Story of My Life

by Jay McInerney

  I’m not betting, but I know the horse I want. I want Demons Begone to win.

  So we’ve got these seventeen three-year-olds at Churchill Downs and there’s some really good-looking horseflesh out there, all carrying a hundred and twenty-six pounds, I’d just barely make the weight myself now, but back in my riding days I was like, a hundred and two pounds, skinny as a whippet. And our horses were older and tougher, these three-year-olds have delicate legs, I hope to God they all make it okay, I can’t stand to see a horse get hurt.

  The other thing I hate is the drugs. Our horses were so pumped up and tranked down and wacked out they make me and my friends look straight. It was really depressing, but we were just kids, we didn’t really understand. But we knew something was funny. We saw what they were doing and just learned to live with it. Drugs for pain and drugs for speed and drugs for when they’d passed their prime and they were heavily insured.

  It’s taking them forever to get this thing going, I mean the race only lasts about three minutes and they’ve got to wring all the advertising bucks they can out of this thing, plus give everybody time to get to the betting window.

  Demons Begone looks ready, he’s real feisty, dancing high on his feet. Skip’s like insisting he knows for a fact that they’ve been holding back this horse Alysheba who’s going to blow them all away. Trust Skip to have the inside dope. I hope his horse finishes last. Dean’s so cute, he’s picked this horse named Capote, just because it’s named after a writer and he likes writers and wants to be one someday. What a dope. There’s also a horse named Leo Castelli, but Tom the hotshot gallery owner isn’t betting on him. Tom’s going on statistics. Dean’s a romantic, which is just another word for a flake, but I love it. I guess you could say we’ve made up, and then some. I just want to be with him all the time and I talk about him and think about him constantly.

  I’m totally in lust again.

  Finally they’re off already after about nine hundred commercials. Demons Begone takes an early lead and I’m like, all right. Capote’s on the inside and then Leo Castelli. Suddenly I’ve got to pee, must be all those beer commercials. I slide out of the huddle and Tom’s like, Alison! as if it’s sacrilege or something to go to the bathroom and I’m like, I’ll be right back. I slip inside this big marble bathroom, which is like the tomb of some ancient emperor or something and suddenly I feel real dizzy and nauseous, I put my head down on my bare knees and I listen to the shouting and talk from out there, it’s strange how you can be involved in something and then just step back out of it and it seems really distant and silly. I suddenly wonder how long it would take them to notice I was gone if I went out the fire escape or something. What if I just kept going, left New York entirely? I’m getting this really weird feeling like, I’m so involved in all this hysterical noise, which is supposedly my life but it doesn’t add up to anything, if you step back far enough it’s just a dumb buzz like a swarm of mosquitoes. But everybody’s life is like that, right? It’s like, down there in Lexington, Kentucky, the derby’s the most important thing in the world to all these people, but what does it mean, really? It’s just a stupid horse race, right? From the planet Jupiter, none of it counts for shit.

  I don’t know, I think I’m getting my period or something. Half the time I’m walking around feeling totally nauseous, and the other half I’m wasted, which probably has something to do with it.

  When I go back everybody’s jumping up and down and the horses are coming to the wire. What’s with Demons Begone? I go to Dean and Dean goes, pulled from the race, talking like a telegram so he won’t miss the finish.

  Pulled from the race? I go.

  So Alysheba wins, followed by Bet Twice. I don’t know which bugs me more, the fact that my horse dropped out or the fact that Skip’s horse won. It just figures. Skip always has the inside dope. I’m like majorly depressed. In between shots of the winner’s circle they’re showing Demons Begone being led to an ambulance trailer, hobbling, fucked-up, dead tired.

  Bleeding from the nose, his trainer says. Sounds familiar, right? Jesus. Pour me another julep.

  I told you, Skip goes, coming up and putting his arm around me in this creepy possessive way. You should stick with me.

  I go, fuck off, Skip.

  Hey, just trying to be helpful, he says.

  I’m like, yeah, right. You could really help me a lot by diving out the fucking window head first.

  Dean comes over and goes, I guess it was pretty stupid to think a horse named Capote could go the distance. He says, it’s a case of sport imitating life—brilliant start, pathetic finish.

