by Jeff Vrolyks
Chapter Eight
So ya
Thought ya
Might like to go to the show.
To feel the warm thrill of confusion
That space cadet glow.
Tell me is something eluding you sunshine?
Is this not what you expected to see?
If you want to find out what’s behind these cold eyes
You’ll just have to claw your way through the disguise.
In the Flesh?—Pink Floyd
I always thought it would be cool to write a book, and I do love to write, but never imagined it would be like this. I’m not even sure this is going to be a novel, but Jay Davis thinks it will. You’ll have to understand that this is the first book I’ve written—or part of a book. I hope Jay finds a good editor. Grammar has never been my strong suit. Nor has spelling. But I’m fairly intelligent and my vocabulary isn’t too shabby. If you agree to look past these faults, then these following pages are for you, not to enjoy but to learn my side of things. Oh, that Pink Floyd song I prefaced the book with, let me explain that. That song came on the radio the other day and the lyrics gave me the chills. It could have been written by one of the twenty-three.
My name is Brittney Hayes. I turn twenty-one this November. I’m a junior at the University of Redlands. I will be a dentist someday, God willing. If I can persevere through several more years of school, grad school and all that. I was born in Norway. My dad is an American, was in Norway for some convention on Global Climate Change, which he believes in—I do not. Maybe there is some global climate change going on, but I hardly believe humans are responsible for it. Isn’t that the height of hubris to think the human race has power enough to affect the climate of earth? The earth has been around for a billion years, I think it can survive whatever we throw at it. Sorry, I believe I got off topic. This is a hot-issue debate topic between my father and I, that’s all. If he didn’t preach to me all the time I wouldn’t feel it necessary to defend my stance so rigorously. The fact of the matter is if he disbelieved in Global Warming, I’d probably believe in it and argue with him still. Global climate change awareness was a new thing back then, and there were symposiums addressing the topic. It was at one such symposium that my dad had flown halfway around the world to attend, and there he met my mom Greta. She was a staff member at the hotel where the symposium was held. She spoke very little English, but spoke enough to get to know my dad better. He was in Norway for five days, and by the end of that five days my mom was pregnant. If Global Warming was as effective as my dad’s sperm, I believe we’d all be cooked to death by now. My mom gave birth to me, and shortly after moved to the U.S., having accepted my dad’s proposal of marriage.
We lived in Los Angeles. My dad was rarely around, and Mom caught him cheating a few times. He can be an ass, my dad. But my mom is devoted to him, forgives him time and time again. My mom now works at the hotel Bonaventure, a managerial job. Between her income and my dad’s, they do very well. They both drive cars built in Germany that had price tags of six-figures. When I graduated high school my dad wanted me to go to USC, his alma matter. I chose U of R, and that didn’t sit well with him. Mom was just happy I was continuing my education. He grudgingly agreed to pay my tuition and boarding. He said if I had gone to USC he’d have given me a very comfortable allowance on top of that. But since I’m obstinate and ignore what my dad wants and I have no clue what’s best for me (obviously his words, not mine), he only gives me twenty dollars a week allowance. Twenty, that isn’t a typo. My meal card and books and car insurance and all that is covered, so I don’t need much money. But twenty bucks? I tried holding a job through my freshman year but it didn’t work out so well. I was getting C’s, and I’m an A student. So I quit and made do with my twenty bucks a week.
I don’t get to enjoy things like restaurant food, don’t get to see new movies unless a guy takes me out on a date. Truth be told, I have accepted dates from guys just so I could get a break from mess-hall food and see a movie not on TV. My mom takes me clothes shopping once a year, so I’m grateful for that. And she usually slips me some money behind my dad’s back. That money is always set aside for the gas pump.
So here’s how my destiny came to be. One evening I was in my dorm room watching old re-runs of Will and Grace when my roommate Claire came in with a couple guys. One was her boyfriend Max, the other I didn’t know. I was introduced to Jonathan, and had a few beers with the three. They were warm beers, but I didn’t complain. From the beginning I knew Jonathan liked me. I don’t say that with an air of conceit—I don’t think I’m the hottest muffin in the tray—but it was what it was. He stared at me unremittingly and was nervous in his speech. He isn’t a bad looking guy, either. But the reason why I agreed to go out on a date with him had nothing to do with how he looked. During commercial breaks of Will and Grace they had been airing the same Outback steakhouse commercial time and time again, and that steak looked divine. It was a prime rib. I was hungry for one. When Jonathan nervously asked if I’d like to see a movie with him that Saturday night, I said yes under the condition that he takes me to Outback first. I got my steak dinner, and what’s more is I got to know Jonathan, and kind of liked him. Liked him as in I imagined him on top of me in bed—sorry Mom, if you’re reading this. At twenty I’m still a virgin, if you can believe that, and I’m not saying this in case my mom is indeed reading this; it’s the simple truth. I’ve gone to third base with two boys, but the third-base coach hasn’t yet waved anyone in to home plate. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize about it, and frequently.
At the end of our first date, having just watched X-Men First Class—the Oppenheimer Theater downtown plays old movies for three bucks a ticket—I let that rascal get to second base with me. In return I was allowed to put my hand down his pants. As if this were a favor to me and not him, right? I marvel at how they feel, so soft and curious, and wonder to how they’d feel in places not my hand. After we did that, he was eager to set another date with me, and I was pretty happy to have gotten a nice meal in me, and I won’t deny I had a good time with him. He’s fun to look at, even if he’s not the deepest guy, a little drab to shoot the breeze with. He’s nice and sweet and generous, so that earned him a second date. I considered myself fortunate to be the object of his affection.
