"I've heard of postCalifornia cuisine," I say, acutely aware of the design of the restaurant: the exposed pipe and the columns and the open pizza kitchen and the... deck chairs. "In fact I've even eaten it. No baby vegetables? Scallops in burritos? Wasabi crackers? Am I on the right track? And by the way, did anyone ever tell you that you look exactly like Garfield but run over and skinned and then someone threw an ugly Ferragamo sweater over you before they rushed you to the vet? Fusilli? Olive oil on Brie?"

"Exactly," Anne says, impressed. "Oh Courtney, where did did you find Patrick? He's so knowledgeable about things. I mean Luis's idea of California cuisine is half an orange and some you find Patrick? He's so knowledgeable about things. I mean Luis's idea of California cuisine is half an orange and some gelati gelati," she gushes, then laughs, encouraging me to laugh with her, which I do, hesitantly.

For an appetizer I ordered radicchio with some kind of freerange squid. Anne and Scott both had the monkfish ragout with violets. Courtney almost fell asleep when she had to exert the energy to read the menu, but before she slid off her chair I grabbed both shoulders, propping her up, and Anne ordered for her, something simple and light like Cajun popcorn perhaps, which wasn't on the menu but since Anne knows Noj, the chef, he made up a special little batch... just for Courtney! just for Courtney! Scott and Anne insisted that we all order some kind of blackened mediumrare redfish, a Desk Chairs specialty which was, luckily for them, an entree on one of the mock menus that Jean made up for me. If it hadn't, and if they nevertheless insisted on my ordering it, the odds were pretty good that after dinner tonight I would have broken into Scott and Anne's studio at around two this morning after Scott and Anne insisted that we all order some kind of blackened mediumrare redfish, a Desk Chairs specialty which was, luckily for them, an entree on one of the mock menus that Jean made up for me. If it hadn't, and if they nevertheless insisted on my ordering it, the odds were pretty good that after dinner tonight I would have broken into Scott and Anne's studio at around two this morning after Late Night with David Letterman Late Night with David Letterman and with an ax chopped them to pieces, first making Anne watch Scott bleed to death from gaping chest wounds, and then I would have found a way to get to Exeter where I would pour a bottle of acid all over their son's slantyeyed zipperhead face. Our waitress is a little hardbody who is wearing gold fauxpearl tasseled lizard slingback pumps. I forgot to return my videotapes to the store tonight and I curse myself silently while Scott orders two large bottles of San Pellegrino. and with an ax chopped them to pieces, first making Anne watch Scott bleed to death from gaping chest wounds, and then I would have found a way to get to Exeter where I would pour a bottle of acid all over their son's slantyeyed zipperhead face. Our waitress is a little hardbody who is wearing gold fauxpearl tasseled lizard slingback pumps. I forgot to return my videotapes to the store tonight and I curse myself silently while Scott orders two large bottles of San Pellegrino.

"It's called California classic classic cuisine," Scott is telling me. cuisine," Scott is telling me.

"Why don't we all go to Zeus Bar next week?" Anne suggests to Scott. "You think we'd have a problem getting a table on Friday?" Scott is wearing a red and purple and black striped cashmere intarsia sweater from Paul Stuart, baggy Ralph Lauren corduroys and ColeHaan leather moccasins.

"Well... maybe," he says.

"That's a good idea. I like like it a lot," Anne says, picking up a small violet off her plate and sniffing the flower before placing it carefully on her tongue. She's wearing a red, purple and black handknitted mohair and wool sweater from Koos Van Den Akker Couture and slacks from Anne Klein, with suede open-toe pumps. it a lot," Anne says, picking up a small violet off her plate and sniffing the flower before placing it carefully on her tongue. She's wearing a red, purple and black handknitted mohair and wool sweater from Koos Van Den Akker Couture and slacks from Anne Klein, with suede open-toe pumps.

A waiter, though not the hardbody, strides over to take another drink order.

"J&B. Straight," I say before anyone else orders.

Courtney orders a champagne on the rocks, which secretly appalls me. "Oh," she says as if reminded by something, "can I have that with a twist?"

"A twist of what what?" I ask irritably, unable to stop myself. "Let me guess. Melon Melon?" And I'm thinking oh my god why didn't you return those goddamn videos Bateman you dumb sonofabitch.

"You mean lemon lemon, miss," the waiter says, giving me an icy stare.

"Yes, of course. Lemon." Courtney nods, seeming lost in some kind of dream but enjoying it, oblivious to it.

