, holding me back.

“Wait for what, you asshole?” Rupert asked.

“Listen,” Sean paused. Then he looked at me. “He’s got it.”

“You’ve got it?” Rupert asked, calming down and seriously interested.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that one of the townies, big and drunk, was holding a machete. What in the hell was a fucking machete doing in New Hampshire?

“Whoa, now wait a minute,” I said, raising my hands up. “Now, I don’t know what the hell’s going on. I just came for some bud. I’m leaving.”

“Come on Mitchell,” Sean said. “Give Rupert the money.”

“What in the fuck are you talking about?” I screamed. “I’m waiting in the car.”

I started to make my way out but another townie had just gotten up and was blocking the exit. I could see the car sitting there behind him through the window, in the snow, the party behind it. I thought I could see Melissa Hertzburg and Henry Rogers, but I wasn’t sure. I could hear Christmas music.

“This is absolute shit,” I said.

“Do you really have it?” Rupert was asking me, coming closer.

“Do I have what?” I screamed again. “Now wait, listen, this guy—”

“Does this guy have the money or not?” Rupert asked Bateman.

“Will you fucking tell him” I yelled at Bateman.

It was silent. Everybody was waiting for Sean’s answer.

“Okay, he doesn’t have it,” he admitted.

“What do you have for me?” Rupert asked him.

“I have this.” He reached into his pocket and handed Rupert something. Rupert inspected it. It was a vial. Rupert poured something onto a mirror. I assumed it was cocaine. He looked up at Sean, muttering how it better be good. The townies were now silent and interested in what was going on. But of course the stuff wasn’t good and a fight broke out. Rupert lunged across the table at Bateman. A townie grabbed at me. There was a scuffle. I was on my way out when I turned around and saw that Bateman had somehow grabbed the machete and was screaming “Back off” and jabbing it at the townies. I turned and ran out to the car, slipping on the driveway and falling hard on my ass. When I got into the car and locked the door I could see that the townies were backing off. Sean kept swinging the sword until he was outside and shut the door to the kitchen, dropped the machete and jumped into the car.

The townies were slow but they made it to their pick-up truck as the MG peeled out of the driveway. Sean raced it down the street, skidded through a stoplight and swerved down the road back towards the college. I could not believe this was happening. I never thought I would die on a Friday. Any other night but a fucking Friday. Bateman was actually smiling and asking me, “Wasn’t that fun?”

The townies led by Guest were behind us, but never too dangerously close, though once I thought I heard a gunshot. They caught up to us on College Drive and sped into the other lane trying to push the MG off the road. The MG lurched and then leapt over a snowbank and skidded gently to a stop. The pick-up sped by and then slowed down and with difficulty started to turn around. Bateman waited until they were coming toward us and suddenly reshifted, racing past the townies, and we drove the two miles to the Security gate without much incident. But when I turned around I could see the headlights of the pick-up behind us as it sat there down the road, idling. Scan smiled at the guards and waved as they lifted the gate up. He drove me back to my house. It was then that I noticed his headlights were still off. I looked at him and just said, “Jesus, Bateman, you’re an asshole.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, tightly tied dime bag and tossed it through the open window at me. I barely caught it. I didn’t bother to ask him what was going on and when he had gotten this. Even if I had it wouldn’t have mattered since he had already driven away.