Our second date was at Bullwinkle’s, an arcade and pizza place, with bumper boats and games. It was a lot of fun. He won me a stuffed bear which I didn’t care for, but cared for the fervor in which he put in winning it. Over pizza he confided in me that he was a virgin. I couldn’t believe it! I admitted to being one also. He said he wasn’t one by choice. He was shy and hadn’t gone on many dates. Here we found common ground, and formed a kind of bond. I thought there was a good chance that we might be each other’s first, and he’d become my boyfriend. I also didn’t think I’d be marrying him, but in college one’s vision of the future extends to about the weekend. Not Mr. Right but Mr. Right Now. That night he invited me to a party on the following Friday. I accepted.
That Friday we went to this much-anticipated party, a rager at a Frat house. There were kegs and hundreds of people. There was a gazebo in the back yard and after we consumed a few beers we staggered to it and enjoyed a little privacy, got to work exploring the other’s body. We were groping and kissing, really going to town, when another couple unaware of us came upon the gazebo.
“Oh, sorry guys,” the silhouette of a kid said.
“It’s okay,” Jonathan said.
“Is that you, Jonathan?” The guy asked.
“Yeah. Paul? Is that you?”
“Yep. How’s it going, bro?”
I lowered my sweater that had been hiked up a little during the festivities, smoothed out my skirt, composed my fluttered self.
“Good. Some party, huh?”
“Yep,” Paul said. “This is Lacie. Lacie, Jonathan.”
She said hi, and my date introduced me to them.
“Hey, do you know Taylor?” Paul aske
d Jonathan. “Taylor Labaucher?”
“I’ve met him once. Why?”
“He’s having a masquerade party on Sunday, Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh yeah? Cool. You going?”
“Yeah, Lacie and I are going. You should come. You too, Brittney.”
Jonathan looked at me: I smiled and shrugged gamely.
“All right, man,” Jonathan said. “Where’s it at?”
“The mountains. Lake Arrowhead.”
“That far, huh? Will suck driving an hour home with a buzz.”
“Yeah, but you can get a room at Lake Arrowhead Inn. Kind of pricey, but I hear they’re nice.”
“You live up there, don’t you?”
“Yeah, just a couple miles away from Taylor’s. I’d offer to let you stay but it’s a small place. Besides, Lacie and I will want a little privacy,” he said with a wink.
“You’re such a perv,” Lacie said and giggled.
I smiled at them.
“Are you sure Taylor will be okay with us coming?” Jonathan asked Paul.
“Sure. I’ll let him know tonight. He’s met you, it will be cool. The only thing is you have to dress up. Tux for you, formal dress for her. And you need masks.”
“I have a tux. Sweet, that sounds cool. You down, Brittney?”
“Sure. Sounds fun. Can we get a room at the hotel? I’d rather not drink and drive in the mountains. And I can’t afford to pitch in, I’m poor white trash.”
The three laughed at me. I had no shame in my economy. I wasn’t going to pretend to have money when I didn’t.
“Money’s a little tight for me, too, but I think I can swing it. All right, Paul, count me in. Get me directions and a time, we’ll be there.”
“Right on. I’ll let you two get back to having fun.” Paul directed at me: “Make sure he wears a condom. That dude has all kinds of S.T.D.’s.” He and his date laughed. I laughed too; Jonathan flipped him off.
“That would be pretty impressive if a virgin had S.T.D.’s,” I said.
Jonathan shot daggers at me with his eyes. Oops.
“No way, you’re a virgin?” Paul marveled.
“Yeah.” Jonathan sighed.
“Check back with him tomorrow,” I said. “You might find that he’s become a man.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened.
“Yeah!” Paul cheered. “Atta boy. You two have fun. Be safe. Later.”
The two walked off.
“Thanks,” Jonathan said to me.
“You’re welcome.”
“Where did you want to have sex at?”
“In my vagina,” I said, then laughed. He laughed too. “I’m kidding. I can’t believe you asked me that. I’m not really letting you have sex with me tonight. I was helping you out with your friend. You were right to thank me.”
“I see,” he said glumly.
“Oh cheer up. Just because you aren’t getting in my pants tonight doesn’t mean you never will. Lake Arrowhead Inn sounds kind of nice. Maybe not a bad place for a couple of dumb kids to lose their virginity, huh?”
“Not at all,” he said enthusiastically. “Cool.”
The next day I visited my girlfriend Jenna. She was a student of U of R as well, had an apartment all to herself. I was jealous. She was about my size, a little more gifted in the breast department, but close enough that when I asked if she still owned a prom dress, I figured on being able to fit inside it. She did have the dress, only it was in her bedroom at her parent’s house, some twenty minutes away. I told her why I needed it, and said if she got it for me, I’d write a couple papers for her. Not that I was any smarter than Jenna, but I’d get her a couple B’s (maybe an A or two) and she wouldn’t have to earn them. She agreed to it. She admitted that she was going there anyway to have dinner with her parents. I then asked if she knew of a place that sells masquerade masks. She didn’t but thought it might be fun to make one. She is artsy like that. She’d help me out, go shopping with me at Michaels on Sunday (Valentine’s Day morning) to help me pick out the materials for it. She asked what I wanted to be. I didn’t care.
“How about a cat? We could get black velvet for the fur, some thick fishing line for whiskers.”
“That would be cool. All right. Thanks, Jenna, you’re a lifesaver.”
“This party sounds fun. Maybe I could come?”
“It’s invite only, I think. But I’ll ask Jonathan. He’s only met the guy throwing the party once, a guy named Taylor Labaucher. Do you know him?”
“No. Oh well.”
“Don’t forget the dress,” I said with a grin. “Oh, and what size shoe do you wear? Is that an eight?”