"I'll have a glass of the... oh gosh, I guess the Acacia," Scott says and then addresses the table: "Do I want a white? Do I really want a chardonnay? We can eat the redfish with a cabernet."

"Go for it," Anne says cheerily.

"Okay, I'll have the... oh jeez, the sauvignon blanc," Scott says.

The waiter smiles, confused.

"Scottie," Anne shrieks. "The sauvignon blanc blanc?"

"Just teasing," he snickers. "I'll have the chardonnay. The Acacia."

"You complete jerk jerk." Anne smiles, relieved. "You're fun funny."

"I'm having the chardonnay," Scott tells the waiter.

"That's nice," Courtney says, patting Scott's hand.

"I'll just have..." Anne stalls, deliberating. "Oh, I'll just have a Diet Coke."

Scott looks up from a piece of corn bread he was dipping into a small tin of olive oil. "You're not drinking tonight?"

"No," Anne says, smiling naughtily. Who knows why? And who fucking cares? "I'm not in the mood."

"Not even for a glass of the chardonnay?" Scott asks. "How about a sauvignon blanc?"

"I have this aerobics class at nine," she says, slipping, losing control. "I really shouldn't."

"Well then, I don't want anything," Scott says, disappointed. "I mean I have one at eight at Xclusive."

"Does anyone want to guess where I won't won't be tomorrow morning at eight?" I ask. be tomorrow morning at eight?" I ask.

"No, honey. I know how much you like the Acacia." Anne reaches out and squeezes Scott's hand.

"No, babe. I'll stick to the Pellegrino," Scott says, pointing.

I'm tapping my fingers very loudly on the tabletop, whispering "shit, shit, shit, shit" to myself. Courtney's eyes are half closed and she's breathing deeply.

"Listen. I'll be daring daring," Anne says finally. "I'll have a Diet Coke with rum rum."

Scott sighs, then smiles, beaming really. "Good."

"That's a caffeinefine caffeinefine Diet Coke, right?" Anne asks the waiter. Diet Coke, right?" Anne asks the waiter.

"You know," I interrupt, "you should have it with Diet Pepsi. It's much better."

"Really?" Anne asks. "What do you mean?"

"You should have the Diet Pepsi instead of the Diet Coke," I say. "It's much better. It's fizzier. It has a cleaner taste. It mixes better with rum and has a lower sodium content."

The waiter, Scott, Anne, and even Courtney they all stare at me as if I've offered some kind of diabolical, apocalyptic observation, as if I were shattering a myth highly held, or destroying an oath that was solemnly regarded, and it suddenly seems almost hushed in Deck Chairs. Last night I rented a movie called Inside Lydia's Ass Inside Lydia's Ass and while on two Halcion and in fact sipping a Diet Pepsi, I watched as Lydia a totally tan bleachedblonde hardbody with a perfect ass and great full tits while on all fours gave head to this guy with a huge cock while another gorgeous blonde little hardbody with a perfectly trimmed blond pussy knelt behind Lydia and after eating her ass out and sucking on her cunt started to push a long, greased silver vibrator into Lydia's ass and fucked her with it while she continued to eat her pussy and the guy with the huge cock came all over Lydia's face as she sucked his balls and then Lydia bucked to an authenticlooking, fairly strong orgasm and then the girl behind Lydia crawled around and licked the come from Lydia's face and then made Lydia suck on the vibrator. The new Stephen Bishop came out last Tuesday and at Tower Records yesterday I bought the compact disc, the cassette and the album because I wanted to own all three formats. and while on two Halcion and in fact sipping a Diet Pepsi, I watched as Lydia a totally tan bleachedblonde hardbody with a perfect ass and great full tits while on all fours gave head to this guy with a huge cock while another gorgeous blonde little hardbody with a perfectly trimmed blond pussy knelt behind Lydia and after eating her ass out and sucking on her cunt started to push a long, greased silver vibrator into Lydia's ass and fucked her with it while she continued to eat her pussy and the guy with the huge cock came all over Lydia's face as she sucked his balls and then Lydia bucked to an authenticlooking, fairly strong orgasm and then the girl behind Lydia crawled around and licked the come from Lydia's face and then made Lydia suck on the vibrator. The new Stephen Bishop came out last Tuesday and at Tower Records yesterday I bought the compact disc, the cassette and the album because I wanted to own all three formats.

