by Kim Holden
I try not to laugh but I can’t help myself. Gus’s laugh is infectious. “I told you.”
“Seriously though, they did seem really decent.”
“That’s because they are. They’re good dudes.”
He smiles and nods. Then we’re quiet for several seconds.
“Thanks for worrying about me, though,” I muster. “It’s kinda nice to know there’s someone out there who gives a shit. So thanks.”
“Anytime. It’s my mission in life, to give a shit.”
I smile.
He smiles.
“Well, Bright Side, I’m gonna let you go for tonight. It’s been awesome, possum.”
“Always. And likewise.”
“I love you, Bright Side.”
“Love you, too, Gus.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
I shut down my laptop and head across the hall. The door’s been left open for me so I walk right in.
“Sorry if that was weird, but thanks. Gus was a little freaked out about me sleeping in your room so I wanted him to meet you guys so he’d get off my ass about it.”
Clayton is lying on his bed fanning himself with a magazine. His cheeks are still red. “Katherine, why didn’t you tell me you’re dating Adonis?”
“He’s pretty cute, huh, Clayton?”
“Cute? He’s magnificent.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my best friend.”
Pete pipes up, “Why did he say ‘take care of my girl’ then?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, Pete. He always calls me that; it’s like a term of endearment.”
Clayton raises his eyebrows and wiggles them. “It certainly is. Listen, I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but you are batshit crazy if you let that one get away.”
“Batshit crazy?”
He nods. “Bat. Shit. Crazy.”
Sunday, September 4
(Kate)
I text Maddie and hope she isn’t pissed at me anymore. I’m worried about her and I let her know.
She never replies.
I guess she’s still pissed.
I’ll give her some more time and try again later.
Monday, September 5
(Kate)
Clayton’s waiting outside the cafeteria for me at 7:30pm as planned. I just got off work and I’m running late as usual. He loops his arm through my elbow as we walk through the door. “Katherine, have I told you lately how much I love you?”
I eye him suspiciously. “No ... What’s up?”
He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I found a club in Minneapolis that has an under 21 night.”
I rub my hands together. “Sweet! When are we going?”
He grimaces, but tries to look hopeful. “Tonight?”
I shrug. “Okay, what time do we leave?”
He stops and spins me to face him. “Do you mean it?”
“Well, yeah. I told you I’d go with you, didn’t I?”
He pulls me into the tightest hug and lifts me slightly off the ground. I honestly didn’t think he had the strength. I don’t think either one of us breaks 100 pounds. “Oh Katherine, I really do love you. You’re the best.”
“Oh, Clay. Hey, do you mind if my friend Shelly comes?”
He claps his hands. “The more the merrier.”
I call Shelly while Clayton and I are eating.
“Hey dude.” She sounds sarcastic, but I think she secretly loves using the word. I’ll convert her yet.
“You doing anything tonight?”
“No, why?”
“Good. My friend Clayton and I are going dancing and you’re coming with us.”
“You want me to go dancing?”
“Yup.”
“I’m not really in the mood for a pretend rave in Clayton’s dorm room.”
“No, we’re going out, like to a real club.”
“Where?”
“A place called Spectacle. It’s in Minneapolis.”
“Kate, that’s a gay club.”
“Yeah, I know.” It’s quiet so long I think she’s fallen asleep or set the phone down and walked away. “Shelly?”
“It’s a gay club.” She repeats.
“Yeah?” And?
“We’re straight, Kate.”
“I’m aware.”
Silence.
“They don’t bar vaginas at the door, Shelly. It’ll be fun. Come on. Please?”
“I don’t know.” I can hear it in her voice, she’s about to give in.
“Shelly, your inner dancing queen is planning an all-out revolution if you say no. I don’t want that kind of drama for you. We’re picking you up at nine-thirty.”
“Oh hell,” I can hear her eyes roll through the phone. But then, with a huff, she gives in. “Okay.”