She smirked. “Yes. Is there anything else of mine you’d like to have?”
“How about your ATM card and pin number?” I simpered at her.
“You silly thing.”
The stars were aligned, it seemed. Her dress fit me like a glove. Even though my boobs are a B-cup (tight in a B-cup, thank you), and she’s a C-cup (not far from a D), she had bought the dress her junior year in high school, when her body closer resembled mine. I tried it on in front of her. She said since she couldn’t fit into it anymore I might as well keep it. I was thrilled. When you’re poor you can appreciate gifts like this. The red shoes, on the other hand, which matched the dress perfectly, did still fit her feet and those weren’t a gift but a loaner. I even went as far as borrowing her silver necklace and diamond earrings. Yes, folks, I was in debt to my friend for all this accommodation. I’d be writing a few papers for her, at least. But I think she was doing it because she enjoyed it, and we were pretty good friends, had been since our junior year in high school. I was pretty excited that we decided to enroll at the same university.
She thought I looked too good in her dress to go to a masquerade party without my hair being done up just right. My hair is the same ash blonde as my Norwegian mother’s. Very thick hair. When I get a trim most stylists make comments about it, usually something like “I’d kill for this hair.” I’m not a huge fan of being blonde. I’d rather be brunette. I just like the way it looks, it has nothing to do with the stigma that is being a dumb blonde. But I do enjoy how thick it is.
Jenna had a friend who styled hair. Did I mention the stars aligned that Valentine’s Day? She’d arrange for her friend Michelle to meet me there at Jenna’s at four PM, to do my hair. I asked if she’d dye my hair brunette. Jenna said I was a fool, that she wouldn’t allow me to change my hair color.
It only took an hour for us to make the mask. It was mostly her making it. She has a talent for that kind of thing. It was a mask that I could see being sold at a high-end mask shop, if there were such things. It was cardboard, but she starched it to make it firm after she bent it to her design, and then adhered black velvet to it. She paper-mached a nose and put velvet on that, too. My words don’t do it justice; it was great.
Jonathan knocked on my dorm room door at six P.M. We both went slack-jawed at the other’s sight. Him in a tux and lion mask, me in my get-up—Meow. After compliments were paid both ways, we got a move on, overnight bags in hand. He drove the same car that I drove, a Honda Civic, only mine was ten years old and blue and his was only a couple years old and black. He said there has been a change in venues, that the party wasn’t going to be at Taylor’s after all, that it was going to be at Paul Klein’s, the guy I met at the party the other night. I was disappointed at first, but when he said it was just a few miles down the road I felt good about it. I wanted snow, a romantic atmosphere, and I’d get that in Lake Arrowhead.
We drove through Taco Bell on the way to our destination. I had my mask on during the first part of the drive, when it was just starting to become twilight. I liked it. Not just the way it looked, but the way the velvet felt against my skin. Sensual. On the freeway people were looking at me amusedly. We were driving beside an eighteen wheeler on Highway 30 and the truck driver looked down at me with a smile. I finger-waved at him. I couldn’t believe it when he gestured me to pull down my
bodice. I was agape, but then smiled. I’m a sport.
“Hey Jonathan, watch this.”
He looked over at me and said, “What’s up?”
I turned a little in my seat to better face the trucker (away from my date), pulled the cups of my dress down. The look on the driver’s face was priceless. I’m lucky he didn’t get in an accident and die. Or should I say he’s lucky. His eyes were off the road for a good while.
“Whoa, don’t do that!” Jonathan crowed.
“Why?” My boobs were still exposed. I felt comfortable knowing the trucker couldn’t see my face. I don’t know why that is. It’s not like he’d know me even without a mask.
“Because those are for me to see, not anyone else!”
“I don’t belong to you,” I said defiantly and took a hold of my breasts and squeezed them a little, slid my tongue across my upper lip provocatively. For a virgin I sure know how to have some fun, and can be quite inappropriate. Deliciously inappropriate.
“Still! Put them away, please. Please?”
“Fine,” I said and sighed. I shrugged at the truck driver who was still watching me acutely, lifted the cups over my dumb boobs. I decided to rile Jonathan further. “I’m going to pull my dress up for him.” I feigned it, brought the skirt up to mid-thigh, with no intention of actually doing it.
“Don’t you dare!”
I laughed, let go of my dress. “Geez, you’re so uptight. They’re just boobs, you know. Every other person on earth has tits.”
“You were going to show him your other parts.”
“No I wasn’t. I was teasing. But I bet that truck driver won’t soon forget Valentine’s Day of this year. Doesn’t that make you feel good, knowing we made someone’s day?”
“Not really.”
“Lighten up.”
“Well it kind of bothers me. You showed some stranger your boobs and I haven’t even seen them yet.”
“What?! You have too!”
“I have not! I’ve felt them, that’s different.”
“Well what you got was better. Be grateful.”
“I am. But still.”
“Would you like to see them now?” I propositioned, hands at the ready on my bodice.
He looked to the cars driving all around us. There was one even with us at his left. “No. That guy will see them.”
“Oh… my … God. You’d pass on an opportunity to see my boobs for the first time if it means some stranger will also see them? Really, Jonathan?”
He considered it momentarily, glanced at the car to his left once again. It was getting dark out, but not dark enough that people wouldn’t be able to see my offering.
“Yeah, let’s just wait till the hotel room.”
I smiled devilishly and took hold of either cup of my dress and pulled them down, but only slightly. It was nothing you wouldn’t see on broadcast television. But it was enough to elicit a gasp out of him, and he swerved a little before correcting his trajectory. I laughed and let go of my dress. “Geez, Jonathan. What a prude. You need to get laid or something.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he said and smiled.
“You think you’re getting in my pants tonight, don’t you?”
