"Well," Evelyn begins, "I've been known to"

"You're a fucking word processor!" Tim blurts out. He walks over to Evelyn and bows next to her, checking out his reflection in the mirror.

"Have you been gaining weight, Tim?" Evelyn asks thoughtfully. She studies Tim's head in the mirror and says, "Your face looks... rounder."

Timothy, in retaliation, smells Evelyn's neck and says, "What is that fascinating... odor?"

"Obsession." Evelyn smiles flirtatiously, gently pushing Timothy away. "It's Obsession. Patrick, get your friend friend away from away from me me."

"No, no, wait," Timothy says, sniffing loudly. "It's not Obsession. It's... it's..." and then, with a face twisted in mock horror, "It's... Oh my god, it's It's... it's..." and then, with a face twisted in mock horror, "It's... Oh my god, it's Q.T. Instatan Q.T. Instatan!"

Evelyn pauses and considers her options. She inspects Price's head one more time. "Are you losing your hair?"

"Evelyn," Tim says. "Don't change the subject but..." And then, genuinely worried, "Now that you mention it... too much gel?" Concerned, he runs a hand over it.

"Maybe," Evelyn says. "Now make yourself useful and do sit down sit down."

"Well, at least it's not green and I haven't tried to cut it with a butter knife," Tim says, referring to Vanden's dye job and Stash's admittedly cheap, bad haircut. A haircut that's bad because it's cheap.

"Are you gaining weight?" Evelyn asks, more seriously this time.

"Jesus," Tim says, about to turn away, offended. "No, Evelyn."

"Your face definitely looks... rounder," Evelyn says. "Less... chiseled."

"I don't believe this." Tim again.

He looks deep into the mirror. She continues brushing her hair but the strokes are less definite because she's looking at Tim. He notices this and then smells her neck and I think he licks at it quickly and grins.

"Is that Q.T.?" he asks. "Come on, you can tell me. I smell it."

"No," Evelyn says, unsmiling. "You use that." use that."

"No. As a matter of fact I don't. I go to a tanning salon. I'm quite honest about that," he says. "You're using Q.T." using Q.T."

"You're projecting," she says lamely. projecting," she says lamely.

"I told you," Tim says. "I go to a tanning salon. I mean I know it's expensive but..." Price blanches. "Still, Q.T. Q.T.?"

"Oh how brave brave to admit you go to a tanning to admit you go to a tanning salon salon," she says.

"Q.T." He chuckles.

"I don't know what you're talk talking about," Evelyn says and resumes brushing her hair. "Patrick, escort your friend out out of here." of here."

Now Price is on his knees and he smells and sniffs at Evelyn's bare legs and she's laughing. I tense up.

"Oh god," she moans loudly. "Get out out of here." of here."

"You are orange orange." He laughs, on his knees, his head in her lap. "You look orange orange."

"I am not not," she says, her voice a low prolonged growl of pain, ecstasy. "Jerk."

I lie on the bed watching the two of them. Timothy is in her lap trying to push his head under the Ralph Lauren robe. Evelyn's head is thrown back with pleasure and she is trying to push him away, but playfully, and hitting him only lightly on his back with her Jan Hove brush. I am fairly sure that Timothy and Evelyn are having an affair. Timothy is the only interesting person I know.

"You should go," she says finally, panting. She has stopped struggling with him.

He looks up at her, flashing a toothy, goodlooking smile, and says, "Anything the lady requests."

"Thank you," she says in a voice that sounds to me tinged with disappointment.

He stands up. "Dinner? Tomorrow?"

"I'll have to ask my boyfriend," she says, smiling at me in the mirror.

"Will you wear that sexy black Anne Klein dress?" he asks, his hands on her shoulders, whispering this into her ear, as he smells it. "Bateman's not welcome."

I laugh goodnaturedly while getting up from the bed, escorting him out of the room.

"Wait! My espresso!" he calls out.

Evelyn laughs, then claps as if delighted by Timothy's reluctance to vacate.

"Come on fella," I say as I push him roughly out of the bedroom. "Beddybye time."

He still manages to blow her a kiss before I get him out and away. He is completely silent as I walk him out of the brownstone.

