Under The Covers

by Baker, Max Q.

  "Owners are Old South. They follow certain conventions."

  "Ok." Her tone said she was not convinced, but she went along with it. She also was aware it was suspiciously close to her birthday; and everyone else was unusually absent at the same time. It was pretty obvious she was connecting the dots in her head, but that was ok. As long as she went with me.

  I mean, as long as she had a good time.

  ***

  When I picked her up on the night of the party, she was more beautiful than I could stand. Her hair was tied up. Her sky-blue strapless dress fit tight in all the right places, and flowed seamlessly in all the others, highlighting her curves and muscular hard body. Her eyes had more liner than normal, sloping up at the outer edges, like an exotic Siamese cat. They leapt from her face into my heart. She wore long white gloves and open-toed high-heeled white shoes. (I will forgo my usual comments about Ho Shoes.) A delicate periwinkle corsage was strapped to her wrist, with dyed-white roses, bluebells, and baby's breath. I felt like I was taking her to the prom, or my wedding. I had rented a tuxedo for the occasion, which made me feel a little more high-society than normal.

  Her mother remarked how handsome we both looked. I think she wanted to take a picture of us to commemorate the moment, but since I wasn't Bo's boyfriend, she held back without offering.

  It was Bo who prompted her, with a blushing grin. “I’m beautiful, aren’t I? Shouldn’t you be taking a picture?”

  She stammered, not sure how to ask whether or not I should be in the picture. Bo anticipated her mother’s concern. “We both look nice tonight. Take some with and without Waylon.”

  “Ok,” her mother replied, getting misty eyed.

  I cuddled up close to Bo, pressing my chest against her back; holding her arm and hip with either hand. My cheek pressed her cheek; my breath in sync with her breath. Her mother knitted her brows, as if this pose were too intimate, but neither Bo nor I said anything to suggest otherwise, so she took the picture. We shifted our pose slightly, and her mother took another. Then I stepped aside so that she could take some pictures of Bo by herself. Bo was radiant; she glowed like a woman in love.

  [ The Country Club ]

  The designated Country Club wasn’t one of the places Ryan normally took her. This was to throw her off the scent for a few more minutes. When we walked inside, as expected, everything was perfect. The venue had the feel of an old Georgian Mansion where weddings and other functions were held. Ryan had chosen the perfect venue. Every detail was elegant; the catering, flowers, statues, magnificent fireplaces, sitting sofas, and a pair of open bars. Welcoming tables were set up with cheese, crackers, and fruit. Tuxedoed wait staff in aprons carried trays of various hors d'oeuvres; stuffed shrimp and crab, scallops wrapped in bacon, and spinach puffed pastries.

  As soon as we entered the hall for her party, the giant "Happy Birthday, Bo" banner hung from the ceiling, drooping at the center. The decorations were outrageous, colorful, and over the top.

  Amane's roommate, Rayne - the red-haired college girl with glittering silver and black robes - set her DJ booth on a table, and Ryan had rented a collection of party lights to make a dance band proud. There was even a fog machine, casting a light mist across the floor for atmosphere. Rayne had nudged Amane to require that.

  Delivering on Chris's suggestion, one side of the hall had been setup as a casino, like an oasis of Vegas, complete with tacky flashing lights, neon, and a standup cardboard cutout of Elvis singing. Everyone who entered was given vouchers for chips. There were roulette wheels, poker tables, craps, and more.

  In the back were three long tables with pink embroidered tablecloths, piled high with gifts. One table had gifts for Bo. The other table had gifts for the more private Yankee Swap that we would have among ourselves. The third table had gifts for the winners of the Casino Night challenges.

  The goal was that everyone would leave with at least one prize. Chris’s concept had been inspired, once it was realized to its full potential.

  Behind the gifts were two large boards that had collages of photos that her friends and mother had donated. It created a history of her life, from her childhood to the present, including all of her friends. Even me.

  The only person missing from the photos and the party, I noticed, was her father. Also known simply as “Male.”

  A small table was dwarfed by a giant cake that could have been a wedding cake.

  Stars, moons, snowflakes, and silver birds hung from the ceiling, reflecting the moving shimmer of the party lights and giant disco ball.

  I had suggested the birds. Sandhill Cranes in their immortal v-formation, flying over the dance floor. That was one of my reminders to her about that rare moment when we had admitted the tiniest hint of feelings for one another.

  Streamers were wrapped around poles and formed archways of paper flowers. There were also strange tiki birds and plastic totem poles that I later found out were Chris's idea, but instead of being garish and out-of-place, they somehow added to the fun, and represented the diversity and uniqueness of our group.

  Chris was wearing a Rastafarian wig. No one was sure why, but Chris would be Chris. The long dreads actually made his beard seem less noticeable.

  And Bo. Radiant Bo. Even though she had suspected a party being thrown for her, she was overwhelmed with the incredible effort and end result. Her hands went to her mouth and she blushed, speechless, tears rising to her eyes.

  Ryan met her, and I stepped away as he escorted her inside.

