The Rules of Attraction

PAUL I was thinking about taking another shower, styling my hair or calling Sean or jerking off or doing any number of things, when I heard someone trying to get into the room. I stood next to the door and heard my mother and Mrs. Jared babbling about something.

“Oh Mimi, help me with this damn lock.” It was my mother bitching.

“Jesus, Eve,” I heard Mrs. Jared’s whiny voice answer back. “Where’s the bellboy?”

I ran over to the bed and flung myself upon it and placed a pillow over my head, trying to look casual. I looked ridiculous and stood up, tentatively.

“Damnit, Mimi, this is the wrong key. Try the other room,” I heard, muffled, a complaint.

My mother knocked on the door, asking “Paul? Paul, are you in there?”

I didn’t know if I should say anything, then realized that I had to and said, “Yes? Who is it, please?”

“It’s your mother, for God’s sake,” she said, sounding exasperated. “Who do you think it is?”

“Oh,” I said. “Hi.”

“Could you please help me open this door?” she pleaded.

I walked over to the door and turned the knob, trying to pull it open, but my mother had screwed it up somehow and had locked it from the outside.

“Mother?” Be patient, patient.

“Yes, Paul?”

“You locked it.”

Pause.

“I did?”

“You did.”

“Oh my.”

“Why don’t you unlock it?” I suggested.

“Oh.” There was a silence. “Mimi, get over here. My son tells me that I should unlock the door.”

“Hello, Paul dear,” Mrs. Jared said through the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Jared,” I called back.

“It appears that this door is locked,” she commented.

I pulled on it again but the door wouldn’t open.

“Mother?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Is the key in the lock?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Why don’t you turn it to the, let’s say … left? Okay?”

“To the left?”

“Oh, why not.”

“Try it Eve,” Mrs. Jared urged.

I stopped pulling the door. There was a click. The door opened.

“Darling,” my mother screamed, looking wigged out of her mind, coming toward me, her arms outstretched. She looked quite pretty, actually. Perhaps too much make-up, but thinner, and she’s dressed to the hilt, her jewelry’s clanking all over the place, but it was all in an elegant way, not tacky. Her hair, brunette, darker than I remembered, had been stylishly cut and it gave her the appearance of looking much younger. Or maybe it was that eye job, or the eye tuck, she had last summer, before we went to Europe, that gave me this impression.

“Mother,” I said, standing still.

She hugged me and said, “Oh, it’s been so long.”

“Five weeks?”

“Oh that’s a long time, dear,” she said.

“Not really.”

“Say hello to Mrs. Jared,” she said.

“Oh Paul, you look so cute.” Mrs. Jared said and hugged me also.

“Mrs. Jared,” I said.

“So big and away at college. We’re so proud of you.”

“He’s so handsome,” my mother said, walking over to the window and opening it, waving the smell of cigarette smoke out.

“And tall,” Mrs. Jared said. Yeah and I’ve fucked your son, I was thinking.

I sat down on the bed, refrained from lighting a cigarette and crossed my legs.

My mother rushed to the bathroom and immediately started to brush her hair.

Mrs. Jared took her shoes off and sat down opposite from me and asked, “Tell me Paul, why are you wearing so much black?”