"Luis has terrible taste in cologne," I mutter, picking up a bottle of Paco Rabanne, sniffing it.

"What are are you saying?" she cries out. you saying?" she cries out.

"The watersoluble spermicidal lubricant," I shout back, staring into the mirror, searching her counter for a Clinique TouchStick to put over the razor nick.

"What do you mean where is it? where is it?" she calls out. "Didn't you have it with with you?" you?"

"Where is the goddamn watersoluble spermicidal lubricant? watersoluble spermicidal lubricant?" I scream. "Water! Soluble! Spermicidal! Lubricant!" I'm shouting this while using some of her Clinique coverup over the blemish, then combing my hair back.

"Top shelf," she says, "I think."

While looking through the medicine cabinet I glance over at her tub, noticing how plain it is, which moves me to say, "You know, Courtney, you should really get your act together and get your tub marbleized or maybe add some Jacuzzi jets." I call out, "Can you hear me? Courtney?"

After a long while she says, "Yes... Patrick. I hear you."

I finally find the tube behind a huge bottle a jar jar of Xanax on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet and before my dick totally softens place a small dab of it inside the tip of the condom, slather it on the latex sheath and then walk back into the bedroom, jumping onto the futon, causing her to snap, "Patrick, this is not a fucking of Xanax on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet and before my dick totally softens place a small dab of it inside the tip of the condom, slather it on the latex sheath and then walk back into the bedroom, jumping onto the futon, causing her to snap, "Patrick, this is not a fucking trampoline trampoline." Ignoring her I kneel over her body, sliding my cock up into Courtney and immediately she's pushing her hips up to meet my thrusts, then she licks her thumb and starts rubbing her clit. I watch as my cock moves in then out then into her vagina with long fast strokes.

"Wait," she gasps.

"What?" I moan, puzzled but almost there.

"Luis is a despicable twit," she gasps, trying to push me out of her.

"Yes," I say, leaning on top of her, tonguing her ear. "Luis is is a despicable twit. I hate him too," and now, spurred on by her disgust for her wimp boyfriend, I start moving faster, my climax approaching. a despicable twit. I hate him too," and now, spurred on by her disgust for her wimp boyfriend, I start moving faster, my climax approaching.

"No, you idiot," she groans. "I said Is it a receptacle tip Is it a receptacle tip? Not 'Is Luis a despicable twit.' Is it a receptacle tip? receptacle tip? Get off me." Get off me."

"Is what a what what?" I moan.

"Pull out," she groans, struggling.

"I'm ignoring you," I say, moving my mouth down on her small perfect nipples, both of them stiff, sitting on hard, big tits.

"Pull out, goddamnit!" she screams.

"What do you want, Courtney?" I grunt, slowing my thrusts down until I finally straighten up and then I'm just kneeling over her, my cock still half inside. She hunches back against the headboard and my dick slides out.

"It's a plain end." I point. "I think."

"Turn the light on," she says, trying to sit up.

"Oh Jesus," I say. "I'm going home."

"Patrick," she warns. "Turn on on the light." the light."

I reach over and flip on the halogen Tensor.

"It's a plain end, see see?" I say. "So?"

"Take it off," she says curtly.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because you have to leave half an inch at the tip," she says, covering her breasts with the Hermes comforter, her voice rising, her patience shot, "to catch the force of the ejaculate of the ejaculate!"

"I'm getting out of here," I threaten, but don't move. "Where's your lithium?"

She throws a pillow over her head and mumbles something, retreating into a fetal position. I think she's starting to cry.

"Where is your lithium, Courtney?" I calmly ask again. "You must must take some." take some."

Something indecipherable is mumbled again and she shakes her head no, no, no beneath the pillow.

"What? What What did you say?" I ask with forced politeness, jerking myself feebly back to an erection. " did you say?" I ask with forced politeness, jerking myself feebly back to an erection. "Where?" Sobs beneath the pillow, barely audible.

"You are crying now and though it sounds clearer to me I still cannot cannot hear a word you're saying." I try to grab the pillow off her head. "Now hear a word you're saying." I try to grab the pillow off her head. "Now speak up speak up!"

Again she mumbles, again it doesn't make any sense.

