The music pounded, and the temperature inside was pushing eighty-five, even with the doors and windows open. Scantily clad, inebriated freshman girls were flashing, some were dancing, and one was puking into the kitchen sink.
Phil wasn’t a partier, which didn’t mix well with frat life. Since there was no escaping the noise and the chaos, he was lounging in a threadbare chair tucked in a corner of the living room, nursing his umpteenth beer and thinking about his father. Had it been this way back in his day? He’d spoken of the lifelong bonds forged with frat brothers, but he’d failed to mention all the partying, vomit, hangovers, and drunken sex.
He was debating about another beer when three girls entered the room. They looked way too young to be there, so he watched them with curiosity. The tall one looked older than the other two but still too young. She whispered to one of the girls, and then left them standing there looking ill-at-ease. He felt sorry for them, so he got up and went to offer them a soda. Up close, they looked around the same age as his younger sister.
“Aren’t you a little young to be at a frat party?” he asked, suddenly feeling like an old man.
The plump redhead with braces and too much mascara said, “My cousin wanted to come and she’s driving, so…” She trailed off, shrugging.
“Want something to drink?” he asked.
The nervous-looking skinny one with long, blonde hair and startling blue eyes eyeballed his beer and whispered, “Do you have any sodas?”
“Follow me.” Phil led them to a garbage can packed with sodas and ice.
He had no intention of babysitting them, so after they got their drinks, he steered them to the food table, got himself another beer, and settled back in his chair. That was the last he saw of them.
An hour later, it was still early and the party was going strong, but he’d consumed more than enough and now his options were to sleep it off in the chair or go to bed. He pried his lethargic body out of the chair and into a standing position. The alcohol slammed him, spinning the room around him, and he wobbled against the chair. He struggled to regain his balance and staggered to the stairs, where he had to climb over the people sprawled on them. In the upstairs bathroom, he ignored a couple swapping spit in the shower, and peed about a gallon of beer into the toilet, then stumbled down the hall towards his bedroom.
Phil stopped at the bedroom doorway and blearily peered into the dim room, lit by a glowing lava lamp.
“Yo, Phil.” His roommate, Erik, called from the room. “Get yo’ ass in here.”
He squinted to focus and saw Erik with his pants puddled around his ankles, straddling a girl lying spread eagle on his bed. The scene didn’t register as his eyes continued to roam the room and found his other roommate, Jake, passed out on his bed.
“This girl is so fucking hot, I can’t keep up with her,” Erik said, as he stood and hauled up his pants and zipped the fly.
Phil entered the room and stared with little comprehension at the writhing girl whose face was buried under a pillow.
“See what I mean, bro? She wants it bad.”
Phil turned to cross the room to his bed and Erik grabbed his arm. “Hey. Where do you think you’re going? You gotta do me a favor and keep her happy until I can get it up again.”
He pulled the confused boy to the bed and forcefully shoved his face down into the girl’s wet crotch. Her musky scent instantly aroused Phil, and he was suddenly overcome with the biggest hard-on of his life. Every shred of decency drained from him, leaving him senseless with a blinding need beyond any coherent thought and it demanded immediate release. Like a primal out-of-body experience, he jerked down his pants and thrust himself into her. She groaned louder, squirming under him, driving him wild as he pumped furiously. When he was spent, he collapsed on top of her, euphoric, and within moments he passed out to the distant sounds of Erik laughing and yelling for him to move over.
Phil woke on the floor next to Erik’s bed. Whoa. I must’ve had one beer too many. His head pounded and his body ached, but hydration and a couple of ibuprofens usually cured anything when you were nineteen. He grabbed a towel, some clean underwear from his dresser, and headed for the bathroom down the hall to shower the party off.
Dried, dressed, and refreshed, he went downstairs to get something to eat. He found Jake at the kitchen table, hunched over a smoothie. Phil took a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured a tall glass. “A little too much party last night, Jake?”
His roommate stared into his beverage and didn’t respond.
