The Pursuit of Miss Heartbreak Hotel

by Moe Bonneau

  Castle dances with his Jacks, so I dance with mine. He locks his James Dean laser beam on some flip junior, Kylie Something-or-Other, and spends the beginning of the night cutting in on her and her pimple-mugged date. Kylie is wooed from the poor flap-Jack’s scrawny arms and into Castle’s throbbing track-star muscles, and he shoots me thumbs-up during a slow number, Kylie draped like a pet monkey around his neck.

  At one point, “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” comes on and the betties’ track team goes Ophelia. This is our song. Season-long, we warmed up to it and played it max volume on the bus to every meet. We squeeze into a tight group, Rabbit and I in the middle, howling away, and belt the lyrics at the top of our lungs and we own this song, it’s only for us. When I return to our table, I overhear Zoë whisper to Maya, “Other Jacks like that song, too,” and Maya nods absently while Zoë rolls her eyes. Way crickets. But I cut Zoë some slack because I know she pretends to be annoyed when really she just feels left out. I slip her Five-Fingered and tell her she can hold on to it for the night.

  Amelia Long comes over and tries to linger but Zoë and Maya are cold as glaciers and Amelia, after ten minutes of rejection-neglection, miraculously takes a hint and wanders away. I feel sort of bad for her but I also don’t want her shuffling around me all night, scatting about how we got real over a movie and kittens, asking me what I’m into after prom.

  I act blasé when Diva Eve Brooks, Ms. Ancient History, and her clan of untouchable flap-Jacks with their shavers-in-waiting all arrive late. Eve’s chosen for prom queen (gasp!), and Nate, king (boo! hiss!), and Eve smiles and holds her bouquet of red roses to her heart cage in long, elegant fingers. As she heels it by us, I step aside and bow my head.

  “Your Lordship,” I say, and she looks at me hard.

  “Beatstreet Butler.” She smiles, sliding one of her dethorned floral adornments into my hand. I break off the stem and push it into my hair and Eve holds my eyes a second longer than I expect. Then Nate comes slithering up, scooping her elbow in his hand.

  “What’s the switch, Lucy B.? Looking ace as ever!” he says, even though we obviously hate each other, his voice so syrupy sweet it makes my teeth ache. And then the Pretty Pennies plus Entourage are heeling it away in a rowdy group of taffeta and silk, off to some kill toaster we’re certainly not invited to. And I can’t help but wonder what other prom-court She-Penny that two-timing, scat-for-brains Jack-ass has exchanged the royal fluids with.

  I know I gotta tell Eve that Nate cheated. It’s what a good person would do, I think, as I watch the blur of stretched limos pulling away beyond the front door before rejoining my dance-fevered Jacks to cut up the floor. But I know I won’t.

  I’m painfully, though humorously, enduring Maya’s theatrical grinding against me from behind—all for her slobbering date’s sake, who, Zoë and I agree, has a neck thicker than Jaws’s—when I see Castle grabbing his coat and throwing it around Kylie Something-or-Other’s twig-thin shoulders. She kisses him on the cheek and runs to her apple-Jacks to say she’s leaving with superman mile-sprint-stud Luke Castle. He waits, posing like James Bond by her table. I turn around and pat Maya gently on the top of the head and weave through the sweaty crowd to where he stands.

  “Word, Lu,” he says. “I’m gonna jetset.”

  I nod. “You wanna drag tars real quick?” I lean forward, pushing my palms into his granite-solid chest.

  “I do.”

  “I now pronounce us husband and wife,” I laugh, and he cocks an eyebrow, gives me his Dirty Harry stare. He heels it over to Kylie, who’s trying to pry herself away from her Jacks, and slides his tars from the jacket of his coat still perched on her back. I watch as he explains what he’s doing and I see her turn to look at me, the disappointment registering on her pointy mug. You’d think the betty’s pet hamster had just escaped and crawled down the washing machine pipe and drowned (true story) by the pout she slathers on. He puts his mitts on her cheeks and I know he’s promising they’ll jetset soon. Then Castle and I are heeling it outside and the night air is like a cool balm on our sticky skin.

  “You look superfreeze in your suit, apple-Jack,” I say as he lights it up.

  “And you yours.” He passes me the tar.

  “Man-o,” I sigh, and we sit on the curb, the many flaps and fringes of my dress flurrying like black snow to rest limply on my knees. I look at him, watch his face. “It’s switch we came tonight. It’s been almost actually fun.” He nods and drags on his tar. “I’m gonna massive miss your ugly mug next year,” I say and lean my head on his shoulder.

