Life of the Party

by Christine Anderson

  Monday was the same. Cocaine was on the menu for breakfast and lunch and most of the afternoon. I was doing a bit more than I should’ve been, but I justified it easily. I needed it now, it wasn’t just a want.

  Work was pitiful. There was some strange guy behind the counter covering for Grey, but at times I’d forget he wasn’t Grey and bend to look through the window, expecting his gorgeously handsome face to smile at me in return. The new guy must have thought I was crazy. He didn’t deserve half the disappointed glares I threw his way.

  I continued this mind-numbing routine for most of the week. I found it actually got easier as time went by, not harder like I had expected. The ache was still there, it hadn’t gone away or anything, but I was learning to live with it. I began to feel like maybe I could do it—maybe I could get through the month without Grey and emerge with my sanity still intact.

  That was before I started waiting for him to call. I let a few days pass without thinking anything of it; Grey was excited, he was getting settled, he was probably busy. I could understand that. I spent Friday night alone at home while Charlie went to the club, partly because I’d promised Grey to be good, and good was not something I was at the club—but mostly because I was sure he’d call me. Charlie rang numerous times to try and pry me off the couch, so I knew my phone wasn’t broken or anything. But Grey never called. I did some cocaine by myself for awhile and then called it a night, trying to keep my spirits up.

  Sunday morning came, and still no word. I looked out my bedroom window, laying in bed, smoking a joint and staring up at the perfect, cloudless sky. A myriad of possibilities flashed through my mind; reasons why Grey couldn’t call. They ranged from a car accident to the studio burning down, or Grey locked in a room and forced to sing twenty-four hours a day. Maybe they’d signed a contract forbidding any outside communication until the record was complete. The higher I got the more ridiculous the explanations became. When I imagined Grey on a spaceship, playing his guitar for bright green alien creatures, I knew it was time for me to stop.

  But then my phone rang. “Leila! You got me on my knees, Leila …,” It sang. I sat up, gasping, nearly falling out of bed in my rush to answer the cell phone that I kept on my nightstand, right next to my head so there was no way I’d miss it.

  “Hello?” I was breathless with excitement; I couldn’t wait to hear his voice again.

  “Mac?” It was Charlie.

  “… Yes?” I let out a sigh. “What’s up?”

  “Come in here and get high with me.”

  “What?” I laughed. “Where are you?”

  “In my room. Let’s smoke a bowl!”

  “Did you seriously just call me from your room?”

  “I’m comfy. Come on, I’m waiting.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll be right there.” I hung up my phone, giggling. Thank God for Charlie. I didn’t know what I’d do without her.

  I jumped out of bed and ran down the hallway to her bedroom, my cell phone still clutched in my hand. Her room was bigger, but it was just as messy as mine. The only major difference were the posters and pictures that plastered her walls, making it feel homey and lived in, unlike my hospital/jail cell room. I made up my mind to put up some pictures or hang some art or something soon.

  My favourite Tool song was playing on her stereo—Sober. Charlie laughed and moved over to make space for me in her bed, and I crawled eagerly under her covers.

  “You do the honours, my dear.” Charlie handed me a pipe packed with weed. I lit the lighter and pressed the flame to the bowl, sucking in the sweet, fragrant smoke. I held it in for a moment, passing the pipe to Charlie before I blew it out.

  “What’s with you and that thing?” Charlie wondered then, pointing at my cell phone as she tapped the bowl gently with her lighter. “Can you not be separated?”

  “Apparently not.” I coughed. “I’ve been expecting Grey to call.”

  “Ah, yes.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “I gave up on that already.”

  “You did? Why? I’m sure Zack will call you.”

  “Well, I’m not holding my breath for it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Mac. I know what they’re doing up there.”

  “Um … recording their album?”

