“I’m out here,” I called, but somebody turned the music up and Nancy Butler shut the door. I stood up, felt the wind around my ears.
“Don’t stand up, you’re giving me a stiff neck,” V said, sitting down. The four of us sat on the steps: V , Lily, Douglas and me. I think that’s right. The steps buzzed as the Thin Sham album beat the house into submission.
“This is a splendid party,” I said, suddenly and politely to V . “Satan is going to kill me,” she said.
“Take your soul for all eternity,” Douglas said solemnly. We all giggled; Lily–you’ll never guess what–burst into tears.
“Douglas, just tell me, once and for all, is it my fault?” Lily asked.
“Of course not,” Douglas said. “It’s not a
fault
, Lily. It’s just–”
“It’s his mom’s fault,” V said. “She’s so bossy.” Somebody shrieked with laughter, sounded like Natasha. “What are you laughing at?” Douglas said.
I kept laughing. “You have to admit, Douglas,” I said, “she is
very bossy
.”
“But that doesn’t–” Douglas sputtered. “I think it’s my fault,” Lily said quietly.
“Oh, come on,” V said. “It does too, Douglas. If your mom had been normal–give me some of that bread, Flan–you’d still be going out with Lily.”
“Going out with Lily is a sign of normalness?” I asked. “No, no,” V said. “Good bread.”
“Basic Bakery.”
“Well, thanks for bringing it, even if it was late. But I just mean that Douglas’s bossy mother–”
“She’s not bossy,” Douglas said. “Where’s Bob?”
“Oh, forget it,” V said, pouting. “Come help me pick up croquet stuff, Flan.”
“I’ll go,” Douglas said. He stood up and put a hand to his head. I finished off my punch; it burned down my throat like lava.
Lily leaned against me and I felt in her sobbing head the weight of the world.
“It was my fault,” she said.
“There, there,” I remembered. Was Jenn still in the bathroom? “Just tell me, Natasha,” Lily said. She broke away from me to
look me straight in the eye. “Be honest with me.”
“I will,” I said, and waited for her question. Distantly, I could hear V and Douglas laughing on the black lawn, over the backbeat and the lead singer’s devilish whine. The question didn’t come.
“Just tell me, tell me,” Lily said, raising her voice. She put her hands to her head like she didn’t want to hear it. “I want to hear it, straight from you. Just tell me–I’m
fat
, aren’t I?”
I looked at her thin frame, her wide eyes, and felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. The song ended and for a second there was just the chilly air and V ’s raw distant laughter, before an- other one began. “No,” I whispered to her, but she probably didn’t hear me over Bin Bang and the wind and her own heaving breathing. “No,” I said. “Oh, Lily.”
“He
said
so!” she yelled. The wind rose and drew her hair back sharply like an old movie star. “He
told me
, one time when we were fighting! He said
fat bitch
!”
“Douglas?” I said incredulously. In my head was how fragile he looked when he knocked on my door, all those hickey morn- ings.
Fat bitch
?
“Yes,” she said, losing steam and blinking at me like I might hit her.
“He called you–”
“A
fat bitch
,” she wailed, and sat down again, revealing Douglas coming up the stairs, looking wary and guilty. V was close be- hind, waving a croquet ball triumphantly; she’d still missed the red mallet.
“Hi,” Douglas said. Lily looked at the ground. “A fat bitch?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“We were fighting,” he said. “I don’t think I said that.” “A
fat? Bitch?
”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Flan?” Adam called behind me, and still looking at Douglas I stood up and backed up the stairs into his arms. He held me warm and tight and we backed into the house while Douglas and Lily looked at each other and
V looked at the croquet ball like a gypsy fortune-teller. He shut the door.
Amazingly the hallway was empty. Adam’s face was flushed and smiling, beautiful. His tie was askew, his teeth dazzling. I felt breathless, still revved up from anger and angst and gin, and my heart beat faster and faster like it does in love songs.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, and gently took my hand. The music didn’t seem so loud; it was like we were together in a magic phone booth, impenetrable and alone. Like wires were connecting us to an enormous universal network, like we were ringing.
“Hey,” another call came in. Gabriel and Kate. Gabriel leaned in and actually
licked
my neck; I reached up and took the chef’s hat off his head to at least erase
some
of the ridiculousness. “I’ve been looking for you,” he murmured into me. Kate glared at Adam, then hooked her arm into mine as Gabriel kissed me again.
