This apartment used to be ravishing, flawless, sterile. But when She stepped into it, the property value took a pummel. Neira Lace is her name, well one of her names. She has so many, I just can't keep up. But that's what she told me to call her when we first met. No, Neira is not a call girl or anything. Even though it sounds like she is. Neira is a local assassin. She doesn't like it when I call her that, she prefers hit man, or mechanic. I don't know why I spend my time with her. It's not like we're in any sexual relations or anything. I mean she's way beneath me. Just her profession alone is beneath me. But, here she is for the umpteenth time sprawled out on my one hundred thirty thousand dollar Ron Arad white leather limited addition sofa. This is not what I want to see after coming home from dealing with Paul. That no class having arrogant bastard thought he could flaunt his business card right in my face as if everything were fine. Ugh, and I smell like that otiose doofus and his dog from the alley. I set my briefcase down on the kitchen counter, and start washing my hands. Neira hears me and her head pops up like an alert dog. "Oh! Hey there, old chap. How was your day?" She says to me. Her unnecessarily loud footsteps are getting closer and closer to me. "Why are you in my apartment, Neira?" I say hastily to her. She leans her elbow on the counter next to the sink to get a better look at me. Her eyes start to graze down to my wet hands, a smile growing on her unblemished, ebony face. "There's only one person who can get you this worked up. That Allen dude. You killed him?!" Neira exclaims. I shake my hands, getting the excess droplets from my hands, and then grab a nearby towel. "No, Neira, I didn't kill him. And you don't have a key, so how do you always manage to get in?" I ask. She crosses her arms, looking a bit disappointed. "I'm a criminal, Bateman. I have my ways. And back to the main subject, whose blood is that on your hands then?" I start to panic. There's still some of that scum's blood on my perfect, manicured hands? I let out a deep breath when I notice that my hands are clean. "It doesn't matter whose blood it is. It's not Paul Allen's." I start walking to my bedroom, Neira close behind.
"Oh, so that's some innocent person's blood on your hands because you didn't have the balls to kill Mr. Allen yet. Am I right?" Shit, she's right. But will I ever admit that out loud? Never. Neira is the only one who can read me like a book. And I loathe every minute of it. "Listen, Pat-" I abruptly turn around to face her. We're inches apart from each other. Paul Allen and Neira are the only human beings who can get me fighting mad. But Neira is the only one who I can show my maddening rage in front of. "Do not call me Pat. It's either Patrick or Bateman, or both at the same time. But never just Pat. Do I make myself clear?" I say it almost in a whisper. She rolls her eyes, but nods. "Yeah, whatever. But before you interrupted me, Patrick, I was gonna say that if ya hate 'im so bad, you should just let me kill 'im if you don't want the blood on your hands. "I turn back around and continue to my room. Again, her footsteps close behind. "I mean, it makes so much sense. You hate him with a passion, but you're so high classed that it would look bad for you to kill a person from your circle. I do this for a living, ya know," she explains. I can't believe I'm even entertaining the thought.
I strip out of my clothes, put on a towel, and then head to my bathroom that over looks eighty first street. "No," I simply say as I slather on my mint face mask, then hop into my glass shower. "No? What do ya mean, no?" Neira says as if she's insulted. "I mean no, Neira. If someone's going to kill Paul Allen, it's going to be me." She takes a seat on my sink vanity, arms crossed of course. "I wanna meet this Paul Allen dude." That comment makes me stop washing to look at her. "Why?" I ask. Neira shrugs her shoulders. "Because someone that can make you this mad has to be a legend." I grit my teeth. "He's no kind of legend whatsoever. And no you will not meet him." I go back to scrubbing. "Well, I still think this dude needs to be taken out. If he gets you this mad. Anyways, I'll be in your kitchen." The door closes behind her. She's right; he does need to be taken out. Paul is an annoying little prick who flaunts it as if he actually has it. Well, he kind of does have it. I turn the water off and then head back to my room. But it would be easier if Neira took care of Paul for me. Took care? Dammit, I'm starting to sound like Neira, and that's not an appetizing thought. I slip on my flannel pants then meet her in the kitchen. She's eating the rest of my favorite strawberry ice cream. "All of the other ice creams I have in here, and you just so happen to pick the best." I say as I quickly put a coaster on the counter before she sets the carton down. A smirk comes across her face because of that. "And that's why I eat it." "You eat it because it's the best, or because that's my favorite?" "Because it's your favorite. I like cookie dough." I make a mental note to remember to get cookie dough for her the next time.