Back at the dorms I spend more than an hour lying on Clay’s bed watching him try on outfits. He’s more anxious than I’ve ever seen him.
“Put the gray pants on again.” I need to help him out or we’ll never get out of here. He’s worse than Gus.
With the gray pants on, he twirls in a circle.
“Wear those. Your ass looks great.”
He smiles and agrees, “I do have a nice backside.”
“Damn right you do,” I say. I roll off the bed and head toward my room. “Speaking of hot pants, I need to go change, too.”
“What are you wearing?” he asks as he pulls a new shirt over his head.
“Oh, I don’t know, probably just my black jeans.”
He gasps. “Jeans? You’re wearing jeans? Don’t you have a minidress or something?”
I laugh. “Honey, first of all I’m going with you to a gay men’s club. I sort of have the wrong plumbing to garner any attention. Besides, everyone’s going to be looking at your hot ass in those pants. And I definitely can’t compete with drag queens. They’re gorgeous. So, my part in this evening is to go with Shelly as the straight friends, the only women in the place without penises. I’m going to dance my ass off and have the best night Minneapolis has to offer.”
“Will you at least wear heels? Oh, and something sparkly on top? Do you have anything with sequins? If not I can let you borrow something.”
I love his enthusiasm. “I’ve got it covered.” I smile as I walk toward my own room.
I return a few minutes later in my tight black jeans, black heels and a low-cut black, sequined tank top. Gus calls this outfit “Johnny Cash chic” because it’s all black. Clayton squeals when he sees me. “Oh my stars, your chest looks amazing.”
I can’t help but laugh as I look down at my cleavage. That’s the first time it’s garnered a genuine compliment completely devoid of any sexual motive or innuendo. “You can never underestimate the power of a good push-up bra, my friend.”
We pick up Shelly and I speed off toward Minneapolis. By the time we get to Spectacle and find a place to park, it’s almost 10:00.
Clay pries his fingers from my dashboard and clears his throat. “Katherine, I’m going to preface this by saying that you know I adore you.” He clears his throat again. “But that was the most frightening car ride I’ve ever experienced.”
I look at Shelly in the backseat, where she nods agreement. Her huge, unblinking, dark eyes are fixed on me and her breath is shallow. “Kate, I don’t scare easily, but that was fucking terrifying. I think I pissed myself.”
I shrug at the over exaggeration. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if the speed limit in California is 95 miles an hour, because I realize you guys probably do things a little different there, but it’s only 65 here, which is about how fast you take fucking corners.”
I look from Clay to Shelly and back again. They’re both nodding, wide eyed and pale. I hold up my right hand and close my eyes. “I promise to slow it down a little on the way home.”
“And use turn signals,” adds Clayton.
“And use turn signals,” I promise. And then I throw a question sil
ently to God. Why didn’t you tell me I’m a shitty driver? Is California just full of shitty drivers? I didn’t think I was so bad. I’ve never been in an accident. Anyway, thanks for not letting me kill anyone I guess. Later.
The line is long out front. They’re checking IDs at the door and Shelly gets a wristband since she’s twenty-two. I get a big black X on the back of my hand. The music inside is loud; the bass is thumping deep in my chest. The lights are flashing and the dance floor is already packed. I’m itching to get out there.
“Come on Shelly, let’s dance!”
She gives me a look and points to the bar behind us. “Oh no, I need some liquid courage first. There’s no way in hell I’m going out there sober. You two go ahead.”
Clayton takes my hand and we walk to the edge of the dance floor and stop there so we can keep an eye on Shelly. The music hums through me. I love this feeling. More people pile in and before long we’re pressed against each other moving to the rhythm of the music. We both know the song and we’re singing every single word. Clayton looks so happy amongst this sea of beautiful men.