Okay, thought Phil, as he picked up an open bag of taco chips on the counter and sat opposite him. “You sick or something?”
Jake looked awful. His greasy sun-bleached blonde hair was matted to his head and his red-rimmed gray eyes sunken and bloodshot. “I’m thinking about moving home.”
Phil reached into the bag, grabbed a handful of chips, and stuffed them in his mouth. “Why?” Jake glanced up and Phil saw tears filling his eyes. “Dude, what’s going on? Did you get some bad news?”
“Something happened last night.” Jake’s voice broke. “Something really bad.”
Phil was afraid to ask but had to. “Are your parents okay?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Heidi break up with you?”
Jake shook his head. “No. But she’ll never marry me after this.” He folded his arms on the table and rested his forehead on them. “I think I screwed a dead girl last night.”
“No way.” Phil reached over and shook Jake’s shoulders. “Dude, there aren’t any dead girls here. If there were, the place would be crawling with cops. You were drunk and probably just dreamed it.”
“No, it was real.” Jake rolled his head back and forth on his arms, whimpering, “Oh God, oh God.”
Phil ran his fingers through his wet hair, wishing he could leave the room. “Tell me what happened.”
Jake raised his head. “I was seriously tanked last night, but I remember there was a girl…in our room, and I think I was screwing her, but she wasn’t moving or talking so she must have been dead. Maybe alcohol poisoning or something.”
He jumped up, knocking his chair over, and ran to the sink to puke. Phil followed and turned on the water and the garbage disposal. The fetid smell gagged him and he held his breath, squirting a heavy dose of lemon scented dish detergent into the disposal. Jake rinsed his mouth under the faucet and then hung his head, staring at the sudsy drain, waiting for the inevitable next onslaught.
As Phil watched his friend’s misery, a cold unease seeped through him as lurid snapshots flashed in his head. His silence got Jake’s attention and he glanced up from the sink. “Say something,” he pleaded.
Phil could not meet his eyes. “I don’t think you were dreaming.” His voice was flat and unemotional. “I was there, but you were passed out when I came in…I screwed her, too.”
Jake dropped his eyes back to the drain, trying to comprehend Phil’s words. His mouth flooded with saliva as another vomit tsunami rolled through him, pitching the last of his banana smoothie. He yanked a wad of paper towels from the roll hanging under the cupboard, mopped his sweaty face, and sat back down at the table.
Phil recited what he could recall from the night before. It was fragmented, but coupled with Jake’s memory, it became a reality. “So you’re saying we all screwed some girl?”
Phil nodded, feeling sick. “Yeah. I think so. On Erik’s bed.”
“That’s fucking twisted.” Jake slumped in his chair, pressing the paper towels to his mouth. “Is she still there?”
“I don’t know.” Everyone knows this stuff happens at frat parties, so she must’ve wanted it or why would she have been there? Phil thought it was degrading and had never partaken, but now, thinking about the hazy memory, he felt his penis stiffen. He remembered her pale, smooth legs spread wide and he was filled with an unwelcome, overwhelming desire to do it again. He was ashamed.
“I know I was really drunk,” Jake said, “but I can�
��t even remember her face.”
“Neither can I. We need to talk to Erik. She was on his bed and…” His memory flashed a clip of Erik shoving his face into the girl’s crotch.
“And what?”
“Nothing.”
They found Erik in the steamy bathroom, drying off after a shower. “Man, that was some party last night,” he said jovially. “Woo! Good times.” He wrapped the towel around his slim waist.
Phil leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Jake stood beside him, his shoulders drooping, and let him take the lead. “What happened last night in our room?”
“What do you mean? We par-teed.” Erik squirted hair gel into his hands and ran it through his short, dark hair. “Sweet little piece of ass, huh?”
“It’s a little hazy.” Phil squinted his eyes, shaking his head. “Did we all have sex with her?”
“Yup. I got her hot little buns all buttered up for my two best amigos. Kinda makes us like blood brothers now, huh? The three amigos.”
