The Rules of Attraction

SEAN Terror in the Dining Halls. Part IVXVV. The girl who fucked Mitchell last night and who I want to fuck again is standing over at the Beverage Center. I can see her very clearly from where I sit. She’s talking to her overweight lesbian (probably) potter friend. Wearing a dress that I really can’t describe. I guess you’d call it a kimono maybe but shorter and with a sweatshirt over it. It’s bulky but you can still tell that she has a good body and it doesn’t look like she’s wearing a bra so her tits look nice. I sort of know this girl; after we’d spent the night together, I talked to her at a Friday night party in Franklin. She might be in one of my classes but I’m not sure since I don’t go often enough to tell. But, whatever the story is, she is next.

Dinner again and I’m sitting with the usual crew: Tony, Norris, Tim, Getch. The goddamn House Pigs, our house band, woke me up at four this afternoon, rehearsing above my room. I took a shower, aware when I was blow-drying my hair that I missed two classes today and that I have to find a major before the end of the month. I paced the room, smoking, listening to old Velvet Underground hoping it would drown the House Pigs out, until it was time for dinner. They were still playing when I left for Commons.

Jason was serving and I told him I talked to Rupert and that I could get him the four grams by tomorrow night, but that he should take his sunglasses off because they make him look too suspicious. He only smiled and gave me an extra slab of meat, or turkey, or pork or whatever the hell it was he was serving, which was cool considering, I guess. So, I’m looking at that girl, wondering if she’s the one who’s been putting those notes in my box and I get excited — even if it’s not her. But then her fat friend says something to her and they both look at our table and I look down and pretend to eat. I think she’s a Sophomore and I’m pretty sure she lives in Swan but I’m not going to ask anyone at this table. I don’t want to take the fun out of the pursuit. Tim’s a bonehead for getting Sara pregnant and he doesn’t care. I screwed Sara a couple of times my second year. In fact most of the guys at the table had. It seemed almost like a joke that Tim just got stuck with the short end of the stick, the deal. But no one’s too upset or morose about the whole thing. Even Tim makes jokes about it.

“So many girls are having them there might as well be a CWS job for it,” he laughs.

“I’d seriously do it for fifty bucks,” says Tony.

Getch is playing with an Etch-a-Sketch and says, “Gross man. That is just gross.”

“Are you talking about the food or the abortion jokes?” I ask.

Tony explains: “Drano in a Water Pik.”

Getch says, “Great, we’re making jokes about it.”

“Come on,” I tell Getch. “Cheer up.”

“Why aren’t you upset, man?” Getch asks Tim, staring at him in a way only a Social Science major could.

“Look,” says Tim. “I’ve been through this shit so many times before, it doesn’t even faze me.”

Getch nods, but looks like he doesn’t really understand, but he shuts up, and looks back at the Etch-a-Sketch.

“How do you know it’s even yours?” asks Tony, who just came back from a student council meeting, stoned.

“I know,” Tim says, like he’s proud of being so confident.

“But how do you know? The bitch could be fucking you over,” says Tony, a big help.

“You can tell,” says Tim. “You can look at her and just know she’s not lying.”

No one says anything.

“You can feel it,” he reiterates.

“That’s, uh, really mystical,” Tony says.

“So when is she getting the fetus ripped out of her?” Norris asks.

The whole table moans collectively and Tim’s laugh is guilty but helpless and it makes me queasy. The girl finally gets a Coke and walks out of the main dining room, looking confidently hot.

“Wednesday, guy,” Tim borrows a cigarette and cups his hands even though there is no possibility of the match going out. Precautions, I guess. “It would’ve been Tuesday, but she has this primal dance piece on Tuesday so it has to be Wednesday.”

“Show must go on,” I smile, grim but loose.

“Yeah,” says Tim, a little anxious. “Right. And then she’s going to Europe, which is a total relief.”

The table, including Tim, has already lost interest in this already old (known since last night, for latecomers, lunch) piece of gossip, so other conversations ensue, about other important subjects. I ask Norris if he can get me some coffee when he gets up.

“You want cream in it?” he asks.

“Yeah. Cream in it,” I tell him. Old joke.

“Hey Sean, you’re … pretty funny.”

“Yeah, I’m a pretty funny guy.”

“Does anyone know where we can get Ecstasy tonight?” Tim asks.

“Where’s the party tonight?” Getch asks.

I spot my roommate, he’s back from New York.

“Ça va,” he says as he passes by.

“Ça va,” I say, then “Ribbet.”