  “Yeah … maybe, during the day. But the rest of the time, they’re getting as fucked up as they possibly can. Trust me, that is all Zack talked about. They have wicked friggin’ clubs in that city, and they’re going out every night and getting blotto’d. Totally shit-faced.” Charlie looked at me pointedly. “Just like you should be. I can’t believe you’ve ditched me two nights in a row so you can stay home just in case your phone rings.”

  “I know, I know ….” I shrugged, “But I told Grey I’d be careful while he was gone. And I just really wanted to hear his voice again, you know?”

  “I know, just, please don’t turn into one of those girls who gets all crazy and depressed whenever her boyfriend leaves. I don’t want to come home one night and see that you’ve, I don’t know, dressed up a broomstick or something.”

  “I won’t,” I laughed, “I won’t, I promise. I just miss him. I can’t help it.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie allowed. “I know how you feel. Trust me. It’s impossible for me not to think about Zack, but then every time I do, I just picture him out partying and getting super wasted, and then I start thinking about him being with other girls and ….” She shook her head, as if trying to clear the image. “It makes me crazy. It’s not good for me.”

  “Really? Other girls?” I frowned. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Whenever I paused to think about Grey—wondering what he was doing, who he was doing it with—I just always assumed he’d be at the studio, working. Or at the hotel, sleeping. Now, I pictured the exact scenario Charlie had described.

  I imagined Grey out with the guys, at some club, the music loud in the background, strobe lights flashing. They’re being rowdy and loud, like always, and it’s the five of them like usual. But then, some tall, leggy blonde dressed in some super skanky dress comes up and put her arms around Grey. I see him laughing and joking with her, see him giving her my favourite smirk. They flirt and drink and dance. Then I see—crystal clear and painfully real—the moment when they first start to kiss, his hands moving over her body and his lips pressing against hers.

  I shook my head, my mind shying away from even the thought of such betrayal, my very being rejecting the possibility, refusing to accept it.

  “No, no, no.” I refuted stubbornly. “There’s no way. Come on Charlie, just because they’re gone doesn’t mean they’ve just like … forgotten about us.”

  “I know, you’re probably right.” She sighed. “But, they’re guys, you know? Guys do that kind of stuff all the time. And they stick together too. If Zack was cheating on me, I’d probably never find out. There’s no way one of his ‘bro’s’ would tell me.”

  I relented. “Yeah. That’s true.” She did have a point. We sat in silence for a minute as Charlie packed another bowl, both of us lost in aggravated thought. I bit my lip and contemplated. Grey had never given me any reason not to trust him. Just because he hadn’t called didn’t mean he was shacking up with some stranger. I didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusions, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, I wanted to believe there was no way he could do that to me. No way that he would.

  I sighed heavily and took the pipe eagerly from Charlie’s hands. She gave me an apologetic smile and rubbed my arm soothingly.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I gave her a brave smile. “I just, I couldn’t picture anything worse, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. Trust me. But, Mackenzie, honestly, moping around the house and making yourself sick with worry isn’t going to help anything. You should come out with me next time. It really helps to get your mind off things. I mean, Grey’s out having fun, right? So why shouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”
I lit the bowl and sucked back the weed smoke deeply, until my lungs felt like they might burst. I could see her logic, but at the same time, I wanted to keep my promise to Grey. I didn’t want him to be worried about me. I blew out the waft of smoke and winced, not just to keep from coughing, but from the new thought that just occurred.

  How could Grey be worried, if he didn’t even care enough to call?

  Charlie and I stuck together over the next couple of days, even more than we normally did. It was kind of nice, actually, just to be with her when there were no guys around. She stayed home with me at night after work although I knew she’d rather be out at the clubs. I made it up to her with copious amounts of cocaine. We talked and painted each other’s nails and watched mindless comedies we found totally hilarious in our drugged out state. Neither of us could even stomach the thought of watching some gushy romance. No need to rub salt in the wounds.

  Needless to say, the guys had not called. Either of them. It was like the elephant in the room—we both knew about it, but chose not to talk about it. Really, there was nothing left to say. With every day that passed I was that much more thankful Charlie was my friend. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.