  I had had my moment, and now it was his.

  [ The Party ]

  Friends and family welcomed her, as Bo glided from person to person, saying 'hello,' and it was 'so nice to see them,' ‘thank you for coming.’ She bestowed fairy kisses and hugs as she shimmered across the floor.

  Mags straddled up to my side, put her arm around my shoulder, and wrapped her leg around mine at the knee, watching me watch Bo. "It's hard knowing you'll never have what you want," she whispered.

  I frowned. I still thought she was making comments about Bo and me. It didn’t occur to me she might have been talking about herself.

  Bo and Ryan were the perfect couple. They seemed so happy.

  I faced Mags, filled with emotion, and kissed her hard on the lips. She clutched me and pulled me tight.

  I opened my eyes and looked over her shoulder. Bo was watching from across the room where she stood with Ryan. For a moment, Bo's smile faded; and she stared at me like a ghost that had seen its own life pass away. She took Ryan's hand lifelessly and faced away, letting him lead her to the table with the photo collage.

  Mags asked me, “Need a drink?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I agreed. She went to get one for both of us.

  Standing next to the collages, Bo read the greetings on a beautifully designed white-board wrapped in silver ribbon with hand-painted flowers and calligraphy. All of her friends and family had written her messages of love, friendship, and encouragement. Her eyes involuntarily searched for my entry, written in the bottom right corner, out of the way and uncluttered by the other messages.

  "Wishing you the second-best," it said. And I had signed it "Furry-Date." I didn't see it, but she later told me she laughed when she read it. She had never shared the cyber-stalker origins or original gas-station encounters of our past with Ryan or her friends.

  When I had written that, I was a little afraid that it was too blatant, that everyone would know I meant that Ryan was the best, but I still wished I could be with her. But as it turned out, most people, apart from the person receiving a board like that, don’t actually read much more than what they wrote themselves, or the items immediately surrounding it, for inspiration.

  ***

  The night proceeded to the gambling competition. It was a timed event. For one hour, everyone - individually or in groups - competed for chip vouchers, which could be spent on prizes from the prize table, in between grabbing appetizers and drinks.

  Then it was time for dinner, and we all
sat together at a big round table near the DJ, and did our Yankee Swap, safely separated from everyone else.

  There were enough presents that everyone could have three.

  And Mags hadn't let anyone down. She had made sure that there were plenty of gag gifts so that everyone walked away with at least one off-color item. There were handcuffs, sex toys, flavored condoms and edible underwear. There was body-stocking lingerie - which oddly - Chris ended up with, and we jokingly suggested he dress up like Dr. Frankenfurter from Rocky Horror.

  He said, “Maybe later,” and we weren’t sure if he was serious.

  There were bottles of Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, and liqueurs. There were boxes of chocolates and collections of scented candles. There were music party packs, greatest hits from different eras and genres. There was a collection of sappy romance DVDs, and relaxing bath oils, for a girl's night in. There were trashy books for chilling when you needed some meaningless time alone. There were tickets to an OK GO concert that we quickly realized was intended for all of us, since there were eight tickets. There were portable pocket party games, like 'Left Right Center' and 'Pass the Pigs', so we could fire up some fun no matter where we were.

  We were laughing, getting buzzed, and everyone was having a great time, memories of wrongly placed kisses and misplaced affections forgotten for a while.

  Chris called out, “A toast!” and held up his glass.

  Mags lifted hers and proclaimed, with a sour smile plastered across her full red lips, “To loneliness, alcoholism, and depression!”

  We all regarded her a bit strangely. Amane complained, “Buzzkill.”

  I lifted my glass and said, “To Bo!”

  Ryan agreed. “To Bo!”

  Mags updated her toast. “To life! May it always be lived to its fullest.”

  We all agreed. “Hear, hear!” and took our drink.

  After a few more rounds, it was time for the dance party to officially begin. Ryan kicked it off by having the first dance with Bo all by himself, a quiet wedding-innuendo standard. “It's a wonderful world," by Louis Armstrong.

  The pair waltzed slowly around the dance floor like a prince and princess. Everyone was touched, and Bo kissed him sweetly at the end, thanking him for the party. He told her that he loved her. And she blushed, but did not say it back.

  As the happy couple took a bow, Mags decided that was enough of the serious shit. She had approached Rayne, and queued up the next song to get the party started and get everyone out of their chairs.

  "Die Young." By Kesha, of course.

  As soon as it started, Mags dragged me onto the floor, starting to put on a show of her own, putting herself in the Mags Spotlight.

  One by one, with me in tow, she worked her way around the room, pulling everyone to join us onto the dance floor. Bo watched, still blushing and happy. Then she was pulled onto the dance floor too, bopping up and down.

  Amane grabbed Robby, who looked terrified to have her hand on his, and she brought him to the dance floor trying to look seductive, but she really just looked awkward.

  It was ok, though, next to Chris, she still looked good.

  Chris was off doing his spastic dance alone, something between The Robot and A Seizure, attracting way too many laughs and stares, but generally having fun.

