“Yeah, I guess.”
“What do you need?”
I pull my wallet out and get the feeling that Rip never showed up at the Cafe Casino in Beverly Hills either.
Trent’s on the phone in his room, trying to score some coke from a dealer who lives in Malibu since he hasn’t been able to get in touch with Julian. After talking to the guy for like twenty minutes he hangs the phone up and looks at me. I shrug and light a cigarette. The telephone keeps ringing and Trent keeps telling me that he’ll go see a movie, any movie, with me in Westwood since something like nine new films opened Friday. Trent sighs and then answers the phone. It’s the new dealer. The phone call is not good. Trent hangs up and I mention that maybe we should leave, see a four o’clock show. Trent tells me that maybe I should go with Daniel or Rip or one of my “faggot friends.”
“Daniel’s not a faggot,” I say, bored, turning the channel on the television.
“Everyone thinks he is.”
“Like who?”
“Like Blair.”
“Well, he isn’t.”
“Try telling that to Blair.”
“I’m not going out with Blair anymore. That is over, Trent,” I tell him, trying to sound steady.
“I don’t think she thinks so,” Trent says, lying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Finally, I ask, “Why do you even care?”
“Maybe I don’t,” he sighs.
Trent changes the subject and tells me I should go with him to a party someone’s having for some new group at The Roxy. I ask who’s giving it and he tells me he’s not too sure.
“What group is it for?” I ask.
“Some new group.”
“Which new group?”
“I don’t know, Clay.”
The dog begins to bark loudly from downstairs.
“Maybe,” I tell him. “Daniel’s having a party tonight.”
“Oh great,” he says sarcastically. “A fag party.”
The phone rings again. “Screw you,” I say.
“Jesus!” Trent yells, sitting up, grabbing the telephone and screaming into it, “I don’t even want your lousy, f**king coke!” He pauses for a moment and then says, “Yeah, I’ll be right down.” He hangs the phone up and looks at me.
“Who was it?”
“My mother. She’s calling from downstairs.”
We walk downstairs. The maid’s sitting in the living room, with this dazed look on her face, watching MTV. Trent tells me that she doesn’t like to clean the house when anybody’s home. “She’s always stoned anyway. Mom feels guilty since her family was killed in El Salvador, but I think she’ll fire her sooner or later.” Trent walks over to the maid and she looks up nervously and smiles. Trent tries some of his Spanish but can’t communicate with her. She just looks at him blankly and tries to nod and smile. Trent turns around and says, “Yep, stoned again.”
In the kitchen, Trent’s mother is smoking a cigarette and finishing a Tab before she goes off to some fashion show in Century City. Trent takes a pitcher of orange juice out of the refrigerator and pours himself a glass, asks if I want one. I tell him no. He looks at his mother and takes a swallow. No one says anything for something like two minutes, not until Trent’s mother says, “Goodbye.” Trent doesn’t say anything except, “Do you want to go to The Roxy tonight or what, Clay?”
“I don’t think so,” I tell him, wondering what his mother wanted.
“Yeah? You don’t.”
“I think I’m going to Daniel’s party.”
“Great,” he says.
I’m about to ask him if he wants to go to a movie, but the phone rings from upstairs and Trent runs out of the kitchen to answer it. I walk back to the living room and stare out the window and watch as Trent’s mother gets into her car and drives off. The maid from El Salvador stands up and slowly walks to the bathroom and I can hear her laughing, then retching and then laughing again. Trent comes into the living room looking pissed off and sits in front of the TV; phone call probably wasn’t too good.
“I think your maid is sick or something,” I mention.
Trent looks over at the bathroom and says, “Is she freaking out again?”
I sit on another couch. “I guess.”
“Mom’s going to fire her soon enough.” He takes a swallow of the orange juice he’s still holding and stares at MTV.
I stare out the window.