  It was on one of those nights that I suddenly discovered a solution to my problem. I wanted to hear from Grey, but he wasn’t calling. The answer was simple, really.

  I was just going to have to call him.

  I had to work up the nerve for some reason. I felt stupid, sneaking off to my room with my phone while Charlie was in the shower. I had a feeling she wouldn’t approve, but I just had to do it. I was past the point of trying to play it cool, and I knew the moment I heard Grey’s voice it would totally set my mind at ease. So I took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and dialled his number.

  I lit a smoke as the phone rang in my ear, and the rush of nicotine helped me relax. It rang and rang, and I was just about to give up, disappointed—when finally he answered.

  “Hello?” There it was—his lovely, velvety low voice.

  “Hey,” I greeted, almost giddily.

  “Hello? I can’t hear you.”

  “Grey? Hello, can you hear me?” I plugged my other ear. There was a great deal of noise on his end—the loud, pulsating beat of techno music and numerous voices jabbering away in the background, I couldn’t tell who they were in the din.

  “Are you there? Hello?”

  “Grey? Grey, I’m here. Hello?” I walked towards the window. Maybe I was getting bad reception or something, but I could hear his end fine. He was muttering to himself, maybe trying to make his phone work, I didn’t know. I was about to giggle at his muffled swearing, but then I heard it.

  “Grey, baby,” said a female voice, one I didn’t recognize but instantly hated, “get off the phone. You promised to dance with me, remember?” She beckoned, giggling ditzily.

  He laughed. “Yeah, okay. I’m coming.”

  I didn’t hear anymore. I dropped the phone and it landed with a thud, bouncing across my carpeted floor. I stood, struck, like I had been slapped in the face or punched in the stomach. I was shell-shocked, stunned. I stared at the phone in horror and clutched at my chest, my stomach plummeting somewhere down towards my toes, my heart beating loudly in my ears.

  “He’s going to hurt you, Mackenzie.” Suddenly Riley’s voice invaded my mind, stabbing into my already wounded psyche. I hadn’t thought about him in months, but there was no mistaking the unexpected sound in my memory. “I know his type,” he had said, “I know what he’s like. He’ll hurt you, in the end.”

  I didn’t even allow myself to think about it. I couldn’t. Frantically almost, trying to outrun the heartbreak striving to catch up with me, I threw on some different clothes and pulled my hair roughly into a ponytail.

  “Charlie!” I yelled—my voice bordered screeching. “Put some clothes on. We’re going out!”

  I left my room without looking back, my cell phone abandoned on the floor.

  CHAPTER 35

  I can honestly say that I have almost no recollection of the weeks and days that followed. I wouldn’t allow myself to be sober enough to let my mind work properly. At work I screwed up orders and dropped plates and walked around with glazed over eyes, but still I managed to make enough money to pay for my drug use. I learned some things from Charlie; she showed me how to dress to make the most tips. Since I needed the money, my skirts got shorter, my tops got lower, and my heels higher. At the end of every night, I would gather almost all my earnings and hand them over to her—my source—who would in turn procure whatever drug she felt I might like to try. I don’t know where she went or how she got them, I preferred not to know. But I was more than eager to do whatever she brought home for me, whatever would get me fucked right out of my tree.

  I tried meth and crack cocaine. We did PCP and Dilaudids, ecstasy and MDMA. I laced my cigarettes with cocaine. We’d go out to the club nearly every night, drink our faces off and dance and smoke up. Guys would hit on us, which felt good, but sometimes they would get too friendly, too persistent, and I’d barely remember myself in time before doing something totally regretful. I was so mind-breakingly stoned it was nearly impossible not to have a good time, nearly impossible not to forget. I was being stupid and dangerous, but I didn’t care. Grey had wanted me to be careful, so I rebelled, giving him a physical “F-you,” by being as reckless as I possibly could be. I almost wanted something bad to happen. Then, maybe he’d remember me.