“At End of the World and probably The Graveyard,” Tony tells him. Tony’s head of Rec Committee too. “All donations toward alcohol will be greatly appreciated.”

“Isn’t it too cold to be outside?” asks Getch.

“Dress warm, pussy.” Tony pushes his plate away and starts on his salad; even though I like Tony, that European salad thing bugs me.

“Pussy? Who said pussy?” asks Tim. “I haven’t heard that term since eighth grade.”

“Fuck off,” Tony says. He’s pissed because he didn’t get the part in some stupid Drama Division production, even though he’s a sculpture major, and even though he’s a good guy and all, it bugs me that he gets sulky over something so lame. I want to fuck Sara again. She gives incredible head, I remember. Or was that someone else? Or was Sara the one with the coil I almost slit my dick open on? Considering what the situation is now, she probably wasn’t the one with the I.U.D., but even if she was I might just take a chance again, if it was offered to me.

“Anyone know what the movie is tonight?” asks Getch.

“Beats me,” says Tony.

Norris comes back with the coffee and whispers, “Creamed in it.”

I sip it and smile. “Delicious.”

“I don’t know. Night of the Dead Baby? I don’t know,” says Tony.

“Can we shut up?” asks Tim.

“I heard from Roxanne that The Carousel’s closing,” I offer the table.

“No way. Really?” Norris asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “At least that’s what Roxanne says.”

“Why?” Getch asks.

“Freshman and Sophomores don’t drink anymore,” Tony says. “Sucks, doesn’t it.”

“I think it sucks too,” Getch says. He always looks cheesy to me for some reason. I can’t explain it. He shakes the Etch-a-Sketch.

I say, “Rock’n’roll.”

Tim laughs, “The horrah, the horrah.”

Tony says, “It’s just another example of this place going to shit, that’s all.”

I tell him, “Deal with it.”

Tony’s losing his patience, getting all political. “Listen, do you realize that we’re getting a fucking weight room? Why? Do you understand? Can you explain? I can’t. Do you realize that I just came out of a student council meeting where the Freshman reps want fraternity houses installed on campus? Do you understand that? Do you want to deal with it?”

I cringe. “It’s all dumb.”

“Why?” Tim asks. “I think a weight room’s a good idea.” “Because,” I explain, hoping to cool Tony down, “I came here to get away from jock idiots and frat assholes.”

“Listen,” Tim says with an ugly leer, “Girls work out on that shit for those inner thigh muscles man.” He grabs at my leg and laughs.

“Yeah, well,” I’m suddenly confused. “Still, a weight room.” I don’t really care.

Tony looks at me. “Who are you to talk, Sean? What are you majoring in? Computers?”

“Reagan’s Eighties. Detrimental effect on underclassmen,” Tim says, shaking his head.

It really doesn’t piss me off as much as he wants it to. “Computers,” I mimic him.

“What are you majoring in?” He’s daring me, the big fucking baby, finish your salad, asshole.

“Rock’n’roll,” I shrug.

He gets up, disgusted. “What are you, a parrot?”

“What’s up his ass?” someone asks.

“Didn’t get that part in the Shepard play,” Getch says.

Deidre appears out of nowhere, to save the day? Not quite.

“Peter?”

The table looks up and falls silent.

“I thought my name was Brian,” I say, without looking at her.

She laughs, probably high. I can see her hands, her fingernails aren’t painted black anymore. It looks like cement color. “Oh well, yeah. How are you?” she asks.

“Eating.” I point at the plate. All the guys are looking at her. This is a highly uncomfortable situation.

“You going to the party tonight?” she asks.

“Yeah. I’m going to the party tonight. You going to the party tonight?” Meaningless.

“Yeah.” She seems nervous. The guys are intimidating her. She was actually okay last night, just too drunk. She’s probably good in bed. I look over at Tim, who’s checking her out. “Yeah, I am.”

“Well I guess I’ll see you there.” I look at Norris and roll my eyes up.

“Okay,” she says, lingering, looking around the room.

“Okay, see you there, bye,” I mutter. “God.”

“Okay, well,” she coughs. “See you.”

“Go away,” I say under my breath.

She goes to another table. The guys aren’t saying anything. I’m embarrassed because she’s not that great looking and they all know I screwed her last night and I get up to feed more coffee to my impending ulcer. Rock’n’roll.

“I need a double bed,” Tim says. “Anyone got a double bed?”

“Don’t smoke pot,” someone else says.

“Yabba Dabba Do,” Getch says.