“Oh my God what if he sees me?” she panicked.
“Trust me, he has more to worry about than you,” Karen said between fits of laughter. Just then one of the managers approached our table.
“Ladeez, pleez do not leff at zee men on stage, they vil looze their rections.”
“We are so sorry,” I replied, pinching myself hard to keep from laughing. I kicked both girls under the table to get them to stop too. I wasn’t interested in naughty police officer’s hard penis but it was kind of like a train wreck I couldn’t drag myself away from, so I wasn’t ready to get kicked out.
After the officer’s show was over we clapped and hooted, right along with the gays. We are here, we may as well enjoy it, was the sentiment. Plus, I knew I was getting a tremendous education in this place, though I couldn’t quite decide how I would use it later in life.
Our next fabulous dancer was a slightly older man dressed as a construction worker. He didn’t quite have the moves of naughty officer but his pecs were enormous as were other important parts so we clapped hard for him too. We weren’t about to lose any dollar bills to these guys but we still wanted to show our support. After he was finished Pencil Thick stopped at our table to whisper in my ear. “Pour vous, cherie.” I instantly felt blood rush to my face. It was one thing to make out with Pencil Thick, but I really didn’t want to see his junk. Quel horreur!
I had to admit, Pencil Thick had some serious moves. I’m sure he laid it on extra thick for me, especially since he jumped off the stage and danced freak-ass naked right in front of me. Karen and Alana had degraded into woo-girls, I was beyond red and the gays were beyond pissed. I’m sure they felt like we were en-crotching on their territory and we were all getting the stink eye. I did my best to get into the show, remembering all the free drinks we had gotten throughout the night.
As soon as his number was over my instincts told me it was time to leave. A moment later I happened to glance at one of the big screens to see a horrifying clip of a young boy going down on an old man. Yes, we needed to get the hell out of there.
“Karen, I need to use the bathroom and then can we please leave?” It was getting late anyway and we had certainly experienced everything we needed to at L’arc by now.
“Sure thing,” she said as she collected our purses. I darted into the ladies room, heading to the very last stall which I had a habit of doing. As I went to close the stall door someone forcefully swung it open and stepped inside the stall with me. It was Pencil Thick.
“You owe me,” he said in English. So, he spoke English after all. “Blow me.” He pushed the top of my head down hard which caused me to fall to my knees. He was sporting a canary yellow G-string that he pulled down with his other hand. All of a sudden I was one hundred percent sober and went into pure survival mode. Being tiny and flexible I crawled under all three stalls on my hands and knees until I reached the last one. In a flash I was up and out the bathroom door.
“Karen, run!” I screamed as I sprinted for the door. She and Alana had all of our things so we ran out the front door, never stopping until we got to the car.
“What happened?” she asked, out of breath by the time she got into the driver’s seat.
“Our waiter assaulted me in the bathroom. He tried to make me blow him. We need to get out of here!” It was December and below zero and the roads were ice and snow covered. Karen got the car started but it needed to warm up so we couldn’t leave right away. I was eyeing the door, making sure no one was after us. After a minute or so Karen backed out and turned the car too abruptly plowing us into a snow bank on the side of the road.
“Sonofabitch!” she cried, as she tried to back up. The wheels were spinning but we were going nowhere. I kept thinking, Oh my god we are screwed. I pictured Pencil Thick putting his suit back on to come find us. Alana and I got out and tried to push. We were in heels but we’re Northern girls so we can be tough when we need to be. We pushed and pushed and nothing. A few minutes later some angels arrived in a black pickup truck. And by angels I mean three gay men dressed head to toe in red leather. Red leather pants, red leather jackets and I swear they were all wearing red leather Reebok high tops. They looked just like something out of a Romantics video. They didn’t speak any English but the three of them were able to push our car out of the bank in the span of a few short minutes.
“Merci bien!” we called out to them as we got the hell out of there. It took a good solid five minutes before any of us felt comfortable laughing again. We laughed because the whole night was a freak show, but we also laughed because we were finally safe.
