Psycho Killer (16 page)

I can’t resist writing more about
N
, my new favorite topic. He is so stunningly beautiful, after all. Even if he is kind of lacking in the get-up-and-go (aka balls) department.

STONED IN CENTRAL PARK

Actually, my new favorite topic is the Waspoid—the elite version of the wasteoid, or stoner boy. Unlike the average stoner wasteoid, the Waspoid isn’t into metal or online dungeon games or skateboarding or eating raw food. He gets cute haircuts and has good skin. He smells nice, he wears the cashmere sweaters his girlfriend buys for him, he gets decent grades, and he’s sweet to his mom. He sails and plays soccer and lacrosse. He knows how to tie a necktie. He knows how to dance. He’s sexy! And he would never kill anyone. Too messy. Too final. In fact, the Waspoid never fully invests himself in anything or anyone. He isn’t a go-getter and he never says what’s on his mind. He doesn’t take risks, which is what makes him so risky to fall in love with.

You might have noticed that I’m just the opposite. Not that I’m into murdering people, but I never know when to shut up! And I seriously believe that opposites attract. I have to confess, I’m becoming a Waspoid groupie.

Apparently I’m not the only one.

YOUR E-MAIL

SIGHTINGS

B
buying condoms at
Zitomer Pharmacy
. Lifestyles Extra-Long Super-Ribbed! What I want to know is how she knew what size to get. I guess they’ve done everything but. Afterward,
B
made a beeline (no pun intended!) to a cheesy nail salon on Lexington for a Brazilian bikini wax. Ouch. That’s not something you want to skimp on. Also spotted,
S
at the post office, either receiving or mailing a big package.
Barneys
baby clothes for her little French tot, maybe? Caught
R
and
L
in the
3 Guys Coffee Shop
, eating fries and slurping hot cocoa again. They might have to return those cute little dresses they bought at
Bendel’s
the other day. Too bad
Kiss Me or Die
is not a muumuu party. And finally,
D
and
V
in the Hunting and Fishing department of
Paragon Sports
—either suiting up to film her movie or getting ready for a wild night of… hunting and fishing.

VOCAB

Since so many of you have been asking, I’m going to answer the big question that’s been baffling you since you found out about the
Kiss Me or Die
party.

Here we go. According to my handy
Webster’s
unabridged dictionary:

bird of prey, n. any number of flesh-eating birds, as the eagle, hawk, owl, vulture, etc
.

I’m sure I had you on the edge of your seat over that one. Just trying to keep you in the know. That’s my job. Besides, the birds aren’t the only ones stalking their prey these days.

See you in the park!

You know you love me,

Paragon Sports, the only sporting goods superstore in all of Manhattan, located on Broadway near Union Square, carried a large selection of impressive-looking hunting knives. Vanessa and Dan had arranged to meet there during his PE class and her free study period after lunch in order to equip Dan with a suitable costume to wear as deranged killer Mickey Knox in her remake of
Natural Born Killers
.

Right now Dan was wearing a tight white O’Neill kids’ sleeveless rash guard tucked into a pair of men’s size extra-small slim-fit green camouflage cargo pants by The North Face, a shiny black faux-leather Patagonia women’s size extra-small belt, black Red Wing men’s work boots, and some sort of black polyester webbing over-the-shoulder harness that was supposed to carry a yoga mat, but which Vanessa was sure they could make good use of as Mickey Knox’s multi-weapon holster.

“I look like one of the Village People,” Dan mumbled, regarding himself in the full-length mirror beside the upstairs hunting knife display. The white rash guard emphasized his bony rib cage
and skinny arms. Vanessa hadn’t told him he’d have to dress like a tool before he’d agreed to be in her movie.

Vanessa ignored him as she studied the knives. Mickey Knox was an ace knife-thrower. Of course he carried guns too, but for those she’d have to go to Toys R Us. Even a toy gun was risky on the Brooklyn Bridge though. Unless it was neon orange or electric green, someone might mistake it for a real gun and call the police. Knives were safer.

And way cooler. She’d never appreciated how pretty knives could be, with their variously carved handles and curved, finely pointed blades. And then there was the Leatherman, which included a knife, a pair of scissors, two screwdrivers, an Allen wrench, and a saw, and came in a neat little leather sleeve.

“May I ask what you need a hunting knife for?” said the sporty-looking geek behind the display. He wore thick, black-framed glasses and had long sideburns and probably went to NYU, Vanessa thought enviously. She bet he rock-climbed in the Palisades in New Jersey on the weekends and lived in a grubby, loud studio apartment on the Lower East Side on some dismally cool street over a bar, where people like Blair Waldorf would never dream of setting foot.

“It’s a prop. For a movie I’m making.” Vanessa grinned and pointed at Dan. “He’s going to slice open a lot of innocent people with it.”

