Vintage: A Ghost Story (13 page)

Liz answered the door with an awkward smile. For once she looked sedate, no wild colors in her hair, on her face, or in her clothes. She wore a simple dress, ivory with black Chinese script running from the left shoulder to her leg. Her “pagoda outfit” I think she had once called it. She stepped outside, blocking my way into the house.

“Before we go in, let me say two things. One, I’m sorry to have to do this to you, and two, thanks for being a great friend.” Then she took my hand and pulled me in. I had no time to wonder at anything she said.

“Here he is,” she called out playfully and tugged me into the living room.
I found myself facing a stylish pair of adults. Her folks? They smiled at me and instinctively I smiled back. “Uhhh… ” I began.
Liz wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug. Waves of “wrong” swept through me. “Isn’t he cute?” she cooed. I didn’t think girls still cooed.
Her mother, dressed all designerish, stood up. “Oh yes.” She sized me up and down like something at the butcher’s. My blush deepened—if I had been lucky, I might have passed out from the blood rushing to my head.
Liz’s father stepped over and held out his hand. He wore a sweater and sport jacket that probably cost as much as my favorites at Malvern’s. “Ashby,” he said, “we’ve heard a lot about you.”
Ashby?
Liz kissed my ear and at the same time whispered there, “Play along please.”
I took her father’s hand. “Thanks. I can only imagine what she’s told you.”
“Well, she did say you were taller.” He laughed suddenly and I realized it was a joke. “Heh.” My forced smile ached.
“I’m going to take Ashby into the kitchen for something to drink.” She pulled me through the swinging door.
“What have you done to me?” I hissed once we were hidden away from her parents. “Ashby?”
She put her finger over my lips, which made me pull back at the intimate touch. “Shhh, I had to do this. They think I’m dating.”
“Breaking news, but you are.”
“Don’t be such a bitch.” She glanced back in the direction of the living room, but we were safe behind the swinging door. “They can’t find out about her. Look what happened to you.”
Oh, she was evil, playing the trump card she knew I could not refuse. “Okay, okay, I’ll play. But only for a little while. And I still need the Ouija.”
She opened the fridge and pulled out a fat glass pitcher filled with red liquid and tranquil, floating orange slices. I prayed for sangria but after a sip my tongue cringed at the overripe sweetness. Just fruit punch.
“And Ashby’s a cute name for a boy. It’s very pretty.”
“Very glam.” Frustrated that my plans might have to be put off for an other night, I took another sip. Maybe I’d go into a diabetic coma and could avoid the ruse.
No such luck, though. I followed Liz back out.
Hours later and we were having after-dinner drinks— alcohol for her parents, tame stuff for Liz and me—at this coffeehouse/bar, Cosi, in Philadelphia. Actually, I found out there’s a chain of them around the city and I’m sure elsewhere. Not on par with DeBevec’s, but the curved lines in the furnishings and funky, decorated walls, plus a pretentious menu, had the place growing on me with each passing moment.
Liz sat uncomfortably snug against me on a padded bench. Her perfume had been rather nice at the start but by dessert time I had been overexposed. Across the tiny table, her folks relaxed in overstuffed chairs.
I sipped my raspberry yogurt shake—an impulse choice— and enviously eyed Mr. Liz’s mocha vodka martini garnished by a chocolate-covered espresso bean for a touch of whimsy. “Thanks for dinner. You shouldn’t have.”
As much as I enjoyed eating at a ritzy restaurant where presentation on the plate becomes as important as the taste of the food, it had been an awkward meal. Awkward, hell, it had been torture, fielding questions, always feeling one step slower than when Liz answered them. Plus I felt betrayed by the eyes of a cute blond waiter who made me regret holding Liz’s hand so often.
I glanced back to the menu of drinks and fare on the far wall above the counter, alert to all the concoctions made with mint. My mind drifted back to the wonderful taste of Mike’s mouth back in the shop.
“Daddy, Ashby and I want to stay a while in the city.” Though she had finished off her hot chocolate fifteen minutes ago, she still held the mug in both hands.
Her father tilted back his martini, finishing off the muddy drink. He left the garnish to sit, lonesome, at the bottom of the glass. I heard him say something but I fixated on the bean. I wondered if, while still damp, the taste would be some wondrous mixture of bitter coffee, chocolate, and alcohol or just cloying on the tongue. Liz squeezed my arm, bringing my attention back to the conversation.
Mrs. Liz patted her husband’s knee, a gesture that seemed more quaint than affectionate. “Charles, let them. They can take a cab back.”
“Alright then.” He opened his wallet and handed her some folded bills. “Here’s some spending money.”