After he leaves I pour myself a brandy and drink it from a checkered Italian tumbler and when I come back to the bedroom I find Evelyn lying in bed watching the Home Shopping Club. I lie down next to her and loosen my Armani tie. Finally I ask something without looking at her.

"Why don't you just go for Price?"

"Oh god, Patrick," she says, her eyes shut. "Why Price? Price Price?" And she says this in a way that makes me think she has had sex with him.

"He's rich," I say.

"Everybody's rich," she says, concentrating on the TV screen. rich," she says, concentrating on the TV screen.

"He's goodlooking," I tell her.

"Everybody's goodlooking, Patrick," she says remotely. goodlooking, Patrick," she says remotely.

"He has a great body," I say.

"Everybody has a great body now," she says. has a great body now," she says.

I place the tumbler on the nightstand and roll over on top of her. While I kiss and lick her neck she stares passionlessly at the widescreen Panasonic remotecontrol television set and lowers the volume. I pull my Armani shirt up and place her hand on my torso, wanting her to feel how rockhard, how halved halved my stomach is, and I flex the muscles, grateful it's light in the room so she can see how bronzed and defined my abdomen has become. my stomach is, and I flex the muscles, grateful it's light in the room so she can see how bronzed and defined my abdomen has become.

"You know," she says clearly, "Stash tested positive for the AIDS virus. And..." She pauses, something on the screen catching her interest; the volume goes slightly up and then is lowered. "And... I think he will probably sleep with Vanden tonight."

"Good," I say, biting lightly at her neck, one of my hands on a firm, cold breast.

"You're evil," she says, slightly excited, running her hands along my broad, hard shoulder.

"No," I sigh. "Just your fiance."

After attempting to have sex with her for around fifteen minutes, I decide not to continue trying.

She says, "You know, you can always be in better shape."

I reach for the tumbler of brandy. I finish it. Evelyn is addicted to Parnate, an antidepressant. I lie there beside her watching the Home Shopping Club at glass dolls, embroidered throw pillows, lamps shaped like footballs, Lady Zirconia with the sound turned off. Evelyn starts drifting.

"Are you using minoxidil?" she asks, after a long time.

"No. I'm not," I say. "Why should I?"

"Your hairline looks like it's receding," she murmurs.

"It's not," I find myself saying. It's hard to tell. My hair is very thick and I can't tell if I'm losing it. I really doubt it.

I walk back to my place and say good night to a doorman I don't recognize (he could be anybody) and then dissolve into my living room high above the city, the sounds of the Tokens singing "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" coming from the glow of the Wurlitzer 1015 jukebox (which is not as good as the hardtofind Wurlitzer 850) that stands in the comer of the living room. I masturbate, thinking about first Evelyn, then Courtney, then Vanden and then Evelyn again, but right before I come a weak orgasm about a nearnaked model in a halter top I saw today in a Calvin Klein advertisement.