"So, what's going on with Evelyn?" Her name even gives me the chills. That girl is getting on my last nerve. "She wants to get married," I tell her. Neira breaks out into a fit of laughter. I look at her. Humph, I never noticed how white her teeth are. I mean, criminals aren't always clean. But Neira, she's always cleansed and smelling nice. "Well, are ya gonna do it?" She asks after finally calming down. I snap myself out of my daze. "Do what?" She rolls her eyes then says, "Get married. Are ya gonna marry her?" I shake my head and suck off the remaining of ice cream from her spoon before putting it in the sink. "Of course not. She's screwing some dunce as if I don't know about it. And well, you know what I'm doing. Plus, I can't even stand the sound of her voice." "I think you're at least gonna get engaged to her. You guys are cute together." I turn to my right to look her in the face. "When did you meet Evelyn?" She stands up straight now. "Well, while I was on a run, I saw her coming out of this apartment building down on Eighth Street. She has blond hair with a pointy chin, right?" That is where Evelyn lives and she does have a pointy chin. "Yes, that's her," I say simply. "I didn't talk to her, if that's what you were thinking. We were on separate sides of the street. But she is pretty. Pretty as a doll." I take a sip of sparkling water. "I've seen hookers who look better than her," I grumble. Neira chortles at that. "Well, I'll catch ya later Patrick. You know, got people ta kill." I dismiss her with a wave, but she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before she shuffles out. When the door closes, that's when I give a little smile. Now I'm left here alone. Again.
The alarm clock woke me up this morning which is odd. I don't really wake up to that damned thing. I always wake up ten to fifteen minutes earlier than it. But, nonetheless, I fall into my normal morning routine. You know, exercise, brushing my teeth, setting out my new black Armani suit, putting on my face mask, hopping in the shower, and then grabbing a Special K bar. Hey, those things are good, and nutritious. Great, my driver is finally on time. "Hello, Mr. Bateman. How is your morning, Mr. Bateman?" Burns the driver asks. "Just started, Burns. How could I tell you?" I say before swiftly getting into the backseat. His hesitation is clear. "Of course, sir." He shuts my door then gets into the front seat. "Do you want me to pick up Ms. Williams first sir, or just head right to work-" "Now why the hell would we do that, Burns? Shut up and drive to work," I interrupt. Another pause and then the starting up of the Buick fill my ears. "Certainly, sir." "I think you're at least gonna get engaged to her." Neira's words ring clear in my ears. Those words send chills down my spine. Maybe because I know she's right. I can never resist a cute girl. But, it's just that Evelyn annoys me so bad!
"We're here sir," Burns says. I nod my head in acknowledgement. "Well, are you going to get the door, Burns? Or do I have to do it?!" He scurries out of the front seat, and then opens my door in impressive time. "Sorry, sir." He says as if he's out of breath. "Yes, you should be. Oh! And Burns, I understand that you just had a baby, correct?" I ask. He nods his head hurriedly. Old runt better not be rushing me. "You keep messing up like this, that baby of yours will be sleeping in a box. Understood?" There's terror in his eyes. Humph, I never noticed how much he looks like the guy that I killed two months ago. I think he was in real estate. Can't be sure though. "Understood, sir," Burns says. I turn on my heel then enter into the building that my father built.
