The Rules of Attraction

VICTOR I was up all night doing coke with some girl I met at The Pub who worked for my father one summer. The next morning we go to some cafe in town (which has terrible food; soggy quiche, canned snails, tame bloody Marys) and I’m strung out and completely not hungry. I look so pasty I keep my shades on. We stand in the doorway of the place and wait for a table, the service is really terrible, and whoever designed this place must have been lobotomized. This girl wanders around and puts a quarter in the jukebox. The waitress keeps checking me out. She looks familiar. The Talking Heads sing “And She Was” then good old Frank starts singing “Young at Heart” and I’m amused at the disparity of her choices. Suddenly this girl I sort of saw a little bit last summer walks up to me crying softly — the last thing I need. She looks at me and says, “You don’t know what a drag it is to see you.” Then she throws herself on me, hugging tightly. I just say, “Hey, wait a minute.” It was just some rich girl from Park and 80th who I kind of screwed around with last term who’s kind of pretty, who’s good in bed, who has a nice body. She automatically says goodbye to the guy she’s with but he’s already talking to the familiar-looking waitress. The girl who worked for my father and who has all the coke is already talking to some townie by the jukebox, and I could of used another gram but this girl, Laura, has already taken my arm and is leading me out The Brasserie’s door. But it’s probably best like this. I need a place to stay anyway and it’s going to be a long, cold Christmas.