“More punch?” Gabriel said.
“Please,” I said. “When did you get here, Kate?”
“I’ve
been
here,” she said. “Where have
you
been?” She was looking at Adam like a ferret.
“Outside,” I said. “Helping V find her croquet set and watching Nancy Butler throw up.”
There was nothing like the thought of Nancy Butler vomiting, I guess, to break the ice. Everybody laughed.
“I’m going to go dance,” Adam said, looking at me and–I wrote it so I’m typing it–getting me hot.
“I need some air,” Kate said, and slid open the door. Douglas and Lily were screaming at each other. V walked in with her hands to her ears.
“Don’t go out there,” she said to Kate. “Come into the kitchen and help me clean up.” Her dress dripped down
her like melted wax. Gabriel rubbed up against me. “I can’t find the rest of the croquet set, but fuck it.”
Kate laughed louder than she wanted to, looking hurriedly at Adam out of the corner of her eye so he’d be sure and see what a great time she was having. “I think that will be easier tomorrow, when it’s light outside,” she said, and V nodded wisely.
“Also,” V said brightly, “I’m missing an earring.” I blinked and Kate was touching her bare lobe.
Kate
had said it.
Adam touched my shoulder and when I looked at him he was going the other way, down the hallway toward the music.
Gabriel, me and whoever else was there looked at one another. “More punch,” we said in unison, and straggled down the hall. The kitchen looked even worse this time around. The ceiling rack was hanging lower, more precariously, and somebody had tipped or thrown some of the pots off the counter onto the floor. Jennifer Rose Milton was sitting on the floor clutching an enormous bottle of vodka, nearly empty, crying hollow and hit- ting the bottle with a tiny clenched fist. Something about it looked ritualistic, like some corny Navajo ceremony in a voodoo movie.
I raised my empty punch glass to her and she stuck her tongue out, then cried harder.
“Jesus, Jenn,” Gabriel said, hurrying to her and trying to tug her up by one floppy arm. People were sitting on the floor crying and it wasn’t even nine yet.
“I’m not getting up from this floor,” Jennifer Rose Milton said, “until he says he’s sorry.”
“Sorry,” Gabriel said.
“Not
you
,” she said. “
Frank
. I’m not getting up until Frank says he’s sorry.”
“My parents will come home in a couple of days,” V said seriously, measuring out punch. “You have to leave by then.”
I laughed, then Gabriel did. Kate bit her lip and turned to me. “What?” she said.
I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know,” I said.
She blinked, staggered, held onto the table. V handed her a glass of punch and she sipped it, then grinned at me, with a drop of punch hanging on the end of her nose like a tiny red pearl. The moment was over, whatever it was. Then there was punch under
my
nose, and I grabbed it and drank.
Even stronger, now. It was like being bitten by a scarlet scorpi- on. Static energy grabbed my eyes and pulled my whole face in- side out. It was so strong I squinted. The lights got turned
up
, more neon and white than ever. The music got weird in my ears for a second, bending like sirens do when cops drive by: first higher than normal; then, briefly, normal; then slowly sinking low. The world felt bright pink–I stretched my arms out wide and watched them slowly follow my instructions like reluctant Cub Scouts. What was I thinking? Where was I going? Then the liquor hit my stomach and I felt everything the scorpion had to offer: sting, spindly legs, poison, death. Outside lightning struck. I closed my eyes and with perfect clarity saw a parade of everyday objects: a spoon, a hamburger, a disembodied hand and Natasha’s smirking face.
“Are you OK?” Gabriel asked me. I opened my eyes and saw his kind face, haloed by all the plaster dust and the broken rack, swinging slightly.
“Hello,” I said, and he smiled. “Are you OK?” he asked again.
“This punch is really strong,” I said.
“Adam’s a dick,” Kate muttered. “What are all these baguettes doing here?”
“It’s not even nine yet,” I said. “You know who I haven’t seen?” “Trick-or-Treaters?” V said. “I’m surprised too. I mean, this party must be loud, but it can’t be scaring
everybody
off. I bought
a whole bowl of miniature Big Bars to give them.”
“Miniature Big Bars?” Kate asked, and started to laugh. Too bad she’d just sipped; she coughed and spat punch on top of a stack of dirty steel bowls. The spat-up punch glimmered briefly, then just dripped and ran.
