American Psycho

“No pizza,” I murmur, relieved when Montgomery’s card is placed away, out of sight, back in Timothy’s pocket.

“Come on,” McDermott says, whining. “Let’s order the red upper pizza.”

“Shut up, Craig,” Van Patten says, eyeing a waitress taking a booth’s order. “But call that hardbody over.”

“But she’s not ours,” McDermott says, fidgeting with the menu he’s yanked from a passing busboy.

“Call her over any way,” Van Patten insists. “Ask her for water or a Corona or something.”

“Why her?” I’m asking no one in particular. My card lies on the table, ignored next to an orchid in a blue glass vase. Gently I pick it up and slip it, folded, back into my wallet.

“She looks exactly like this girl who works in the Georgette Klinger section of Bloomingdale’s,” Van Patten says. “Call her over.”

“Does anyone want the pizza or not?” McDermott’s getting testy.

“How would you know?” I ask Van Patten.

“I buy Kate’s perfume there,” he answers.

Price’s gestures gather the table’s attention. “Did I forget to tell everyone that Montgomery’s a dwarf?”

“Who’s Kate?” I say.

“Kate is the chick who Van Patter’s having the affair with,” Price explains, staring back at Montgomery’s table.

“What happened to Miss Kitt ridge?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Price smiles. “What about Amanda?”

“Oh god, guys, lighten up. Fidelity? Right.”

“Aren’t you afraid of diseases?” Price asks.

“From who, Amanda or Kate?” I ask.

“I thought we agreed that we can’t get it.” Van Patten’s voice rises. “So-o-o-o… shithead. Shut up.”

“Didn’t I tell you—”

Four more Bellinis arrive. There are now eight Bellinis on the table.

“Oh my god,” Price moans, trying to grab at the busboy before he scampers off.

“Red snapper pizza… red snapper pizza…” McDermott has found a mantra for the evening.

“We’ll soon become targets for horny Iranian chicks,” Price drones.

“It’s like zero zero zero percentage whatever, you know—are you listening?” Van Patten asks.

“…snapper pizza… red snapper pizza…” Then McDermott slams his hand on the table, rocking it. “Goddamnit, isn’t anybody listening to me?”

I’m still tranced out on Montgomery’s card—the classy coloring, the thickness, the lettering, the print—and I suddenly raise a fist as if to strike out at Craig and scream, my voice booming, “No one wants the fucking red snapper pizza! A pizza should be yeasty and slightly bready and have a cheesy crust! The crusts here are too fucking thin because the shithead chef who cooks here overbakes everything! The pizza is dried out and brittle!” Red-faced, I slam my Bellini down on the table and when I look up our appetizers have arrived. A hardbody waitress stands looking down at me with this strange, glazed expression. I wipe a hand over my face, genially smiling up at her. She stands there looking at me as if I were some kind of monster—she actually looks scared —and I glance over at Price—for what? guidance?—and he mouths “Cigars” and pats his coat pocket.

McDermott quietly says, “I don’t think they’re brittle.”

“Honey,” I say, ignoring McDermott, taking an arm and pulling her toward me. She flinches but I smile and she lets me pull her closer. “Now we’re all going to eat a nice big meal here—” I start to explain.

“But this isn’t what I ordered,” Van Patten says, looking at his plate. “I wanted the mussel sausage.”

“Shut up.” I shoot him a glance then calmly turn toward the hardbody, gri

“Lout ish.” McDermott nods to Van Patten and Price.

“Lout ish and inconsiderate patrons or tourists who are inevitably going to complain about our i

She nods mutely and backs away with this dazed, confused look on her face.

“And,” Price adds, smiling, “if another round of Bellinis comes within a twenty-foot radius of this table we are going to set the maître d’ on fire. So, you know, warn him.”

After a long silence during which we contemplate our appetizers, Van Patten speaks up. “Bateman?”

“Yes?” I fork a piece of monkfish, push it into some of the golden caviar, then place the fork back down.

“You are pure prep perfection,” he purrs.

Price spots another waitress approaching with a tray of four champagne flutes filled with pale pinkish liquid and says, “Oh for Christ sakes, this is getting ridi culous…” She sets them down, however, at the table next to us, for the four babes.

“She is hot, “ Van Patten says, ignoring his scallop sausage.

“Hardbody.” McDermott nods in agreement. “Definitely.”

“I’m not impressed,” Price sniffs. “Look at her knees.”

While the hardbody stands there we check her out, and though her knees do support long, tan legs, I can’t help noticing that one knee is, admittedly, bigger than the other one. The left knee is knobbier, almost imperceptibly thicker than the right knee and this u

“Jesus,” McDermott sighs. “You don’t come here for the food anyway.”

Some guy who looks exactly like Christopher Lauder comes over to the table and says, patting me on the shoulder, “Hey Hamilton, nice tan,” before walking into the men’s room.

“Nice tan, Hamilton,” Price mimics, tossing tapas onto my bread plate.

“Oh gosh,” I say, “hope I’m not blushin’.”

“Actually, where do you go, Bateman?” Van Patten asks. “For a tan.”

“Yeah, Bateman. Where do you go?” McDermott seems genuinely intrigued.

“Read my lips,” I say, “a ta

“I have,” Van Patten says, pausing for maximum impact, “a ta

“Oh bullshit,” I say, cringing.

“It’s true,” McDermott confirms, his mouth full. “I’ve seen it.”

“That is fuck ing outrageous,” I say.

“Why the hell is it fuck ing outrageous?” Price asks, pushing tapas around his plate with a fork.

“Do you know how expensive a fucking ta

“You’re crazy,” I mutter.

“Look, guys,” Van Patten says. “Bateman’s indignant.”

Suddenly a busboy appears at our table and without asking if we’re finished removes our mostly uneaten appetizers. None of us complain except for McDermott, who asks, “Did he just take our appetizers away?” and then laughs uncomprehendingly. But when he sees no one else laughing he stops.

“He took them away because the portions are so small he probably thought we were finished,” Price says tiredly.

“I just think that’s crazy about the ta

“Who is Paul Owen with?” I hear McDermott asking Price.