I wake up and Evelyn is right beside me. Do I like it? Of course not. I get up and head out into the living room to do my morning crutches. Why Neira is here, I have no idea. "Why are you here, Neira?!" I silently yell. Her hand quickly slips out of the bottom of my sofa that's more expensive than her. "My revolver's missing," she whispers back. Great, now a stray gun is loose in my apartment. "Get out of here, Neira! Evelyn's here. I'll call you when I find it, now go," I start pushing her towards the door.
"Who's this, Patrick?" Evelyn says sleepily. I have to think of something quick. "I'm Neira, Patrick's maid. The help, if you will," Neira says while reaching over to shake hands with Evelyn. They shake hands and then Evelyn looks back at me. "Why are you pushing her out, Patrick? Let her do her job, come on in," she says. Neira passes me and sticks her tongue out as she does it. I give a little laugh then say, "It's not your place, Evelyn." Evelyn laughs back. "What's yours is mine, right?" Neira whips back around. "You two are engaged?!" Oh God.
"Why, yes. Here's the ring." Evelyn nearly shoves the ring into Neira's face. From the sun hitting the ring, shades of light shines onto Neira's face. "So beautiful." I just now notice that she's faking an accent. Sounds Nigerian. "Thanks, he proposed yesterday at Morton's." Evelyn boasts. "That steak house downtown?" "Yes, that one." Neira starts cleaning/searching for her revolver again. "I was wondering when he was gonna propose, he's been talking about proposing for months." My jaw clenches all on its own.
Evelyn turns around to look at me. "Is this so, Patrick?" She asks. I contemplate if I should kill Neira later on. I laugh nervously. "Yes, yes. It is true. Neira used to pick cotton and dig for diamonds back in Africa, so I thought there's nobody else to ask better about diamonds than Neira herself," I lie. Neira's eyes narrow on me, her anger rising as well. A smirk is on my face because of it. "Well, thank you Neira for making the right choice for him. You did a wonderful job," Evelyn says before she leaves for my room. "Africa? Cotton? How racist can you get?" Neira whispers hastily. I shrug my shoulders. "You had the accent, I just ran with it." She walks away, looking for her gun again. "A-hole." "Yeah, whatever. Just make this quick," I say as I walk into my room.
"When did you get a maid?" Evelyn asks as she puts on her beige skirt. "Five months ago," I say quickly. "Mmhmm. She's pretty, I like her accent. But is she your type?" I stop setting out my clothes to look at her. "What are you talking about?" I ask. "Well, I've heard of men having affairs with their African maids." This woman is crazy. She's sleeping with one of my colleagues and is now accusing me of sleeping with Neira. She's delusional. "I'm not sleeping with anyone but you. So you shouldn't be worrying about anything, Evelyn. So calm down," I say. Relief washes over her. "Good, because I'm a classic, I could never be exotic like her." Classic my ass. "Yeah well, I'm about to get into the shower," I say while leaving. "Neira I hope you're out of here!" I say. The front door shuts. I guess she found her gun.
I finally got the hang of twirling a pen in my hand. Yes, my job is that boring, that I entertain myself by twirling a pen. Jean comes into my office with her notepad. "Patrick, Lois Anderson wants to have lunch today at Globe-" "Cancel it," I say. "What do you want me to tell her?" "Just tell her I said no and be done with it." She writes that down. I don't know what it is about Jean, but she's cute. An odd cute though. You know that kind of cute that you don't want to tell your friends that you like her because she isn't on the same level as you. But at the same time I would like to see her head explode. God, I don't know how Jean and Neira have made it this far without me even hurting them. These are the main women that I spend most of my time with. Have I ever fantasized about executing them? Of course! Plenty of times! But will I ever do it? Maybe not. Do I know why? I'm still trying to figure that part out.