That happened to be one eventful winter. Jess began dating a guy named Bob who was twenty-three and looked like a younger version of Billy Idol— hair color, bone structure, he had it all. He lived about an hour away in his mom’s basement which was set up like a giant one-room apartment with its own kitchen and a separate entrance. We hung out there from time to time though it was awkward because after a few hours of drinking and watching movies Jess and Bob would start getting it on in his bed which normally wouldn’t have bothered me except his bed was four feet away from the couch and Jess was a screamer. At least the bed was behind the couch so I could watch TV and turn the volume up loud to drown out the grunts and groans.
One time after they were finished Bob asked if I wanted to “cuddle” with them. “I’m good, thanks,” I yelled over the blaring television without even turning around. I much preferred to be the third wheel.
Bob was friends with an older guy named Fred who owned a tiny cabin in the mountains not far from Bob’s house. It was more like a glorified one-room shack that had a double bed and a single chair in it. I wasn’t a fan of partying at Fat Fuckin’ Fred’s (his real nickname) because I hated peeing outside and there was no privacy if you wanted to go make out with a boy, but I was always outvoted.
Fred had a semi-adopted son named Sam who was my age and was almost always at the cabin when I got there. He was sweet and had a giant crush on me but unfortunately he was at the peak of his Peter Brady phase. I’m not sure what had happened but his face reminded me of a Picasso during his cubist years; nothing was where it was supposed to be. I tried to keep it platonic with poor Sam but his sweetness along with the alcohol made me give in to him more than once. It was always dark inside the cabin and after four beers and two shots if I looked at him sideways and cut my eyes just so he became adorable in a Muppet-like way. Sooner or later I went for it and kissed him a few times though it was nowhere near a make-out session due to the lack of privacy. Most of the time Sam and I talked or played cards and I was grateful.
“Fred invited us to the cabin,” Bob said one night when we were hanging at his place. It was a cold, snowy Saturday evening and there were no parties that we knew of, though I didn’t really enjoy parties with Bob’s friends because they were all older and into heavier drugs. A few weeks prior we had gone to one where a guy offered me something called “rush” that was some liquid in a tiny vial you were supposed to inhale. I politely declined, especially since the guy who offered it was stumbling around and seemed like he lost one too many brain cells. Several other people at that party were sitting around the coffee table inhaling lines of coke and rubbing it on their gums, which freaked me out even more. I much preferred my high school parties where people were dancing and doing shots of peppermint schnapps. That, I could handle.
I wanted to stay inside where it was warm but once again I was outvoted.
“Come on, we’ll just go for a few hours,” Jess said as she pulled me off the couch. “We’ll stop and get you your favorite wine coolers.” I was thankful Bob was old enough to buy all our alcohol. He usually paid for it too, which was nice. He had a full time job in construction and did pretty well for his age; he also didn’t have to pay rent. I had never seen anyone do drugs other than weed at Fred’s so it did feel a little safer.
“Okay, I’ll go,” I said.
Things were status quo at the cabin. I was happy with my B
artles & Jaymes original flavor wine coolers that Dad had introduced me to one summer on the lake. Fred had a nice fire going in the wood stove and the temperature in the cabin had to be at least ninety degrees. Sam and I were sitting on the floor playing gin. Bob and Jess were lounging on the bed laughing and playing Steve Miller on the stereo. Fred lit a blunt and we all got high. A perfect evening.
“Sparrow, do you want a beer?” Bob asked a while later. I was still sitting crossed-legged on the floor playing cards. I was winning and was focused on the game. Bob was standing over me to my left when he shoved a beer in my face.
“No thanks,” I replied as I turned my head to look up at him. That’s when I saw it. “What the hell?” I cried as I turned my head and covered my face with my arm. Everyone was laughing hysterically, except for me and Sam. Bob got me. “Cover that shit up!” I yelled, stunned that he was standing there completely naked with his junk in my face. Just then I looked around and noticed that everyone was completely naked except for Sam and me. They were still laughing uncontrollably, delighted that they had punked me. I’m sure the look on my face alone was enough to send them into hysterics, especially since I was the goodie-goodie of the bunch, which wasn’t saying much.
