“No,” I say. “I mean it.”
Pause, then he asks, “Who?”
“You know,” I laugh.
“Oh…” He pretends to understand. “He’s got a nice smile,” he finally admits.
“Oh yeah. He does,” I agree.
This is ludicrous, but I’m in a better mood, and in half an hour Victor will be back and the two of us will be off. I will not tell him about the abortion. There is no need.
“He talks about you a lot,” I tell him.
“Well, that’s…” He’s flustered and doesn’t know what to say. “That’s nice. I don’t know. Are you two still—”
“Oh no.” I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
“I see.”
More pausing.
“Well, it’s good to see you again,” I say.
“I know. It’s too bad we didn’t get to talk after, whenever,” he says, blushes.
“Oh, I know,” I say. He means September; drunken sad night in his room. “That was crazy,” I say shaking my head. “Yes. Crazy,” I say again.
There are people playing Frisbee in the snow. I concentrate on that.
“Listen,” he starts. “Did you put notes in his box?” he asks.
“Whose box?” I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“I thought you were putting notes in his box,” he says.
“I didn’t put notes in anyone’s box,” I tell him. “Notes?”
“I took some notes out of his box that I thought were yours,” he says, looking pained.
I study his face. “No. It wasn’t me. Wrong person.”
“Don’t tell him,” he says. “Oh, tell him. Whatever.”
“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” I say.
“You’re right,” he quickly agrees without thinking.
“It doesn’t matter to people like him,” I say, or to people like us, but that’s only a momentary thought and it leaves quickly.
“You’re right,” he says again.
“Do you want to come up?” I ask him. “I’m not really doing anything.”
“No,” he says. “I’ve got to get packing.”
“Listen, do you have my address?” I ask him.
We exchange addresses, snow running the ink on the back of the magazine he’s holding. The pages in my address book get wet. We stare at each other once more before parting, why? Deciding if maybe something was lost? Not quite sure? We promise to keep in touch anyway and call over vacation. We kiss politely and then he goes his way and I go mine, back to my room which is packed and clean and ready and I wait there feeling not that much different than I did in September, or October, or for that matter, November, for Victor with some certainty.
PAUL I started walking but was then running when I caught sight of the motorcycle at the Guard House. I was walking quickly at first, then jogging, then I broke into a full-fledged run, but Sean, who had a helmet on, started driving faster, skidding at first on the wet snowy lane, then regaining speed. I don’t know why I was running after that motorcycle but I was. I was running fast too, skipping over piles of snow, moving faster than I can ever remember moving. And it wasn’t because of Sean. It was too late for that. There had already been a Richard and a Gerald and too many carnal thoughts about others. But I was running and I was running because it felt like the “right” thing to do. It was a chance to show some emotion. I wasn’t acting on passion. I was simply acting. Because it seemed the only thing to do. It seemed like something I had been told to do. By who, or by what, was vague. The bike sped up and disappeared around a curve and I never caught up with it.
I stopped and stood there on College Drive panting, bent over. A car pulled up. It was some guy who lived across the hall from me; Sven or Sylvester—something like that. He asked if I needed a ride. I could hear the song playing on the radio, an old childhood tune: “Thank You for Being a Friend.” I stopped panting and I started nodding, laughing my head off, feeling unchanged.
“Come on. Get in,” he said, reaching over and opening the door.
Still laughing I stumbled into the car thinking oh what the hell. Rock’n’roll, right? Deal with it. Sven’s pretty cute, and who knows, maybe he could give me a ride to Chicago. And then, what was it Raymond told you about German guys?
SEAN I started driving faster as I left the college behind. I didn’t know where I was going. Someplace unoccupied I hoped. Home was gone. New York sucked. I looked at my watch. It was noon. It seemed weird. But it was a relief driving around without excess baggage and the D.J. was playing great songs: Clapton, Petty and the Heartbreakers, Left Banke singing, “… just walk away Renee….”
“I loved you,” I said to her the last time we were together. I didn’t know it was going to be the last time. The two of us were downstairs, back at the party, and I looked at her face, her hair was combed back, her face still slightly flushed from the sex. There are things about her I will never forget….
I stopped at a phone booth near a liquor store. I pulled out a dime and a couple of phone numbers I had collected during the term from my wallet. I left the car running and got out. The sky was darkening even though it was still early afternoon; clouds were purple and black, undecided if they should snow or not. I wondered where to go. I decided against making any phone calls. I got back in my car. I haven’t changed.
I saw a townie girl hitchhiking on the edge of town. She looked at me as I passed by. I made it to the end of town, then turned around in the parking lot of the A&P and picked her up. She was a little fat, but still blond and pretty. She was leaning against a lightpost, smoking a cigarette, a backpack at her feet. She lowered her arm as I pulled the car over. She smiled, then got in. I asked her where she was going. She mentioned some town but seemed unsure. She started telling me her life story, which wasn’t very interesting, and when Rockpile came on singing “Heart” I had to turn it up, drowning out her voice, but still I turned to her, my eyes interested, a serious smile, nodding, my hand squeezing her knee, and she
FIRST VINTAGE CONTEMPORARIES EDITION, JUNE 1998
Copyright © 1987 by Bret Easton Ellis
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Simon & Schuster, Inc., New York, in 1987.
The author is grateful for permission to reprint material from the following works
“Love Is All Around” by Sonny Curtis Copyright Mark Three Music.
“Us and Them.” Words by Roger Waters Music by Roger Waters and Rick Wright.
TRO—© Copyright 1973 Hampshire House Publishing Corp. New York, NY.
Used by permission.
“California Dreamin’.” Words and music by John Phillips and Michelle Phillips. © Copyright 1965, 1970 by MCA MUSIC PUBLISHING, A Division of MCA INC., New York, NY USED BY PERMISSION. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
“Walk Away Renee” (Mike Brown/Tony Sansone/Bob Callilli). © Copyright 1966 Alley Music Corp/Trio Music Co Inc All rights administered by Hudson Bay Music Inc Used by permission. All rights reserved.
“One Fine Day” by Goffin/King. Copyright © 1963 by SCREEN GEMS-EMI MUSIC INC. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Going After Cacciato by Tim O’Brien. Copyright © 1978 by Tim O’Brien. Reprinted by permission of DELACORTE PRESS/SEYMOUR LAWRENCE.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ellis, Bret Easton.
The rules of attraction / Bret Easton Ellis,
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-75645-9
1. College students—Fiction I. Title.
PS3555.L5937R8 1998
813′.54—dc21
98-4952
Author photograph © Quintana Roo Dunne
Random House Web address, www.randomhouse.com
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Bret Easton Ellis, The Rules of Attraction
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