Jake spun around and left the bathroom.
Erik’s goofy grin melted under Phil’s cold glare and he turned back to the mirror to fuss with his hair. Phil watched a moment, unable to scrape up the words to convey his feelings of disgust, then shook his head and left.
As he walked down the hall, Erik called after him. “What the hell’s got your panties in a bunch?” A few minutes later he sauntered into their room, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Jake was sitting at his desk and Phil was leaning against the edge of it, as they watched Erik pull on a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt. “So what’s your problem? You both look like someone died.”
“Who was she?” Phil said.
“We’re still on this? Who cares? Just some freshman hoochie. There’s always girls like that at a party. They want to get drunk, and they want to get laid.” He lightheartedly punched Phil in the bread basket. “Right?”
Phil shoved Erik away. “Wrong. Do you even realize we all had unprotected sex last night? And not just with the girl, but…with each other.”
Jake choked a sob. “Oh God. That’s sick.”
Erik’s smug attitude dropped a notch. “Figures the Eagle Scout would think of that.” He flopped on his bed and rested his head on his hands, staring at the ceiling.
“Heidi and I are…were…we were saving ourselves for marriage,” Jake said.
Erik was taken aback. “Are you shitting me?” He turned on his side and propped himself on his elbow. “You’re a virgin? No wonder you spend so much time at the gym pumping iron.”
Jake smacked his desk, sending a pile of papers fluttering to the floor. “God, what am I going to tell her?”
Erik waved dismissively. “Why tell her? Just because you’re not doing anything doesn’t mean she’s not getting a little action back home on the farm. I mean, come on. This is 1996. Women’s lib and all that shit.”
Jake catapulted his five-five muscular frame out of his chair and charged Erik, aiming a punch at his face, but Erik saw it coming and rolled away. Jake’s fist connected with the pillow instead. Phil pulled him away before he could go at Erik again.
“Let me go.” Jake thrashed in Phil’s grip. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
Erik scrambled to sit up and lean against the wall behind his bed, pulling his knees into his chest. Jake had come to USL on a wrestling scholarship, and the normally docile boy could have done major damage to Erik’s face. “Chill out, dude. I was just kidding.”
Jake returned to his chair and collapsed in it, defeated. “Not funny.”
Phil said to Erik, “He could have killed you, you know. But you’re not worth going to prison for.”
TEN
My Life is So Incredibly Boring
By Katy McKenna on Thursday, April 11
Last night, I set my alarm clock to go off at 6:30, thinking that would give me plenty of time to have my morning coffee, do my makeup, and dress business casual for my first day of work in my garden-shed-office. My intentions were good, but when the alarm clock started beeping this morning, all good intentions flew out the window.
I finally sat down at my drawing board at 9:45, still in my pajamas, no makeup (I decided that’s one of the perks of working out of a home office), and only semi-enthused to work on the Acme job. I have to produce several thumbnail sketches for Wanda to choose from before creating the final product. And I gotta say, “Acme Upholstery” definitely ain’t inspiring.
I stared at my sketch pad, waiting for my eureka moment to hit. As I waited, I noticed it was a little chilly in the office, so I went to the garage and hunted around for the space heater I’d stuck somewhere when I moved in. After reorganizing a few shelves and making a pile of junk to get rid of, I found it and brought it to the office. Soon I was toasty warm and ready to create.
I opened my mind to the cosmos, willing an idea to present itself, and then thought, Flowers would be nice in here. I’ll run outside and pick some from my wild flower patch. More than a few flowers in the patch are actually weeds, but I say it’s only a weed if you don’t want it growing there.
After I had a lovely bouquet arranged in a crystal vase that had been a wedding present from my Great Aunt Edith in England—a lucky discovery while rearranging those garage shelves—I got back to work. That’s when I noticed the empty bird feeder outside the grimy window. Can’t have innocent little birdies starving to death, so I went outside and filled the feeder. The birdbath was empty, so I filled it, and washed the window.