"Courtney," I warn, getting furious, "if you just said what I think you said: that your lithium is in a carton in the freezer next to the Frusen Gladje and is a sorbet sorbet" I'm screaming this 'if this is really what you said then I will kill kill you. Is it a you. Is it a sorbet sorbet? Is your lithium really a sorbet sorbet?" I scream, finally pulling the pillow from her head and slapping her hard once, across the face.

"Do you think you're turning me on by having unsafe sex unsafe sex?" she screams back.

"Oh Christ, this really isn't worth it," I mutter, pulling the condom dowp so there is half an inch to spare a little less actually. "And see, Courtney, it's there for what? Huh? Tell us." I slap her again, this time lightly. "Why is it pulled down half an inch? So it can catch the force of the ejaculate! force of the ejaculate!"

"Well, it's not not a turnon a turnon for me for me." She's hysterical, racked with tears, choking. "I have a promotion coming to me. I'm going to Barbados in August and I don't want a case of Kaposi's sarcoma to fuck it up!" She chokes, coughing. "Oh god I want to wear a bikini," she wails. "A Norma Kamali I just bought at Bergdorf's."

I grab her head and force her to look at the placement of the condom. "See? Happy? You dumb bitch? Are you happy, you dumb bitch?"

Without looking at my dick she sobs, "Oh god just get it over with," and falls back down on the bed.

Roughly I push my cock back into her and bring myself to an orgasm so weak as to be almost nonexistent and my groan of a massive but somewhat expected disappointment is mistaken by Courtney for pleasure and momentarily spurs her on as she lies sobbing beneath me on the bed, sniffling, to reach down and touch herself but I start getting soft almost instantly actually during during the moment I came but if I don't withdraw from her while still erect she'll freak out so I hold on to the base of the condom as I literally the moment I came but if I don't withdraw from her while still erect she'll freak out so I hold on to the base of the condom as I literally wilt wilt out of her. After lying there on separate sides of the bed for what might be twenty minutes with Courtney whimpering about Luis and antique cutting boards and the sterling silver cheese grater and muffin tin she left at Harry's, she then tries to give me head. "I want to fuck you again," I tell her, "but I don't want to wear a condom because I don't feel anything," and she says calmly, taking her mouth off my limp shrunken dick, glaring at me, "If you don't use one you're not going to feel anything anyway." out of her. After lying there on separate sides of the bed for what might be twenty minutes with Courtney whimpering about Luis and antique cutting boards and the sterling silver cheese grater and muffin tin she left at Harry's, she then tries to give me head. "I want to fuck you again," I tell her, "but I don't want to wear a condom because I don't feel anything," and she says calmly, taking her mouth off my limp shrunken dick, glaring at me, "If you don't use one you're not going to feel anything anyway."

Business Meeting

Jean, my secretary who is in love with me, walks into my office without buzzing, announcing that I have a very important company meeting to attend at eleven. I'm sitting at the Palazzetti glasstop desk, staring into my monitor with my RayBans on, chewing Nuprin, hung over from a coke binge that started innocently enough last night at Shout! with Charles Hamilton, Andrew Spencer and Chris Stafford and then moved on to the Princeton Club, progressed to Barcadia and ended at Nell's around threethirty, and though earlier this morning, while soaking in a bath, sipping a Stoli Bloody Mary after maybe four hours of sweaty, dreamless sleep, I realized that there was was a meeting, I seemed to have forgotten about it on the cab ride downtown. Jean is wearing a red stretchsilk jacket, a crocheted rayon ribbon skirt, red suede pumps with satin bows by Susan Bennis Warren Edwards and goldplated earrings by Robert Lee Morris. She stands there, in front of me, oblivious to my pain, a file in her hand. a meeting, I seemed to have forgotten about it on the cab ride downtown. Jean is wearing a red stretchsilk jacket, a crocheted rayon ribbon skirt, red suede pumps with satin bows by Susan Bennis Warren Edwards and goldplated earrings by Robert Lee Morris. She stands there, in front of me, oblivious to my pain, a file in her hand.

After pretending to ignore her for close to a minute, I finally lower my sunglasses and clear my throat. "Yes? Something else? Jean else? Jean?"

"Mr. Grouchy today." She smiles, placing the file timidly on my desk, and stands there expecting me to.. . what, amuse her with vignettes from last night?