Morning

In the early light of a May dawn this is what the living room of my apartment looks like: Over the white marble and granite gaslog fireplace hangs an original David Onica. It's a sixfoot-by-four-foot portrait of a naked woman, mostly done in muted grays and olives, sitting on a chaise longue watching MTV, the backdrop a Martian landscape, a gleaming mauve desert scattered with dead, gutted fish, smashed plates rising like a sunburst above the woman's yellow head, and the whole thing is framed in black aluminum steel. The painting overlooks a long white downfilled sofa and a thirtyinch digital TV set from Toshiba; it's a highcontrast highly defined model plus it has a fourcorner video stand with a hightech tube combination from NEC with a pictureinpicture digital effects system (plus freezeframe); the audio includes builtin MTS and a fivewatt-perchannel onboard amp. A Toshiba VCR sits in a glass case beneath the TV set; it's a superhighband Beta unit and has builtin editing function including a character generator with eightpage memory, a highband record and playback, and threeweek, eightevent timer. A hurricane halogen lamp is placed in each corner of the living room. Thin white venetian blinds cover all eight floortoceiling windows. A glasstop coffee table with oak legs by Turchin sits in front of the sofa, with Steuben glass animals placed strategically around expensive crystal ashtrays from Fortunoff, though I don't smoke. Next to the Wurlitzer jukebox is a black ebony Baldwin concert grand piano. A polished white oak floor runs throughout the apartment. On the other side of the room, next to a desk and a magazine rack by Gio Ponti, is a complete stereo system (CD player, tape deck, tuner, amplifier) by Sansui with sixfoot Duntech Sovereign 2001 speakers in Brazilian rosewood. A downfilled futon lies on an oakwood frame in the center of the bedroom. Against the wall is a Panasonic thirtyoneinch set with a directview screen and stereo sound and beneath it in a glass case is a Toshiba VCR. I'm not sure if the time on the Sony digital alarm clock is correct so I have to sit up then look down at the time flashing on and off on the VCR, then pick up the Ettore Sottsass pushbutton phone that rests on the steel and glass nightstand next to the bed and dial the time number. A cream leather, steel and wood chair designed by Eric Marcus is in one corner of the room, a molded plywood chair in the other. A blackdotted beige and white Maud Sienna carpet covers most of the floor. One wall is hidden by four chests of immense bleached mahogany drawers. In bed I'm wearing Ralph Lauren silk pajamas and when I get up I slip on a paisley ancient madder robe and walk to the bathroom. I urinate while trying to make out the puffiness of my reflection in the glass that encases a baseball poster hung above the toilet. After I change into Ralph Lauren monogrammed boxer shorts and a Fair Isle sweater and slide into silk polkadot Enrico Hidolin slippers I tie a plastic ice pack around my face and commence with the morning's stretching exercises. Afterwards I stand in front of a chrome and acrylic Washmobile bathroom sink with soap dish, cup holder, and railings that serve as towel bars, which I bought at Hastings Tile to use while the marble sinks I ordered from Finland are being sanded and stare at my reflection with the ice pack still on. I pour some Plax antiplaque formula into a stainlesssteel tumbler and swish it around my mouth for thirty seconds. Then I squeeze Rembrandt onto a fauxtortoiseshell toothbrush and start brushing my teeth (too hung over to floss properly but maybe I flossed before bed last night?) and rinse with Listerine. Then I inspect my hands and use a nailbrush. I take the icepack mask off and use a deeppore cleanser lotion, then an herbmint facial masque which I leave on for ten minutes while I check my toenails. Then I use the Probright tooth polisher and next the Interplak tooth polisher (this in addition to the toothbrush) which has a speed of 4200 rpm and reverses direction fortysix times per second; the larger tufts clean between teeth and massage the gums while the short ones scrub the tooth surfaces. I rinse again, with Cepacol. I wash the facial massage off with a spearmint face scrub. The shower has a universal alldirectional shower head that adjusts within a thirtyinch vertical range. It's made from Australian goldblack brass and covered with a white enamel finish. In the shower I use first a wateractivated gel cleanser, then a honeyalmond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Vidal Sassoon shampoo is especially good at getting rid of the coating of dried perspiration, salts, oils, airborne pollutants and dirt that can weigh down hair and flatten it to the scalp which can make you look older. The conditioner is also good silicone technology permits conditioning benefits without weighing down the hair which can also make you look older. On weekends or before a date I prefer to use the Greune Natural Revitalizing Shampoo, the conditioner and the Nutrient Complex. These are formulas that contain Dpanthenol, a vitaminBcomplex factor; polysorbate 80, a cleansing