"Listen," I say, my voice trembling with emotion, "have whatever you want but I'm telling you I recommend the Diet Pepsi." I look down at my lap, at the blue cloth napkin, the words Deck Chairs sewn into the napkin's edge, and for a moment think I'm going to cry; my chin trembles and I can't swallow.

Courtney reaches over and touches my wrist gently, stroking my Rolex. "It's okay Patrick. It really is...."

A sharp pain near my liver overcomes the surge of emotion and I sit up in my chair, startled, confused, and the waiter leaves and then Anne asks if we've seen the recent David Onica exhibit and I'm feeling calmer.

It turns out we haven't seen the show but I don't want to be tacky enough to bring up the fact I own one, so I lightly kick Courtney under the table. This raises her out of the lithium-induced stupor and she says robotically, "Patrick owns an Onica. He really does."

I smile, pleased; sip my J&B.

"Oh that's fantastic, Patrick," Anne says.

"Really? An Onica?" Scott asks. "Isn't he quite quite expensive?" expensive?"

"Well, let's just say..." I sip my drink, suddenly confused: say... say what? "Nothing."

Courtney sighs, anticipating another kick. "Patrick's cost twenty thousand dollars." She seems bored out of her mind, picking at a flat, warm piece of corn bread.

I give her a sharp look and try not to hiss. "Uh, no, Courtney, it was really fifty fifty."

She slowly looks up from the corn bread she's mashing between her fingers and even in her lithium haze manages a stare so malicious that it automatically humbles me, but not enough to tell Scott and Anne the truth: that the Onica cost only twelve grand. But Courtney's frightening gaze though I might be overreacting; she might be staring disapprovingly at the patterns on the columns, the venetian blinds on the skylight, the Montigo vases full of purple tulips lining the bar scares me enough to not elaborate on the procedure of purchasing an Onica. It's a stare that I can interpret fairly easily. It warns: Kick me again and no pussy, do you understand?

'That seems...." Anne starts.

I hold my breath, my face tight with tension.

"...low," she murmurs.

I exhale. "It is is. But I got a fabulous deal," I say, gulping.

"But fifty fifty thousand?" Scott asks suspiciously. thousand?" Scott asks suspiciously.

"Well, I think his work... it has a kind of... wonderfully proportioned, purposefully mocksuperficial quality." I pause, then, trying to remember a line from a review I saw in New York New York magazine: "Purposefully mock..." magazine: "Purposefully mock..."

"Doesn't Luis own one, Courtney?" Anne asks, and then tapping Courtney's arm, "Courtney?"

"Luis... owns... what?" Courtney shakes her head as if to clear it, widening her eyes to make sure they don't close on her.

"Who's Luis?" Scott asks, waving to the waitress to have the butter the busboy recently placed on the table removed what a party animal. party animal.

Anne answers for Courtney. "Her boyfriend boyfriend," she says after seeing Courtney, confused, actually looking at me for help.

"Where's he at?" Scott asks.

"Texas," I say quickly. "He's out of town in Phoenix, I mean."

"No," Scott says. "I meant what house house."

"L. F. Rothschild," Anne says, about to look at Courtney for confirmation, but then at me. "Right?"

"No. He's at P & P," I say. "We work together, sort of."

"Wasn't he dating Samantha Stevens at one point?" Anne asks.

"No," Courtney says. "That was just a photo someone took of them that was in W W."

I down my drink as soon as it arrives and wave almost immediately for another and I'm thinking Courtney is is a babe but no sex is worth this dinner. The conversation violently shifts while I'm staring across the room at a greatlooking woman blonde, big tits, tight dress, satin pumps with gold cones when Scott starts telling me about his new compact disc player while Anne unwittingly prattles on to a stoned and completely oblivious Courtney about new kinds of lowsodium wheatrice cake, fresh fruits and New Age music, particularly Manhattan Steamroller. a babe but no sex is worth this dinner. The conversation violently shifts while I'm staring across the room at a greatlooking woman blonde, big tits, tight dress, satin pumps with gold cones when Scott starts telling me about his new compact disc player while Anne unwittingly prattles on to a stoned and completely oblivious Courtney about new kinds of lowsodium wheatrice cake, fresh fruits and New Age music, particularly Manhattan Steamroller.

"It's Aiwa," Scott's saying. "You've got got to hear it. The sound" he pauses, closes his eyes in ecstasy, chewing on corn bread "is fan to hear it. The sound" he pauses, closes his eyes in ecstasy, chewing on corn bread "is fantastic."