Before Jean leaves, I call her name out and she turns around. "Yes, Patrick?" "You're so pretty, why cover it up with those dingy clothes?-" I reach into my pocket to grab one of my credit cards and pass it to her. "Here, when you get off from work today, go buy some clothes. Preferably on the east side. They have wonderful clothes for women over there," I tell her. She takes the card reluctantly. "O-ok. Thanks Patrick. Is there, uh, a limit?" "No, buy whatever you want, as much as you want." "Thanks again, Patrick." I nod my head and get back to "work". I know I could've been a little bit nicer to her. Insulting her wardrobe and all. But she had to know that it wasn't that all appealing. If I'm going to be at this office with God knows how many men, I want to look at something with nice, toned, hairless legs for the next eight or so hours. You can't blame me for that.
By the time I get off from work, that tingle all over my body starts up again. That tingle for bloodlust. The tingle is strong in my right hand. My killing hand. Do I know that this is wrong? Of course I do. That's why I do it in secrecy. Burns pulls up, at last, and I get in. "Hello, Mr. Bateman. How was your day?" "It was work, now get in the car and drive," I spat at him. I know Burns doesn't like me, but who cares, he's the driver. "Straight to your place, sir?" He asks. Oh, God. I wish he didn't even ask that. "No, not tonight, Burns. Head up to 99th and Dart Road." There's hesitancy in his mannerisms. It's a bad neighborhood, yes. But that is one of the places that none of my colleagues will ever go. This tingle needs to leave, and this is the only way that I can take care of it effectively. Please, don't judge.
We pull up to a corner on Dart Road. There are five or so whores on this street. Not really my type, but one of them is blond. You can't go wrong with a blond, right? I roll down my window and call the blond over. She has loose curled shoulder length hair with a pointy nose. She's the perkiest of them all. Her grimy hands sit on my car. I politely remove them, and her smile falters a little. "So, you looking for a good time?" Her jersey trash accent is unmistakable. You can tell Jersey people from a mile away. That fake tan kind of helped too. "Matter of fact, I am. Get in the car," I tell her. She pops her gum, which irritates the hell out of me, and gets into the car. "Would you like a glass of champagne?" I ask, holding up the bottle that is worth more than her. "Sure, I love champagne." The cheap stuff you get from the liquor store does not count, sweetheart. But, I pour her some in a glass. "Mmm, this is some good stuff," she says. Well, of course it is. It's an eight thousand dollar bottle. It better be exquisite. "So, what's your name?" She asks. Great, she doesn't know my name. "Patrick. Patrick Bateman, what's yours?" Ha! Like I care. "Nikki. Nikki Rollins." Good enough name.
"Ooh, nice place. So... white." Nikki says as we enter into the living room. "Thanks," I say. Nikki turns her head around to look at me. "Where are we doing this?" She asks. I point to the hallway leading to my room. "My bedroom." Don't want to ruin the sofa. She follows me into my room. "Wow, you must make A LOT of money," she says as she looks around my room. I start taking off my shirt and shoes. I just want to get down to business. Have my fun with her and then toss her body in my hall closet until I can find a place to destroy their bodies. Neira might know a place. Nikki starts to follow my lead and discards of her cheap clothes also.
"Oh, you, uh, wanna record it?" Nikki asks. I turn my head to look at her from the camera. Of course, I want to see myself kill her over and over again. "Yes, you don't want me to?" Like I actually care. It's not like she's going to be alive to ever see it. She looks uncomfortable, and then brightens up. "Well, you're cute so I guess it's ok," she says. I'm insulted. I'm way more than cute. Handsome, stunning, hell, gorgeous even. But not cute. I cock my head left and right then get on the bed where Nikki has made herself comfortable.