“Sparrow, come sit on my lap,” Fred said, laughing as he patted his right leg. I still thank Jesus that Fat Fuckin’ Fred really was pretty fat and his pregnant gut was so large it covered any view of cock and balls. I glanced over at Jess who was sitting stark naked on the bed, her enormous saggy tatas staring at me, trying to make eye contact.
“Come on, Sparrow, take your clothes off. We’re going outside to take showers.” Someone had come up with the bright idea of heating water on the stove, going outside in the snow and dumping the hot water over each other, which sounded like the absolute definition of hell to me. Any buzz I had completely vanished at that moment and I shot up as if my ass was on fire.
“You people are fucking crazy!” I screamed as I dashed out the door and ran for my life. Jess’s car was parked at the bottom of the drive and I had never been so happy to see it. I opened the passenger door and dove in head first, then locked all four doors. I didn’t have a coat or keys but I considered myself safe for the moment. Within a matter of minutes Jess got dressed and came out to coax me back in. When I wouldn’t let her in the car she started banging on the window.
“Sparrow, stop overreacting. You’re going to freeze if you stay out here. Come back inside.”
“Go away, you freak! I’m fine, go have your fun. I’m staying here until you’re ready to go home.” It was my only choice. Sam didn’t drive and there was no way I was going anywhere near the other guys.
Jess went back inside and Sam came out. He pleaded and cajoled but I wouldn’t even look at him. I considered him guilty by association because he didn’t bat an eye when everyone was naked. He was probably just as blind-sided as me, but I couldn’t take my chances. He was on my shit list now, too.
Jess and Bob did do the shower thing with Fred on the front porch of the cabin. I didn’t stare, but couldn’t help noticing. Why anyone would want to get naked with a fat fifty-year-old geezer was beyond me. Did I mention he was also beaten with an ugly stick? Who knows, maybe he was Sam’s real dad after all.
I had other friends at school, such as Callie and Dana, but I still spent the most time with Jess. She lived in a big house with almost no parental supervision, and she had her own car. Her parents owned a lake house right across the street from their main house with a pontoon boat we could use whenever we wanted. Jessica had evolved into a total partier. She drank and smoked nearly every day and frequently stole weed from her parents that we would smoke whenever we had the chance. I was happy to be her sidekick because it got me out of my shabby house filled with yelling and cigarette smoke.
Jess never had any chores at her house so we were free to do whatever we wanted. Her two favorite pastimes were eating and sex, in that order. At some point in junior high Jess developed bulimia, probably because her mom was always on her to lose ten pounds. Jess could easily put down thirty thousand calories in one sitting. She’d eat and eat and eat, then excuse herself to go hurl in the bathroom. The longer we were friends the less she hid it, until she would puke her guts out right in front of me.
We got movie tickets for the opening night of The Lost Boys. Jess insisted on eating her favorite combination of popcorn and M&M’s and drinking beers we had smuggled inside our coats. Immediately after the movie she had to go to the bathroom. As I was peeing she was in the next stall puking up everything she had just scarfed. The movie theater manager, this old guy, was banging on the door to the ladies’ room yelling at us to come out. He probably thought we were drunk. Jess was a loud puker but she was quick and made it seem easy. She knew exactly where to stick her fingers to make herself vomit within seconds. I never lectured or scolded her and even got used to the sounds and smells, helping her clean up after she was done. We never had one discussion about it that I can remember, except for her saying she was sick of being fat. Her weight would fluctuate quite a lot, depending on how much she binged. She had zero self-control.
I never overate; probably because I was too busy smoking. I was stick thin and wanted to stay that way. I ate plenty of junk food, just not in large quantities. Jess was jealous of how I looked in a bathing suit and once told me she had tried to sabotage all of my relationships with boys because she hated how thin I was. I had no idea but I pieced it together after asking some questions and realized she had broken up all the relationships I was happy in, including the one with the hottest boy in school, Phil Nace.
