Once more she threaded her way through the crowd, looking for Bettina and Mimi. She came upon a huddle of girls and was passing only inches from one of them, an exotic-looking girl with very long, straight black hair
parted down the middle and streaming down either side of her face. The girl was saying, “Are you kidding? No way! We didn't do anything!”âwhen a big, laughing boy backed up and bumped Charlotte, and Charlotte's shoulder bumped the girl's. The girl turned her head and glowered from out of her hood of hair.
“Sorry!” said Charlotte.
The girl inspected Charlotte's face and her print dress without saying a thing, not even a word of reproof. She merely turned back to her friends. As if Charlotte had vanished into thin air, she said, “I get so bummed out by these freshmen. I'm a junior, and I don't have a boyfriend, and they prance around like, âHey, fuck
me
!' And the guys totally love it! They're like totally into fresh meat!”
More desperate than ever for cover, Charlotte wriggled and squirmed on through the crowd.
Another line, boys and girlsâheading for what? It didn't matter. Charlotte tucked herself into the end of the queue and began another slow shuffle forward. This one was heading for a table, behind which two old black men in white jackets were serving drinks. Drinks ⦠what would she say when she got there? What could she possibly ask for? As she drew closer, she could see big forty-ounce plastic bottles of Diet Coke, ginger ale, Sprite, seltzer, and a big pitcher of orange juice. By the time she reached the table, she realized that in fact the two black servitors weren't serving any alcoholic drinks at all. She walked away with a big plastic cup of ginger ale in her hand, relieved and vaguely puzzled. If they were only serving soft drinksâwhat about all the drunken boys? The storm raged on.
She stood at the edge of the crowd, slowly sipping her drink. A drink, a drink in her hand ⦠not much, but as good asâperhaps even slightly better thanâbeing in a line. Holding a drink was certification, however low-grade, that you were part of the party and not hopelessly adrift.
She sipped and sipped, slower and slower. She scanned the crowd, no longer really counting on finding Bettina and Mimi. The uproar, the lurching boys, the relentless music, the dank smell, the epileptic flashes of the strobe lights ⦠how grueling it had become, how stultifying. Her shoulders slumped; her face went slack â¦
She felt the pressure of a hand on her upper arm. She turned and faced a guy who was bound to be in his twenties. He was startlingly good-looking, even though his face was flushed and his forehead was slick with sweat.
Everything about him struck her as imposingâthe cleft chin and square jaws, the perfect thatch of light brown hair, the hazel eyes that were unquestionably mocking her, the smile that had just a hint of smirk, the white button-down shirt so freshly washed and ironed it still had a pair of folding lines down the front, a pair of khakis not worn dirty and shapeless, as other boys' were, but impeccably laundered and ironed with crisp creases. Everything about him said to her: authority. She had been caught. She dreaded the words he was about to utter, which would be
who invited you
and
then what are you doing here.
“Hi!” he said, leaning his head close to hers so she could hear him. “Mind if I ask you something? I bet you get
really tired
of people telling you you look like Britney Spears.”
What on earth was he talking about? He had a white plastic drink container in one handâwas he drunk? It took a moment for her to entertain the notion that he might, in fact, be flirting with her. Her face turned hot, and she smiled to try to keep from looking flustered. She finally managed to say, “I don't think so.” But in such a little voice! With such a weak, stupid smileâand such clumsy ambiguity! Was he going to think she was saying she
didn't
get tired of being mistaken for Britney Spears? How awkward she was amid this swarm of sophisticates with naked belly buttons and little low-slung leather skirts!
The boy put his hand on her arm again, as if he were only trying to steady the two of them while he leaned in closer. “Well, I say you do, and Saint Rays don't joke around.”
He
must
be drunk. He was so extraordinarily good-looking, it intimidated her. She ransacked her brain again for something light and deft, and came up speechless. She stood there smiling a smile she knew imparted nothing but the embarrassment of a little girl who had no experience in encounters like this.
He patted her on the arm and said, “Okay, I
am
kidding. You do look like Britney Spears, but if you wanna know the truth, I just wanted to say hi.” He began staring deep into her eyes from no more than six inches away. He put his hand on her shoulder and grasped it, the way a mentor might if he were about to ask his young protégée a very important question. “You having fun?”
You having fun
? She had been miserable from the moment she entered this house, but how could she be frank with someone so blase? She couldn't even get the sickly smile off her face. “I guess so,” she said. “Mostly.”
He took his hand off her shoulder, turned it palm up, and stared at her with his mouth open. “You guess so! Mostly!” Then he put his hand back on her shoulder. “How can we change that?”
She kept smiling, gamely, which made her feel stupid. “I'm just looking for two friends of mine.”
“Male or female?”
“Two girls who live in my house in Little Yard.”
“Hey, that's a relief. In that caseâwanna dance?”
The thought terrified her. She knew practically nothing about dancing, other than the square dancing she used to do out at the Grange Hall in Sparta. At the same time, the attentions of a good-looking boy like this would certainly validate her presence here.
She finally started nodding yes and said in a little voice, “Okay.”
“Awesome!” He patted her on the arm again.
He took a sip of his drink. He placed his other hand on the small of her back and began steering her through the crowd. Wellâhe was only helping her, wasn't he? It wasn't easy getting through this mob. It was so hot, and she was sweating so much she could feel the pressure of his palm pasting the cotton dress to her skin. Wails! Thuds! The percussion shook her rib cage.
They were heading toward the back, where the strobe lights were flashing. In the roaring surf of polo shirts, T-shirts, camisoles, sleeveless jerseys, halter tops, and indefinable gossamer tops, they came upon a roly-poly boy in a blue button-down shirt and khakis, with a big plastic cup in his hand. He grinned in a cockeyed way and cried out, “Yo, Hoyto!”