“Who haven’t you seen?” Jenn asked. I wouldn’t have thought she could follow along.
“Natasha,” I said.
“You
are
Natasha,” Jenn said dismissively. She took a sip from the vodka bottle and wiped her mouth on her hand, lipsticking the back of her hand.
“Pay no attention to her,” Kate said. “She’s drunk.” I thought she was talking to me but when I turned to her she was facing Jennifer Rose Milton. Somehow V was sprawled on the ground and somehow I was sprawled next to her and somehow we were alone except for Jenn who was still hitting the bottle, in more ways than one.
V was out of punch and sipping rum from the bottle, coughing it up slightly each time she swallowed. I was doing the same thing. If we sat up we could swallow without coughing, but we couldn’t sit up, so that was that. “If that rack falls,” she giggled, “I am in
so
much trouble.”
“You’re already in so much trouble,” I said, swigging. “Look at all those pots, V .” Jenn started to cry again.
“But that rack is the straw that will break the camel’s back,” V said. “I should really make another batch of punch.”
“But I just made the kids lunch and I’m
so damn tired
,” I said, from nowhere. What was I talking about? “We are never going to get this mess cleaned up tomorrow, V .”
“We might,” she said, holding up an arm so she could read her watch. “It’s not even nine-thirty yet.”
Suddenly Adam was towering over us like a giant flamingo. “What are you guys up to?” he said.
“I can see right up your nose,” V said confidently. Jenn giggled but kept crying.
“We’re looking at the constellations,” I said, inspired. “Come sit with us.”
“Yeah, what do you think that looks like?” V said, pointing to the swinging rack.
“Move over,” Adam said. He was really lying down next to me. My whole body buzzed like a microwave, except that mi- crowaves don’t buzz and my body doesn’t plug in and make baked potatoes in ten minutes. What was I talking about?
“I would say that looks like a disaster,” Adam said.
V giggled and sat up. “Come on, Jenn,” she said. “Let’s go try on my mommy’s makeup.”
“I’m not moving,” Jennifer Rose Milton said firmly.
“I think we should leave Kate and Adam alone,” V said, trying to grab Jenn’s arms.
“I’m not moving.”
“
Get the hell out of here
,” Adam said tersely. Somehow we were lying down in a doorway, our heads on stained carpet and our legs on sticky floor. Somehow we were alone. Somehow the music was still loud and still that band, whatever-the-hell-it’s called; the beat was making
the rack swing like a pendulum. Somehow Adam and I were talking about something: theater, I think. The line between audi- ence and actor. I felt something warm on my neck, thrilling me. I kept talking about whether Halloween was a form of theater, if parties were a form of theater, if Adam kissing me meant I should get up and leave but it felt so nice, kissing me over and over on the same spot on my neck. It burned delicious like being branded, but as he ran his hand down my dress it turned out I wasn’t a cow at all. That’s what turned me on, as much as him kissing me: feeling my own body, thin and gorgeous against him like a celebrity.
Thin
, even. It was probably Natasha’s dress that made me feel this way, but so many people thought I was Natasha it didn’t matter. My body was thin against him as his hand moved on my skin under the dress, my own ready body. I couldn’t stand it and opened my eyes; the rack was swinging above us like a grandfather clock and one warm finger curled inside me. I tasted my own rum-punch breath as I gasped out loud. He took my hand gently like we were walking on the beach in a billboard but led it to his pants, his own straining skin. His hand on my hand on him, rubbing, and my own dress lifting up along my hips. His damp finger excited me, then went deeper and I felt him moan against that same spot on my neck. My head was on the white carpet, probably ruined forever–Satan was going to kill V –but when my hips heaved, I felt under them, with the dress pulled up, the cold truth of expensive linoleum. Which is when Steve Nervo walked in and Adam pulled his finger out of me so quickly I felt a nail, sharp like a splinter. I exhaled; Adam sighed and shivered. I tugged my dress down and Adam and I pretended that we were just lying on the floor together in a doorway, looking at constellations or something.
“Hey,” Adam said weakly in a hoarse voice. I held my hand up to that same spot on my neck to cover it. Where was Douglas when I really needed him?
Steve Nervo was nodding sagely, the lights’s reflection on his black leather jacket wavering as the rack swung above his head like a circling vulture. He was drunk, I realized suddenly, so was I.