“You said.”
“A girl has the right to change her mind.”
“A girl who has no qualms with flashing her boobs to passing motorists shouldn’t be a girl who has qualms sleeping with a guy she’s been dating.”
“That’s probably the smartest argument I’ve heard you make.”
We both laughed.
“You sure are slutty for a virgin,” he said with his eyes on the road.
“Yeah, I’m a real slut,” I said mockingly. “I’ve kept it in my pants for twenty years. I just might keep in there for another twenty.”
He shook his head with a grin. “You’re fun, Brittney. I’m glad we got together.”
I took a deep breath through my nose, felt pretty good about things, exhaled as I looked out my window to the truck driver who was driving beside us. He perpetually glanced down at me. I think he was hoping for an encore. Pervert. I flipped him off, but I suppose my grin negated the meanness of the act. He gestured me to flash my tits again. I laughed. I rolled down my window, gestured him to do the same. He did.
“What the hell are you doing now?” Jonathan asked crossly.
Constraining my laughter I shouted at the truck driver, “Show me your wiener!”
He busted up. So did I. Even Jonathan loosened up a little and chuckled.
“Come on, dude!” I pursued. “I bet you have a tiny pecker! Prove me wrong!”
He shouted back at me, most of which was obscured by the wind of passage and a big engine at high RPM, but I think he said, “Pull over and I’ll do more than just show you it!”
I wasn’t laughing anymore. “Okay, you just got a little creepy! Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Truck Driver?”
He shrugged, a lewd grin boring down on me from his elevated seat.
I rolled up the window saying to Jonathan, “What a pervert. Remind me not to show truck drivers my rack anymore.”
“I told you not to do it.”
“Oh eat me,” I said and laughed.
“Man, what a mouth you have.”
“I didn’t curse.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I huffed. “That’s not meant literally. It’s a figure of speech. How much longer till we’re there?”
“We just left fifteen minutes ago!”
“I know but I’m bored. I should have gotten a second bean burrito, I’m still hungry.”
“I got something you can—”
“Oh fuck off,” I said and laughed all over again.
It was full dark when we reached the base of the mountain. The next twenty minutes were spent traversing severe winding roads at a steep incline. The temperature dropped from the fifties to the low thirties by the time we reached Lake Arrowhead. There were snow banks and trees flocked with white powder. It was pretty, even at night. The moon made the snow look a kind of smoke color, a bluish white. Jonathan turned the heat up, said we were almost there.
We turned off highway 18 onto a smaller road. Ten minutes later we parked before Lake Arrowhead Inn. We carried our bags to the lobby. I made him put his lion mask on so I wouldn’t feel weird wearing my cat mask. He whined that it was dumb for us to wear them just yet, but I didn’t care. I was planning on having all kinds of fun tonight, so he would do best to oblige me. I’m rarely the princess, but sometimes I am and when I am, you best accommodate me. I gave him a kiss immediately following my request for him to put the mask on, and that softened him up just enough.
“You look very handsome,” I said to him, and meant it. I scored a good looking boy in Jonathan, ladies and gentlemen.
We got our room key and went to our room. It smelled like Pine Sol inside. It was a large, nice, sterile room, a single king-sized bed. So this is where I’ll be losing my virginity, I thought. He probably thought the same thing.
We sat our bags down and took a seat at the edge of the bed. He leaned in to kiss me. After the kiss he said we don’t have to do this if I don’t want.
“Okay. Let’s not.”
“Really?” He sounded like a kid who finally didn’t get his way.
I smiled. He gathered I was kidding, and I was. He asked if I wanted to get it over with before the party.
“Get it over with? How romantic,” I said sarcastically. “No I don’t want to get it over with. I want to enjoy it, and I wouldn’t enjoy it just yet. We need to be in the mood, have a few drinks in us, and it needs to be the cap on a wonderful evening. Those are my conditions, like them or not.”
“All right, fair enough. We have about forty minutes to kill. Paul lives just a few miles from here. What should we do?”
“You can kiss me if you’d like. If you’d be so kind. You have welcoming lips.”
“I’d like.”
We passed the time kissing on the bed. It was sha
ping up to be a memorable evening.
On the short drive to Paul’s, I asked how many people would be there: twenty or so. He thought he’d only know a handful of people, tops. I wondered if they’d all be dressed as formally as us. He said they would. There would be plenty of free drinks, as well. I wanted him to keep an eye on me, not to let me get too drunk. I’d like to remember this special evening, this magical evening (if I may be corny in telling you so). I had been looking forward to losing my virginity for a long time, I just wasn’t in a hurry to do so. I certainly didn’t want to have any regrets over doing it.
We parked at the end of a cul-de-sac, a street with few houses. Large properties, large homes. Giant pines everywhere. The difference between neighborhoods up here and those down the mountain is that your typical street up here is a quarter mile or so from the succeeding street, sometimes farther. In other words, trick or treating for the kiddos would be hell up here.
There were only a couple cars there, so we were one of the first to arrive. The street was pitch black. There are no street lights on the mountain. A single flood light illumined the porch. Together we knocked on the door, with our cat and lion masks donned, then rang. A nice-looking woman answered the door with a welcoming expression. I thought we had the wrong house at first. She was in her late twenties, I judged—not a college student.
Paul then appeared behind her, apologized, said he told everyone to go around the house to the back. We were sorry. Jonathan said he forgot about that. The lady assured us she didn’t mind and let us in, said we had cute masks. I loved hearing it.