Dan glanced down at his stupid cargo pants with the tags dangling from the belt loops. He wished he could change.

“It has to look impressive,” Vanessa told the sales guy. She pointed to a fourteen-inch textured steel bowie knife in the display. “That one’s nice.”

Dan peered over her shoulder. The knife was huge and beautiful,
with a gold and white pearl inlaid titanium handle and a wide blue steel blade that only tapered at the very end, like a mini-machete.

The salesman sucked in his breath and pulled his purple plaid flannel shirt away from his chest in a gesture that suggested the room was heating up. “Yup. That is a nice one. For a total of $4,500.”

Vanessa frowned. Maybe she should have gone to a cooking store. A nice sharp carving knife probably only cost around thirty bucks.

The salesman picked up the knife and set it down on top of the glass display case. “Comes with a hand-stitched leather sheath and its own sharpener.” He ran his thumb over the blade. “Feel that,” he said, holding the knife up for Dan and Vanessa to touch.

Dan pressed his entire hand against the sharpest part of the blade, pulling it away again before the salesman could see he’d drawn blood. “Cool.”

Vanessa didn’t want to touch it. What was the point? She was already spending a small fortune on Dan’s outfit. “Do you have anything in the thirty- to fifty-dollar range?”

The salesman put the knife down and leaned toward her. His breath smelled like Altoids. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you have this one on loan if you bring it back safe and sound. No one’s going to buy it anyway. Hunting’s not real big in Manhattan.”

Is that so?

“You would do that?” Vanessa asked incredulously. Every time she ventured below Twenty-third Street the people just got nicer and nicer.

Dan sucked on his bleeding hand.

“You can return the clothes too,” the sales guy said, lowering
his voice. He jerked his chin at Dan. “As long as he doesn’t soil them,” he added, implying that Dan was mentally challenged and might have trouble keeping his pants clean. “Keep the tags on, hold on to the receipt, and bring them back within thirty days. My girlfriend works as an assistant props stylist for commercials. They do it all the time.”

Vanessa wanted to hug him, but that wouldn’t be cool. Besides, he had a girlfriend, and she was supposed to be in love with Dan. “Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”

She glanced at Dan. He was staring at the knife, still sucking on his hand.

“Go get changed so we can pay,” Vanessa told him. Sometimes she wondered if Dan
was
a little slow. Maybe he just needed to eat something.

Dan wandered back to the dressing room where he’d left his school clothes, marveling at how good his own blood tasted. Maybe Jenny was on to something. Maybe if he tried it, he’d enjoy the taste of raw meat.

As he changed back into his regular clothes, Mickey Knox’s lines from Vanessa’s script reverberated in his head.
“Life is fragile and absurd. Murdering someone’s not so hard.”

Dan bent down to tie his Converse sneakers, tugging violently at the laces and knotting them tight. A true poet, he could see the words from the script in his head, each letter distinct, with glistening edges. He moved a letter here, added one there, deleted a few, until they aligned to form a new haiku:

Rage, hate, pretty knife—

October moon, tight white shirt
.

This blade cuts through bone
.

“Well, it’s wonderful to have you back, dear,” Ms. Glos, the Constance Billard School’s elderly college advisor, told Serena. She picked her glasses up from where they were hanging around her neck on a gold chain and slid them onto her nose so she could examine Serena’s schedule, which was lying on her desk. “Let’s see, now. Mmmm,” she muttered, reading over the schedule.

Serena sat in front of Ms. Glos with her legs crossed, waiting patiently. There were no diplomas on Ms. Glos’s wall, no evidence of any accreditations at all, just pictures of her grandchildren. Serena wondered if Ms. Glos had even gone to college. You would have thought if she were going to dish out advice on the subject she could have at least tried it.

Ms. Glos cleared her throat. “Yes, well, your schedule is perfectly acceptable. Not stellar, mind you, but adequate. I imagine you’re making up for it with extracurriculars, yes?”

Serena shrugged her shoulders and allowed herself a small, embarrassed grin.
If you can call drinking Pernod and dancing naked on a beach in Cannes an extracurricular
.

What about setting people on fire, or scalping them? Or how about having sex with your best friend’s boyfriend—
twice
?

“Not really,” she said. “I mean, I’m not actually signed up for any extracurricular activities at the moment.”

Ms. Glos let her glasses drop. Her nostrils were turning very red and Serena wondered if she was about to have a bloody nose. Of course, Serena was used to blood, but she didn’t know if she could handle one of Ms. Glos’s famous bloody noses. The college advisor’s hair was thin and white and her skin was very pale, with a yellowish tinge. All the girls thought she had some terrible, ancient contagious disease like bubonic plague or leprosy.