Right when I get to my floor, here comes Craig with that dumb smile on his face. "Hey, Bateman. You remember that brunette from last night? Yeah, I got her back to my place. And boy is she flexible. She actually-" I didn't even let him finish. "Not now, Craig." I brush pass him and head straight to my office. There's a faint knock at my door, and I know exactly who it is. Jean, my assistant, who's absolutely in love with me. I rub my eyes with my thumb and index finger. "Yes, Jean." She comes in a moment later. "Mr. Bateman-" "Call me Patrick, Jean." "Uh, ok, Patrick. Ms. Williams called-" "Jesus, Jean. If you can call me by my first name, why in the hell would I want you to call her by her last name? Now continue." "S-sorry, Patrick. Evelyn called for you about twenty minutes ago, saying that she wanted to have lunch with you at Morton's. Would you like me to confirm that?" Ugh, just her name is nauseating. I shake my head. "No, call her back and tell her that we're going to dinner instead." I say. Jean writes it down quickly. "And would you like me to make reservations at Morton's, Patrick?" Knowing her she wants to go to that new restaurant, Dorsia. But I just can't get a fucking reservation there. They put me on the waiting list until April. April. That's four months from now! "Yes, that would be fine, Jean." I tell her. She then turns around to leave. "Oh and Jean," I hear myself say. She turns back around, facing me. "Yes, Patrick?" I just love the way my name rolls off her tongue. "You look nice today. I like your hair. Very prestigious." I say. Jean starts to smile and tuck a piece of blond hair behind her ear. "Thanks, Patrick. You look nice today, too. Well, you always do." She says back. I know I look good. No one has ever complained otherwise. But I nod to thank her for the compliment, but at the same time dismissing her. The door soon closes.
On my desk there is a planner that appears new to me everyday. Of course Jean puts it here, so I know what to expect for the day. It says that I have a meeting today at ten on the sixteenth floor, then another meeting at one forty five on the tenth floor, and my last meeting will be at three. My blood is boiling. Who the fuck schedules a meeting at one forty five? What the hell is a "one forty five"? It should be at one o'clock, one thirty, or if you're just going to be late, schedule the Goddamn meeting at two. But not at one forty five. I pick up the phone and dial Jean's desk number. She picks up on the first ring. "Yes, Patrick?" "Jean do you know who scheduled the one forty five meeting?" Some papers are shuffling on the other end. "Umm, it says here that it was Mr. Sty- Jarred Styles that made that meeting. Why? Is it a problem Patrick?" The concern in her voice almost makes me have a heart. I stress the word 'almost'. "No, no problem, Jean. Thank you, I'll be there." I hang up. This one forty five business is going to stick to me for the rest of the day.
One twenty five comes and I'm at my desk, eating a panini from the restaurant down the street. Never will I digest any of those low class sandwiches that the old cunt from downstairs serves. I mean, come on, she can barely speak English. All of a sudden, my phone rings. A number I don't recognize appears on the caller I.D. I pick it up, because, well, I have nothing else to do. "Hello?" "What are ya doing?" Neira. "How did you get this number, Neira?" She chuckles on the other end. Oh, God I hope no one is hearing this conversation. Luis eavesdropped on me last year. I haven't felt safe since. "I stole one of your expensive business cards. Tell me, who does these wonderful cards?" Robert Donahue & Co. "Why are you calling here?" Her laughter subsides. "Chill out, Bateman, will ya? I got bored so I thought I'd call my buddy, Patrick. And I know you're not doing nothing at the moment but sitting at your fancy schmancy desk, eating your fancy overly expensive panini. So, you might as well talk to me." I hastily bite off a piece of my panini as I hear her talk. How does she read me like this? "Don't you have a job to do, Lace?" I finally ask. "Ohh. Watch out, we got a bad ass over here. Using last names and shit. But yes, I do have a job, Bateman, and I'm doing it right now." "I don't hear any gun shots." "Well, that's because sir, I'm waiting on this old coot to get outta his house," Neira explains. House? "Where are you?" "Right outside of Manhattan, sittin' in my car. So, you and Evelyn have any plans for your engagement party?" I roll my eyes. "Shut it already, Neira." She grunts, "I'm just sayin'. You guys are gonna make it official... for a bit. Then you're going to call it off for some dumb reason." Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if that turns out happening. It arouses me in some odd way because if I get Evelyn's hopes up, then crush them like a grape, she'd be heart broken. Which is priceless. It brings a smile to my face. "You think you're coming by tonight?" I ask. Neira moans, thinking about it. "Probably not, busy schedule tonight." I shrug my shoulders. Might be spending it with Evelyn anyways. I look at the clock, it's one thirty seven now. "I got a meeting to get to. I'll talk to you, umm, whenever, I guess." I say to her. "Alright then, sailor. Go uhh, be all professional." She says. I hang up the phone then dial Jean. "Yes?" She answers. "Jean, get me an engagement ring from Kelly's Jewelers. Eighteen carats at the most, got that?" I tell her. "Yes, Patrick. The ring will be at your desk no later than three." "Wonderful."