We went down the hatch to the bottom floor. It was only Paul and one other guy, who introduced himself as Phantom of the Opera. As his name implies, he wore a Phantom of the Opera half-mask. On the small table was a stack of red plastic Solo cups and a few fifths of gin and vodka, the good stuff, and some mixers such as tonic and Tom Collins. Beside the table was a large ice chest filled to capacity with dry hard ice. We put ice in cups and made a pair of gin and tonics. There was music playing, not loud yet, but it would slowly but surely get louder following each song that someone was fond of. Paul had a chair against the inner wall on one side of the chimney, and used a hammer and nail to tack up a banner that read Valentine’s Day Masquerade, 2013. It was written in fancy red cursive on glossy white paper. He nailed the other side up. There were festoons of red and pink hearts on all four walls. Phantom unzipped a large duffle bag and withdrew a strobe light, plugged it in. He tested it after shutting off the lights. The world was now in slow-motion. I danced a little, thrilled at the effects.
“You go, girl,” Phantom said impressively.
“Dude,” Jonathan said to Paul excitedly. Phantom killed the strobe and flipped the bedroom light switch back on. “You know what this nut did on the drive over?” He was thumb-pointing at me.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Really, Jonathan? Why are men so hung up on boobs?”
“Dude,” Jonathan said to Paul again, who was now smiling in anticipation of the story. “She flashed a truck driver. It was hot.”
“It was hot?” I said and cracked up. “It was hot, was it?” To Paul I said, “You should have seen it, Paul. He acted like my father, scorned me like I was a naughty girl. I was just trying to have a little fun and brat here got all bent out of shape.”
“I do wish I was there,” Paul said suggestively.
“As do I,” said Phantom and got to work mixing himself a drink.
“It was so funny, man,” Jonathan continued. “Brittney rolled down her window and told the dude he has a little prick and prove her wrong.”
Everyone was laughing except me. I folded my arms under my chest and rolled my eyes at Jonathan again. “It was so funny, was it? I don’t recall you laughing. Why must boys act one way when they’re alone with us, and another way around their buddies?”
“It’s just the way dudes are,” Paul Klein said. “I think it’s awesome you did that. You’re a fun girl.”
“Thanks.” I blushed.
“So…” Paul said, his gaze jumping from my date to me. “Did you guys put an end to Jonathan’s virginity the other night at the party?”
“It wasn’t just my virginity,” Jonathan said and thumbed me.
“You, too?” Phantom said, having closed the gap and now a part of a small circle of us center-room.
“Yep. Me too,” I said proudly. “No we haven’t. Yet. Tonight, after the party.”
“You lucky dog,” Phantom said to my date. It made me smile and feel wanted. “Wish I were you tonight.”
Instead of being offended, my date nodded and grinned a smug one. Boys…
“So guys,” Paul said off topic, “there are two rules tonight: you must keep your masks on, and you can’t ask anyone who they are. Your name has to be your mask. That’s Phantom, you’re Lion, and you’re Black Cat.”
“Where’s your mask?” I asked him.
It dawned on him that he wasn’t wearing his. He went to the dresser and took up a jester mask, secured it around his face. “I’m Jester.”
“Thanks for inviting us,” I said to Paul. “That was really nice of you. I’m having fun already.”
“My pleasure. I’ve been looking forward to this for months.”
“Only twenty people, huh?” I said. “That’s a small gathering.”
“Small equals intimate.”
“Anyone I know other than Brad and James?” Jonathan asked Paul Klein.
“Lacie will be here soon. But dude, what did I say about asking who people are? You might figure out who most of the people are, but you can’t be asking people that.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry, bro.”
“Not a problem. Just be respectful of people’s right to disguise.”
The back door opened, three people entered. One guy wore a showgirl type mask, the ones with colorful feathers and glitter and makeup. It was funny. Another guy wore an alien mask, a gray-man: big black eyes (from see-through material) in a fashion that reminded me of a praying mantis. The girl accompanying them wore a bird mask, little bits of yellow feathers glued to it, and there was a beak. Her dress was also yellow, only a lighter shade. Very pretty dress, strapless. I didn’t think she was the girl Paul was with the other night, Lacie. This girl was shorter I think.
The rules were laid out to them, and they got to pouring drinks. One of the guys had brought a bottle of Cognac, some high-dollar bottle, and removed a pair of shot glasses from his tux coat pocket. When a Korn song played on the stereo—it wasn’t the radio, as there were gaps of silence between songs; probably a mixed CD—Peacock turned the volume up. Alien gave him a thumbs-up gesture.
“What a beautiful dress,” Canary said to me.
“Thank you. I was just thinking the same thing about yours. Exceptionally pretty. Extravagant.”
“Indeed,” she said and giggled.
“Indubitably,” I said and smiled. “Delighted, I’m sure.”
“Yes, yes!” Paul said to us. I mean Jester. “That’s the spirit. It’s a formal night, feel free to act like it, talk like it.”
A minute later a boy and girl entered the back door. He was Mouse, a gray mouse, and she was Bunny. A white bunny. She was absolutely gorgeous. I wanted to be her. At least her body and jaw-line were gorgeous: I had to fill in the blanks where the mask was. This was turning out to be a party of exclusively pretty people. I felt honored to be a part of this class of people, a feeling amplified by our formal attire. Mouse and Bunny were hand in hand. Mouse produced a joint from his jacket pocket and brandished it.
“Who’s up for a little smoke?” he said loudly and proudly.
Most were, but not me. I’ll drink, sure, but that’s about it.
They sparked it up and passed it. More people arrived. Pirate and Raggedy Andy. Then Leopard. Then Frog. And the best one yet: Elephant. Elephant was awesome. He wouldn’t say who he was, as were the rules, but mentioned that he had an older sister who did makeup for movies. She used latex and other things
to contrive that little mask. Like all the masks, it exposed his mouth, but what made his mask so damned cool was the trunk. It was functional even! It was flaccid like a limp penis, had two holes at the end. I laughed so hard I nearly peed myself when he took the lit joint and stuffed the end in one of the nostril holes and took a hit off of it that way. He exhaled smoke through his mouth and trunk! If there was a mask competition, he’d have won hands down.
