by Mercy Brown
I’m so enthralled studying Cole’s ink, I don’t realize I’ve finished this very strong drink until I’m swilling the last sip. The singer from the first band, Pain of Pestilence, a short (but not shorter than me) guy with chin-length dyed black hair and matching goatee and a Rock 4 Life tattoo on his abdomen (I know this because he sang the set with his shirt off), hands me another.
“Cheers!” he says. “I’m Howie. Welcome to Ohio!”
We happen to be staying at Pain of Pestilence’s house tonight, so I don’t want to be rude. I accept the drink and we clink glasses as Soft starts playing “Fake Tan.” Here’s where I look back at the stage and notice Cole is actually watching me, which is odd. He should be paying attention to this change into the chorus or he’s going to miss it. I look behind me to see what the hell he’s looking at. Oh, the merchandise table isn’t being manned and there are people there. I head back and I’m already buzzed from how much whiskey I’ve had, but it’s fine. It’s Saturday night, right? As long as I’m not sloshed when Soft finish their set, no harm done.
I take a seat behind the merch table and Howie kicks the bassist out of his seat and takes it. I notice there don’t seem to be a lot of folks interested in Pain of Pestilence T-shirts, not sure why since they have a lovely crucified maggot on them. Meanwhile, I’m selling a ton of Soft singles and have picked up twenty mailing list names by the time Soft’s set is done. As I’m trying to make change correctly with a whiskey-flavored buzz, Howie is chatting with me about the Jersey metal scene and Monster Magnet and Nudeswirl and I try to explain we really don’t know any of those guys personally, and Nudeswirl just broke up and the entire town is in mourning. But that doesn’t diminish Howie’s interest in talking my ear off.
After their set is over, Soft unload their gear off the stage. Cole walks by carrying Joey’s kick drum and does a double take. I look down and realize I’ve finished my second drink, and I’m a lightweight, so I have a serious buzz on now. Oh, well. It’s the road, right?
“You want another?” Howie asks.
“I’m good,” I say.
“Come on, it’s Saturday night!” he says. “Let’s party!”
“Oh, I’m partying,” I say. “I’m a walking party of one.”
“Let’s make it for two, then.” He smiles and gets up and goes to the bar.
I look up and see Cole standing at the side of the merchandise table, sweating through his Black Flag T-shirt, hands on his hips, looking at me.
“What’s up?” he asks. How the hell does he stand there post-set, all sweaty, and still make me want to jump him? “Are you all right?”
“Am I all right?” I must be leering at him because he gives me a funny look. I look down my dress to make sure it’s buttoned and not stuck in my underwear or anything. “I guess I’m all right. And you’re all right, too, you know that?”
“How many of those have you had?” He’s looking down at my empty glass.
“Just two drinks,” I say. My tongue seems to be involuntarily darting out and licking the corners of my lips. “Two strong-enough-for-a-man, made-for-a-woman drinks.”
“Jesus, Sonia.”
“What?”
I have a funny feeling when he breaks out the “Sonia” that I’m in some sort of trouble, but what does he care if I’ve had a couple of drinks? It’s not like I can’t count money, and I’ll be fine in half an hour. Howie comes back and puts another drink down in front of me and Cole stares at the glass like Howie just handed me a pint of devil’s semen and I’m about to be inducted into the Secret Pestilence Order.
“Hey, man, great set!” Howie says to Cole, slapping him on the back. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“Sure, thanks,” Cole answers, and then he takes my glass and drinks from it.
“Uh, that was hers,” Howie says and laughs. Maybe he laughs because he’s just an easygoing guy, or maybe it’s because Cole is more than a full head taller than he is, but Howie is looking a little unsure now. Cole stares back at him, and definitely not in a friendly way. Then he looks down at me.
“You don’t mind sharing, do ya, Sunshine?”
“Nope,” I say. “Share away.”
“Oh hey, man,” Howie says. “She’s with you? I didn’t know.”
“No worries,” Cole says. I sit there with my mouth hanging open and I don’t say anything that would correct Howie’s misunderstanding, even though part of my brain is feeling like I should. “If you’re heading to the bar, though, a bottle of water would be great.”
“Sure thing,” Howie says, and then heads off. Cole takes Howie’s seat next to me.
“You’re totally cock blocking me.” I’m kidding, of course, but I guess he’s not.
“You’re welcome,” he says, and I’m getting pretty uncomfortable with the unamused look on his face.
“What?”
“You, letting some strange metalhead get you drunk. You’re the last person I’d expect to need a babysitter.”
“I don’t need a babysitter!” Now I’m pissed. “I am the babysitter in this outfit. And I’m not drunk, I’m just a little buzzed.”
Howie comes back with a bottle of water and Cole hands it to me. Then he gets up and walks off with my drink and hands it to Emmy! The nerve. A minute later he’s in typical Cole mode, chatting with three girls with permed hair and cemented wall o’bangs, smiling and sparkling like the adorable fucking machine he is. And now I’m fuming.
“No offense, but your boyfriend is kind of a dick,” Howie says.