agent for the scalp; and natural herbs. Over the weekend I plan to go to Bloomingdale's or Bergdorf's and on Evelyn's advice pick up a Foltene European Supplement and Shampoo for thinning hair which contains complex carbohydrates that penetrate the hair shafts for improved strength and shine. Also the Vivagen Hair Enrichment Treatment, a new Redken product that prevents mineral deposits and prolongs the life cycle of hair. Luis Carruthers recommended the Aramis Nutriplexx system, a nutrient complex that helps increase circulation. Once out of the shower and toweled dry I put the Ralph Lauren boxers back on and before applying the Mousse A Raiser, a shaving cream by Pour Hommes, I press a hot towel against my face for two minutes to soften abrasive beard hair. Then I always slather on a moisturizer (to my taste, Clinique) and let it soak in for a minute. You can rinse it off or keep it on and apply a shaving cream over it preferably with a brush, which softens the beard as it lifts the whiskers which I've found makes removing the hair easier. It also helps prevent water from evaporating and reduces friction between your skin and the blade. Always wet the razor with warm water before shaving and shave in the direction the beard grows, pressing gently on the skin. Leave the sideburns and chin for last, since these whiskers are tougher and need more time to soften. Rinse the razor and shake off any excess water before starting. Afterwards splash cool water on the face to remove any trace of lather. You should use an aftershave lotion with little or no alcohol. Never use cologne on your face, since the high alcohol content dries your face out and makes you look older. One should use an alcoholfree antibacterial toner with a watermoistened cotton ball to normalize the skin. Applying a moisturizer is the final step. Splash on water before applying an emollient lotion to soften the skin and seal in the moisture. Next apply Gel Appaisant, also made by Pour Hommes, which is an excellent, soothing skin lotion. If the face seems dry and flaky which makes it look dull and older use a clarifying lotion that removes flakes and uncovers fine skin (it can also make your tan look darker). Then apply an antiaging eye balm (Baume Des Yeux) followed by a final moisturizing "protective" lotion. A scalpprogramming lotion is used after I towel my hair dry. I also lightly blowdry the hair to give it body and control (but without stickiness) and then add more of the lotion, shaping it with a Kent naturalbristle brush, and finally slick it back with a widetooth comb. I pull the Fair Isle sweater back on and reslip my feet into the polkadot silk slippers, then head into the living room and put the new Talking Heads in the CD player, but it starts to digitally skip so I take it out and put in a CD laser lens cleaner. The laser lens is very sensitive, and subject to interference from dust or dirt or smoke or pollutants or moisture, and a dirty one can inaccurately read CDs, making for false starts, inaudible passages, digital skipping, speed changes and general distortion; the lens cleaner has a cleaning brush that automatically aligns with the lens then the disk spins to remove residue and particles. When I put the Talking Heads CD back in it plays smoothly. I retrieve the copy of USA Today USA Today that lies in front of my door in the hallway and bring it with me into the kitchen where I take two Advil, a multivitamin and a potassium tablet, washing them down with a large bottle of Evian water since the maid, an elderly Chinese woman, forgot to turn the dishwasher on when she left yesterday, and then I have to pour the grapefruitlemon juice into a St. Remy wineglass I got from Baccarat. I check the neon clock that hangs over the refrigerator to make sure I have enough time to eat breakfast unhurriedly. Standing at the island in the kitchen I eat kiwifruit and a sliced Japanese applepear (they cost four dollars each at Gristede's) out of aluminum storage boxes that were designed in West Germany. I take a bran muffin, a decaffeinated herbal tea bag and a box of oatbran cereal from one of the large glassfront cabinets that make up most of an entire wall in the kitchen; complete with stainlesssteel shelves and sandblasted wire glass, it is framed in a metallic dark grayblue. I eat half of the bran muffin after it's been microwaved and lightly covered with a small helping of apple butter. A bowl of oatbran cereal with wheat germ and soy milk follows; another bottle of Evian water and a small cup of decaf tea after that. Next to the Panasonic bread baker and the Salton PopUp coffee maker is the Cremina sterling silver espresso maker (which is, oddly, still warm) that I got at Hammacher Schlemmer (the thermalinsulated stainlesssteel espresso cup and the saucer and spoon are sitting by the sink, stained) and the Sharp Model R1810A Carousel II microwave oven with revolving turntable which I use when I heat up the other half of the bran muffin. Next to the Salton Sonata toaster and the Cuisinart Little Pro food processor and the Acme Supreme Juicerator and the Cordially Yours liqueur maker stands the heavygauge stainless-steel