I was on my second cup of gin and tonic, feeling pretty loose, pretty buzzed, pretty uninhibited. I thanked Jonathan on several occasions for inviting me to the party, each more slurred than the last. Batman was getting pretty friendly with Catwoman. They were a couple, I’m sure. They were getting physical, kissing and lingering touches, and eventually groping. I couldn’t believe she was rubbing him through his pants, for everyone to witness! I honestly thought they were going to have sex on the bed before the night was over. It wouldn’t be long before they ventured into the bathroom for Batman to introduce Catwoman to Boy Wonder. Does Trojan make The Caped Crusader rubber?
It was getting crowded. The room was pretty big, far bigger than my shared dorm room, but it was looking small with all these people, and their fancy garb made them look somehow larger. But I liked it: crowded was cozy. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace that smelled as pleasant as it looked. And though I couldn’t see it, there was snow just ten feet from where I stood. Again, cozy. The music was loud now. Conversations were loud out of necessity. My feet were beginning to ache due to me standing in uncomfortable shoes for nearly an hour, so I sat on the bed. Ahhhh. Lion sat beside me and we began making out. Wet kisses, masks pressing against one another’s.
There was a sudden outburst of bad mojo, but it was short-lived. The sophisticated yet jovial atmosphere wouldn’t tolerate it. Zorro got chewed out by Paul Klein (excuse me, by Jester) when he sprinkled some powder from a tiny baggie on the table and began making lines. Cocaine or meth, I didn’t know which—cocaine, probably. He was forced to put it away and not do that again or he could just leave the party. I was glad. It was a classy party and drugs dumbed it down—although nobody had a problem with weed.
Without counting, there were around two-dozen people here now, and not a lot of room for potential late-arriving guests. I got a kick out of everyone’s masks. Some more than others. What a wonderful idea this masquerade party was. Someone had said they have them every Valentine’s Day, only they vary in who hosts them. I’d be hoping for an invite again next year.
I met eyes with a man seated in one of three chairs at the table. Frog. What captured my interest was that he wasn’t interacting with anyone, hadn’t been the few times I gandered at him. He should have masqueraded as a wolf, a lone wolf. He took a sip from his cup and looked away from me. Next time I’d see him he’d be standing in the corner of the room observing the party, seemingly detached from it.
Jester was standing with one foot on the hearth, swirling the contents of his red Solo cup, talking to Human. What else could I call him? Man? He wore a black tux, black shirt, black bow-tie, black hat, black gloves, and a black silk cape with a high collar. His mask was white porcelain, and was that of a man. There was a little pink on the cheeks, otherwise it was bone white. His hair, though hard to see with the hat, was dark. His eyes were dark, either brown or black. I thought he might have had black-colored contacts in as part of his costume. The red glow of the fire played on the right side of his white mask and jaw. What struck me as odd about him wasn’t his attire. Everyone dressed to the nines, not just him. It was that his disguise was that of a man. I just noticed something else about his costume, and it had to do with his hat. He wore a short black hat with a wide brim low on his brow, and had attached a couple horns to it. Like devil horns, but they weren’t very big. I don’t know how I missed them before. It was genius, if you ask me. In essence he was the devil masquerading as a man. Genius indeed. The devil hiding who he is…? Yes, brilliant. Elephant man would still win first place, but Human would be a close second if it were I doing the judging.
Paul was palavering with him. More like palavering at him. Human didn’t say anything that I could tell. He was watching all the denizens with apparent interest, slowly raking his eyes over the room, imbibing the details of the partiers. If people can be divided into two types, talkers and listeners, I judged he was the listener type. Listeners are generally good thinkers, too. At least that’s my opinion.
Just then I felt Lion’s hand slide up the skirt of my dress. A cold hand against my warm thigh.
“Nuh-uh,” I chided. I sipped my drink leering at him. I’d do best to keep an eye on this predator. He was a lion and I wasn’t a black cat but a gazelle, his prey.
“Come on, babe,” he murmured in my ear. He then kissed that ear, wetted my lobe and breathed on it, giving me the chills.
I’ll be honest, it did things to me I hadn’t before felt to that degree. Tingles in all kinds of great places. “You can’t touch me there in front of all these people,” I whispered, enduring conflicting sensations of pleasure and embarrassment.
His hand glided father up my thigh and didn’t stop till he was at my underwear. “They aren’t looking. And besides, they don’t know who we are. It’s a masquerade party.”
He began touching me in a way that sent torrents of pleasure to my intoxicated brain. “Let’s go back to the hotel room,” I murmured, touched my cheek against his, closed my eyes.
“Why? Aren’t you having fun here?”
“Very much so. But I’m ready. Ready for it to happen. And I’m happy it’s going to be with you.”
“We’ll leave soon, don’t worry. Let’s just enjoy ourselves a little while longer.”
Between two songs was a short gap of silence, a gap made longer by the slow start of the succeeding song, Tool’s Aenema. At first the clamor of the crowd was intense, but they adjusted almost immediately, got quieter. That’s when we heard the pleasured sounds of a couple in the bathroom. Some laughed, some cheered. I smiled. Batman and Catwoman, I had no doubt.
“See, Black Cat?” Lion said. “We can do whatever we like. It’s acceptable here, and now. Nobody cares what we do.”
