American Psycho

The boys are at The Yale Club having lunch and talking fashion and life, but it takes a dark turn.

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“Well, according to Bruce Boyer -” I begin.

“Wait.” Van Patten stops me. “Is he with Morgan Stanley?”

“No.” I smile. “He’s not with Morgan Stanley.”

“Wasn’t he a serial killer?” McDermott asks suspiciously, then moans. “Don’t tell me he was another serial killer, Bateman. Not another serial killer.”

“No, McDufus, he wasn’t a serial killer,” I say turning back to Van Patten, but before continuing turn back to McDermott. “That really pisses me off.”

“But you always bring them up,” McDermott claims. “And always in this casual, educational sort of way. I mean, I don’t want to know anything about Son of Sam or the fucking Hillside Strangler or Ted Bundy or Featherhead, for god sake.”

“Featherhead?” Van Patten asks. “Who’s Featherhead? He sounds exceptionally dangerous.”

“He means Leatherface,” I say, teeth tightly clenched. “Leatherface. He was part of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

“Oh.” Van Patten smiles politely. “Of course.”

“And he was exceptionally dangerous,” I say.

-- “American Psycho” by Bret Easton Ellis

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