We do it from the back because I can't bear to look at her face through the whole thing. I look at the camera, smiling, as I reach under my silk covered pillow to grab the serrated knife. I have the knife in my hand, but I don't know where to stab. Hmm. To be such a cheap whore, she actually feels good inside. I clear my head and finally pick a place to stab her. I raise my hand over my head, and crash it down onto the back of her neck. She lets out a shriek before I muffle her scream and continue to stab her repeatedly. Blood splashes everywhere. On my sheets, my face, the headboard, and the floor. Her blood feels warm against my skin. I kind of like it, until I remember who it's spilling out of, the scum of the earth, that's who. Some of her brain is starting to fall out now. She's been dead for maybe a minute or so. I close my eyes and just imagine that it's Paul Allen that I am stabbing. The thought arouses me. I soon realize that I am still stationed inside of her. I slide out, still hard. The knife hits the floor and makes a loud *CLANK* noise. My chest heaves in and out heavily for awhile, just staring at the mess that I've created. Parts of her brain are hanging off the side of her head. A small smile makes its way across my satisfied face. The tingling in my right hand gone. Finally. "Yes," I say to myself.
I collect myself and start cleaning up. I start with her body. Wrap that in a big plastic bag and drag it into the hall closet. God, I can't even remember her name anymore. Oh well, doesn't even matter. As I walk back into my room, I see how much of a mess what's-her-face's blood has caused. It's all over the place! Well, I should be used to this by now. So, I move quickly.
It takes me close to three hours to clean up fully. Including myself. I settle back down onto my new set of sheets and look at the clock. It's ten-thirty-seven at night. Jesus, it's early. I'm not in the mood to go out for drinks with those sorry excuses for men. Evelyn plain old annoys me. Neira, well she takes a lot of energy to deal with. Energy that I do not have. Courtney may be open. Who am I kidding, she is!
"Hellooo?" Her words are slurred. She must be doped up on something she shouldn't even have in her possession. "Pumpkin, we're going to Dorsia tonight at eleven thirty," I command. There's laughter on the other end. "When did you get reservations to Dorsia? And can I get a hello, Patrick?" She asks. I roll my eyes; I don't have time for this. "Be ready this time, Courtney. I don't feel like waiting on you like last time." I say that before hanging up.
I hop into one of my leisure suits. A black Armani suit with black Dolce shoes. Classic. Burns comes around with the car five minutes after I make the call. Good, he's starting to learn. "To Courtney's, correct sir?" He asks as he gets into the driver's seat. "That's correct, Burns."
When we get in front of her condo building, she's nowhere to be found. I roll my eyes and get out my portable phone. God, they need to make these things smaller. "Hhhellllooo?" Courtney slurs into the phone. "Are you dressed?" I ask her hurriedly. "Uhh, yeaaaahh, I'll be right down, baby."
I'm contemplating going up there and slicing her throat right then and there when Courtney walks outside, looking for my car. Burns gets out the car to wave her over. She stumbles into the backseat with me with a laugh. "Heyyyy, bayyyybbbyyy!" Courtney slurs as her hand rubs my chest. I remove it and say, "Jesus, Courtney. Sober up, will you? We're about to be in a public place." She gets off of me and sits in a pouting position. "You neverrr told me how you got reservations to Dorsia." I roll my eyes. I didn't actually. Like I told you earlier, my reservations aren't open till April. We're actually going to Globe, but she doesn't have to know that. "I have connections all over the place, Courtney. You should know that by now."
"This is Dorsia?" Courtney asks as she takes her seat at Globe. "Yep," I answer in a clipped tone. "Doesn't look like it." I take a long steadying breath and look up at her. "Have you ever been inside Dorsia before?" "No." She lulls her head around as she says the word. "So you shouldn't even know," I pick up one of the menus and find something for Courtney to eat. When I find what she'll eat, I read it off to her. "You'll have the chowder soup with the roasted duck. Understand?" "Mmm, yes. Sounds great, Patrick," Courtney mumbles before she slumps in her chair and passes out. There's no reason to even try to get her up. She's out.