“I don’t know,” I whispered undecidedly in his ear. His hand touched me where I wanted it to touch me, and reflexively my legs unhinged a little, opened up like a Venus fly trap looking for dinner. It was an involuntary reaction brought on by immense pleasure. We kissed.
“Mmm,” he hummed, “you’re smooth.”
I didn’t think he was referring to my legs because he wasn’t touching them. Tool was loud, but now that I knew what to listen for, I could still hear Batman plowing into Catwoman, their grunts and moans. I succumbed to the moment just as they had, couldn’t fight it any longer, didn’t want to fight it any longer. I was feeling too good to do anything but gladly receive Lion’s offering. As he became more diligent with his digits, he ceased kissing me to better focus on his efforts. My bleary eyes were narrow slits as I wallowed in ecstasy. I probably wasn’t drooling, but if I had I wouldn’t be surprised. Everything before me was a blur of masqueraders, movement streaking from side to side. Laughter, pot-smokers coughing, anecdotes being hacked at, someone whistled for whatever reason. I heard the door open and close often, and smelled cigarette smoke. I leaned back just a little against a propped arm, legs opened slightly more, driving the skirt of my dress up above my knees. Not that anyone was watching what was happening, but they surely could have if they wished to. And at that moment I wouldn’t care if everyone present had a clear view of my date’s antics, because I had lost the battle moments ago, was riding this euphoric wave both unwillingly and oh-so willingly.
My body tingled all over. Pulsations of deep warm pleasure radiated from my center outward, pervading the whole of me, and progressively it got worse, and by worse I mean it got better.
I had an unobstructed view of Human. I met eyes with him. His: round and piercing, glowing from the nearby fire. Mine: narrow and lazy. He looked down to m
y lap and perceived what was being done to me. Hell, maybe he saw what was being done to me. It had become an act of exhibitionism in its most natural form, if such a thing can be said. From his powerful jaw, lips stretched a wry grin slowly. By degrees it grew until his lips parted, his grin wide enough to bare his yellowish teeth. His eyes returned to mine. His smile was broad, and dare I say charming?—but his eyes… his eyes were cold and excited, humorless, and more than anything they were penetrating. Unlike his mouth, his eyes weren’t smiling behind that man-mask.
He winked at me.
Through no will of my own, my legs widened to the degree that my skirt slid up very high on my bare thighs; my left knee that had been pressing into Jonathan’s leg was now over his leg to accommodate my wide angle. I couldn’t help it, didn’t want to help it. I was completely powerless over my oppressor the Lion.
I was so exposed that I felt the ambient air between my legs. I had reached the point of no return. I was escalating, climaxing, and nothing on earth could prevent it from happening. I began convulsing, leaned back farther against my now-two locked arms. Lion put his mouth on mine, impeding my view of Human, disrupting our mutual fixation. I backed my mouth from his, ducked around him, regained eye-contact with Human, much as iron can’t help but be drawn to a magnet. My legs and privates seemed to be their own entity independent of me—under the spell of Lion, governed by Lion—as were my eyes, only they were being governed by him. Governed by Devil. That’s who he was: Devil. Not Man. His wide toothy grin, horned head, round unsmiling eyes feverishly boring into my own behind a mask that wasn’t fooling me; an excited reveler relishing the slaughter of the gazelle by Lion. I was being taken in body by beast, and mind by Devil.
I came, an explosion discharging every neuron in my body in a quaking finale. My breath hitched, eyes squinted shut as I endured the cataclysmic bliss of my orgasm.
Lion’s paw left my drained body, the aftermath of my orgasm seeping out of me like a tipped-over jar of honey; my legs twitched like the last few spasms of a rabbit snared in a bear-trap. He pushed my legs closer together without assistance or resistance from me, tugged my dress down to my knees. I opened my eyes slowly. Devil had left. I looked around: he was gone. So was Jester, actually. How long had my eyes been closed, a few seconds? Longer? Time is funny that way when you’re drowning in sensory overload.
“Did you enjoy that, Black Cat?” Lion said to me with a slanted grin.
“Uh-huh. So much.” I swept my drowsy gaze across the room. I felt sticky and dirty. I’d be taking a shower before making love to Jonathan at the hotel.
“What are you looking for?” he asked me.
“Nothing.”
“Can I get you a new drink?”
“Please.”
“Be right back,” Lion said and got off the bed.
I reached under my dress and returned the front of my panties back to where they belonged, awed at how much wetness there was—could all this really have come from me?—gazed around to see if anyone was watching me. Like it mattered. Seconds ago everyone had front seats to the show of the night. Perhaps if there wasn’t a door on the bathroom, that would have been the show of the night. But there was a bathroom door, so it was I who was on display for any number of discerning masqueraders. But had I been? Devil saw, that much I did know. Those fire-reflecting unsmiling eyes and hungry smile were testament to that. I could scarcely believe I just got molested in front of twenty-something people. Okay, so it was consensual molestation, but still. That damned Lion. Maybe I should have been Gazelle tonight. Maybe I was being uptight. It’s a party, I should embrace my sexuality and champion experimentation. Everyone says college is a time for experimentation, so I shouldn’t feel bad about what happened. And nobody was even glancing at me. It’s not like people were cat-calling me and whistling, clapping and begging for an encore. If others didn’t care, why should I? Maybe Lion knew what he was doing all along. He had already proven on the drive over that he disliked strangers observing my bare body, so surely he wouldn’t want strangers (or acquaintances) seeing my more intimate anatomy. I couldn’t even be a hundred-percent sure that things happened as I described them. Or fifty percent. It was a fine haze I had drifted into, from equal parts gin and pleasure. Awful dreamlike it had been.