"Yes, you simpleton simpleton. I am Mr. Grouchy today," I hiss, grabbing the file and shoving it in the top desk drawer.

She stares at me, uncomprehending, then, actually looking crestfallen, says, "Ted Madison called and so did James Baker. They want to meet you at Fluties at six."

I sigh, glaring at her. "Well, what should you do?"

She laughs nervously, standing there, her eyes wide. "I'm not sure."

"Jean." I stand up to lead her out of the office. "What... do . . you... say?"

It takes her a little while but finally, frightened, she guesses, "Just... say... no?"

"Just... say... no." I nod, pushing her out and slamming the door.

Before leaving my office for the meeting I take two Valium, wash them down with a Perrier and then use a scruffing cleanser on my face with premoistened cotton balls, afterwards applying a moisturizer. I'm wearing a wool tweed suit and a striped cotton shirt, both by Yves Saint Laurent, and a silk tie by Armani and new black captoed shoes by Ferragamo. I Plax then brush my teeth and when I blow my nose, thick, ropy strings of blood and snot stain a fortyfivedollar handkerchief from Hermi's that, unfortunately, wasn't a gift. But I've been drinking close to twenty liters of Evian water a day and going to the tanning salon regularly and one night of binging hasn't affected my skin's smoothness or color tone. My complexion is still excellent. Three drops of Visine clear the eyes. An ice pack tightens the skin. All it comes down to is: I feel like shit but look great.

I'm also the first to make it to the boardroom. Luis Carruthers follows like a puppy dog at my heels, a close second, and takes the seat next to mine which means I'm supposed to take off my Walkman. He's wearing a wool plaid sports jacket, wool slacks, a Hugo Boss cotton shirt and paisley tie slacks, I'm guessing, from Brooks Brothers. He starts rattling on about a restaurant in Phoenix, Propheteers, that I'm actually interested in hearing about but not from Luis Carruthers, yet I'm on ten milligrams of Valium and for that reason I can manage. On The Patty Winters Show The Patty Winters Show this morning were descendants of members of the Donner Party. this morning were descendants of members of the Donner Party.

"The clients were total total hicks, pre hicks, predictably," Luis is saying. "They wanted to take me to a local production of Les Miz Les Miz, which I already saw saw in in Lon London, but"

"Did you have any trouble getting reservations at Propheteers?" I ask, cutting him off.

"No. None at all," he says. "We ate late."

"What did you order?" I ask.

"I had the poached oysters, the lotte and the walnut tart."

"I hear the lotte is good there," I murmur, lost in thought.

"The client had the boudin blanc, the roasted chicken and the cheesecake," he says.

"Cheesecake?" I say, confused by this plain, aliensounding list. "What sauce or fruits were on the roasted chicken? What shapes was it cut into?"

"None, Patrick," he says, also confused. "It was... roasted."

"And the cheesecake, what flavor? Was it heated?" I say. "Ricotta cheesecake? Goat cheese? Were there flowers or cilantro in it?"

"It was just... regular," he says, and then, "Patrick, you're sweating."

"What did she have?" I ask, ignoring him. "The client's bimbo."

"Well, she had the country salad, the scallops and the lemon tart," Luis says.

"The scallops were grilled? Were they sashimi scallops? In a ceviche of sorts?" I'm asking. "Or were they gratinized gratinized?"

"No, Patrick," Luis says. "They were... broiled."

It's silent in the boardroom as I contemplate this, thinking it through before asking, finally, "What's 'broiled,' Luis?"

"I'm not sure," he says. "I think it involves... a pan."

"Wine?" I ask.

"An '85 Sauvignon blanc," he says. "Jordan. Two bottles."

"Car?" I ask. "Did you rent while in Phoenix?"

"BMW." He smiles. "Little black beamer."

"Hip," I murmur, remembering last night, how I lost it completely in a stall at Nell's my mouth foaming, all I could think about were insects, lots of insects, and running at pigeons, foaming at the mouth and running at pigeons. "Phoenix. Janet Leigh was from Phoenix..." I stall, then continue. "She got stabbed in the shower. Disappointing scene." I pause. "Blood looked fake."

