Imperial Bedrooms - By Bret Easton Ellis Page 0,41

and sad." He reads from one of them: "But this time there was an explosion and my feelings as a man cannot be adjusted ... " He starts laughing.

"Why are you showing these to me?" I ask. "I didn't write them."

"Because they could potentially incriminate you."

I back away from Rip, unable to mask my loathing. "What movie do you think you're in?"

"Maybe one of the crappy ones you've written," Rip says, not laughing anymore. "Well, then, who wrote them, Clay?" he asks in a forced and playful voice as if he already knew the answer.

"Maybe she wrote them to herself," I mutter in the darkness.

"Or maybe ... somebody else wrote them," Rip says. "Maybe somebody who doesn't like you?" I don't say anything.

"Barry warned you about her, huh?" Rip asks.

"Barry?" I murmur, staring into the iPhone. "What?"

"Woolf," Rip says. "Your life coach." He pauses. "The one on Sawtelle." He turns to me. "He warned you about her." He pauses again. "And you didn't listen."

"What if I told you I don't care one way or another?"

"Well, then I'd be very worried for you."

"I didn't write these things."

Rip's not listening. "Haven't you gotten enough out of her?"

"How did you get these, anyway?"

"I mean, I feel for your ... predicament," Rip says, ignoring the question. "I mean, I really do."

"What's my predicament, Rip?"

"You're too smart to get too involved," Rip says slowly, figuring things out for himself, "so there must be something else that gets you off ... You're not stupid enough to fall for these cunts, and yet your pain is real ... I mean everybody knows that you really lost it over Meghan Reynolds ... That's not a secret, by the way." Rip grins and then his voice grows questioning. "But there's something that's not tracking ... You're getting off and yet what's the problem?" He turns to me again in the darkness as the limo glides onto Beverly Glen. "Could it be that you actually get off on the fact that because of how you've set things up they'll never love you back? And could it be that" - he pauses, thinking this through - "that you're so much crazier than any of us ever really knew?"

"Yeah, that's it, Rip." I sigh, but I'm shaking. "That's probably it."

"Someone doesn't like you back and never will," Rip says. "At least not in the way you want them to and yet you can still momentarily control them because of the things they want from you. It's quite a system you've set up and maintained." He pauses. "Romance." He sighs. "Interesting."

I keep staring at the iPhone even though I don't want to anymore.

"I guess the consolation is that she's not going to be beautiful forever," he says. "But I'd like to be with her before that happens."

"What are you saying?" I'm asking, the fear pushing forward. "What does any of this mean?"

"It means so many things, Clay."

"I want to get out of here," I say. "I want you to drop me off."

Rip says, "It means she'll never love you." A pause. "It means that everything's an illusion." And then Rip touches my arm. "She's setting you up, cabron."

I offer the phone back to Rip.

"I told you already I don't view you as a threat," Rip says. "You can keep doing whatever you want with her. I don't care because you're not really in the way." He considers something. "Not yet."

Rip takes the phone from me and pockets it.

"But Julian ... she likes him." Rip pauses. "She's just using you. Maybe that's what gets you off. I don't know. Will she get what she wants? Probably not. I don't know. I don't care. But Julian? For some reason that I can't fathom she really likes him. All you're doing is prolonging the situation. You're keeping this in play and she's following your lead because she thinks she's going to be in your movie. And because of this it's moving her closer to Julian." He pauses again. "You don't even realize how afraid you should be, do you?"

Before he drops me off Rip says, "Julian's disappeared." The limousine idles in the driveway of the Doheny Plaza. On the way down Beverly Glen and all across Sunset, Rip texted people back while "The Boys of Summer" kept repeating itself on the stereo. "He's not at his place in Westwood. We don't know where he is."

"Maybe he went to find Amanda," I say, staring out the tinted window at the empty valet stand.

"Shouldn't that be Rain's job?"