“Ice chest sucks,” Lion said upon returning to me. He handed me a cup with clear liquid. No ice inside. “Ice melted already. It’s just a chest of tepid water. How could that be? There were ice cubes in it like a half-hour ago. Oh well.”
Suddenly the hatch over the downstairs portal thrust open. A woman’s legs were what I saw first, then the woman whom they belonged to: the nice lady from upstairs. She hauled ass down the stairs in a frenzy, followed by a man. The woman’s eyes were goggling, pure terror projecting from them. Once she reached the bottom landing her legs buckled: the man caught her before she hit the floor. She was unconscious. He looked at the sum of us with mingled awe and terror. Such was the profundity of their emotion that several people turned their attentions to them. Pirate lowered the music volume a little. The man turned the woman over to her back on the carpeted floor.
“What’s happening?” I asked Lion.
He shrugged, both our gazes on the couple from upstairs.
“Where’s Jester?” I asked. “Did you see where he went?”
“No. I don’t know, Brittney.”
Batman and Catwoman came out of the bathroom; he zipped up his trousers. There was now a small gathering of people around the upstairs woman and man. He was on his cellphone, and after he ended the call he told us cops were on the way and we were being detained, and that he was a cop as well. That changed the dynamic of the party at once. The music was turned off. The air turned heavy, solemnity and confusion replaced mirth. Nobody seemed to be drunk anymore, which wasn’t surprising because I myself felt perfectly sober, and I felt that way because of the gravity of the moment. Phantom and Peacock pleaded with the self-proclaimed cop to call off the inbound cops.
I was scared. Confusion breeds fear, and I was one confused girl. The woman began stirring; that was a slight relief. I had wondered if something tragic was occurring to her. Possibilities cycled in my mind, such as the man who had formed lines of coke on the table had gotten us busted somehow. Were we doing anything illegal down here? Underaged drinking, I supposed, but is that really a matter of police involvement when it’s done inside the sanctuary that is a home? The fact of the matter was that cops were coming and we were being detained, which is a polite way of saying under arrest, and since I couldn’t point the finger of blame at any specific individual with any confidence, that left me as an equally guilty party. That meant I was under arrest. I was in deep shit. My mom and dad… oh man, I was going to get in trouble. They could cut off funding to my education or dorms or both. But what exactly had I done? It felt mischievous what I had gotten into with Lion, our little act of exhibitionism, but was that really something to get in trouble with the police over?
It was quiet. Those who did speak did so in a solemn whisper. The exception was the woman from upstairs and her friend. She was demanding to know where we’d been for the last seven days, and that was as nonsensical as anything. Her friend doubled up on her question, shouted at us to admit where the hell we’ve been for seven damned days. I was growing more scared by the second. I wrapped my arm around Jonathan’s, leaned into him.
“I’m afraid,” I whispered to him.
“It’ll be all right,” he consoled. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”
“I hope so.”
I heard sirens in the distance, making this dreamlike encounter feel more like a situation, a grave one.
My date hummed meditatively, his gaze focused on the hearth.
“What?” I said.
“That’s odd.”
“What is?”
“Look at the fire.”
There wasn’t a fire. Just ash. But only minutes ago there had been a big fire. A big fire with a wonderful aroma tha
t was now gone entirely. It was odd but I reserved hope in there being a logical explanation for it. Someone doused it with water, that was probably it—even though there was no smoke or vapor or reason to have extinguished it.
“Would someone tell me where you’ve fucking been over the last week!” The woman shouted, jumping from one scared confused countenance to the next.
“What do you mean?” Phantom said, and it was the first time I heard him sound that way. A new tone, one of skepticism and insecurity.
“I mean, you all disappear last week and now you’re all back? What’s going on here!”
I hugged tighter Jonathan, closed my eyes. “I want to go home now,” I murmured to him. “Please, I’ll do anything in the world for you if you just please take me home now.”
“We will soon enough.”
His voice was distant, detached. He was ruminating, musing. Part of me wondered what over, but a larger part wished not to know. The scared part.
“Ice chests can’t break,” he whispered. “Insulation doesn’t break. The ice in there is now room-temperature water.”
“I don’t want to hear that,” I said and put my closed eyes against his jacketed shoulder.
“And the fire,” he said. “Where’s Paul?” He repeated the question louder, for the masqueraders to hear. “Where’s Paul, guys?”
Pirate brushed by the woman and cop to take to the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the cop asked him.
“To get Paul.”
“Paul isn’t here.”
“He’s not? Where’d he go?” He was still going up the stairs.
“He moved out of here a week ago, hasn’t been back since. Kid, why don’t you come back down here. Nobody is to leave till I say they can. Got it? I mean it, I’m detaining each and every one of you for the time being. Don’t worry, nobody is in trouble.”
“Then why are you detaining us!” Jonathan said crossly.
“Because I’m a cop and I have that authority. Just settle down, it’s going to be a long night. If you all have cellphones on you, I suggest you call your parents and let them know you’ve returned safely.”
Nobody did, though. Nobody considered themselves to be missing. The guy was loony, as was the lady from upstairs. But my intuition said that they weren’t. Ice gone, fire gone, Paul long gone. Those were bad realizations. Bad things to consider.
I turned over and laid down flat on my stomach, face down on the comforter and began crying. Jonathan was a sweetheart, rubbing my back to comfort me. I needed comfort. I turned my head to keep an eye on the cop. I didn’t trust him. He was responsible for all this happening, shared culpability with the woman. I watched as Frog approached the cop and leaned to him, said something in private to him. The off-duty cop looked stupefied by what he heard from Frog. Frog grinned at him. Grinned at him!
“I’m so scared, Jonathan,” I said. “Something bad happened, can’t you sense it?”
“Yes,” he said flatly, distantly. “Yes, I do.”