"So?" I ask, straightening my tie. "Okay."
"So?" McDermott sighs. "Hamlin doesn't want to go to 1500."
"Why not?" I turn off the tap in the sink.
"He was there last night."
"So… what are you, McDermott, trying to tell me?"
'"That we're going someplace else," he says.
"Where?" I ask cautiously.
"Alex Goes to Camp is where Hamlin suggested," he says.
"Hold on. I'm Plaxing." After swishing the antiplaque formula around in my mouth and inspecting my hairline in the mirror, I spit out the Plax. "Veto. Bypass. I went there last week."
"I know. So did I," McDermott says. "Besides, it's cheap. So where do we go instead?"
"Didn't Hamlin have a fucking backup?" I growl, irritated.
"Er, no."
"Call him back and get one," I say, walking out of the bathroom. "I seem to have misplaced my Zagat."
"Do you want to hold or should I call you back?" he asks.
"Call me back, bozo." We hang up.
Minutes pass. The phone rings. I don't bother screening it. It's McDermott again.
"Well?" I ask.
"Hamlin doesn't have a backup and he wants to invite Luis Carruthers and what I want to know is, does this mean Courtney's coming?" McDermott asks.
"Luis cannot come," I say.
"Why not?"
"He just can't." I ask, "Why does he want Luis to come?"
There's a pause. "Hold on," McDermott says. "He's on the other line. I'll ask him."
"Who?" A flash of panic. "Luis?"
"Hamlin."
While holding I move into the kitchen, over to the refrigerator, and take out a bottle of Perrier. I'm looking for a glass when I hear a click.
"Listen," I say when McDermott gets back on the line. "I don't want to see Luis or Courtney so, you know, dissuade them or something. Use your charm. Be charming."
"Hamlin has to have dinner with a client from Texas and–"
I cut him off. "Wait, this has nothing to do with Luis. Let Hamlin take the fag out himself."
"Hamlin wants Carruthers to come because Hamlin is supposed to be dealing with the Panasonic case, but Carruthers knows a lot more about it and that's why he wants Carruthers to come," McDermott explains.
I pause while taking this in. "If Luis comes I'll kill him. I swear to god I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him."
"Jeez, Bateman," McDermott murmurs, concerned. "You're a real humanitarian. A sage."
"No. just…" I start, confused, irritated. "Just… sensible."
"I just want to know if Luis comes does this mean that Courtney will come too?" he wonders again.
"Tell Hamlin to invite – oh shit, I don't know." I stop. "Tell Hamlin to have dinner with the Texas guy alone." I stop again, realizing something. "Wait a minute. Does this mean Hamlin will… take us out? I mean pay for it, since it's a business dinner?"
"You know, sometimes I think you're very smart, Bateman," McDermott says. "Other times…"
"Oh shit, what the hell am I saying?" I ask myself out loud, annoyed. "You and I can have a goddamn business dinner together. Jesus. I'm not going. That's it. I'm not going."
"Not even if Luis doesn't come?" he asks.
"No. Nope."
"Why not?" he whines. "We have reservations at 1500."
"I… have to… watch The Cosby Show."
"Oh tape it for Christ sakes, you ass."
"Wait." I've realized something else. "Do you think Hamlin will" – I pause awkwardly – "have some drugs, perhaps… for the Texan?"
"What does Bateman think?" McDermott asks, the jaded asshole.
"Hmmm. I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about this."
After a pause McDermott says "Tick-tock, tick-tock" in singsong. "We're getting nowhere. Of course Hamlin is going to be carrying."
"Get Hamlin, have him… get him on three-way," I sputter, checking my Rolex. "Hurry. Maybe we can talk him into 1500."
"Okay," McDermott says. "Hold on."
There are four clicking noises and then I hear Hamlin saying, "Bateman, is it okay to wear argyle socks with a business suit?" He's attempting a joke but it fails to amuse me.
Sighing inwardly, my eyes closed, I answer, impatient, "Not really, Hamlin. They're too sporty. They interfere with a business image. You can wear them with casual suits. Tweeds, whatever. Now Hamlin?"
"Bateman?" And then he says, '"Thank you."
"Luis cannot come," I tell him. "And you're welcome."
"No prob," he says. "The Texan's not coming anyway."
"Why not?" I ask.
"Hay letsyall go to See Bee Jee Bees I har that's pretty new wave. Lifestyle difference," Hamlin explains. "The Texan is not accepted until Monday. I quickly, and quite nimbly I might add, rearranged my hectic schedule. A sick father. A forest fire. An excuse."
"How does that take care of Luis?" I ask suspiciously.
"Luis is having dinner with the Texan tonight, which saves me a whole lotta trouble, pardner. I'm seeing him at Smith and Wollensky on Monday," Hamlin says, pleased with himself. "So everything is A-okay."
"Wait," McDermott asks tentatively, "does this mean that Courtney isn't coming?"
"We have missed or are going to miss our reservations at 1500," I point out. "Besides, Hamlin, you went there last night, huh?"
"Yeah," he says. "It's got passable carpaccio. Decent wren. Okay sorbets. But let's go somewhere else and, uh, then go on the search for the, uh, perfect body. Gentlemen?"
"Sounds good," I say, amused that Hamlin, for once, has the right idea. "But what is Cindy going to say about this?"
"Cindy has to go to a charity thing at the Plaza, something–"
"That's the Trump Plaza," I note absently, while finally opening the Perrier bottle.
"Yeah, the Trump Plaza," he says. "Something about trees near the library. Money for trees or a bush of some kind," he says, unsure. "Plants? Beats me."
"So where to?" McDermott asks.
"Who cancels 1500?" I ask.
"You do," McDermott says.
"Oh McDermott," I moan, "Just do it."
"Wait," Hamlin says. "Let's decide where we're going first."
"Agreed." McDermott, the parliamentarian.
"I am fanatically opposed to anywhere not on the Upper West or Upper East side of this city," I say.
"Bellini's?" Hamlin suggests.
"Nope. Can't smoke cigars there," McDermott and I say at the same time.
"Cross that one out," Hamlin says. "Gandango?" he suggests.
"Possibility, possibility," I murmur, mulling it over. "Trump eats there."
"Zeus Bar?" one of them asks.
"Make a reservation," says the other.
"Wait," I tell them, "I'm thinking."
"Bateman…," Hamlin warns.
"I'm toying with the idea," I say.
"Bateman…"
"Wait. Let me toy for a minute."
"I'm really too irritated to be dealing with this right now," McDermott says.
"Why don't we just forget this shit and bash some Japs," Hamlin suggests. "Then find the perfect body."
"Not a bad idea, actually." I shrug. "Decent combo."
"What do you want to do, Bateman?" McDermott asks.
Thinking about it, thousands of miles away, I answer, "I want to…"
"Yes… ?" they both ask expectantly.
"I want to… pulverize a woman's face with a large, heavy brick."
"Besides that," Hamlin moans impatiently.