  “It’s been real, it’s been good, but it hasn’t been real good,” he says and then he’s rubbing my back and I lift my head to plant a wet one on his cheek and then his lips are on mine and we’re kissing. I kiss him back for a second, and then one more second too long, but then am putting my mitts to his heart cage, pushing him away. And he stands, his expression unequivocally I hate your guts now die.

  “Really, Lu? You’re pushing me away?”

  I open my mouth and he turns, ready to heel it away. “Castle, be easy, Jack,” I say, standing, my hands raised.

  “You flip flapping betty,” he says, shaking his head. “Why did you even invite me here tonight? And why did I even come? I should have known you were gonna play some crank Lu Butler stunt tonight. I can’t believe I let you sabotage this thing with Kayla—”

  I grab his arm, my mouth wide. “Wait.” I frown. “Her name’s Kayla? I thought it was Kylie.”

  “Lucy, for real,” he says, tossing off my hand. “I need you to back off.”

  “Castle,” I plead. “Listen, I didn’t know you were beat for me. I never would have spit-swapped with you if I knew.”

  He laughs loudly, flicking his tar to the turf. “Oh, well, thank you very much for your thoughtful consideration.”

  “I really don’t know what my problem is,” I say. “I’m sorry. I really, really am.”

  He works at his cheek with his teeth. “Stop being so goddamn sorry for me, Lu,” he finally says. “I’m not sorry. I massive liked you, and for that, I’ll never be sorry. But you? You don’t like anyone, and that’s your problem. Nobody’s good enough for Lucy Butler. Too effing beat for the entire flipping school.” I want to talk, but suddenly I can’t. And then he’s storming back into the dance, the front doors swinging in his powerful wake. I stand in shock for a minute, until I suddenly feel completely frozen, chilled to the core. I’m shivering, my teeth chattering away. I know he’s right. He’s totally right, in such a completely wrong way.

  I go back inside and the heat-and sweat-drenched air is overwhelming. I find Zoë and Maya and say I’m jetset. They’re pulling on mysterious little half shirts and tugging fancy sequined purses over their shoulders and they agree, say we’ve got plans to get into some sauce after the dance. I say I don’t feel good, that I’m hacked, but they both get on me like I’m lamer than ducks. There’s some toaster in someone’s fancy hotel room, and I say I haven’t brought a change of clothes and don’t feel like hanging out with a group of mop strangers in my sister’s scratchy old prom dress all night.

  In the parking lot, my apple-Jacks argue and pull me toward their whips.

  “Get in, Grandpa. I’ll wheel,” Zoë says, pleading with her eyes for me to come.

  Maya’s less committed. Her date keeps grunting and picking her up by the waist from behind. “Loser Lu,” Maya whines as Beef-Neck Man grabs her around the shoulders, practically knocking her off her spiked heels. She pulls away, squealing, and then she’s doing this little booty dance, hollering about how her thong is giving her a massive double wedgie.

  Beef-Neck grabs his crotch, says, “I got my thong on, too, Jack. Wanna see? It’s all about the bulge, baby!”

  “Gay!” Zoë yells as Maya delivers a slew of prissy she-slaps to Beef-Neck’s arms and pecs.

  I laugh half-heartedly as I climb into my banger and Zoë leans onto my windowsill, rolling her eyes as Maya emits another eardrum-rupturing shri
ek. Zoë’s date, Gideon, her on-again, off-again, comes over and puts his hand on her back but is watching the others goof off in the parking lot and I can tell she and him are so gonna hook it up tonight. With Maya practically leaping from her dress, and Zoë and Gid as good as gone, I know I’d be the depressive, sauced-up fifth wheel all night, and my ego can’t handle another blow.

  “This is gonna be kill without you,” Zoë says, half smiling. “Thank you for holding, flap-Jack.”

  “I’m sorry, Zo,” I say, my head throbbing. “But I just can’t tonight. I’m totally hacked. Massive crank.”

  “I know, I know,” she says. “You’re always crank, or hacked, or in-n-out. You’re just mega lame, what can I say?” She laughs but I know she’s partly serious, because it’s partly true. We both watch as Beef-Neck yanks down his pants waist to reveal the straps of a skimpy white jock-thong and Maya gasps, her face going Kool-Aid red. Zoe just shakes her head. “This shaver really actually might be gay. Like, gay gay. Not just like, oh that’s so gay. Y’know?”