twoandonehalfquart teakettle, which whistles "Tea for Two" when the water is boiling, and with it I make another small cup of the decaffeinated applecinnamon tea. For what seems like a long time I stare at the Black & Decker Handy Knife that lies on the counter next to the sink, plugged into the wall: it's a sliver/peeler with several attachments, a serrated blade, a scalloped blade and a rechargeable handle. The suit I wear today is from Alan Flusser. It's an eighties drape suit, which is an updated version of the thirties style. The favored version has extended natural shoulders, a full chest and a bladed back. The softrolled lapels should be about four inches wide with the peak finishing three quarters of the way across the shoulders. Properly used on doublebreasted suits, peaked lapels are considered more elegant than notched ones. Lowslung pockets have a flapped doublebesom design above the flap there's a slit trimmed on either side with a flat narrow strip of cloth. Four buttons form a lowslung square; above it, about where the lapels cross, there are two more buttons. The trousers are deeply pleated and cut full in order to continue the flow of the wide jacket. An extended waist is cut slightly higher in the front. Tabs make the suspenders fit well at the center back. The tie is a dotted silk design by Valentino Couture. The shoes are crocodile loafers by A. Testoni. While I'm dressing the TV is kept on to that lies in front of my door in the hallway and bring it with me into the kitchen where I take two Advil, a multivitamin and a potassium tablet, washing them down with a large bottle of Evian water since the maid, an elderly Chinese woman, forgot to turn the dishwasher on when she left yesterday, and then I have to pour the grapefruitlemon juice into a St. Remy wineglass I got from Baccarat. I check the neon clock that hangs over the refrigerator to make sure I have enough time to eat breakfast unhurriedly. Standing at the island in the kitchen I eat kiwifruit and a sliced Japanese applepear (they cost four dollars each at Gristede's) out of aluminum storage boxes that were designed in West Germany. I take a bran muffin, a decaffeinated herbal tea bag and a box of oatbran cereal from one of the large glassfront cabinets that make up most of an entire wall in the kitchen; complete with stainlesssteel shelves and sandblasted wire glass, it is framed in a metallic dark grayblue. I eat half of the bran muffin after it's been microwaved and lightly covered with a small helping of apple butter. A bowl of oatbran cereal with wheat germ and soy milk follows; another bottle of Evian water and a small cup of decaf tea after that. Next to the Panasonic bread baker and the Salton PopUp coffee maker is the Cremina sterling silver espresso maker (which is, oddly, still warm) that I got at Hammacher Schlemmer (the thermalinsulated stainlesssteel espresso cup and the saucer and spoon are sitting by the sink, stained) and the Sharp Model R1810A Carousel II microwave oven with revolving turntable which I use when I heat up the other half of the bran muffin. Next to the Salton Sonata toaster and the Cuisinart Little Pro food processor and the Acme Supreme Juicerator and the Cordially Yours liqueur maker stands the heavygauge stainless-steel twoandonehalfquart teakettle, which whistles "Tea for Two" when the water is boiling, and with it I make another small cup of the decaffeinated applecinnamon tea. For what seems like a long time I stare at the Black & Decker Handy Knife that lies on the counter next to the sink, plugged into the wall: it's a sliver/peeler with several attachments, a serrated blade, a scalloped blade and a rechargeable handle. The suit I wear today is from Alan Flusser. It's an eighties drape suit, which is an updated version of the thirties style. The favored version has extended natural shoulders, a full chest and a bladed back. The softrolled lapels should be about four inches wide with the peak finishing three quarters of the way across the shoulders. Properly used on doublebreasted suits, peaked lapels are considered more elegant than notched ones. Lowslung pockets have a flapped doublebesom design above the flap there's a slit trimmed on either side with a flat narrow strip of cloth. Four buttons form a lowslung square; above it, about where the lapels cross, there are two more buttons. The trousers are deeply pleated and cut full in order to continue the flow of the wide jacket. An extended waist is cut slightly higher in the front. Tabs make the suspenders fit well at the center back. The tie is a dotted silk design by Valentino Couture. The shoes are crocodile loafers by A. Testoni. While I'm dressing the TV is kept on to The Patty Winters Show. The Patty Winters Show. Today's guests are women with multiple personalities. A nondescript overweight older woman is on the screen and Patty's voice is heard asking, "Well, is it schizophrenia or what's the deal? Today's guests are women with multiple personalities. A nondescript overweight older woman is on the screen and Patty's voice is heard asking, "Well, is it schizophrenia or what's the deal? Tell us Tell us."