"Listen, Patrick," Luis says, pressing his handkerchief into my hand, my fingers clenched into a fist that relaxes at Luis's touch. "Dibble and I are having lunch next week at the Yale Club. Would you like to join us?"

"Sure." I think about Courtney's legs, spread and wrapped around my face, and when I look over at Luis in one brief, flashing moment his head looks like a talking vagina and it scares the bejesus out of me, moves me to say something while mopping the sweat off my brow. "That's a nice... suit, Luis." The farthest thing from my mind.

He looks down as if stunned, and then blushing, embarrassed, he touches his own lapel. "Thanks, Pat. You look great too... as usual." And when he reaches out to touch my tie, I catch his hand before his fingers make it, telling him, "Your compliment was sufficient."

Reed Thompson walks in wearing a wool plaid fourbutton doublebreasted suit and a striped cotton shirt and a silk tie, all Armani, plus slightly tacky blue cotton socks by Interwoven and black Ferragamo captoe shoes that look exactly like mine, with a copy of the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal held in a nicely manicured fist and a Bill Kaiserman tweed balmacaan overcoat draped casually across the other arm. He nods and sits across from us at the table. Soon after, Todd Broderick walks in wearing a wool chalkstriped sixbutton doublebreasted suit and a striped broadcloth shirt and silk tie, all by Polo, plus an affected linen pocket square that I'm fairly sure is also by Polo. McDermott walks in next, carrying a copy of this week's held in a nicely manicured fist and a Bill Kaiserman tweed balmacaan overcoat draped casually across the other arm. He nods and sits across from us at the table. Soon after, Todd Broderick walks in wearing a wool chalkstriped sixbutton doublebreasted suit and a striped broadcloth shirt and silk tie, all by Polo, plus an affected linen pocket square that I'm fairly sure is also by Polo. McDermott walks in next, carrying a copy of this week's New York New York magazine and this morning's magazine and this morning's Financial Times, Financial Times, wearing new nonprescription Oliver Peoples redwoodframed glasses, a black and white wool houndstoothcheck singlebreasted suit with notch lapels, a striped cotton dress shirt with spread collar and a silk paisley tie, all of it designed and tailored by John Reyle. wearing new nonprescription Oliver Peoples redwoodframed glasses, a black and white wool houndstoothcheck singlebreasted suit with notch lapels, a striped cotton dress shirt with spread collar and a silk paisley tie, all of it designed and tailored by John Reyle.

I smile, raising my eyebrows at McDermott, who sullenly takes the seat next to mine. He sighs and opens the newspaper, silently reading. Since he hasn't offered a "hello" or "good morning" I can tell that he's pissed off and I suspect that it has something to do with me. Finally, sensing that Luis is about to ask something, I turn to McDermott.

"So, McDermott, what's wrong?" I smirk. "Long line at the Stairmaster this morning?"

"Who said anything's wrong?" he asks, sniffing, turning pages in the Financial Times. Financial Times.

"Listen," I tell him, leaning in, "I already apologized about yelling at you because of the pizza at Pastels the other night."

"Who said it was about that?" he asks tensely.

"I thought we already cleared this up," I whisper, gripping the arm of his chair, smiling over at Thompson. "I'm sorry I insulted the pizzas at Pastels. Happy?"

"Who said it's about that?" he asks again.

"Then what what is it, McDermott?" I whisper, noticing movement behind me. I count to three then whirl around, catching Luis leaning toward me trying to eavesdrop. He knows he's been caught and he sinks slowly back into his chair, guilty. is it, McDermott?" I whisper, noticing movement behind me. I count to three then whirl around, catching Luis leaning toward me trying to eavesdrop. He knows he's been caught and he sinks slowly back into his chair, guilty.

"McDermott, this is ridiculous," I whisper. "You can't stay angry at me because I think the pizza at Pastels is... crusty."

"Brittle," he says, shooting me a glance. "The word you used was brittle brittle."

"I apologize," I say. "But I'm right. It is is. You read the review in the Times, Times, right?" right?"

"Here." He reaches into his pocket and hands me a Xeroxed article. "I just wanted to prove you wrong. Read this this."

"What is it?" I ask, opening the folded page.

"It's an article on your hero, Donald Trump." McDermott grins.

"It sure is," I say apprehensively. "Why didn't I ever see this, I wonder."