  I shrug and pull my mug into a forced smile. “For real,” I say. “Have fun. Stay safe. Rinse and repeat. Use protection. And for scat’s sake take care of our sauced and sassy apple-Jack tonight. Resist the urge to gag and chuck her in the trunk.” Zoë finally breaks, cracking a grin, and Maya pops her head in between ours. She leans into my banger and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Baby Lu, why so blue?” she says, putting her mitt on my mug and sticking out her lower lip in her patented drama queen pout. Even though it’s just Maya, it feels nice to have someone touch me.

  I shake my head. “I’m just massive wiped, My, that’s all. Had a little row with Castle.”

  “Lover boy,” Zoë smirks and Maya smiles, wobbling a little, putting both mitts back on the windowsill.

  “Steady, betty,” I say, ignoring Zo. “My, let me jetset your sauced ass home,” but she stands, suddenly composed, and backs away, smiling and blowing kisses. She stumbles over her heels.

  “Go Children Slow there, killer,” Zoë says, laughing and grabbing Maya’s flailing arm. Zoë looks at me with roller-coaster eyes.

  “Thickly Settled,” I say, tapping my skull with a digit.

  “Drug-Free Zone,” Zoë laughs, lugging Maya’s arm over her shoulder. I start my chug-a-lug engine and Gideon pops his head into my window. “Be easy, Lu,” he says and jogs in front of my wobbly apple-Jacks.

  Maya points crookedly at his back. “Ped X-ing,” she announces unevenly and we are all cracking up as I pull away.

  Driving home, my temples throb and I wonder what’s wrong with me, why I can’t seem to muster the gumption to get into the end-of-high-school spirit, why I don’t like anything, or anybody, particularly myself. I think about Castle’s words. I think about Diva Eve, and her sweet, sad eyes, and if she and Nate are doing it now and if Eve thinks it’s good. Lost in the shadows of other peoples’ lives, I drive home and it takes a thousand years, the soft blossom of Eve’s rose pressed to my nose.

  * * *

  I’m woken up late night by my ex, Eli, dialing my speak. Normally I wouldn’t answer, but out of sheer loneliness, I scat him for a bit, still half-asleep. He’s massive blazed, clogging the airwaves with jive, as he’s coming down from magic mushroom mania.

  “My hit-Jacks are getting massive into some hydroponic Big Bud tonight and we’re gonna push it tomorrow at this festi on the coast. Actually, there’re an extra ticket, if you’re into it…”

  I realize I’ve been summoned to participate and groggily sit up. “Did you just say you’re pushing hydroponic Big Bird? Don’t you think it’s time you Jacks invested in some big boy pot?”

  He laughs. “Big Bud—not Bird. And this stuff’s massive kill. Smith said it won the Holland Cannabis Cup in like ’98 or ’99 and we found these skuzzers in the city who grow it in this mega-warehouse. It’s that vintage scat.”

  “Oh, good. Skuzzers. Sounds safe.”

  Crisis averted, I think, as he’s off again, talking in loops about some flick he’s scoping on TV I’ve seen already, about gangsters and hard knocks. I zone out, thinking back to when we were together, cooped up in his dingy TV den every weekend night, him always slinging his heavy old brick of an arm over my shoulder, his fifty-ton muscles lying limp for hours on the delicate tendons and cords of my neck, me terrified that if I moved he’d clobber me with his raging libido.

  And when we did fool around, I’d rush through our hot-handed, sweaty-palmed gropes, his enthusiastic forays into female oral enjoyment, and I would grab him and work him, delivering him to that coveted, post-firework place where it was no longer about getting off. And finally, at long last, he’d kiss me slow, his face damp with sweat, his lips so warm and gentle, his desire quiet.

  But that was the problem with Eli. You could never just scope a flick or cuddle without getting a headache or giving a hand job.

  “Y’know?” he’s saying, waiting, so I grunt into the receiver, pick up a half-eaten energy bar on the floor.

  His familiar voice lulls me. Equal parts sweet, cute, smart, and just a pinch Ophelia—his laundry list of ingredients should have made for my perfect heart-Jack confection delight. He treated me well, dialed every night, loved being around me, told me I was the most ace betty in the room (he’s a good liar, too). But with Eli, I never knew what to say back to him. I just never wanted to give him what he needed.