"No, oh no. Multiple personalities are not not schizophrenics," the woman says, shaking her head. "We are schizophrenics," the woman says, shaking her head. "We are not not dangerous." dangerous."

"Well," Patty starts, standing in the middle of the audience, microphone in hand. "Who were you last month?"

"Last month it seemed to be mostly Polly," the woman says.

A cut to the audience a housewife's worried face; before she notices herself on the monitor, it cuts back to the multiple-personality woman.

"Well," Patty continues, "now who are you?" who are you?"

"Well...," the woman begins tiredly, as if she was sick of being asked this question, as if she had answered it over and over again and still no one believed it. "Well, this month I'm... Lambchop. Mostly... Lambchop."

A long pause. The camera cuts to a closeup of a stunned housewife shaking her head, another housewife whispering something to her.

The shoes I'm wearing are crocodile loafers by A. Testoni.

Grabbing my raincoat out of the closet in the entranceway I find a Burberry scarf and matching coat with a whale embroidered on it (something a little kid might wear) and it's covered with what looks like dried chocolate syrup crisscrossed over the front, darkening the lapels. I take the elevator downstairs to the lobby, rewinding my Rolex by gently shaking my wrist. I say good morning to the doorman, step outside and hail a cab, heading downtown toward Wall Street.

Harry's

Price and I walk down Hanover Street in the darkest moments of twilight and as if guided by radar move silently toward Harry's. Timothy hasn't said anything since we left P & P. He doesn't even comment on the ugly bum that crouches beneath a Dumpster off Stone Street, though he does manage a grim wolf whistle toward a woman big tits, blonde, great ass, high heels heading toward Water Street. Price seems nervous and edgy and I have no desire to ask him what's wrong. He's wearing a linen suit by Canali Milano, a cotton shirt by Ike Behar, a silk tie by Bill Blass and captoed leather laceups from Brooks Brothers. I'm wearing a lightweight linen suit with pleated trousers, a cotton shirt, a dotted silk tie, all by Valentino Couture, and perforated captoe leather shoes by AllenEdmonds. Once inside Harry's we spot David Van Patten and Craig McDermott at a table up front. Van Patten is wearing a double-breasted wool and silk sport coat, buttonfly wool and silk trousers with inverted pleats by Mario Valentino, a cotton shirt by Gitman Brothers, a polkadot silk tie by Bill Blass and leather shoes from Brooks Brothers. McDermott is wearing a woven-linen suit with pleated trousers, a buttondown cotton and linen shirt by Basile, a silk tie by Joseph Abboud and ostrich loafers from Susan Bennis Warren Edwards.

The two are hunched over the table, writing on the backs of paper napkins, a Scotch and a martini placed respectively in front of them. They wave us over. Price throws his Tumi leather attache case on an empty chair and heads toward the bar. I call out to him for a J&B on the rocks, then sit down with Van Patten and McDermott.

"Hey Bateman," Craig says in a voice that suggests this is not his first martini. "Is it proper to wear tasseled loafers with a business suit or not? Don't look at me like I'm insane."

"Oh shit, don't don't ask Bateman," Van Patten moans, waving a gold Cross pen in front of his face, absently sipping from the martini glass. ask Bateman," Van Patten moans, waving a gold Cross pen in front of his face, absently sipping from the martini glass.

"Van Patten?" Craig says.

"Yeah?"

McDermott hesitates, then says "Shut up" in a flat voice.

"What are you screwballs up to?" I spot Luis Carruthers standing at the bar next to Price, who ignores him utterly. Carruthers is not dressed well: a fourbutton doublebreasted wool suit, I think by Chaps, a striped cotton shirt and a silk bow tie plus hornrimmed eyeglasses by Oliver Peoples.

"Bateman: we're sending these questions in to GQ GQ," Van Patten begins.

Luis spots me, smiles weakly, then, if I'm not mistaken, blushes and turns back to the bar. Bartenders always ignore Luis for some reason.

"We have this bet to see which one of us will get in the Question and Answer column first, and so now I expect an answer. What do you think What do you think?" McDermott demands.

"About what what?" I ask irritably.

"Tasseled loafers, jerkoff," he says.

"Well, guys..." I measure my words carefully. "The tasseled loafer is traditionally a casual shoe..." I glance back at Price, wanting the drink badly. He brushes past Luis, who offers his hand. Price smiles, says something, moves on, strides over to our table. Luis, once more, tries to catch the bartender's attention and once more fails.

"But it's become acceptable just because it's so popular, right?" Craig asks eagerly.

"Yeah." I nod. "As long as it's either black or cordovan it's okay."

"What about brown?" Van Patten asks suspiciously.

I think about this then say, "Too sporty for a business suit."

"What are you fags talking about?" Price asks. He hands me the drink then sits down, crossing his legs.