I don’t correct him on either point. I ask him to watch the table for me while I grab Emmylou and head to our office, the ladies’ room.
“Do I seem drunk to you?” I ask her, checking myself out in the mirror.
“Hmm,” she says, smoothing my hair and then fixing the tag in my dress so it isn’t sticking out. “Maybe a little buzzed? You do seem kind of pissed off, though. More than usual, I mean.”
“Great,” I answer. I hand her the band cash and ask her to man the table for a few so I can get some air. Then out of spite, or maybe for courage, or maybe because I’m stupid, I down the rest of her drink. That’s about two-thirds of it, which is too much, way too fast given how buzzed I’m already feeling.
“Whoa, dude,” she says. “What’s gotten into you?”
“That was my drink,” I say. “I was just letting you borrow it.”
“Okay, but . . .” she says. “Are you all right?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, and I’m perfectly all right if by “all right” she means “completely fucked up.”
I march out of the restroom, leaving a bewildered Emmylou behind holding an empty whiskey glass, and stomp my Doc Martens right over to Cole, interrupting him in the middle of some conversation about skateboards with two girls who look as much like skaters as Tony Hawk looks like a stripper. I stand there, my face hot, my arms folded in front of my chest, until he interrupts his conversation to give me the once-over.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“I need you to come with me out to the van for a minute,” I say. Or, at least I think that’s what I’m saying.
“Joey’s out there. You’ll be fine,” he says. I don’t move. I might be swaying, or maybe it’s the room. Cole does a double take and excuses himself, motioning for me to head out, and follows me. I’m trailing my hand along the wall to help keep me steady when I feel Cole’s hand in mine, and he gives it a squeeze.
“Christ almighty, you’re ripped,” he says. “Don’t tell me Mr. Pain bought you another drink, or he and I are going to have a little talk.”
“Shut up,” I say. “I’m twenty-one and I can drink as much as I want.”
“Watch it or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and put you to bed,” he says. “Again.”
Outside, even the still night air is a relief. I take a big gulping breath of it. Cole le
ads me to the van, and I can’t help but stare at his ass in those dark gray Dickies and think very impure thoughts. We see Joey and Gregor hanging outside while Gregor has a cigarette.
“Whoa, what’s up with Sunny?” Joey asks.
“Why are you asking him? I’m right here.” I thrust my finger at his chest, and I’m eyeball to nipple with Joey. “Right where your mom left me.”
“Holy shit,” Joey says and laughs. “She’s fucking wasted.”
“Tell me about it,” Cole says.
“Is that nice?” I say. “Is that a nice thing to say about someone who’s right here?”
“What are you going to do with her?” Gregor asks. “She’s probably going to hurl.”
“No I’m not,” I say. “I’m German. Germans never hurl.”
“Come on, Sunshine, let’s walk it off,” Cole says, putting his arm around my shoulders and steering me away. Now I’m staggering as he sort of drags me to the van. He opens the side door, hops in, and pulls the cooler out, and I stare at his ass again as he’s on his hands and knees. I reach my hands out like a pervert, just pretending I would ever have the courage to grab it. I misjudge how close I am and he backs out ass first, right into my hands, and I freeze, basically cupping Cole’s very well-toned skater butt. He turns and gives me the eye over his shoulder.
“Um,” I say, lowering my hands as I turn bright red. “I lost my balance for a second.”
He climbs out of the van and gives me a bottle of water. “Drink that.”
I take a sip, then another, and that’s better. I take a deep breath, and why is he staring at me like that? I look down to make sure nothing is hanging out of my dress. I fan myself, but it’s still getting hot in here. Or out here.
“So why did you cock block me in there?” I say. “Maybe I like metal, did you ever think of that?”
“Yeah? Then why didn’t you ask Howie Pain to take you out to the van? I’m sure he would have been happy to get under that dress of yours.”
“What do you care? Aren’t you well on your way to your second ménage à trois in two nights?”
“Do you have a problem with my sleeping arrangements, Sonia?” And he deadpans it, all sarcastic like he wasn’t fucking two girls last night. My sleeping arrangements, my ass.
“Not at all,” I deadpan right back. “Sleep with however many whores you like. Like Goddamn always.”
“Oh, so you are mad about that,” he says and grins. “If I’d known how much you cared, I would have invited you to join in.”
“I don’t care,” I say, and I try to laugh but it comes out all forced. I can’t tell if I’m hot or embarrassed, but I definitely feel like I’m about to break a sweat. “I’m just, you know, impressed.”
“Well, it wasn’t very impressive,” he says.
“Why? What, um, happened?” I ask, because there’s an acutely horny part of me that is drunk enough to ask and desperately wants to hear all the details of the answer.
“Not much,” he says. “Don’t tell Joey—he’ll be crushed.”
“What does ‘not much’ mean? You guys played checkers all night?”
He leans on the door over me and looks down, pauses.
“You really want to know?”
Oh, I definitely do. I nod and bite my tongue to keep myself from saying something stupid. More stupid, I mean. I take a sip of water. “Yeah, just, you know. Curious.”