  But I had fun, too. He carried me on his back and we tore around theaters and toasters and suburban streets a-hollering and we’d sauce in the woods with his Jacks and they’d say, “Get a room,” when we fell laughing and kissing to the crackly forest floor. And the alters. So very many alters.

  Mostly, Eli was fun, I mean, he was into being happy, which is rare. Then he said, I love you, and I laughed, said, Too soon. I think maybe I broke his heart a little, which kinda breaks mine.

  And now he’s talking about his prom, how he went with some snowed-out rich-Jack betty from upstate and I wonder if they got a hotel room, like he and I did, at my junior prom, one crazy, long year ago. It was my idea to finally do the deed, and he was gentle and never pressured me at all. But during, it was as if my entire body went numb and my brain completely froze. I mopped out. At one point, I realized my fists were so clenched that I could barely unravel my fingers and they stayed cramped like that for hours. Even now, I feel a little sick just thinking about it.

  But you can’t say I didn’t try.

  Eli laughs. “And so I was totally like, ‘Word, Jack. Gotta spring for the stretch Humvee—or nada.’ Y’know what I’m saying?”

  “Mmm,” I hum, roll over onto my belly, my eyes pulling shut.

  After we had sex, he said, You went totally coma. When I tried to get close and get under the blankets, you pulled away and cramped up like a cocoon. All night long I was frozen, subzero.

  Yup. That about sums us up. We would just have sex and then I’d crawl away with all the covers and he’d be clueless and freezing to death in his polka-dot boxers. He never would have just put on more clothes, either, or gotten another blanket, or asked me what the deal was. He’d just rip some canna and zone out. That’s just who he was. And I was always the crank.

  We left each other out in the cold.

  I tried, I really did. I even gave the Jack a blow job in those post-breakup days, which was actually not so clash. Not so switch, either. I had always been traumatized by the image of myself bobbing up and down on any shaver, like some unwitting porno star, sleaze-style. But I trusted Eli and made sure we were in total darkness. While I was giving him head, he didn’t say too much about it, so as not to pressure me, but I could tell it was one of the most beat things he’d ever had done. And I don’t know why, I just didn’t really care.

  “So, Jack,” he’s saying now. “I know it’s, like, a million o’-clock, but I think it’s high time you come over and blast the trees with me and Smith,” and I’m half thinking why the flip not, when Maya calls in, and, thank geezuschrist, too, because i
f I had caved and gone, I never would have gotten him off my back. I can see myself now, cruising to some remote skuzzer’s house to drag on Big Bird while Eli gets blazed out of his mind and tries to spit-swap till the sun comes up. Caution: Go Children Slow.

  On the line, Maya’s singing with Zoë to some blaring techno tune. “You’re up!” she yells. “What’s fresh, sweet?”

  I laugh. “Not Eli on the other line.”

  “Whoa! Be easy, betty! Rinse and repeat, right? Hang up with the ex-factor and come get shakes. We got some massive juicy bits to spill.”

  “What about your date with Man Thong?”

  “Ugh,” she says. “Dram-o-rama. Come out and we’ll scat the whole ugly ordeal. We’re talking hotel lobby handies gone bad and Zoë getting thrown in the pool, cracking some flap-Jacks’ skulls, and nearly going jailbird. Massive epic, Jack. Massive.”

  I say I’m in, but before I can hang up with Eli, he makes me promise to dial him back this week, which I probably won’t. At the diner, we all get strawberry milkshakes and oyster crackers and, as the night sets and day begins, the Cats plus Gideon word-hemorrhage their night and it’s like every which way I turn, sex is in the batter. I just seem to be the only Jack not getting in on the baked goods.

  Pretty Pennies

  Senior Skip Day. We’re at the beach, a clash, rubble-and-trash-strewn excuse for a shore. The seaweed’s thick as stew and our class settles into its usual clans and cliques. The bikini-bottomed Stray Cats and I are tossing a Frisbee with some of my track-Jacks and I find a dead stingray by the water’s edge. I feel happy and sinister and the gravity of Eve’s moon pulls at my watery parts, so I drag the ray up to where the Pretty Pennies are perched on their matching towels by the boardwalk, sunbathing in a row of perfectly roasting flesh, Lycra, hair ties, coconut body oil, and studded cat-eye, movie-star shades. I cross battle lines. I’m an imposter in foreign lands, and I leave my offering of stinking white ray with Ms. Ancient History.