I had seen Phil in the local pizza place when I was in eighth grade. He was a grade ahead of me, already in high school. He had longish dark-blond hair, the biggest dimples you ever saw, and was wearing a gray trench coat. I was smitten and had promised myself that one day I would date that boy. Sophomore year it happened. We had become friends through friends and he asked me out. I was ecstatic to be dating the Phil Nace. School days were filled not with caring about my subjects, but daydreaming about Dimples and what he was doing. He had a harem of girls following him wherever he went and I was always worried. I wasn’t about to sleep with him any time soon so I was scared some other girl would lure him away. It had happened before with other guys.
Jess and I went to a party one night at a pond in the middle of nowhere. We were usually at every party unless I was grounded. Things were fun until I sneaked off into the woods to pee. Little did I know I was being followed. Steve Herman, a junior on the wrestling team, tackled me from behind and we rolled around on the ground.
“Get off me!” I screamed, to no avail. He pinned me to the ground and his face was in my face. He was trying to make out with me, only he was super drunk and slobbering all over me and clearly not understanding that I wasn’t interested. “Get off me, I have a boyfriend!” I managed to yell after pushing his face off of mine. “I’m dating Phil Nace!”
“What? Oh, hey, I’m sorry about that. Phil’s my friend,” he said as he got up and brushed himself off. Suddenly he didn’t seem quite so drunk. “Good luck with Phil, he’s a great guy,” Steve mumbled as he walked back to the party, leaving me sitting on the ground picking grass out of my hair.
When I returned to the party I pulled Jess away to tell her. “Oh my God he’s so disgusting!” she said, horrified. “Let’s get out of here.” We got in her car and smoked a few bowls, singing along to Steve Miller and laughing about the whole thing. She was supportive and tried to take my mind off it. These things happened from time to time and were definitely party hazards. Jess never said no to any boy that came onto her, I think because she was so happy to get the attention. I was rather choosy. He had to be cute and he had to have an edge. I wasn’t really into preppy boys. I liked the guys with wallets on chains, facial scars from fights, bumps on noses or even freckles. They had to have something.
I had all but forgotten about the Steve incident Monday at school when Dimples broke up with
me. I was stunned.
“But why?” I asked.
“Ask your friend Jess,” he said as he walked away from me. At lunch, I made a bee-line for Jess and told her what happened.
“I have no idea why he would say that.” Dimples later told me that Jess told him I had hooked up with Steve at the party. My best friend betrayed me. And it wasn’t the first time. I was angry. I tried to tell him what really happened but he didn’t believe me. It didn’t matter anyway, because he was already on to the next girl. I just had to get over him.
I forgave Jess because my alternative was to sit in my own house with my crazy family. I willingly sold my soul to escape my life, knowing she was becoming the friend from hell.
I did occasionally spend some time with a friend from work named Gwen. We met at my first job which was working in a store that sold suitcases and umbrellas. We were the same age yet she was much worldlier. She had a license and her own car and her mom let her come and go as she pleased. She never got grounded or had to check in. She used to pick me up for work since my house was on the way and I was grateful since I had no license and Mom wasn’t keen on driving me to work forty-five minutes one way. I tried to pay her gas money but she never took it.
Gwen was a take-charge person. She was quickly promoted at work and typically in charge of me. She kept me busy and I made sure to follow her every instruction. She worked hard but she also played hard. Like, really hard.
Hanging out with Gwen was an experience. The first time I walked into her bedroom I stared wide-eyed at the posters on her wall— full-frontal tear outs from Playgirl magazine. I never even knew such a magazine existed. She did, and had plastered her room with dicks. Dicks of all shapes and sizes.
“Your mom lets you hang this stuff?” I asked, still in shock.
“She can’t stop me.” Gwen’s dad had died when she was young and it was just her and her mother. I think her mom had given up any parenting efforts years before. Gwen smoked cigarettes in her home, used weed daily, and, oh yeah, worshiped the devil.
Riding Standing Up Page 13