“Thanks.” She cooed some more. I glanced back at the bean. Did the servers ever pop the unwanted beans into their mouth in private after taking away the glasses?
We waved goodbye to her folks and started walking down the block. Once they were out of sight, I dropped her hand. “Great. What an evening.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension under my skin like a new bone. “Please tell me that I made a good beard.”
“You were the perfect date.” Liz checked her watch. “Weird thing is, I think they like you.”
“Great. I missed my calling as a straight man. So now what?”
“Well, tomorrow they’ll be off, to Atlantic City or New York or some thing, leaving me alone again.” She brought her hands together in mock prayer and gazed impiously downward at the pavement. “You can come by then and get the board.”
“So tonight—”
“Tonight, I’m going to Sisters. Fuck Maggie.” She reached into the small purse that dangled from her shoulder on a black link chain and pulled out a tiny tube. She snapped it in her fingers and it glowed a merry red. She popped it into her mouth. “You wanna come along, or do you need cash to get back to Jersey?”
I’ll admit, having a conversation with someone whose mouth glows, even if it’s a small glow that just highlighted the teeth and tongue, was damn cool. Also, I honestly I worried that Josh would be waiting for me at home. This would be safer for a while. “I’m game.” I felt sorry, though, for Maggie. I almost asked Liz what her girlfriend had done to deserve being treated like shit, but I knew better than to provoke her.
“Do you have a spare one of those?” While fascinated by the glow, I did remember I should at least call my aunt. Letting her know I’d be out late might keep away another lecture. “You have a cell phone, right?”
She smirked. “All spoiled girls do.” She went into the purse again and brought out a slender gunmetal gray phone so compact and ugly looking, it surprised me that it belonged to her. “And you’re in luck, if you don’t mind blue.” She lifted another light tube.
I grinned, all excited, and opened my mouth. She giggled, the first honest bout from her the whole evening, and snapped it before popping it onto my tongue. “There. Are we friends now?”
“Mmmm hmmm.” I nodded, feeling the strange sensation of the little plastic tube rolling around my mouth. A bland, rather disappointing taste, so I closed my eyes to better imagine how a blue glow should taste. At the very least, I knew my mouth looked odd.
She pressed the phone into my hand. “C’mon.”
As I dialed, I walked behind her. She led us through the streets of Center City. The night air was pleasant, with a touch of warmth from summer months long past, and others were out roaming, mostly in pairs and groups.
The answering machine picked up. While I hated talking to a machine, good judgment finally won over with the beep. I dashed off a few slightly garbled words letting my aunt know I was alive and well in Philadelphia. Hopefully, talking with the glow stick in my mouth didn’t make me sound drunk.
Liz had stopped at the corner of 13th and Locust Street. Her body language read relaxed with a capital R. “So, is it safe for you to play?”
I nodded. I told myself that I’d make it home by curfew. Maybe.
“Neat,” was all she said to that.
People our age walked the street, dressed either trendy gay or preppy gay. I was a wholly different species that seemed to have no natural place in the local environment. Goth gay. When one or two of the boys looked at me, I became uncomfortable, nervous, and curious all at once. What did they think of me? I worried that I seemed so dissimilar that they’d reject me. Maybe hate me. I clung to Liz’s side.
We turned down a dreary-looking side street and headed toward the double doors beneath an awning. A unique pair guarded the entrance: a thick-set woman wearing a cardigan sweater and slacks who had foolishly opted to make her face look rounder than necessary with a short haircut and large spectacles; next to her stood a girl a couple years older than Liz, maybe, but with less taste in clothing. I felt sorry for her, wearing her jean overalls, tan boots, and long braids. Almost a construction-worker wannabe chatting up a professor.
The chalkboard sign beside the doorway read
Schoolgirl Nite, No ID = No Drinks, $10 Cover
in thickly drawn rainbow letters. The two smiled at us as the older woman held open the door. Liz gave her a peppy “thanks.”
While I stood shocked at the sheer number of laughing, drinking, smoking women wrapped around the bar, Liz paid for our entry. I meekly lifted up my hand for the stamp, then laughed at what I saw garnishing my wrist. A pink Venus symbol.
Liz led me through Sisters. Most of the women were much older than us, in their mid-thirties and forties. Every one of them seemed to have either a cigarette or a drink in their hands, sometimes both, sometimes taking one from the woman beside them.
