Free Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis

it?”
    Spit says he can’t and that he’s going to try to forget about it and decide what albums to play and Kim tells him, “Go ahead,” and then before he goes over to the stereo, “Listen, Spit, don’t get Muriel down. Just keep quiet. She just left Cedars-Sinai and once she gets drunk, she’s fine. She’s just a little strung out.”
    Spit ignores this and holds up an old Oingo Boingo record.
    “Can I play this or not?”
    “Why don’t you save that for later?”
    “Listen, Kim-ber-ly, I’m getting bored,” he says, teeth gritted.
    Kim pulls a joint out of her back pocket and hands it to him.
    “Just cool it, Spit.”
    Spit says thanks and then sits down on the couch next to the fireplace, with the huge replica of the American flag draped over it, and stares at the joint a long time before he lights it.
    “Well, you two look fabulous,” Kim says.
    “So do you,” Blair tells her. I nod. I’m tired and a little stoned and didn’t really want to come, but Blair actually came over to my house earlier and we went swimming and then to bed and Kim called up.
    “Is Alana coming?” Blair asks.
    “No, can’t make it.” Kim shakes her head, taking another hit off the joint. “Going to the Springs.”
    “What about Julian?” Blair asks.
    “Nope. Too busy fucking Beverly Hills lawyers for money,” Kim sighs, then laughs.
    I’m about to ask her what she meant by that when suddenly someone calls out her name and Kim says, “Oh, shit, the liquor guy just arrived” and walks off and I look out past the big lighted pool, out over Hollywood; blanket of lights under a neon purple sky and Blair asks me if I’m okay and I say sure.
    Some young guy, eighteen or nineteen, brings in a large cardboard box and sets it on the bar and Kim signs something and tips him and he says, “Happy New Year, dudes” and leaves. Kim takes a bottle of champagne out of the box, opens it expertly and calls out, “Everybody take a bottle. It’s Perrier-Jouet. It’s chilled.”
    “You convinced me, you rat.” Muriel runs over and hugs Kim and Kim gives her a bottle.
    “Is Spit pissed at me or something? All I said was that he looked dead,” Muriel says, opening her bottle. “Hiya, Blair, hi, Clay.”
    “He’s just on edge,” Kim says. “Wind’s weird or something.”
    “He’s such a moron. He tells me that, ‘Well, I used to do well in school before they kicked me out.’ Huh? What in the fuck does that mean?” Muriel asks. “Besides, the idiot uses a blowtorch to freebase.”
    Kim shrugs and takes another swallow.
    “Muriel, you look wonderful,” Blair says.
    “Oh, Blair, you look gorgeous, as usual,” Muriel says,taking a swallow. “And oh my God, Clay, you must give me that vest.”
    I look down while opening my bottle. The vest is just a gray-and-white argyle, one of the triangles dark red.
    “It looks as if you got stabbed or something. Please let me wear it,” Muriel pleads, touching the vest.
    I smile and look at her and then realize that she’s totally serious and I’m too tired to say no so I pull it off and hand it to her and she puts it on, laughing. “I’ll give it back, I’ll give it back, don’t worry.”
    There’s this really irritating photographer in the room and he keeps taking pictures of everybody. He’ll walk up to someone and point the camera in their face and then take two or three pictures and he comes up to me and the flash blinds me for a second and I take another swallow from the champagne bottle. Kim starts to light candles all over the room and Spit puts on an X album and someone starts to pin balloons up to one of the bare walls and the balloons, only half blown up, just hang there, limply. The door that leads out to the pool and veranda is open and also has a couple of balloons pinned on it and we walk outside, over to the pool.
    “What’s your mom doing?” Blair asks. “Is she going out with Tom anymore?”
    “Where did you hear that? The Inquirer?” Kim