"So...how was your last night?" Bryce asks in the middle of a morning meeting. I can feel my face contorting into something not far from a frown. "Good, why?" He shrugs. God, I hate it when this schmuck shrugs. He looks like Groucho Marx when he does. "I dunno, it's just that my guy Brent Wells told me that he saw you at Globe with Courtney Rawlinson. But I said that couldn't be Patrick Bateman because he wouldn't dare step into that out-of-date place." My jaw tenses and my hands shake under the table to get around his thick neck. I happen to like Globe. But I guess I can't go back there anymore. "Please, Bryce. I wouldn't be caught dead at Globe. That place was hot in what, 1985?" I cover up my anger with an upbeat, out-of-body sounding voice. Bryce's eyes light up as he says, "That's exactly what I said. But you didn't doubt being with Courtney. Were you, Bateman?" I'm shaking now. Not from fear, no. But the need to slice his neck open. Forget about strangling this prick. "She's a pill popping whore. That might be your type, but not mine." A smile comes across his crummy little face. "Actually, Bateman, it is." I seriously don't know how to respond to that. "Well...good for you."
"So what's this business about Bateman fucking Courtney Rawlinson?" McDermott asks as we sit in Lepue's for lunch. I personally hate this place, but everyone else likes to go. "McDermott, business is something that's real. So why are you calling Courtney and I being together real?" I ask as I take a bite of this filet whatever. McDermott looks unfazed by my comments. "That's what's going around the office, Bateman," he responds carelessly. I look over to Bryce who's enjoying every minute of this. "Why are you going around the office with this bullshit that I thought we cleared up this morning, Bryce?" I ask in a clipped tone. "I told them before we talked, Patrick. My bad, man." I'm about to say something else before Van Patten comes back to the table, flustered.
"Dammit, they don't have a good bathroom to do coke in," he pouts. Really, a grown man pouting. Well, I can't really judge on that subject since I've caught myself pouting a few times. But I definitely didn't look as pathetic. "Of course not. Why would ya even try?" Thank God, we're off the Courtney subject. That makes me wonder...why isn't Caruthers here with us? He's usually already been asked me a billion questions about my personal life and stationed in the seat next to me. "Just save your stash for when we go to Vixen tonight." I get myself back into the conversation. I hate it when I drift off into my imaginary world where I kill everyone. Wait...that kinda is real life. "Yeah, you're right. I probably would've ended up sniffing the whole ball anyway." "Yeah, and we all know that you have to get back to crunching numbers," I add. It's quiet around the table and for a second. I contemplate about bursting into tears right then and there. But then everyone around the table starts to laugh. I let out a deep breath and start to laugh with them.
"Patrick, Patrick, are you even listening to me? I've been talking about the wedding for the last hour and you've yet to make an appearance into this conversation." I thought after being with her for so long that her voice would get less annoying. But it just seems to get even more annoying. But calm down, Bateman. Just wait this out for a little while longer and then dump her. Bam! I'll never have to see her face again. Hmm, I wonder what Neira's up to. Haven't seen or heard from her in a week. I don't miss her if that's what you're thinking. Just...wondering is all. "Evelyn, I don't really care what you do with the wedding. Isn't my job to just show up?" I ask carelessly. She purses her lips. God, I can't believe that used to be a turn on. "Well, I thought you'd like some creative input. But I guess not. Would your father be willing to come?" Now it's time for me to purse my lips. I hate my father, and she should know this. That fat bastard sent me off to boarding school the first chance he got and didn't bother checking up on me. It's a wonder I didn't turn out worse. But what's worse when you're a white collar serial killer?