Even the stairs leading up to the next floor were crowded, though the women were getting younger and younger as we climbed. The walls and steps reverberated with the beat above. The second level held the dance floor and another, smaller bar. Everywhere lights flashed. An old strobe machine threw out a flare from the ceiling with far less regularity than it had in its youth. The mirrored walls reflected all the gyrating bodies, the swinging hair and limbs. Many of the girls smiled and leered and laughed at one another with mouths that held tiny neon glows in every color imaginable.
Liz grabbed my arm and pulled me along as she threaded her way through the crowd until we were well into the midst of the throng. “Don’t dance all mopey for once.” Liz yelled at me. I could barely hear her over the music. She already swayed to one side and then the other, her eyes closed, mouth slightly open.
I went and bought the most expensive Coke ever at the bar. When I looked back for Liz, her spot on the dance floor had been taken by other girls. A moment’s panic filled me; where was my guide that night? Had I been left stranded in the middle of a girl-on-girl storm? I pushed my way through the mass to reach the bar and found it practically deserted. Everyone was dancing or at the fringes of the room talking, laughing, kissing, petting.
The ice in my soda had melted down to slivers when Liz tapped me on the back. She was all cheery and held up a little bit of folded paper. “I have more to share tonight.” Already drunk and stumbling, she leaned close to me. The blue stains at the corners of her mouth came from the shots they offered in tiny test tubes on the club floor.
She carefully unfolded the paper, which turned out to be cut from some comic strip. Two little white pills rested near a depiction of a cartoon cat fishing.
“Sweet E, sweetie, sweet E.” She giggled at her silly wordplay and almost dropped what I gathered was Ecstasy. That only made her laugh more.
I picked up one of the pills. I had never taken a hit of E before. I rolled it lightly between my fingers. How would the chemicals locked inside affect me? Were goths ever allowed to be euphoric?
“Go on, hon.” Liz stole my drink and tipped the glass back to wash the tablet down.
I closed my eyes and dropped it onto my tongue, next to the glow stick. Liz handed my cup back to me, but when I opened my eyes I saw it was actually a new one, filled not with soda but cranberry juice and probably more. I took a sip and let the pill slip down my throat.
“Finish that and let’s dance some more.”
I took a few healthy swallows. On the last one, Liz tipped the bottom up, forcing me to drink the rest down all at once. She giggled and I copied her, feeling less out of place, and, dare I admit, relaxed. I drifted back onto the dance floor with her.
Someone pulled at my belt loop. I turned to find a bleachedblonde girl grinning at me. She wore a blue vest made of satin with a matching bow tie. She hooked her fingers in my jeans and pulled me tight against her. I think she realized how shocked, almost scared I was, because her smile turned gentle. “I like your blue,” she said into my ear, loud enough for me to hear above the dance beat. “Let me borrow it.”
She put her lips against mine and used her tongue to pry open my mouth. I fought the odd intrusion for a moment, and then gave in. Surrounded by wildness, my mind wandering, I let myself be drawn into the fold. Her tongue in my mouth seeking the glow tube seemed exciting and perverse at the same time. Somewhere in my mind whispered a voice, telling me I was deep kissing a girl and that it was definitely wrong. Was it fair I wasn’t with Mike? But it was a tiny voice, barely heard over the music, barely noticed because I focused on the wickedly fun task of pushing the glow stick in her mouth and then pulling it back to mine again and again. I realized I was grinning while we kissed. But she played the game better than me and gained her prize. The kiss lingered a moment longer then, maybe as an expression of the intoxicated joy she wanted to share with me. Maybe. Then the girl who liked blue let go of me, winked, and flaunted her new cerulean smile. I watched her go, wondering if this was her fix, if on some other night, she prowled for other colors.
After that, I could only remember a few things. Liz waylaid the girl who walked through the club floor bearing a rack of test tube shots and buying a handful for each of us. She danced with several girls, laughing, hugging them in the midst of swirling figures. Liz smirked at me with blue-stained lips, her breath smelling like Curacao. The Blue Girl came back and held Liz’s face in her hands and tried to lick the color from her mouth.
I reached terminal light-headedness and left the dance floor, went over to the mirrored walls and leaned back, counting to ten and catching a breath. They both found me so many minutes later. Liz leaned her head against the Blue Girl and nibbled on her chain of azure beads.
“We’re going back to my place.” Blue Girl reached out to lay cool fingers on my neck. They tickled me. “Why don’t you come along?”
The offer tempted me, mostly because I was curious with the need to see if the girl changed her apartment’s decor with every new color fad. Would I sink into a bed with pillows the color of berries and beach glass and raw co balt? My mind loitered there a while before I realized who I’d be sharing that bed with. That registered as wrong, though through the haze of mod ern pharmaceuticals I wasn’t utterly sure why.