"What was up with you earlier?" Craig asks as I sit down. I slowly breathe in and out, trying so hard not to bash his head into this cherry wood table. "Nothing was wrong with me, Craig." I finally say. "Oh, well it's just ya kinda just ignored me." Ignored him? If I'd ignored him I wouldn't have talked to him! But I did. I grip the sides of my chair, trying so hard to control my anger. "I didn't ignore you McDermott, if I'd done that, I would've walked right passed you without saying anything, but I did. I just didn't want to hear the story of the acrobat from last night." Craig scoots his chair away from me and starts talking to Marcus. That's when Jarred Styles waltzes his ass into the room. His black rimmed Gucci glasses clash with his navy blue Audigier suit. What a clown. Making a meeting at fucking one forty five. I look at my diamond encrusted sterling silver watch and it reads one. Fifty. Three. Sorry, I'm just trying to get a quick meditation session in before I hop over this table and rip his eyes out. Woo sah. Woo sah. Like I said earlier, this guy could have just scheduled this pointless meeting at two o'clock. Wasting my time like this, shame on him. I could've still been on the phone with Neira, arguing with her and eating my panini. But no, I'm here at one fifty three. No, my apologies, it's one fifty four now. Let's hear what this prick has to say. "Well, since we're all settled now, we should get started. Now I called this meeting regarding this Christmas party-" Like I told you, pointless, and kind of gay. What kind of dudes just sit around talking about a fucking Christmas party? But the guy has the right to enjoy his last few hours at a party. Because once that party is over, his life is over. It's his own fault, really. Making a stupid meeting at one forty five and not showing up till one fifty three. Fooey.
"So how was your day?" Evelyn asks as she looks around Morton's as if she's looking for someone. Better not, I'm all she needs. "Well Styles called this unnecessary meeting regarding the Christmas party-" "Patrick, that's not unnecessary. He did the right thing calling a meeting about the party. I was just about to ask you about that anyways." I slice into my rare steak. Blood oozes out. It takes everything in me not to just lick the whole plate up. Be normal, be normal, and be normal. "It's going to be held at the Carrie Hotel on the upper east side. Christmas Eve," I say simply. Her eyes light up. "Oh! I love the Carrie Hotel!" When did she ever go to the Carrie Hotel? I never took her there. "When did you go?" I ask. Her smile drops instantly. "Oh, umm, well it was way before I met you, honey." This blond nit wit thinks I can't tell when she's lying to me? I slice into my steak, making more blood come out. I chew slowly, savoring each bite. Evelyn's eyes travel down to my bloody plate, disgust written on her face. "Ew, Patrick. How can you eat your steak like that? That's almost raw," she says. I smirk a little. She's trying to change the subject as if I don't know what she was doing in that hotel. "It's not almost raw, Evelyn. It's medium rare," I say. She wickedly laughs as if what I just said was funny. "I think you should take that back, baby, because if they call that medium rare, then I'm screwing Timothy Bryce." My fork falls out of my hand, making a big clank onto my plate. Of course she's having an affair with Timothy! And this is medium fucking rare! "Then I guess you're screwing Timothy," I say simply then pick my fork back up. She looks insulted. "Well, anyways, I just think-" Before she finishes her sentence, I toss a black velvet box at her. "Here, open it," I say. Evelyn catches it then opens it. Her eyes light up when she sees what's inside. An eighteen carat silver ring. "We're getting married?!" She exclaims. I roll my eyes but nod anyway. She leans over and kisses me on the lips. "Yeah, yeah, we're getting married. Don't make a big deal out of it," I say. "Oh when should we have it? Where should we have it?! I'm so excited!" I'm starting to grow a headache. All I want to do is go home. This place is annoying me, and the person I'm with is making it even worse. "Come on, Evelyn. Let's leave this dump," I say while getting up. She's too occupied with her new jewelry to object.