"Sorry, I just thought I'd ask. It's just that you two seemed fine the last time you were together," Evelyn tries to explain herself. "Key word, seemed. Doesn't mean that we were. We act cordial toward each other because we think that we have to. I have to be nice to him because he's my father and gave me this great paying job. And he's decent to me because that's what he thinks is expected of him. What about if I bring Neira to the wedding?" I throw the last part in just to see what she'd say. Her pen stops moving as she thinks about this. She's not smiling nor frowning. A neutral look. "Umm, are you sure about that, Patrick?" Evelyn asks. I shrug my shoulders as I take a sip of sparkling water. "Why not? She's a friend of mine. We should bring our friends together to celebrate this wonderful day of ours, right?" She looks flustered now. "Well, aren't you afraid that she wouldn't...fit in with our group of friends?" I think I know where this is going. "What do you mean, fit in?" I act confused. "I mean, well, she's a housekeeper. A-and we all have corporate American jobs. And not to be closed-minded or anything, but she'd be the only black person there." Bingo! That was the part I was waiting on. I can't believe I'm engaged to a racist. Wait till Neira hears this.
"Ya missed me?" I walk into my apartment to see Neira laid out on my expensive couch with hopefully the cookie dough ice cream I'd gotten for her. For some reason, I'm elated to see her. "No." I take off my tie and head for my bedroom. As I pass her, her face forms a frown. Her footsteps follow mine. "Yes ya did. I missed you," she says. A small smile is on my face for hearing that. But of course I make sure that she cannot see it. "Well then, I guess the correct thing to say is that you missed me. And not the other way around." Neira hops on my bed and immediately sinks into it. Images of that whore Nicole or Jenny, or some other trashy name flashes back to me. I shake my head to clear them away.
"Aw come on, Bateman. Don't be such a white collar. You missed me and that's that. Just admit it and I'll leave ya alone." Ah she's seen me naked before, I drop my pants and grab my towel. As always, she follows me into the bathroom. "Maybe a little." She squeals with excitement. "Yay! Bateman has feelings! So how has your week been?" Neira props herself onto the vanity, eating her ice cream while I get into the shower. "I found out that Evelyn is a racist." I look straight at her to watch her reaction. She frowns as she eats the cookie dough bits. "What did I do to her?" Neira asks. "I asked her if you could come to the wedding and she said that wouldn't be a great idea because you'd be the only colored one there. Oh! And because you don't have a corporate job," I explain to her as I wash my hair.
Her smile starts to form as she hears my story. "Now I'm not mad. Becuz I bet she was sitting down with a pen and pad in hand, having a whole conversation to herself about this made up wedding. I wouldn't come anyways." I snort. "Yes you would." She rolls her eyes. "I might stay for the cake then leave." "Exactly."
"She also thought that we were having an affair, too," I tell Neira as we sit in my bed and watch TV. She turns toward me with a big amused smile on her face. "Really? Why?" "The first time you guys met and we said that you were my maid. She went on and on about how she knows people who've had affairs with their exotic African maids." She stares at me for a while longer before she starts to burst with laughter. "She-she called me exotic?! Funniest shit I've ever heard!" I start to join in on her laughing.
It's not like it was planned, but Neira slept over. Nothing happened if that's what you're thinking. I don't think we're really each other's type, anyway. We just spent the whole night talking and watching the old movie channel, I forget the name. And, well, we both just fell asleep.
I woke up around six o'clock, before my alarm to just watch her sleep. That may be creepy, but as long as I've known her, I've never seen her sleep. Isn't that what friends do, one sleeps and the other sneaks to watch the other sleep? I don't know. Well, she's not really my friend. She's the closest thing I have to a friend, but not a friend. I must remind myself to look up the definition of a friend. Sorry, I'm a child of divorce.
"You coulda told me it was morning," Neira grumbles as she makes her way into the kitchen where I am. I look up from my tea and newspaper to see her bed hair and rumpled clothes. I don't drink coffee because there are too many calories in it and it can ruin teeth and sleeping habits. "I have to get myself up, Neira. Didn't know that you needed to be told to, also," I tell her as I fold the newspaper then put my cup in the sink. "Oh, I forgot. Big business man has so much to do. Can't be bothered with the colored maid's problems." She's mocking Evelyn, I smile. "You gotta be gone by the time I get back. I might have someone over tonight." The itch is back. "Uh-oh." She knows. I shut the front door behind me and head to work.