Charlotte's escort said, “W'as happenin', Boo-man?”
There was an awkward pause as the roly-poly boy, who had a drunken, openmouthed grin on his face, gave Charlotte a frank appraisal.
“We're taking a house tour!” said Charlotte's escort, shouting to be heard, whereupon he slid his hand off her back and put it around her. “Boo, this isâuhhhâ” He turned to Charlotte. “Have you met Boo?” He gave her a little squeeze.
The roly-poly boy chuckled and looked at his wristwatch and said at the top of his voice, “Okay, Hoyto, seven minutes, and the clock is running!”
Charlotte looked up and said, “What's he mean, seven minutes and the clock is running?”
Good. She didn't know. Her escort pretended to tip his plastic cup back three times in the semaphore that says, “He's drunk,” and then added, aloud, “Beats me.”
Every few yards, it seemed, some boy or other would cry out “Hoyt!” “Hoyto!” “Hoyt-man!” or some other variation of the name Hoyt. Charlotte found herself looking up at him and smiling, not from pleasure but from the need she felt to make people think she actually knew this obviously well-known boy who had his hand on her back.
A great strapping boy wearing a polo shirt that showed off his build came up and said, “Yo, Hoytster! Where'd you get that drink?”
“I'm not drinking,” said Hoyt. “It's water.” He lowered and tilted the cup, and sure enough, it was water. Charlotte was greatly relieved.
“Ve-ry int-ter-rest-ting,” said the great strapping boy in some sort of mock foreign accent. “So to-night ⦠the snowman cometh.”
Hoyt shook his head. “Come on, Harrison.” Harrison put his forefinger under his nose and made a profound
sniff sniff sniff
sound and grinned.
Now they were very close to all the white faces flashing in the strobe lights. Charlotte could see arms and hands flashing, tooâa whole mob of people dancing on a big terrace enclosed by glass. At night the glass reflected like a mirror, so that it seemed as if there were strobe lights pulsing on and off from here to beyond Ladding Walk and on to infinity. The music was so loud it hurt her ears. Scores of white people, flashing in slices. Five black men, the musicians, flashing in slices, glossy with sweat. A cadaverously thin singer with dreadlocks. His head was thrown back, and he seemed to be swallowing a handheld microphoneâin slices. He was screaming, “Mackin'n'jackin'â
ungggh
âmackin'n'jackin'.” Next to a wall near the bandflashes of a boy and girl who were dancing on top of a tableâin slices. Their faces bobbed, flashed on and offâtight, dark, light, darkâin slices, their arms were flailing in slices, their legs were shimmying in slices, but they were joined at the pelvis. Their pelvic saddles bucked and reared in slices but never parted. Her jeans were so low-cut that when she torqued far enough, you got a flash of the top of the cleft of her slick, sweating buttocks. The mocking
wooooo wooooo wooooos
of the boys massed about the table skimmed along the crest of the noise. Hoyt was now in slices. Charlotte's own arms were in slices. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the phenomenon, and she could see there were couples everywhere on the floor, dancing that way, locked mons pubis to mons pubis. She couldn't believe her eyes! They were simulating â¦
intercourse
! Right out in the open! It made her think of Regina's filthy phrase, “dry-humping.” They were pressing their genitals together! Some girls were bending over so that boys could thrust thrust thrust thrust simulate intercourse from behind, like dogs in a barnyard!
Hoyt put his arm around her again, tilted his head very close to hers, and said, “You wanna dance?”
Charlotte couldn't speak, she was so appalled. She shook her head no, almost ferociously. Hoyt said, “Hey, you can't do that to me!”
He said it in a jocular wayâor did he? Charlotte opened her mouthâand managed only a sickly smileâafter all, it wasn't his faultâas she shook her head again.
“Come
on
! You said you wanted to dance! I took you all the way through that mob so we could dance! Humor me! One song! That's it!” He had to shout to be heard.
Again she shook her head and mouthed the word no.
He cocked his head and stared at her for a moment, his tongue in his cheek, as if to say, “You really think I'll take that for an answer?”
“Let's go!” He seized her by the hand and tried to pull her toward the dance floor.
“
You
”âa rush of uncontrollable outrage. “Stop it! Let go of me! I changed my mind! I don't want to dance!”
He let go, startled by her outburst.
He held his hands up in a defensive posture. “Hey! Okay. Chill!” He smiled broadly. “Who said anything about dancing? I said house tour, and I meant house tour!”
That's better, she thought. He couldn't take her for granted anymore. This speck of encouragement expunged her angry stare. In fact, she found herself giving him a rueful little smile. But she still resented his attitude. All these people rubbing ⦠their genitals together! ⦠like dogs in heat ⦠How dare he? She was better than the whole bunch of them! She was better than
him
! What did he have to be smug about?
When he put his hand on the small of her back again and began steering her out of the terrace room and into the grand hall, she knew she should jerk away from himâbut
Bettina and Mimi
! There they were in the midst of the mob with Bettina's friend Hadley and some other girlsâand Bettina was looking straight at her! They were too far apart to even shout to one another, but Bettina arched her eyebrows and pulled a face that as much as said, “Whoa! Look at youâwith a hot guy like that!” Mimi's face fell. She stared at Charlotte with amazement and envy. She and Bettina were still stuck in a freshman herd.
Charlotte immediately looked up at Hoyt and smiled and tried desperately to think of a question to ask so he would have to turn his face toward
hers and Bettina and Mimi and their herd would think they were having a great time. This Hoyt represented social triumph.
“Uh ⦠what uhâ” Why couldn't she come up with a question! “Uh ⦠Iâ”
“Beat it up!” said Hoyt, smiling and revolving his hand, encouraging her to get the words out.
“What's uhâwhat's the name of the band?”