An insanely expensive restaurant on the Upper East Side, the decor is a mixture of chi-chi and rustic, with swagged silk curtains,handwritten menus and pale pink tablecloths decorated with arrangements of moss, twigs and hideous exotic flowers.
The clientele is young, wealthy and confident, dressed in the height of late-eighties style; pouffy Lacroix dresses, Armani power suits.
The waiter read out the specials.
"With goat cheese profiteroles and I also have an arugula Caesar salad. for entrance tonight I have a swordfish meatloaf with onion marmalade,a rare-roasted partridge breast in raspberry coulis with a sorrel timbale..."
Huge white porcelain plates descend on very pale pink linen table cloths.Each of the entrees is a rectangle about four inches square and look exactly alike. on various diners as we hear fragments of conversation.
"Is that Charlie Sheen over there?"
"Excuse me? I ordered cactus pear sorbet."
The waiter blinked. "And grilled free-range rabbit with herbed French fries. our pasta tonight is a squid ravioli in a lemongrass broth..."
On porcelain plates containing elaborate perpendicular desserts descending on another table. Victor Gibson, David Price, and Van Craig are at a table set for four.
They are all wearing expensively cut suits and suspenders and have slicked-back hair. Van Craig wears horn-rimmed glasses. we close-up on Gibson as his narration begins;
POV. "We're sitting in Pastels, this nouvelle Northern California place on the Upper East Side."
The Waiter sets down plates containing tiny, elaborately decorated starters. As he does so we hear Gibson's description of each of the men at the table.
POV CONT. "You'll notice that my friends and I all look and behave in a remarkably similar fashion, but there are subtle differences between us. David Price is the biggest asshole. Van Craig is the yes man. I'm the best looking. We all have light tans. right now I'm in a bad mood because this is not a good table, and Van Craig keeps asking dumb, obvious questions about how to dress."
"I cannot believe you. you are moving out from that school. what is it you want or what's on your mind deciding to change your path."
a silent creak between them, Victor Gibson didn't answer anything his friend questioned, he'd just look at him somehow. "Or did you blow up. Sally , right." he burst to laugh.
Gibson's eyes were on the beautiful waitress, his eyes scanning her from her head till her shoes while his mouth chewed then he swallowed it slowly. He broke his eyes on that waitress.
"Sally is not the type of woman I should be living with. Back to your question, I decided to move from that school because it sucks! all those bitches chasing over me that I'm not interested at all."
"Wasn't it lucky? those bitches chasing over you because they have their own reason why... they want you on their bed. they want to taste it."
Gibson smirked and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "They slut!"
"Don't tell me this is the reason why you are moving out from that school."
"Most of them. I need fresh air,fresh school, a fresh environment and a place to stay. I'm moving out too. far from here." he snorts. continue. "I picked Colorado."
Craig and Price looked at each other's faces. together they two said out loud. "Colorado."
"You seriously kidding me, Gibson. What fun could you do? too much mountain park, lots of tree. and everything is green."
"Fresh air. I decide it and you shut up. tell you what? I'm moving about this week."
After dinner, they decide to go somewhere else, the limo pulls up to the sidewalk outside the tunnel. Craig holds the door open for a passing homeless man who looks confused.
"I suppose he doesn't want the price of the car Price., ask him if he takes American Express."
Price offering card. "You take Amex, dude?"
the man stumbles away. The club doorman, seeing the limousine, unhooks the velvet rope and welcomes them inside. They make their way to the ladies room. brilliant white light, a bemused elderly female attendant in a black-and-white maid's uniform trying to give out paper towels.
music thuds through an open doorway. trashed-looking girls stare into mirrors repairing their eye make-up or sit on the counter chatting to friends. There are almost as many men as women in the room. couples stand in line, twitching as they wait to do coke.
As soon as one bathroom door opens, a couple lurches out rubbing their noses while another couple rushes past them and slams the door.
"There's this theory out now that if you can catch the AIDS virus through having sex with someone who is infected, then you can also catch anything-Alzheimer's, musculardystrophy, hemophilia, leukemia, diabetes, dyslexia for Christ's sake-you can get dyslexia from pussy-"
"I'm not sure, guy. but I don't think dyslexia is a virus." said Gibson watched over them.
"Oh, who knows? they don't know that. prove it."
Price and Gibson finally get a stall and rush in. Price is sweating. "I'm shaking. you open it."
Gibson opens a tiny packet of coke. "Jeez. That's not a helluva lot, is it?"
"Maybe it's just the light."
"Is he fucking selling it by the milligram?"
Price dips the corner of his Amex card in the packet and takes a snort. "Oh my God..."
"What?"
"It's a fucking milligram of Sweet'n Low!"
Gibson dips his Amex in the envelope and snorts. "It's definitely weak but I have a feeling if we do enough of it we'll be okay."
"I want to get high off this; Gibson not sprinkle it on my fucking All-Bran."
the guy in the stall next door yells at them in an effeminate. "Could you keep it down,I'm trying to do drugs!"
Price pounds his fist against the stall. He screams. "SHUT UP!"
"Calm down. let's do it anyway."
"I guess you're right..."
raising his voice. "THAT IS, IF THE FAGGOT IN THE NEXT STALL THINKS IT'S OKAY!"
"Fuck you!"
Price trying to climb up against the aluminum divider. "No,FUCK YOU!!" he collapses, panting against the stall door. "Sorry, dude. steroids... okay, let's do it."
"That's the spirit."
They both dig their platinum Amex cards into the envelope of white powder, shoveling it up their noses, then sticking their fingers in to catch the residue and rubbing it into their gums. After doing their thing, Gibson and Price bolt out of the room. Gibson saunters toward the bar as "Pump Up the Volume" plays in the background.
"Two Stoli on the rocks." he said toward the bar girl. He handed her two drink tickets.
the bargirl speaks. "It's after eleven. those aren't good anymore. It's a cash bar. that'll be twenty-five dollars."
Gibson pulls out an expensive-looking wallet and hands her a $50. She turns her back and searches the cash register for change.
"You are a fucking ugly bitch I want to stab to death and then play around with your blood."
The music muffles his voice. She turns around. He is smiling at her. She gives him his change impassively.
He laughed. "I mean it!"