The Rules of Attraction

PAUL Richard arrives sometime around eight. I’m sitting in the “boys’” room, in some plush chair, already dressed in this gray suit and silk red tie I bought at Bigsby and Kruthers, watching MTV, smoking, thinking about Sean. My mother and Mrs. Jared are in the other room getting dressed for dinner. Richard opens the door, wearing a tuxedo and sunglasses, hair greased back, walks in, lets the door slam and shouts, “Hi ya, Paul!”

I stare at Richard only slightly shocked. His long blond hair is now short, cropped and dyed a bright platinum blond that, because of the rain or mousse, looks dark. He’s wearing a ripped white tuxedo shirt, one black sock, one white sock, and black Converse Hi-Tops, and a long overcoat with a Siouxsie and the Banshees decal stuck on the back. A tiny diamond stud earring in the left ear, the Wayfarers still on, black and shiny. He’s only carrying one small black bag with Dead Kennedys and Bronski Beat stickers on it, and in the other hand a very large cassette player and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, almost empty. He staggers in, then leans against the doorway, catching his balance.

“Richard,” I say. I’m starting to feel that my entire world is beginning to turn into an issue of Vanity Fair.

“When are we gonna eat?” he asks.

“Richard? Is that you?” his mother calls from the other room.

“Yeah. It is,” he says. “And my name’s not Richard.”

My mother and Mrs. Jared walk into the room, both in the middle of getting dressed and they stare at Richard who looks like a total Sarah Lawrence asshole but, maybe, sexy.

“It’s Dick,” he says lewdly and then, “Like, when’s dinner?” He takes a deep swig from the Jack Daniel’s bottle then belches.