"Well, you know, Scottie, the Aiwa is is okay." Oh holy shit, okay." Oh holy shit, dream on, Scottie dream on, Scottie, I'm thinking. "But Sansui is really top top of the line." I pause, then add, "I should know. I own one." of the line." I pause, then add, "I should know. I own one."

"But I thought Aiwa Aiwa was top of the line." Scott looks worried but not yet upset enough to please me. was top of the line." Scott looks worried but not yet upset enough to please me.

"No way, Scott," I say. "Does Aiwa have digital remote control?'"

"Yeah," he says.

"Computer controls?"

"Uhhuh." What a completq and total dufus. dufus.

"Does the system come with a turntable that has a metacrylate and brass platter?"

"Yes," the bastard lies!

"Does your system have an... Accophase T106 tuner?" I ask him.

"Sure," he says, shrugging.

"Are you sure?" I say. "Think carefully."

"Yeah. I think so," he says, but his hand shakes as it reaches for more of the corn bread.

"What kind of speakers?"

"Well, Duntech wood," he answers too quickly.

"So solly, dude. You've got to have the Infinity IRS V speakers," I say. "Or"

"Wait a minute," he interrupts. "V speakers? I've never beard of V speakers."

"See, that's what I mean," I say. "If you don't have the V's, you might as well be listening to a goddamn Walkman."

"What's the bass response on those speakers?" he asks suspiciously.

"An ultralow fifteen hertz," I purr, enunciating each word.

That shuts him up for a minute. Anne drones on about nonfat frozen yogurt and chow chows. I sit back, satisfied at having stumped Scott, but too quickly he regains his composure and says, "Anyway" trying to act blissfully uncaring that he owns a cheap, shitty stereo "we bought the new Phil Collins today. You should hear how great 'Groovy Kind of Love' sounds on it."

"Yeah, I think it's by far the best song he's written," I say, blah blah blah, and though it's finally something Scott and I can agree on, the plates of blackened redfish appear and they look bizarre and Courtney excuses herself to the ladies' room and, after thirty minutes, when she hasn't reappeared I wander into the back of the restaurant and find her asleep in the coatcheck room.

But at her apartment she lies naked on her back, her legs tan and aerobicized and muscular and worked out are spread and I'm on my knees giving her head while jerking myself off and in the time since I've started licking and sucking on her pussy she's already come twice and her cunt is tight and hot and wet and I keep it spread open, fingering it with one hand, keeping myself hard with the other. I lift her ass up, wanting to push my tongue into her, but she doesn't want me to and so I raise up my head and reach over to the Portian antique nightstand for the condom that sits in the ashtray from Palio next to the halogen Tensor lamp and the D'Oro pottery urn and I tear the package open with two shiny slick fingers and my teeth, then slip it, easily, onto my cock.

"I want you to fuck me me," Courtney moans, pulling her legs back, spreading her vagina even wider, fingering herself, making me suck her fingers, the nails on her hand long and red, and the juice from her cunt, glistening in the light coming from the streetlamps through the Stuart Hall venetian blinds, tastes pink and sweet and she rubs it over my mouth and lips and tongue before it cools.

"Yeah," I say, moving on top of her, sliding my dick gracefully into her cunt, kissing her on the mouth hard, pushing into her with long fast strokes, my cock, my hips crazed, moving on their own desirous momentum, already my orgasm builds from the base of my balls, my asshole, coming up through my cock so stiff that it aches but then in midkiss I lift my head up, leaving her tongue hanging out of her mouth starting to lick her own red swollen lips, and while still humping but lightly now I realize there... is... a... problem of sorts but I cannot think of what it is right now... but then it hits me while I'm staring at the halfempty bottle of Evian water on the nightstand and I gasp "Oh shit" and pull out.

"What?" Courtney moans. "Did you forget something?"

Without answering I get up from the futon and stumble into her bathroom trying to pull off the condom but it gets stuck halfway and while easing it off I accidentally trip over the Genold scale while also trying to flip on the light switch and in the process stubbing my big toe, then, cursing, I manage to open the medicine cabinet.

"Patrick what are you do doing?" she calls from the bedroom.

"I'm looking for the watersoluble spermicidal lubricant," I call back. "What do you think I'm doing? Looking for an Advil Advil?"

"Oh my god," she cries out. "You didn't have any any on?" on?"

"Courtney," I call back, noticing a small razor nick above my lip. "Where is is it?" it?"

"I can cannot hear you, Patrick," she calls out.