  Skip goes, that was pretty stupid, Dean.

  And I go, don’t you call Dean stupid.

  And Dean’s like, whoa! Alison, cool out, it’s called kidding. He puts his arm on my shoulder and says, a kind of verbal sparring characterized by irony and hyperbole that often passes between friends.

  I’m thinking, friends! You don’t know who your friends are, Dean. Sometimes I don’t know what I see in him, really I don’t.

  Who else is holding drugs? Didi screams. Doesn’t anybody but me buy drugs anymore? I know you all still do drugs, you cheap, sleazy bastards. I’m going to be so happy when I quit and you’re all still addicted but you won’t have me to supply you with free toot. The magazines say cocaine isn’t fashionable but they really mean you fashionable fucks don’t buy it anymore, you wait for me to come over . . . you invite me over to your house so you can do my drugs and look down my shirt.

  I go, you’re half right, anyway.

  Dean says, hey Didi, honey.

  And she goes, what do you want, Shakespeare?

  And Dean says, I wonder if you could give me the name of your drug therapist. The man is clearly a miracle worker.

  And she goes, Rome wasn’t built in a day, asshole.

  And Dean says to me, in this low voice so Didi can’t hear, no, but it was sacked in a day.

  I’m like, what’s that supposed to mean?

  He shrugs. I was just thinking about that basketball player, Len Bias, he goes.

  I remember, a couple years ago maybe, that was the kid who ODed on coke and died. That was one of those times where everybody got all aroused for about five minutes and all these politicians shook their fat little fists and pretended they actually wanted to stop the drug trade and then Sylvester Stallone got a new girlfriend or Reagan got a malignant pimple on his nose or something so everybody could forget about the dead basketball player.

  Didi says to Becca, are you holding? Becca shakes her head and Didi says, liar, I know you are. Fine, she says, don’t give me any. I don’t want any, I’m absolutely quitting tomorrow and then I’ll be laughing at you when you’re still a shivering wreck. Then she says, hey, I’ve got a present for you and she gives Becca the card I gave her a few weeks ago, the one with the cocaine help-line number.

  This cracks everybody up. Except Becca.

  Tom tells me there’s a call for me so I go find the phone, which is this weird piece of sculpture made out cement and plastic.

  Alison, Francesca gasps, you won’t believe it, guess who’s here?

  I go, Len Bias.

  Who? she goes.

  Okay, I say. Elvis Presley.

  She’s like, no, really. I’m dying.

  All right, I go, who’s there?

  Jerry, she says.

  Unbelievable, I go, but of course I’m thinking—big yawn. Score one for the bimbo patrol.

  I’ve been talking to her, Francesca says.

  Does she speak English? I go.

  Francesca goes, she’s in the bathroom now but I’m going to talk to her when she comes out.

  I’m like, why didn’t you follow her in there, see if she pees like the rest of us?

  So Francesca gets mad and I tell her I’m sorry, it’s just a really stressful scene here, my horse lost, Didi’s nuts, Rebecca’s a time bomb and I’ve fucked everybody in the room.

  Jerry’s back, she whispers. I’ll call you la
ter.

  Meanwhile Rebecca’s climbed up on the coffee table, she’s holding this bottle of Jack Daniel’s over her head and saying, let’s party. She looks like some really kinky version of the Statue of Liberty and nobody’s asking her to come down, all the guys are trying to look up her skirt . . . that’s the way things are starting to go, and it’s only about five in the afternoon. I have a feeling it’s going to be a real long night.

  10

  Truth or Dare II

  Reality is out the window by the time we end up back at Dean’s place. It’s like nothing can touch us as long as we stay high. Sitting down around the coffee table I’m having this déjà vu about a dream I had where Dean’s living room is a stage and we’re playing Truth or Dare for an audience.

  Right after we walk in Rebecca’s preppie asks what time it is—he’s been holding on all night and he’s probably wondering at this point if he’s ever going to get laid tonight. Not that Rebecca hasn’t already broken him in a little, I’m sure. Anyway, he asks the time and we all start booing and throwing pillows and cigarettes at him.

