by Izzy Daniels
“Hey! I can be girly. Just because I suck at doing hair and makeup and wear sensible shoes, doesn’t mean I’m not girly.” I mutter unconvincingly. “Besides, Brooke has a thing for princesses.” He nods like he finally understands.
“Of course it’s because of Brooke. What else would it be about? What is she going as?” He asks me.
“I have no idea.” I reply honestly. “I’m going to look super ridiculous and she’s going to look super hot. But it doesn’t matter, I’m doing this. I already paid a small fortune for the dress. It’s so much dress, Jack. Your mom is helping me. Please don’t make fun of me. I’ll watch Die Hard every Saturday for a month if you refrain.”
I’m nervous enough that I can’t handle it if he rags on me the whole time, too. I may not believe I can pull off the whole princess thing, but I have to try. I refuse to chicken out. Jack doesn’t reply but his lips are curved into his usual smirk.
“I am suddenly reconsidering going to this party,” he says playfully.
I hate him.
...
“Now, just blot your lips on this tissue. Here, like this,” Gail says before miming what she wants me to do. I follow her lead awkwardly and end up getting tissue stuck to my tongue. “Well, now it’s time to put on the dress.”
She grabs the garment bag hanging on the bathroom door and unzips it. Billows of blue shimmery tulle escape the confines of the black bag and we have to work together to slide it out of the bag.
“Is this the live-action Cinderella dress? It’s beautiful!” She says as she admires it.
“I think so, I asked for the most princess-y dress they had. I liked the butterflies on it,” I say lamely.
“I’m going to step out while you slip it on. Let me know if you need any help, sweetie,” Gail adds before shutting the bathroom door behind her.
I carefully slip out of my clothes and fold them into a neat pile. The moment has come. I unzip the dress and step into it. Nothing spectacular or magical happens, sadly. No fairy godmother appeared. Not that I was expecting anything. I manage to zip up the back and arrange the fluffy shoulders evenly. I dig out a pair of clear plastic high heels and slip them on. Well, they’re not high at all, more like an inch because I have no desire to break my neck. I finally brave the mirror. My face looks way different than it usually does. Gail artfully applied all kinds of face things, including powdery glitter. I definitely look more mature, slightly otherworldly. My fear was that it would turn out clownish, but it’s so much better. I turn my face and examine each angle. Gail managed to capture an ethereal quality that really works for a princess costume. She’s an amazing artist. She also tamed my hair with a curling iron and hair spray and a thousand bobby pins. All in all I look the part even if I don’t feel it. I still feel completely ridiculous, but I’ll work on it. When I open the door, it’s not Gail standing where I expected, it’s Jack.
“Sweet baby Jesus!” He cries out.
“Shut your face right now, Jack,” I demand sternly.
“There’s so much dress. Is it heavy? How are you planning on walking?” He questions annoyingly.
“Go away,” I beg.
“I can’t go away, I’m bewitched. You are the flame and I am the moth. Like a boy to your milkshake-yard. Like a rat to your ship. Pick an idiom and I can make it fit. This is so great, I am definitely getting pictures of this.”
“I hate you. Is it really that bad?” Of course it is .
“Wait, let me go to the bottom of the stairs and then you walk down. I need the full experience,” he announces before running for the stairs. I hear him thumping down them and on the final thump he yells ‘ready’.
I briefly entertain the idea of throwing a high heel at his eye from the top of the stairs, but decide it was time to try acting like a princess. With my head held high I square my shoulders and as gracefully as I can manage walk to the stop of the staircase. Jack, Tommy, and both his parents stand there waiting for me. Gail has a camera in hand so it will forever be documented that I look like a complete idiot. So be it . In princess fashion, I delicately lay my fingers against the banister. I endeavor to glide down the stairs but it’s so hard to do while unable to see your feet and looking straight ahead. Surprisingly, I don’t fall. Score.
As I take the last step, Jack clutches his chest and falls to one knee, a look of feigned yearning on his face. I shove him over before he can declare his undying love or something. He loses his balance and falls into his brother, taking him down, too. Oops. My bad.
“Oh my goodness, Emma, You look so beautiful, just like a real princess!” Gail claims while dabbing the corner of her eye with a tissue.