Clayton and I dance our way through a few more songs before I notice a guy right next to us, eyeing Clay from behind. He’s handsome: medium height with skin the color of dark chocolate. His head is shaved bald, emphasizing his majestic chiseled face. He catches my eye and raises his eyebrows toward Clayton as if he’s asking permission. I smile and nod my head. He taps Clayton on the shoulder. Clayton turns away from me and before I know it I’ve been abandoned for Mr. Cheekbones. I shrug. That’s why we’re here. Besides, I’ve watched Shelly throw back two shots and a beer. It’s time to dance.
I maneuver back to the edge of the floor and motion with my pointer finger for her to come join me. She looks a little more relaxed than when we walked in, but she polishes off the last of her beer before she joins me.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mutters resentfully.
I smile because even though she’s scowling, her features have softened. I feel like I’m about to see a transformation take place. “Shelly, relax. Listen to the music. Feel it. You’ve got this.” I take her hands and hold on as the beat sinks in.
She grips my fingers tightly and tries to mirror what I’m doing. She’s stiff and self-conscious, but by the second song she’s relaxed enough to let go of my hands.
“Your inner dancing queen is so happy right now! The revolt’s been aborted!” I yell in her ear over the music.
She sticks her tongue out at me, but then she smiles and it’s the sort of happiness that’s totaling freeing. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or if she just decided she doesn’t give a shit.
Just then I feel hands on my waist, taking me by surprise. But they’re gentle, and they belong to the person that’s now pressed against me from behind. I don’t look back, but whoever it is can keep up with every move I make. I love dancing with people who feel the music the same way I do. And this guy definitely does. We dance to two more songs before he yells in my ear, “Damn girl, you can dance! I don’t usually dance with women, but I couldn’t resist. Thanks.” He kisses me on the cheek. I look back and smile. He winks at me before he moves away back through the crowd toward the center of the floor. Damn, he was good-looking. Oh well. You can’t win em’ all.
Shelly’s looking at me with her mouth hanging open. I take her hand and lead her from the floor. “Come on let’s get something to drink. I’m sweaty.”
Her mouth’s still gaping but the corners are curled up into a smartass grin. “Holy hell, that was the closest thing I’ve ever seen to two people having sex fully clothed.”
She makes me laugh. “What? We were just dancing.”
“That was not dancing. That was sexy as hell. You’ve got to teach me.”
So, I do. And Shelly’s a quick learner. An hour later and she has me wondering who it was that said they couldn’t dance. Put a little alcohol in Shelly and all her inhibitions fly out the goddamn window.
By 1:00am Shelly and I are exhausted and decide it’s time to get home. It takes us a while to find Clayton because the dance floor is still so packed. We find him dancing with the same guy who lured him away from me earlier, like three hours ago. Clayton’s shirt is damp with sweat. I feel awful when I tell him we need to leave and I feel even worse when Mr. Cheekbones pulls Clayton’s adorable little face to his and thoroughly kisses him when Clayton tells him goodbye. But I feel a little better when he writes his phone number on Clayton’s hand and kisses him again before Clay takes my hand in his and we walk away.
I wait until we’re outside on the sidewalk to give Clay a congratulatory high five and hug. “Dude, that was one hot kiss, my friend. I’m kind of jealous.” I’m not jealous, really. I’m happy as hell for Clayton.
Clayton floats down the sidewalk to the car on a wave of pure bliss. “This has been the best night of my entire life.” He’s glowing.
Shelly nods her head. “I had no idea dancing could be so much fun.” And just as quickly her eyes darken and her badass voice returns. “Don’t you dare tell anyone I said that, Kate. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I swipe my finger across my chest twice. “Cross my heart. What happens at Spectacle, stays at Spectacle.” I look to Clayton and point at Shelly. “Did you see my girl out there?”
He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Sorry, I was little preoccupied.”
“She’s the fucking dancing queen.”
Clayton smiles the most adorable little smile. “I thought I was the dancing queen.”
Shelly laughs. She has a great laugh. “The title is all yours, Clayton.”
Even though I’m wiped out, this night was entirely worth it.
