My Private Pectus (15 page)

When we get back to the beach house, we're holding hands. Mike looks up from his VB stubby and nudges Ryan in the ribs. Sam loosens her grip, but I hold hers tighter. I want her to know I mean what I said. I'm not going to hide, not this time.

When Gez sees us, I expect him to give me an approving nod, or even a good-on-you smile, but he just turns away and goes inside. Fine, I think, I don't need you anyway.

At dusk people start turning up with birthday presents of wrapped-up booze and eskies full of beer and steak. Ryan gets the barbie going and slaps on a cake of butter. I turn up the stereo so we can hear it outside.

The first few arrivals lay hugs and handshakes on Gez. He puts on a smile, sips his beer until it's warm. Lisa's still not here.

As numbers swell, the bathtub overflows with stubbies and rum; cases of booze cover the kitchen benches. People file through the front gate while Ryan and Mike stand like property owners watching their prized herd. Their friends turn up—guys and girls from Ryan's uni classes, a few odd-looking ring-ins that hang out with Mike.

Everyone gathers in the yard. They stand about talking, soothing their inhibitions with beer and spirits. I can feel the anticipation. Then a sound comes from the street, a beat overriding the music from the house. Everyone turns to see a white Nissan Silvia, windows down, R&B throbbing. It pulls in, the front bumper nearly touching the front gate. Blue xenon headlights light up the party then fade as the motor dies. The R&B cuts out mid beat. The P opens his door and gets out. He's wearing jeans, a tight fitting white shirt. His hair is styled, his streaks re-touched.

The P saunters around the car and opens the passenger door. A girl I've never seen before gets out—tall, tight butt, big tits: the P's perfect fashion accessory. Us boys all gawk.

By the time everyone's into their third or fourth drink, Ryan and Mike gather everyone around. The boys hold between them a forty-centimetre spliff.

Ryan shouts for attention. ‘I want to start proceedings with a gift for my little bro!' he yells and presents the spliff to Gez. ‘In honour of eighteen years of friendship,' he says amid approving comments. ‘You're not just a brother, you're a friend.'

‘Cut the sop and light the thing!' someone yells.

There's a roar of approval. Steve steps forward and lights the spliff now hanging from Gez's mouth. A silence descends as he inhales, his cheeks sucked in. The tip turns brown; the flame dies in the breeze. Steve zips at the lighter with his thumb, sparks jump from the flint, re-igniting a fitful flame. Moments later, the joint lights up and Gez's face glows in the light. Ryan blows out the flame, leaving a red glowing ember. Gez inhales slowly then lets the smoke escape as a wisp through his nose.

With arms waving, Ryan leads a rendition of happy birthday. It's a raucous blend of drunken and sober voices with barely a true note. Gez nods, but I can see he's still not into it. Sam holds me from behind, her arms wrapped around my waist, her cheek against my upper arm. The P and the girl stand in the circle, his arm draped over her shoulder, his fingers crawling above her breast. Lisa, who arrived not too long ago, is watching from the outskirts.

After a few pulls, Gez passes the spliff to Mike, who points the tip skywards and inhales. Cuppas holds up a booze bong, which is a funnel with a hose. He peels open a can of Dark and Stormy, gives the end of the hose to Gez, who puts it to his lips. A chant starts, ‘Skol! Skol! Skol!', and with each chant, we clap, getting faster and louder like a cricket crowd sending in Brett Lee. Cuppas pours the can in, then another. Gez, with his head lifted, lets the booze flow straight down his gullet. He doesn't stop for breath. It runs from the corners of his mouth, down his neck and into his shirt. He finishes, gasps, and points at Cuppas to get another can.

‘All right, a refill!' someone screams and half -a-dozen blokes step forward offering their half-finished drinks. But it's Cuppas who excels again. He pours bourbon into the funnel, someone else pours Coke. Gez devours it as if dying of thirst.

Someone goes inside, kills the music then puts on something with a bit more rhythm. The crowd breaks up, except for a small group of us around Gez, who keeps on drinking. But now Cuppas is matching him bong for bong. Lisa retreats inside.

