The Rules of Attraction

Sean liked to say “Rock’n’roll” a lot. For example I would say, “Well, that was a pretty good movie” and he’d say “Rock’n’roll.” Or I’d ask, “What do you think of Fassbinder’s early work?” and he would reply “Rock’n’roll.” He also liked the term, “Deal with it.” For example, I’d say, “But I want you to,” and he’d say, “Deal with it.” Or, “But why do you have to get stoned before we do it?” and he’d say, “Deal with it,” without even looking at me. He also liked his coffee really faggy—tons of cream, lots of sugar. I’d have to drag him to the movies they showed that term and he’d have to get stoned first. He liked Taxi Driver, Blade Runner, The Harder They Come, and Apocalypse Now. I liked Rebel Without a Cause, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and The Seventh Seal. (“Oh shit, subtitles,” he moaned.) We both didn’t like Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex.



Of course I started finding the notes someone was leaving in his box. Pathetic, girlish yearnings. Whoever it was, offering “herself” to “him.” And though I wasn’t sure if he was actually responding to this nitwit I still would take them out of his box and either throw them away or keep them and study them and then put them back. I would watch the girls who’d flirt with us in The Pub and I’d watch the ones who would sit next to him, asking for a light even though they had matches in their pockets. And, of course, there would be a lot of girls around since he was so good-looking. And though I hated them, I also realized that I had the power in this game since I was also good-looking and had some semblance of a personality, something Sean lacked utterly. I could make them laugh. I could lie and agree with their stupid observations about life, and they’d lose immediate interest in him. Sean would sit there, shallow as a travel agent’s secretary, that one strip of eyebrow furrowed and confused. But it was a hollow victory and I’d look at the girls and wonder who was leaving the notes. Didn’t that person realize we were f**king each other? Didn’t that mean anything to anyone anymore? Obviously not. I thought it was this one girl. I thought I saw her put something in his box. I knew who she was. I found out where her box was and when no one was looking put a couple of cigarettes out in it. My warning. He never mentioned it. But then I realized that maybe it wasn’t a girl leaving the notes. Maybe it was Jerry.



LAUREN Conroy, who I bump into at the American Cartoon Exhibit in Gallery 1, asks why I wasn’t at the tutorial last Saturday. No use arguing. “I was in New York,” I tell him. He doesn’t care. I’m with Franklin now. Judy doesn’t care. She’s seeing the Freshman, Steve. Steve doesn’t care. She f**ked him the night she went to Williamstown. I don’t care. It’s all so boring. Conroy who doesn’t care tells me to tell the other person in class to come on Saturday. It’s some Senior guy. So after I leave a reminder in this guy’s box, Franklin and I go to The Pub and get a little drunk and Franklin tells me what the symbolism in Cujo means and then we go to my room. I have received no mail from Victor. The idea crosses my mind that Victor might just be dead. Conversation I overheard at lunch the other day.



Boy: I think we should stop this.



Girl: Stop what? This?



Boy: Maybe.



Girl: Stop it? Yeah.



Boy: Maybe. I don’t know.



Girl: Was it because of Europe?



Boy: No. I just don’t know why.



Girl: You should stop smoking.



Boy: Why don’t you stop … stop …



Girl: You’re right. It’s not working.



Boy: I don’t know. You’re really … You are pretty.



Girl: You are too.



Boy: The meek shall inherit the earth.



Girl: The meek don’t want it.



Boy: I like the new Eurythmics song.



Girl: It’s the drugs, isn’t it?



Boy: Do you want to go back to my room?



Girl: What Eurythmics song?



Boy: Was it because of who I slept with?



Girl: No. Yes. No.



Boy: The meek don’t want it? What?



I have not painted in over a week. I am going to change my major unless Victor calls.



PAUL My mother called from Chicago and told me that her Cadillac had been stolen while it was in the parking lot of Neiman Marcus. She mentioned that she was flying to Boston on Friday, which was the next day, and would be there for the weekend. She also mentioned that she wanted me to be there with her.



“Wait. That’s tomorrow. I have classes all day,” I lied.



“Darling, you can miss one class to meet your mother and the Jareds.”