Tuesday, September 6
(Kate)
Almost a week of uneventful, perfectly happy life has gone by when I return home from a late run on the treadmill at the campus fitness center to find the red ribbon tied on my doorknob again.
Clayton is the ever gracious host once more. After I shower he insists I borrow a pair of his pajamas to sleep in. And they’re not even that big on me.
Now I feel like Hugh Hefner.
He also bought me my very own toothbrush and toothpaste just in case this happened again. He presented them to me with a Ziploc bag so I could store them away after use and keep them in his desk.
Clayton’s the best.
Wednesday, September 7
(Kate)
I’m at Grounds unusually early this morning. I was restless and couldn’t stay cooped up inside the dorms any longer, so I decided to go for a short run. Predictably, that run ended at the source of my early morning addiction. There’s a chill in the air this morning and I’m a little sweaty after the workout, so I sit on a bench just outside Grounds with my arms wrapped around me. I’m listening to classical on my iPod and reading the local newspaper I found on their front step. It’s perched on my lap so I don’t have to hold it and I can keep my hands tucked up in my sleeves. Even with a T-shirt and a sweatshirt on, I’m cold. It’s 5:45am. They open at 6:00. I’ve been here since 5:30.
There’s a knock on the glass behind me. Keller is motioning toward the front door. When the door opens and the bell thunders I barely notice—that’s progress.
“Morning, Katie.” He looks tired. He’s unshaven and his dark hair stands out in every direction, like he’s just rolled out of bed. It’s a little on the long side, like he’s overdue for a haircut. And his eyes are still hooded in sleep, but the color is no less striking under half-drawn lids. Their blue matches the
T-shirt he’s wearing almost exactly. Despite everything, or maybe because of it, he looks really, really good.
I smile. He remembered my name. “Good morning Keller.” I hand him the newspaper. “Here’s your paper. I looked it over. No major scandal in Grant to report this morning, but there’s a sale on ground beef at Sam’s Meat Palace if you’re interested. Oh, and Our Lady of Eternal Light is having a spaghetti dinner Saturday night from 5:00-7:00 t
o raise money for renovations to the basement gathering room.”
His crooked smile emerges and falls into a slight grimace. He shakes his head slightly as if the hint of movement made his head hurt. “That’s too much information for 5:45 in the morning, Katie.”
“The world doesn’t stop because you’re sleeping … or hungover.”
His smile evens out as he puts on his apron behind the counter. “Touché. Just tired. Up all night studying.” He looks at me for a few seconds. I realize that I’m smiling like an idiot. I can’t help it. “Are you always this happy in the morning?”
I shrug. “It’s a genetic flaw. But, I’ve been up for a few hours. Couldn’t sleep.” I’ve been trying to get extra sleep lately, but some nights I just can’t get comfortable and sleep evades me. I’m more tired than I ever remember being.
“I guess you’ll need that large cup of coffee this morning?”
My arms hug back around me again as a shiver pulses through me. “Yes, please.”
He nods to the arm cocoon I’ve forged. “Cold?”
I’m kind of bouncing in place trying to warm myself at this point. “It’s freezing out there.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Katie, it’s probably fifty degrees out there. You think this is cold? It’s balmy. Wait until this winter when it’s fifty below.”
I cover my ears. “Stop right there. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
He points to the ear buds dangling out of the top of my sweatshirt. “What are you listening to?”
I lower my hands. “Mozart.”
“Classical? Really? Classical’s boring.” He tries to frown but only one side of his mouth turns down. He’s mocking me, but it’s not unkind.
“Boring, huh?” I’m not offended. Most people my age seem to have the same opinion. Sometimes I feel like a classical ambassador.
“It all sounds the same.”
Here we go, an early morning music debate. Well, I’m in. “That’s such a poor generalization. That’s like saying classic rock sucks because you don’t like Led Zeppelin, or that ‘80s new wave is phenomenal because you love The Cure, even if you’ve never heard anything else from either genre.”