Free Tap & Gown by Diana Peterfreund

receptionist—would be a really great basis for a short story.”
    Actually, I thought it would make a really great basis for cut-rate porn. Topher’s “receptionist” was a slutty tease who secretly wanted it despite her protests to her overbearing but apparently heroic boss.
    And it was badly written, too—I agreed with Arielle on that point.
    “Huh.”
    “You write any fiction?”
    “For the Lit Mag?” he scoffed.
    Again, with the violent urges. I forced myself to smile sweetly. “Oh, I’m not there anymore. And in a month I’ll be graduating and moving on to the publishing scene in New York. I’m fielding offers now, but I’m thinking definitely agency over publisher. Really work with the talent.”
    Inwardly, I gagged. Who was this talking? I sounded like a total sleazeball. Like someone who actually wanted Topher as a replacement. What was the point of pretending to be someone else to impress a person that’s supposed to be like me the way I am? Telling Kalani I was currently in her Russian Novel class had been one thing. This felt completely different.
    “Which agency?”
    Crap. “William Morris.”
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    Interest lit his eyes. Yep, Amy, go for the name recognition.
    “I’ll just be an assistant, of course, but if I could even pass your stuff on to someone, give it that little extra push …” I raised my hands, palms up. “Maybe we can talk about your ideas more over dinner?”
    He checked out my breasts, then agreed.
    Dinner was the waste of time I thought it would be. Before I entered the Hartford College Dining Hall, I promised myself to keep an open mind. Maybe under all that asshole bluster he was really a sensitive soul. Clarissa hadn’t been the rich bitch I’d originally taken her for. Jamie hadn’t been the cold, vindictive misogynist I’d pegged him as. Well, maybe just the cold part. If he was mad, he could frost you like a meat locker.
    I’d also promised myself to act like myself. After all, I wasn’t trying to impress Topher. I was trying to get to know him. I couldn’t care less what he thought of me.
    Fortunately, I didn’t have to act like much. The topic rarely strayed from Why Topher Cox Is Totally Radical. If I’d thought listening to Arielle’s flattery was boring, listening to Topher’s solipsism was deadly.
    “What do you think?” he asked, after finishing his latest spiel on his work, his personal philosophy, his plan for world domination. Who knew anymore?
    “Very Bret Easton Ellis,” I replied. Which was true.
    “Huh?”
    “ American Psycho . You know, except without the social satire bit.” I took a bite of my burrito.
    “Oh, yeah. Love that movie.” Topher nodded vigorously. “I’m totally like Patrick Bateman.”
    I blinked at him, my mouth full of burrito I dared not try to swallow under the circumstances. Patrick Bateman was the pathetic, envy-poisoned yuppie, the delusional, wannabe serial killer who narrated the book.
    “You mean Christian Bale?” I managed, raising my napkin. “The actor who played him? Also played Batman?” It’s possible he got the names confused. Bateman/Batman. It could happen.1*
    “Yeah, whatever. He was so ripped in that film.”
    It was too late. I was already picturing Tap Night. By the order of our Order, I dub thee, Topher Cox, Patrick Bateman, Knight of Persephone, Order of Rose & Grave . Hey, if Josh could cart around Keyser Soze as a society code name for a year, I could stick Topher with Bateman.
    Not that I wanted to tap him. Kalani was clearly my girl.
    “Hi, Amy.” I looked up to see Arielle standing over the table, looking near tears. “Guess you’re in my college tonight.”
    For some strange reason, I felt guilty, as if I’d been caught cheating. “Guess so. Do you know Topher?”
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    “She does,” Topher said. “We’re old friends, right, Ari?”
    Arielle ignored him. “Can I talk to you for a second, Amy? I need your advice on something.”
    “Um …” I looked at Topher,