“What gentlemen, bowing before the princess!” Dave says gleefully as Jack and Tommy forcefully elbow each other before righting themselves.
“Thanks,” I croak, trying with all my willpower not to blush at the attention. I’m unsuccessful. “Are you coming, Jack?”
“Nah, I don’t want to steal the spotlight. You go have fun, Princess,” he replies pleasantly.
...
Shoving myself into my car took longer than I anticipated so I’m running a little bit late to meet Morgan and Brooke at the apartment. When I arrive, I take a few calming breaths. If I throw up on this dress, there is no way they’ll give my deposit back. When I reach the second floor, I take a moment to straighten the dress and brush my hair back over my shoulders. After I knock on the door, the knots in my stomach tighten and my pulse spikes.
I hear Brooke’s voice saying ‘got it’ the second before the door opens. There’s a small gush of wind from it opening inward and my breath gets stuck in my throat. Brooke’s wearing a white long-sleeved coat with padded gold shoulders and embroidered swirls around the gold buttons. The jacket has a gold belt that complement her pants. They are a deep red with a gold stripe up the side of each leg. When my eyes find her face again, she looks pretty stunned. Her mouth opens and then closes.
“Princess,” she rasps as she bows at her waist. I take in her outfit, her slicked back hair, her shiny boots, and suddenly it makes sense.
“Your Royal Highness.” I smile broadly and dip into a curtsy. She reaches out her hand and I take it. Before she pulls me into the apartment, she leans close.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispers before she gently kisses my lips.
“No, you,” I tell her when our lips part. A smile forms on her face and she draws me into the apartment. When I step through the threshold, I see Morgan draped over the couch in her orange suit. She gasps when she sees me.
“Dayuuumm!” She intones as she sits up and her eyes take in my hair, my face, and the big dress. “Emma, you look insanely awesome. Like totally different. Wait... Brooke when you picked Prince Charming did you know she was going as Cinderella?”
“Um, thanks… I think,” I say skeptically. But I guess I can see what she means.
“No, I didn’t,” Brooke answers. Brooke’s dreamy eyes are still appraising me appreciatively. She really does have a thing for princesses. I’m starting to feel less moronic. Her hand is still in mine so I give it a tiny squeeze of gratitude.
“So, shall we get our party on?” Morgan asks.
“Yes. Let’s,” says Brooke.
...
The club I told Jack about, Ubiquitous, is an enormous place downtown that resembles a two story warehouse. It’s one of the hottest clubs around and they do a big Halloween discount on their drinks. Apparently, that’s a big deal. Morgan got us arm bands from her friend that works there, otherwise we would have to stand in the line wrapping around the building. Morgan and I aren’t twenty-one and over, but that’s not what our armbands say. Thick velvety ropes block off one section of the front where the line begins at the door. Two large men are manning the door. I can hear the thumping of loud music as we exit the car. Apart from the people stuck in line, I spot a few groups of costumed partygoers hanging around outside smoking. In the crowds, I can see a doctor, a few pirates, some Jedi and many scantily c
lad women. I notice someone wearing a big furry animal costume as we’re waved through the entrance. The second guy opens the door for us and the music hits me. It’s so loud I can feel it reverberate through my body.
I take in the scene. It’s a very open space with high ceilings, but there are so many people. Too many to count. There are a few rows of standing tables lining the dark walls on the left half of the club. There are orange, red, and white strobe lights over the dance floor where a sea of people move to the wild beat. Barely visible behind the dance floor is a long bar covered neon light advertisements. It’s also packed with people,everyone pushing their way to the counter. Above the dance floor is a second floor balcony. It has sofas and tables and is littered with even more people. Along the railings are classic Halloween decorations, large black spiders, spiderwebs, ghosts, and some scary looking wolves and gargoyles.
I notice Brooke watching me study the place, probably wondering how I’m handling my first club experience. Her mouth moves in question and I’m certain she’s talking to me but there’s no way to hear her over the music. I squint my eyes and confusion and shake my head. I point to my ear so she leans down and shouts into it. “Let’s do a shot! Then I want to dance with you!” My eyes widen slightly at her shot proposal. I’ve never had one before, but I’ve never been in a club with a girl before either. When I was eleven I tasted my mom’s cooking sherry and it was disgusting, which makes total sense because I later found out that you’re not supposed to drink it. She notices my hesitation. “We can skip the shot and go straight to the dancing, if you want!
