"It's terrific," I murmur, staring happily at Glenn.

Charles signs the slip and while placing his gold American Express card back into his wallet he turns to me and recognizes someone over my shoulder.

"Hey Luis," Charles says, smiling.

I turn around.

"Hi, Charles. Hi, Nancy." Luis Carruthers kisses Nancy's cheek, then shakes the baby's hand. "Oh hiya, Glenn. My my, you look so big."

"Luis, you know Robert Chanc - " Charles starts.

"Pat Bateman," I say, putting the Watchman back in my pocket. "Forget it. We've met."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's right. Pat Bateman," Charles says. Luis is wearing a wool-crepe suit, a cotton broadcloth shirt and a silk tie, all by Ralph Lauren. Like me, like Charles, he wears his hair slicked back and he's wearing Oliver Peoples redwood-framed glasses. Mine, at least, are nonprescription.

"Well well," I say, shaking his hand. Luis's grip is overly firm, yet horribly sensuous at the same time. "Excuse me, I have to purchase a tie." I wave bye-bye to baby Glenn once more and move off to inspect the neckwear in the adjoining room, wiping my hand against a two-hundred-dollar bath towel that hangs on a marble rack.

Soon enough Luis wanders over and leans against the tie drawer, pretending to examine the ties like I'm doing.

"What are you doing here?" he whispers.

"Buying a tie for my brother. It's his birthday soon. Excuse me." I move down the rack, away from him.

"He must feel very lucky to have a brother like you," he says, sliding up next to me, grinning sincerely.

"Maybe, but I find him completely repellent," I say. "You might like him though."

"Patrick, why won't you look at me?" Luis asks, sounding anguished. "Look at me."

"Please, please leave me alone, Luis," I say, my eyes closed, both fists clenched in anger.

"Come on, let's have a drink at Sofi's and talk about this," he suggests, starting to plead.

"Talk about what?" I ask incredulously, opening my eyes.

"Well... aboutus." He shrugs.

"Did you follow me in here?" I ask.

"Into where?"

"Here. Paul Smith. Why?"

"Me? Follow you? Oh come on." He tries to laugh, scoffing at my remark. "Jesus."

"Luis," I say, forcing myself to make eye contact. "Please leave me alone. Go away."

"Patrick," he says. "I love you very much. I hope you realize this."

I moan, moving over to the shoes, smiling wanly at a salesperson.

Luis follows. "Patrick, what are we doing here?"

"Well, I'm trying to buy a tie for my brother and" - I pick up a loafer, then sigh - "and you're trying to give me head, figure it out. Jesus, I'm getting out of here."

I move back over to the tie rack, grab one without choosing and take it up to the register. Luis follows. Ignoring him, I hand the salesgirl the platinum AmEx card and tell her, "There's a bum outside the door." I point out the window at the crying homeless man with the bag of newspapers standing on a bench next to the store's entrance. "You should call the police or something." She nods thanks and runs my card through the computer. Luis just stands there, shyly staring at the ground. I sign the receipt, take the bag and inform the salesgirl, pointing at Luis, "He's not with me."

Outside I try to wave down a cab on Fifth Avenue. Luis hurries out of the store after me.

"Patrick, we'vegot to talk," he calls out over the roar of traffic. He runs up to me, grabbing my coat sleeve. I whirl around, my switchblade already open, and I jab it threateningly, warning Luis to stay back. People move out of our way, continue walking.

"Hey, whoa, Patrick," he says, holding his hands up, backing off. "Patrick..."

I hiss at him, still holding out the knife until a cab I flag down skids to a stop. Luis tries to get near me, his hands still up, and I keep the knife aimed at him, slicing the air with it, while I open the door to the cab and back in, still hissing, then I close the door and tell the driver to head over to Gramercy Park, to Pooncakes.

Birthday, Brothers

I spend all day thinking about what kind of table my brother Sean and I will be seated at tonight in the Quilted Giraffe. Since it's his birthday and he happens to be in the city, my father's accountant, Charles Conroy, and the trustee of his estate, Nicholas Leigh, both called last week and mutually suggested that it would be in everyone's best interest to use this date as an excuse to find out what Sean's doing with. his life and perhaps to ask a pertinent question or two. And tough both of these men know I despise Sean, and that the feeling is unambiguously reciprocated, it would be a good idea to get him to come to dinner, and as a lure, as bait in case he refuses, by mentioning, not lightly, that something bad has happened. I was on a conference call to Conroy and Leigh last Wednesday afternoon.