He leans down so we’re eye-level, and the way he’s looking me over makes me gulp. He lowers his voice, all gravelly when he speaks into my ear. “Well, they were really into being watched. So they both got naked and I watched Diane put her head between Marilyn’s legs and lick her out until she came.”
I choke and almost spew water all over him. “Oh my God,” I say. “Did you . . . you know?”
“Did I what?” he says.
“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing.”
“Did I come?” he says, and I swear I can feel his lips along the edge of my ear. “You want to know if I came?”
I can’t answer. I take another drink of water but miss my mouth, spilling it all over my own face and down my dress. He tries not to laugh and grabs the roll of paper towels from the van. I take them but fumble the roll to the ground. When I bend to pick it up, I spill more water on myself. He leans down to help me, and as he’s crouching there with the roll of paper towels our eyes meet and I drunkenly decide fuck it all, I’m going to jump him. But instead of waiting for him to be on his feet, I launch myself at him and knock him off balance so that he falls into the door and hits his head and I somehow end up sitting on top of him.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” I ask, checking his scalp for blood. The worst part is that I’m laughing while I do it. Laughing at people in pain is this terrible nervous thing I do, sealing my reservation for an eternal seat in hell.
“Damn, Sunny, are you trying to kill me?” he asks, rubbing his head.
“No,” I say. “I was trying to jump you.”
“Here? In the parking lot?”
“Well?” I’m still sitting on top of him as he props himself up. “Yes?”
In the swimming chaos of my head there’s a pause where Cole is just smiling at me in this way that makes me wish I was sober so I could never forget it. But if I wasn’t drunk, never in a million years would I have the courage to take his face in my hands the way I do and kiss him on the forehead. I pull away and he’s got an entirely different look on his face now. I feel his hands on my back, warm and strong, and I put my lips to his, but instead of kissing me, he hesitates and stiffens and oh no, I’m drunk and I’ve read this situation all wrong. I pull back. “Oh God, I’m really sorry,” I say. “I thought . . .”
He pulls me back down and covers my mouth with his. I feel his tongue push into my mouth but then it’s gone and I feel his teeth on my lower lip, his forehead rocking to touch mine, and his hand tight in my hair at the back of my head, and oh God, oh God I can feel him thick and hard between my legs. And as I’m straddling him in a dress, I realize there’s only the thinnest scrap of my underwear between me and his Dickies.
“You should be sorry,” he says. “Because I can’t fuck you when you’re this drunk.”
“How drunk do I have to be?” I ask. “The night is young.”
Chapter Four
Cole
Of course I didn’t fuck her—but she did absolutely nothing to make it easy on me. She’s lucky I don’t put her over my knee in that librarian dress and spank her until her glasses are crooked and she’s begging me to fuck her. And then I’ll say no unless she fucking promises me she’ll never let some strange guy in a bar get her that drunk again.
Late in the morning, Joey, Trap, and I wait in the parking lot outside of Pestilence’s apartment for Emmy and Sonia to come down so we can hit the road. I ended up sleeping with the gear last night just so I wouldn’t be tempted to punch Howie’s face in. I can’t fucking stand guys like that, don’t care how fast he backed off after I cock blocked him. What would he have pulled with Sunny if I hadn’t been there? Can’t even think about that or I’ll go back in there, and we don’t need the drama. I spent only five minutes upstairs using the bathroom, all the while he was in the kitchen stroking his goatbeard, waxing with Emmy about Beta 58s. What a fucking tool.
The girls finally come outside and Sunshine’s wearing these huge, dark sunglasses and says no more than two words to anybody. She’s so hungover I doubt she even remembers half the crazy, dirty, amazing shit she said to me last night. But I sure as hell do, all curled up in my lap, kissing my neck, basically arguing that I should be doing her right there in the back of the van. Talk about sick irony. Then she said, “Did you know you’re the star of my favorite wet dream?”
“Oh yeah? What did I do to deserve that distinction? Feel free to be specific.” I’m going to hell, I know. No need to remind me.
; “You did a lot of very bad, wrong things,” she said, dragging her lips down my neck, slurring her words into my skin.
“I would never do bad, wrong things to you, I swear. I would only ever do very, very good wrong things to you. The best wrong things.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Hmm . . . maybe I’ll show you sometime.”
“Can’t you show me now? We’ve got a little time before they come out here.”
“Sweetheart, nobody should be showing you anything when you’re this drunk except where the Alka-Seltzer is in the medicine cabinet.”
She stopped kissing my neck just so she could give me the evil eye.
“Are you always such a gentleman? It’s kind of annoying.”
“Yeah? You know what else is kind of annoying? You hopping into my lap all drunk and giving me a hard-on I can’t give right back to you. Twice.”
“Oh my God, you did not just say that!”
“In fact, I did.”
Then she shifted so she could put her hand in my lap, her eyes wide as dinner plates when she got her hand on my dick, and fuck me if I’m not a prince for not getting up under that dress myself and letting her have it right there and then. It’s not like she didn’t want it. My problem is, she only seems to want it when she’s too drunk to get it.