“No, let’s do it!” I nod at her. There have been a lot of firsts lately and I’ve been enjoying all of them. I grab Morgan’s arm. “Shot!” I yell at her. She throws us a mischievous smile and a thumbs up before pulling us toward the bar. Her eyes scan behind the bar, trying to see past the wall of heads. Finally, she spots her intended target. Once again, she pulls us, this time to the back end of it. What I assume is her friend is down there serving drinks. He’s tall and shirtless, his pectorals are broad and firm. I can only see those and his perfectly messy hair as he busily moves around the bar. Between the shoulders of thirsty patrons, I catch a glimpse of him flipping a glass backwards and over his arm only to catch it again. His nimble tricks have caused a stir in the gaggle of girls wearing different colored tiny tube dresses. They all swoon into each other with high-pitched squeals. The bartender smirks at them as he sets their drinks on the bar. His deft fingers collect their pile of cash while simultaneously taking orders being shouted at him. I catch glimpses as he concocts them, throwing tricks in here and there. Brooke spots an opening, so we push, like actually push, our way around the far edge of the counter. When he notices us, Morgan waves to him excitedly. He gives her a nod and finishes setting few sliced limes on the rims of glasses before making his way over to us. He leans over to kiss Morgan on the cheek and she introduces us.
“Damien, these are the friends I mentioned. This is Brooke and that’s her girlfriend Emma. You look awesome! Tarzan?” Morgan shouts. I realize he’s wearing barely more than a loin cloth. Tarzan makes sense and is likely the cause of his bare chest. How sanitary can that be though?
“Nice to meet you!” He tells us. “The less clothes I wear the better I get tipped. You three look great. What can I get you?” He isn’t shouting as loud as Morgan, but his voice carries. I wonder if that’s something he practiced. At his question, I look blankly at Brooke. I know nothing about shots. Morgan looks just as unsure, so Brooke takes the lead.
“Three lemon drops please!” He nods appreciatively and sets to work rolling the top of three miniature glasses in either salt or sugar, but I guess sugar when he drops a cube of it into each glass. Then he pours vodka and some lemon juice over ice, into a silver shaker. A few successive shakes and a lemon slice on the side as garnish and he slides the finished product over to us. Brooke slides him a bill and he slips it into the cash register. He gives a us wink and tips an imaginary hat before moving on.
“Cheers!” Brooke says as she clinks her shot against ours. I watch as she tips her head back and downs it in one sip. Her exposed neck produces an image of my tongue running along her jaw in my mind, sending a warm ripple coursing through me. I lift my glass to my lips and tip it back. It’s sweet and sour and it burns fiercely. My eyes water a little bit but I try to keep a straight face. As the aftertaste builds in my mouth and my lips turn down in aversion. Brooke laughs heartily at my pain though she rewards me with a quick kiss. Morgan’s face is still twisted at the intensity of the alcohol burn, but she holds up a thumb.
We leave our empty glasses at the bar and wind our way back through the crowd toward middle of the dance floor. We’ve only made it a few feet onto the dance floor when I get whacked in the face by a bedazzled white wing belonging to a tall, slender man. I almost lose my balance, but Brooke wraps her arm around my waist and steadies me. I give her a smile of thanks and she grabs my hand and I catch the mischievous grin a moment before she sends me twirling out from her and then back into her. Before I can catch my breath, she dips me backwards with ease. Her face is only a foot away from mine when I see her mouth move, but I can’t hear what she says over the deafening music. It looks like she said lasagna . Does she want me to cook lasagna? What a weird time to request that. I’m crossing lip-reading off my potential skill set list, since I clearly suck at it.