•

Over the next two hours, Sam and I keep leaving the party to make out. Usually we go behind the house or sneak out behind the back fence. Holding each other tight, our hands move over our clothes, neither of us going underneath—not yet. Her hips press against me and I feel myself rise. I taste the sweet drink on her lips, the hint of alcohol on her warm breath. I'm nervous and excited. I kiss like a camel, my tongue lolling in her mouth.

She presses her hands on my stomach, edges away and tells me what to do, not to shove my tongue in so deep. Giving up in embarrassment, I take a step back, but she pulls me closer and plants her face on mine. I think of the room. The thought of sex no longer scares me.

In between snogs, we return to the group and mingle. I try to track down Gez to wish him happy birthday even though he doesn't deserve it. But the whole time he's elusive. I pull him aside, but he lets others interrupt, or heads off to get another drink. Pissed off, I listen to the throb of the music. Just one week ago I still considered him my best friend, a fact I now find hard to believe.

I see Sam in the distance talking to Greg and Rachel. She curls her finger at me, wanting me to come over. But before I do, I gotta see Gez again, give him another chance. I spot him walking to the back fence. He's got a bottle of Bundy. He's using Lisa for support. I walk over, but when he sees me coming he turns away. He stumbles through the gate.

Watching after them, I let the noise of the party wash over me. There's laughter and shouting, the rustling of a couple in the garden. A chorus of clapping and yelling breaks out behind me. I turn to see Cuppas there in front of a group, waving one arm as he talks, holding a can in the other. The P's egging him on, trying to get him to tell everyone about the first time he had sex. Wanting to hear what he'll say, I move to the edge of the group.

‘I was fourteen,' Cuppas says and finishes off his Dark and Stormy.

‘What was it like?' The P asks.

Cuppas is lost for a second, his mouth moving in silence. ‘Good,' he says, gulping the word.

Bystanders laugh, others grimace as he goes into detail. The P asks, did you do this, did you do that, what did it feel like, did she like it? And because Cuppas is stupid enough to answer, The P doesn't look like a dick for making a spectacle of him. In fact, The P's hot fashion accessory stands behind him, giggling into her hand. Spit flies as Cuppas slurs and sways, barely able to stay on his feet.

‘Did she like your fat?' The P asks.

Cuppas grabs the middle of his shirt and rips it open. Buttons fly, his stomach bursts out like an unrestrained beast. A milky-white glob, it bulges over his jeans. There's a mixture of groans and hoots of laughter. Cuppas smiles with an open mouth and a string of saliva. He stumbles and falls to the grass. He convulses as if he's about to spew, but swallowing he holds it in. And like that time in the sports shed, I know I should go in and help out, but I slink past, hoping The P won't see me.

‘Hey, Sticks!' he yells. ‘Come here and show us yours!'

‘Yeah, c'mon, Sticks!' Cuppas screams from the grass. ‘Show us your party trick!'

I walk away, but the group follows. Cuppas is on his feet again, leading them, stumbling. ‘Please, Sticks, please,' he says in a high-pitched whine. The P roars with laughter.

I dart into the lounge room, which is now a dance floor, and weave between pulsating bodies, keeping to the shadows. Cuppas comes in, but as he stumbles into people, they shout and push him back. He uses the wall for balance. Trying to find me, The P looks through the bodies before giving up and retreating outside.

Nervous, I go in search of Sam, constantly checking over my shoulder. I move about quickly, check the kitchen, where the fridge is open and nearly empty, water pooling at its base. There's a tub of ice-cream on the bench, an empty bottle of Kahlúa beside it. I go to the hall and look down the darkness to our room, but the door's closed. Even if she was there I'm not sure I'd be game to go in, not now anyway. I'd feel trapped, unwilling to be exposed. Going to the bathroom, the tub has beers and other drinks floating in the melting ice. In the end, I head to the garage where there's a stack of people lying and sitting on mattresses, drinking and smoking. Sam is sitting in a group, talking. She gives me a tipsy grin. There's Mike, Greg, Rachel and another couple—two of Ryan's uni friends. They keep their conversation to themselves, kissing in between sentences. Greg cracks beers and passes them around, but I can't have one. I'm too nervous to drink. After I sit, Mike watches Sam and me, clearly waiting to see something happen. But I keep my hands to myself and watch the entrance for The P or a hulking Cuppas. Sam leans on me, kisses my neck.