  The usual suspects: Didi, Francesca, Rebecca, Skip, Ev, the Prep and Dean. Jeannie crashed, I think Alex wore her out last weekend and I guess we lost Tom and Whitney at Nell’s. Chuck and Teeny we ditched, said we’d meet them at some dumb restaurant where they were actually going to eat. Seems like days ago.

  I’m like a shivering wreck. Totally nauseous.

  The coffee table is full of beer and champagne bottles and there’s three or four mirrors going around. And suddenly Didi goes Truth or Dare and that snaps me back into the real world in about a nanosecond. I’m like, uh-oh. Not a good idea.

  Dean says, yeah, great idea, the horny bastard must want to see Didi’s tits again. And Rebecca’s all for it too, she’s an exhibitionist from way back.

  I take a quick look at Skip and he’s looking back at me and I don’t like his eyes one little bit. And I’m thinking, whatever those two things are you weren’t supposed to ever mix together in chemistry class, they’re about to get poured into the same beaker.

  So the next thing I know we’re in the middle of it and I am not a happy unit, I’m sweating bullets.

  Of course Didi has to start, and of course she has to make trouble, so she picks Skip, who takes truth and Didi goes, two parts, how would you rate Alison in bed and, part two, did she go down on you?

  Skip’s loving this. But Dean isn’t and neither am I. Finally Skip goes, I’d give her a nine.

  What about part two? Didi goes, and I can see Skip isn’t so keen all of a sudden because the fact is I didn’t and if I weren’t here the liar would go ahead and lie about it, but now he can’t and he kind of shrugs his shoulders and says no.

  Rebecca says, I can’t believe Alison’s a nine.

  And Francesca goes, especially without going down on him.

  Skip’s turn, Didi shouts.

  Me, me, Rebecca says. Pick me.

  Okay, Skip goes, and of course Rebecca takes the dare and of course Skip goes, take off your clothes. So Rebecca jumps up and strips down, the guys are stunned and silent like they’re in church or something while Becca shakes her booty, I’ve got to admit it’s a nice package, you’d think she worked out about nine hours a day, if I were a guy I’d fuck her in a minute, it’s a toss-up whether she or Didi has a better body, and finally the guys start giggling nervously and Becca puts her clothes back on real slow.

  So then it’s Becca’s turn and when she goes Dean, he picks truth of course, the guys almost always pick truth. And Becca says, do you have a hard-on right now? and Dean says yes. Big surprise, with Dean all you have to do is like say the word nipple or something and he’s ready to bust out the front of his chinos. Story of his life. Maybe he didn’t get enough when he was younger. He told me he had a practically permanent hard-on from the age of thirteen to sixteen and how he used to get really nervous when class was ending because he wouldn’t want to stand up and walk down the hall with an erection so he’d try to think about violence and garbage and stuff like that or else he’d sit in his chair like a moron and pretend he was rearranging his notebook or something.

  So Dean picks Skip and I’m like, uh-oh. He says, do you still have the hots for Alison?

  More specific, Didi says. Vague question.

  Okay, Dean goes. Would you sleep with her again?

  Skip goes, would I? Really smug, he smiles and finally says, you bet. And he and Dean lock eyes for a minute and I’m dying, I don’t like what’s happening here at all.

  So Skip turns to me—I pick truth, I’m only a private exhibitionist—and goes, does Dean really satisfy you sexually?

  And I go, yes, he does.

  Skip leaves it at that, but he has this look like he just scored a point.

  Boring, says Didi. She’s vibrating at this really high frequency. Suddenly I notice this incredible thing—Dean has this weird expression, he’s sitting on the floor with his legs under the coffee table and Rebecca is slumped in this really low chair right next to him and I see her reach down under the table and from Dean’s expression it’s like obvious that she’s grabbed hold of his crotch. Dean has this slightly queasy expression when he looks up and sees me and I’m thinking, this can’t be happening, but with Becca it definitely could be happening. She looks right at me, then lifts up her arm and sits back up in her chair with this ridiculous innocent look.

  So I go to Rebecca, truth or dare, do you like the idea of seducing my boyfriends or is it just something that happens sometimes?