She must read my confusion because she just shakes her head a little and pulls me closer. Her eyes shine with ardor as they angle toward my lips and her mouth is smoldering passion as it touches mine. Her lips are feather soft, but I sense a suppressed need in them. When her tongue brushes against mine, my heart jumpstarts. Maybe that’s my own needs singing out, mingling with hers. Her kiss intoxicates me more than any shot. She’s panting when we break the kiss and I realize I didn’t want to stop there. The kiss was as intimate as it was primal and I want more. I knew clubs were places of debauchery, I just never thought I would participate in it. There must be something about the darkness, perhaps the anonymity emboldens people. Right now, I feel ready.
Morgan interrupts our yearning stare when she thrusts herself between us. It almost pains me, but I shelve my desire and give Morgan a playful slap on the butt she’s grinding into me. She grins naughtily. I don’t have much experience with butt gyrating into other people’s bubbles, so I decided to go a different route. I break out my riding-a-pony move and give it a hundred and ten percent. Brooke dissolves into a fit of laughter but composes herself enough to do a very impressive pushing-a-shopping-cart move, even examining an imaginary nutritional label. Morgan catches onto us and grabs her right foot, moving her knee back and forth. Amateur . I bust of a classic scuba move while Brooke starts miming a sprinkler. Morgan moves into an impressively realistic robot dance. Brooke and I switch to running man at the same time, so we high five and have a dance off.
I can’t say how long we spend showing off our dorkiest moves, but my lungs are burning and my cheeks are in pain from the hilarity. Morgan is shiny with sweat and her eyes are twinkling with merriment as she gestures for a drink. She mouths something, water or walter , and motions for us to follow her off the dance floor towards the front of the club. As we push out into the cool night air, my head throbs and my ears still feel muffled and strange. She points to the mini mart on the far corner of the block and we set off for it. I lift my hair off my neck to try to cool off, spending the short walk fantasizing about peeling off this oversized dress. We get an indecipherable look from the cashier as we step inside the mini mart, though he’s probably seen some weird things today. Brooke and Morgan head for the back coolers where the waters live and I make my way to the slushie machine to the left of the register. Nine different flavors go into my mega cup and the cold feels heavenly. I bring the cup to my forehead as Morgan and Brooke make it back to the front carrying giant water bottles. We pay and then stagger back onto the sidewalk.
“I’m pooped. Sorry, did you two want to go bac
k in there?” Morgan asks considerately.
“Nah, I’m wiped out. Let’s head back,” Brooke replies as she reaches for my unoccupied hand. I nod in total agreement without stopping the flow of slushie to my waiting mouth.
10
Brooke
My only rule and I’m breaking it for her. This girl. I’ve broken the promise to myself to be true to who I am, to my feelings. Especially my super gay ones. I am so far gone for Emma but I haven’t told her. I can’t tell her . She’s not ready to know. I have to tread carefully, this is all so new to her. I slipped up in the club, but I don’t think she noticed. I don’t want to scare her away, but how can I not tell her? The words are there, at the end of every phone call, when I kiss her goodnight after every date, and when we part ways on campus. I give myself a mental shake. Patience .
“That was so fun. Thank you for being my Halloween date,” Emma expresses politely. We just got back up to my apartment after dropping Morgan safely at her door. Emma’s mouth is a dark purple color from her frozen drink. I want to taste it.
“My pleasure,” I reply as I drop my water bottle in the recycling bin and kick off my boots by the door.
I wander over to her and slowly lower myself to my knees in front of her. I think she can read the intent on my face, because she swallows hard. I reach for her cup and put it on the coffee table behind me. Her mouth opens a tiny bit when I lift the bottom of her dress up and slide my fingers across her ankles. One hand slowly removes a single fake glass slipper and I rub my thumbs across the soles of her foot. I can feel her eyes on me as I pull the other shoe off. I massage this foot, too, before moving simultaneously up to her calves. When I brush my palms across her knee and over to her thighs, I hear the slight change in her breathing. It’s shallower.
I continue to knead her leg muscles until I can feel them relax. I don’t let my hands go cross the thin line between teasing and pleasing because I don’t know if she’s ready for all the things I desperately want to do to her. I’ve been taking it excruciatingly slow, for her sake. I would be her first, if she lets me. I want it to be perfect. My hands have slowed to a rest on the soft skin of her thighs. My control is on a precipice and I need to be careful.