‘We've been talking about you,' Greg says.

‘What did you say?' I ask defensively.

Sam takes her lips from my neck and says, ‘We just wondered where you were, that's all.'

I roll my shoulders. Mike smirks. The tension in my neck is building.

‘What's wrong?' Sam whispers, her lips virtually pressed against my ear.

‘I'm just—' Then I stop as Mike gawks. ‘Nothing,' I whisper.

Rachel moves closer to Greg, lays one leg over his. He then reaches for her other leg and pulls that one over as well. Sam leans on me more forcefully.

The other couple, probably sick of kissing in front of us, whisper to each other and leave. Going by everyone's expression, we're all glad to see them go. Mike leaves not long afterwards, but not without looking back at Sam with what I interpret to be a hint of jealousy.

As Sam, Greg and Rachel talk, I watch the goings-on outside through the garage door. People move back and forth with drinks in hand. Ryan sprints across holding another spliff with Mike in pursuit. Moments later Ryan and Mike walk back, Mike now smoking. As it gets later, word gets around that the party is migrating to the beach. People start to leave.

‘What's the surf like?' Greg asks out of the blue.

‘Big,' I say, thinking of what it was like this afternoon when Sam and I were near the beach.

‘Want to go for a swim?' he asks Rachel.

‘You're not serious?' She's leaning on him now.

‘Why not?' he says. ‘It'll be fun.'

She shakes at the thought. ‘You're crazy.' She looks at me. ‘Is he crazy?'

‘He's crazy,' I say.

‘I knew it,' she says and stands up. ‘C'mon, then.'

They both head off towards the surf, but we know they'll stop at the dunes.

Finally, we're alone. Sam wraps an arm around me. Her eyes are heavy. She smiles. She smells of vodka and perfume. We kiss. Now that the party has moved on, I relax and we collapse onto the mattress. Her hand moves on my stomach and around the edge of my pants. Then it moves upwards, towards my chest. I interlace my fingers with hers and take it away.

‘What's wrong?' she asks.

‘I thought I heard someone,' I lie.

‘Who cares?' She draws me closer.

We kiss and hold each other, but now my mind is racing. Cuppas' pleading voice rings in my ears
Please, Sticks, please
and The P's riotous laughter. I can't go through with this, not here, not now. I look towards the entrance.

‘So what if someone sees us,' she whispers, her lips against my cheek, but I draw away.

She pulls back, her eyes confused. She's hurt. She stands and irons her clothes flat with her hands.

‘Do you want to go to the lake?' I ask. But as I get up, I don't feel relief, just regret.

We get out there to find a fire on the water's edge, people gathered around it, sitting and standing. One of Ryan's mates takes a run-up and jumps over it, passing through the flame. There're hoots from the boys, yells of derision from the girls. I hold Sam close. She leans heavily against me. I scan the group. Lisa is near the fire, her arms crossed, staring at the glow. Gez isn't around. I can't see Cuppas or The P, not even Mike.

Sam and I stand close in the glow. I try to process my thoughts and wonder what she's thinking.

‘Sorry about before,' I whisper.

She puts her head on my shoulder.

Everyone around us is absorbed in their own conversations; no one even looks at us. Ryan cheers his fire mate on; a guy drags the esky around in the sand, offering alcohol; a girl pokes a stick in the fire; a joint gets passed around.

Convinced no one is watching, I lead Sam away by the hand out of the fire's glow and into the shadow of a nearby dune. I kiss her softly on the lips then she kisses my neck again. Not wanting to get consumed by second thoughts, I untuck her top and run my hands underneath. I feel her stomach, smooth and tender, warmed by the fire; her back is cold. She kneels in front of me, lifts my shirt, runs her hands over my stomach, then upwards. My heart bounds. I put my hand on hers as it inches to my chest but she says, ‘I don't care,' and rests her palm in my depression.