  She goes, only if I find them attractive.

  Good, says Didi. High reality quotient in that question and answer.

  And I’m thinking about the time we were all sitting around in the hot tub in East Hampton, somebody’s father’s house, whatever poor bastard Rebecca was sleeping with that week, me and Alex, Rebecca and her squeeze, this was like two years ago when Alex and I were still going out, we were practically married for Christ’s sake, it had been almost four years or something. Anyway, we’re all in that condition where you can’t tell where the water stops and you begin, it’s all like the same warm ooze, the four of us in the hot tub drinking Cristal wrecked on Quaaludes and we’re like joking around about having an orgy and the next thing I know I feel a hand fishing around between my legs, I mean it could be anybody but I figure out it’s what’s-his-name, Trent, that was his name, and suddenly Alex is grinning and squirming around and we were all doing this underwater foreplay and it was cool, we were all friends and that was the point, and Alex is touching me too but it’s just sort of giggly and casual. So like a jerk I decide to get up and take a pee, don’t ask me why I didn’t just pee in the water, so we’re out in this kind of cabana deal and I have to get out and go to the bathroom next door. And I guess it takes me a while to find it or maybe it takes me a while to get the door open—I don’t know, we were pretty fucked up at this point. I was, anyway, my whole body felt like a water-bed, so finally I get in and I’m just like washing my hands or something when the door opens and it’s Trent, who’s got this monster hard-on sticking out in front of him, I remember it cracked me up, like how can you walk around with that and not feel totally ridiculous? I remember thinking some things are meant to stay underwater, you know, and then Trent grabs me and sticks his tongue down my throat and I’m like, hey, we’re outside the theater now, this script doesn’t apply out here in the lobby and meanwhile Trent’s trying to get my legs apart with his knee, I’m standing backed up against the sink and I pulled my face away and spotted the lightswitch just at that minute, it was this naked man made out of plastic and like the up-and-down switch was his crotch, very tasteful, right?—and it just sort of fit in with everything else. I kneed Trent in the balls and said, fuck off, I’m going to tell Rebecca if you don’t chill out and he goes—holding his nuts and moaning—she doesn’t give a shit, what do you think she’s doing right now? and suddenly I’m running out to the hot tub and it’s empty, there’s no one there and I run up to
the house, I rush up the staircase following these wet footsteps that get fainter and fainter and then disappear, I’m out of my mind, I start ripping open the bedroom doors, of course there are about twenty bedrooms in this goddamn house. I find them in Rebecca’s room, they haven’t even pulled the sheets up over them, I see Rebecca’s face underneath him looking out at me like she was expecting me, her mouth open and glistening like something horrible coming up from the bottom of the ocean. . . .

  Some impulses you should stifle, right? I never used to think so, I’ve always done whatever I felt like, I figured anything else and you’re a hypocrite like I told Dean, but I don’t know, here in the middle of this really ugly Truth or Dare session watching my sister grab my boyfriend’s dick, thinking about her and Alex back then, thinking about some of the shit I’ve done recently, I’m beginning to wonder if a little stifling is such a bad thing. Right now I’d give my grandmother’s pearls for a little white lie. The way this game is going, I’d give all my possessions for a dose of amnesia.

  So I get up and go to the bathroom while Truth or Dare is raging around me. This is even worse than the fucking derby. After a minute Dean knocks on the door and asks me if I’m okay.

  It’s all right, I say.

  But actually I’m feeling like shit. I’m a shivering wreck, drunk and high and totally nauseous. I sit on the toilet for about ten minutes with my head on my knees, then I go back out.

  Alison’s looking wasted, Becca says.

  A shivering wreck, Didi says.

  She needs help, Becca goes. She hands me this ratty little card, I have to look real hard to focus on it. Big letters, H-E-L-P. Becca starts singing a chorus of “Help Me, Rhonda” and Didi joins in for a second, then says, Ev-er-ett, tell the truth . . . how many girls?

  Approximately twenty, says the prep.

  Exact figures, Didi says. No rounding off.

  Maybe twenty-two, he goes. By now the prep is looking really miserable and who can blame him?