Back to the drawing board. Acme Upholstery. I wondered what “Acme” meant. I went to the house and got my laptop and searched it. ac·me n: the highest point of perfection or achievement. No pressure there. I would have to come up with something phenomenal to reach the highest point of perfection. As I pondered, I looked out the window and saw several finches enjoying brunch and was relieved that I’d saved their lives.
Hours later, I had a few sketches completed. My favorite had a “Frank Lloyd Wright” feel to it. Contemporary while paying homage to tradition and quality craftsmanship. My least favorite was the volcano with the word “acme” exploding out of it. It was a hard call when you had no idea what your client wanted.
During my burst of creativity, I’d skipped lunch. I was starved but not inspired, so I slapped a piece of cheddar on a slice of whole grain and popped it in the toaster oven. I was coaxing the hot cheesy toast out of the oven onto a plate when Ruby called.
“Have you read the paper today?” she asked in a woe-be-gone voice.
Oh crud. Who died now? I wondered, not wanting to ask. I could feel my appetite ebbing. “No.”
“They’ve canceled All My Family.” Her voice broke, and I heard muffled sobs. “They’re taking it off the air in three months. What…” She hiccupped a sob. “What am I going to do-o-o-o?”
Ruby has been living in a soap opera parallel universe for one hour a day, five days a week, for over forty years. Mom had been thirteen when the show started, and she is an avid follower, too. Thank God I had not allowed myself to be sucked into that vortex. But what could I say that would make this better? All My Family was Ruby’s extended family. She’d seen them through births, marriages, deaths, divorces, drug addictions, misery, mayhem, and more misery. No matter what Ruby’s troubles were, she always knew that soap diva, Monica Lane, had worse problems.
“Think of it this way, Ruby. You’ve just gained an extra hour of daylight.”
Silence. I swore I could hear crickets chirping in the background. I had tried to put a positive spin on it; obviously something more sympathetic would have been a better choice, but it was too late now.
Then dear Ruby dropped the bomb. “Guess what else?”
I did not want to ask. “What?”
“I consulted the tarot cards to find out if there might be a reprieve for my soap, but something else came up instead.”
This was not going to be good. I could feel it in my bones, and I did not want to hear it. “Oh, gotta an
other call coming in, I have to—”
“This is Frantic Hausfraus’ last season. Ha.” She hung up.
“NOOooooo,” I howled to the dial tone.
ELEVEN
A New Addition
By Katy McKenna on Friday, April 12
I called Acme Upholstery first thing today, and told Wanda I had some sketches for her to look at; we made an appointment for eleven a.m.
I am beginning to see the light at the end of the unemployment tunnel, so to celebrate I took myself out to breakfast at Suzy Q’s. Usually I walk, but I was going straight from the cafe to Acme, so I stowed my portfolio in Veronica’s backseat and drove over.
After a scrumptious omelet, I set out for Acme. I probably should have walked there since I wound up parking four blocks away and feeding the darned meter three dollars in quarters. When I entered the shop, I found the place in an uproar.
Dave, the elderly cat who still had hair, had brought a new feline girlfriend home. She was a sweet young thing, and he was strutting around yowling like he was “the man.” Wanda was fit to be tied and his mother, Doris, was so annoyed she didn’t even try to bite me.
“I can’t have any more cats,” Wanda said. “They get hair on the newly upholstered furniture, snag the fabric, and sometimes,” she dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “even pee. I tell you, I go through gallons of fabric freshener.”
The young feline, a skinny little gray tabby with no collar, looked at me with her big needy eyes and I could almost hear her saying, “Oh please, nice lady, please take me home.”
I have never been a cat lover. So I resisted reaching out to her and opened my portfolio to show Wanda the sketches. I spread the drawings out on the counter and as Wanda perused them, curiosity got the better of me. “Uh, Dave, uh, he can’t, uh, you know—”
“Make babies? Good Lord, no. He was fixed years ago. But he thinks he can, which will drive me crazy. I suppose I’ll have to take his girlfriend to the pound.”
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