  Somehow, I survived the binge mostly unscathed, except for a majorly deflated wallet and some severely crippling hangovers. I only came too when Charlie reminded me, somewhat painfully one morning, that Marcy’s rehearsal dinner/wedding was happening that weekend and I had to sober up for it. I didn’t want to, I craved the numbness I’d depended on and dreaded what would come once normal thoughts were allowed to form again. But Charlie forced me. She nearly dragged me into the shower, then sat me down afterwards and did my hair and my make-up. I was complacent for the most part, blinking stupidly in the mirror while she fixed me up—on the outside anyway. My insides were beyond her repair.

  Charlie drove me into the city so I wouldn’t be forced to ride with my parents. I thanked her profusely, over and over again, forgetting the initial irritation I’d felt towards her after she manhandled me all morning. I stared out the window as we drove, my eyes darting over the never-ending blanket of prairie fields stretching out towards the horizon. I began to feel more and more like myself and less and less like the fake, chemically diminished version of Mackenzie as I sobered up. But with that, just like I’d expected, came a world of hurt I wanted nothing to do with. With it came remembering that Grey had completely forgotten about me.

  “Charlie?” My voice was faint.

  “Yeah, sweetie?”

  “Thank you for coming with me.” I looked at my friend, her pretty blonde hair tumbling down her back, wide-lens sunglasses perched upon her nose. She blew her smoke out the opened window

  “Don’t mention it, Mac.”

  My parents had rented the entire private room of a restaurant in the city, La Grille it was called, some fancy kind of steak house, for Marcy’s rehearsal dinner. My mom was simpering with pride; my dad was strutting around the place quite importantly. Marcy and Greg seemed to have their own personal spotlight on them at all times, they nearly shone from all the attention. She was wearing a sleek golden coloured dress with jewelled shoes; he was dapper in a dark suit and tie. For the most part, their friends and family closed in around them, oohing and aahing at their matching beauty and cracking clichéd, cheesy jokes about marriage that have been around since the stone age. Charlie and I sat at the private bar, our backs to the room, having a glass of wine. No one paid us any real attention, but I could still feel the cautious eyes of my parents and sister upon us, as if we were ticking time bombs that could explode at any minute.

  We were just about to sneak away for a cigarette when a tall, fairly handsome, but obviously rich and snobby type came an
d stood next to me at the bar. He ordered a cognac—what the hell was that anyway—on the rocks.

  “You must be Mackenzie.” He turned to me then, his voice thick with I’m-wearing-a-thousand-dollar-suit arrogance. I smiled politely up at him.

  “Yes. And you are …?”

  “Smitten.” He smirked, raising his eyebrows at me.

  “Alright then.” That was officially my cue. I grabbed my jacket off the chair and started for the exit, pulling a giggling Charlie along behind me. I looked back at him once from across the room and he was still standing there, watching me with the same stupid smirk set on his face. I rolled my eyes and headed out the door.

  We found a picnic table in the alley of the restaurant, I think it was reserved for staff breaks, but I figured they wouldn’t mind. I climbed on top of it and lit a smoke as Charlie leaned against the brick wall.

  “Can you believe that guy?” I chuckled. “I can’t believe those cheesy lines actually work on some women.”

  “He was pretty cute.” She shrugged. “I bet he doesn’t get denied very often.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m probably the first one who had the audacity.”

  “Probably,” Charlie laughed.

  “It’s your fault he tried to pick me up, anyway. You’re the one who insisted on making me all pretty.” I decided, looking down at my tight, dark blue skinny jeans and high, black peep-toed shoes. I wore a black scooped back halter-top, my hair was in a high ponytail, and my dark curls cascaded elegantly down my back.

  “Well, I’d tell you to go for him, but I don’t want another Brad incident on my hands.” Charlie admitted. “He is really cute though. And obviously rich.”