Less Than Zero

On the way through the mall, a security guard, sitting alone on a white bench, smoking a cigarette, tells Ronnette that there’s no roller skating in the Beverly Center.



“Too much,” Ronnette says, and rolls away.



The security guard just sits there and takes another drag and watches us leave.



Once in my car Ronnette tells us that she just finished singing vocals, actually background vocals, on Bandarasta’s new album.



“But I don’t like Bandarasta. He’s always calling me ‘Halloween’ for some reason. I don’t like to be called ‘Halloween.’ I don’t like it at all.”



I don’t ask who Bandarasta is; instead I ask her if she’s a singer.



“Oh, you could say. I’m a hairdresser, really. See, I got mono and dropped out of Uni and just hung around. I paint, too … oh gosh, that reminds me. I left my art over at Devo’s house. I think they want to use it in a video. Anyway …” She laughs and then stops and blows a bubble and snaps her gum. “What did you ask me, I forgot.”



I notice that Trent’s asleep and I jab him in the stomach.



“I’m up, dude, I’m up.” He sits up and unrolls his window.



“Cla-ay,” Ronnette says. “What did you ask me. I forgot.”



“What do you do?” I ask, irritated, trying to stay awake.



“Oh, I cut everybody’s hair at Flip. Oh, turn this song up. I love this song. They’re gonna be at The Palace on Friday.”



“Trent, wake up, ass**le,” I say loudly over the music.



“I’m up, dude, I’m up. Eyes are just tired.”



“Open them,” I tell him.



He opens them and looks around the car. “Hair looks good,” he tells Ronnette.



“Did it myself. I had this dream, see, where I saw the whole world melt. I was standing on La Cienega and from there I could see the whole world and it was melting and it was just so strong and realistic like. And so I thought, Well, if this dream comes true, how can I stop it, you know?”



I’m nodding my head.



“How can I change things, you know? So I thought if I, like pierced my ear or something, like alter my physical image, dye my hair, the world wouldn’t melt. So I dyed my hair and this pink lasts. I like it. It lasts. I don’t think the world is gonna melt anymore.”



I’m not too reassured by her tone and I can’t believe I’m actually nodding my head, but I pull up to Danny’s Okie Dog on Santa Monica and she trips as she climbs out of the small back seat of the Mercedes and lies on the sidewalk and laughs as I drive away. I ask Trent where he met her. We pass the billboard on Sunset. Disappear Here. Wonder if he’s for sale.



“Just around,” he says. “Wanna joint?”



Next day I stop by Julian’s house in Bel Air with the money in a green envelope. He’s lying on his bed in a wet bathing suit watching MTV. It’s dark in the room, the only light coming from the black and white images on the television.



“I brought the money,” I tell him.



“Great,” he says.



I move over to his bed and put down the money.



“You don’t have to count it. It’s all there.”



“Thanks, Clay.”



“What is it really for, Julian?”



Julian watches the video until it’s over and then turns away and says, “Why?”



“Because that’s a lot of money.”



“Then why did you give it to me?” he asks, running his hand over his smooth, tan chest.



“Because you’re a friend?” It comes out sounding like a question. I look down.



“Right,” Julian says, his eyes going back to the television.



Another video flashes on.



Julian falls asleep.



I leave.



Rip calls me up and tells me that we should meet at La Scala Boutique, have a little lunch, a little chopped salad, discuss a little business. I drive to La Scala and find a parking space in back and sit there and listen to the rest of a song on the radio. A couple behind me in a dark-blue Jaguar think that I’m leaving, but I don’t wave them on. I sit there a little longer and the couple in the Jaguar finally honk their horn and drive off. I get out of the car and walk into the restaurant and sit at the bar and order a glass of red wine. After I finish it, I order a second and by the time Rip arrives, I’ve had three glasses.



“Hey, babe, how’s it going?”



I stare at the glass. “Did you bring it?”



“Hey, babe.” The tone changes. “I asked you how it’s going. Are you gonna answer me, or, like, what’s the story?”