  Robby had had enough to drink that he finally shrugged and decided to give Amane the one chance. He slinked up and down next to her, not touching her, not even looking at her, but I had never seen her look happier.

  Song followed song for the next hour and a half, and bit by bit, the energy started to wind down. Fewer people were on the floor. Many people had said goodnight, happy birthday, congratulations, and had left.

  Bo was out-of-breath and thrilled with the party. She was blushing and happy, and at least a little drunk, as we all were. She was beaming and beautiful. Ryan's party was a success. With at least some thanks to his friends.

  Mags had managed to drink too much, to no one's surprise, and dozed off on a cushioned divan at the side of the room, well within our watchful protective gaze. It was a safe place for her.

  As the night came to a close, Bo found me reading the autograph board we had made. She stood next to me and asked, "Am I getting my dance with you? I picked a song. Sorry, it's not country."

  I met her gaze, shyly. "A dance with me? Are you sure? Is Ryan OK with that?"

  "It's my birthday. He'll have to be."

  Bo slipped the DJ an SD card she had hidden in her purse, more proof that she had known this would be a party for her. It was also more proof she had been thinking of me. Rayne plugged it into her console and accessed the file; the theme from the show Ergo Proxy. It was a haunting slow theme called Kiri, by Monoral. The artistic and contemplative soul in Bo had loved several of the edgier anime shows, and this was another of her favorites. She had told me about this one, once.

  It was a tale of self-discovery and love, but not without its price.

  As the chorus guitars unfolded slowly, she took me in her arms and led me to the center of the floor. We were alone out there. There was no hiding from the lights of the disco ball, or our hearts.

  The lights from the starlight balls sparkled on her dress and face. Her eyes shone in the shadows. Her lips lit up like magical faeries, casting spells and dancing on her cheeks. I held her close as we danced slowly in tiny circles across the polished floor, her dress swishing across the parquet. She squeezed me. I was enchanted. I felt the warm skin of her back with my bare hands, and the heat of her belly with my own. My thighs brushed against hers, and although I wasn't a good dancer, somehow it didn't matter. Time suspended around us as we found one another's gaze. This was a moment I had dreamed for longer than I cared to remember, and her expression said that she felt the same way, even if she weren't able to say the words aloud.

  Together, we forgot that anyone else existed, and were oblivious to Ryan's crushed expression as he watched from the side of the room, in the shadows. He never said a word to either of us about it. That was the kind of person he was. But Robby told me later.

  Robby had thought it was funny, but I didn't.

  I didn't want to hurt Ryan. I just wanted to love Bo. And have her love me back.

  [ Amane, Robby, and The Park]

  After everyone else had gone home from the party, Amane stayed out with Robby and me.

  Chris dropped Mags off, borrowing her car for the night. He was in his glory, saying, “I’ll try not to make a mess.” No one knew what he meant, and no one asked. We didn’t want to know. Robby pictured him doing unnatural things with a stick shift, but that was already crossing the line and the conversation ended abruptly.

  The three of us - Amane, Robby, and me - took a walk through the park for a while. Robby and I stopped to play some hacky-sack, looking strangely out of place in our tuxedo and suit coat. Amane watched in silence, with her hands in the pocket of a windbreaker she had grabbed from the car.

  After the park, none of us wanted to go home yet, so we went to all-night donut shop for some coffee and pie.

  Robby took an entire bench to himself, spreading his legs across it, practically lying down. Amane and I shared the other side, across from him. She was quiet, only making comments when she was sure no one else was speaking.

  When Robby and I finished being juvenile and a silence settled, Amane meekly said, "Nobody ever seems to notice me. I’m unwanted. Unloved. Like a memory. There, but not really there."

  Robby frowned. "So what do you want? A prize?"

  Amane was serious, opening herself up, making herself vulnerable. “I don’t understand why Mags and Bo get all the attention.”

  Robby scoffed. “I’ll give you two good reasons.”

  Amane glared. “Their boobs?”

  Robby shrugged. “Can’t argue with that, but I was going to say: they’re fun, and they have a positive outlook.”

  I was nervous. Robby had had enough to drink that he was in one of his semi-deep moods. That could take a dark turn at a
ny second.

  “I’m fun,” Amane countered, hopefully.

  “In your dreams,” Robby scoffed.

  Amane looked at me, hoping for my support and intervention.

  “Amane,” I began hesitantly, afraid I was going to make this worse. “You keep to yourself, and limit your comments to gloomy sarcasm most of the time. We love you, but it isn’t the same as being fun.”

  Trying to prove she was fun, she reminded us, “I beat Robby at bowling, and Ryan at the baseball toss.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Beating competitive people doesn’t make you fun.”

  Robby interrupted, “Besides, you didn’t beat me. You’re a secret international stealth bowling pro; or whatever you said.”

  Amane rolled her eyes. “I’m not a pro. I never bowled a day in my life before that day. I know my body and I learn fast.”

  “Now that sounds kinda hot,” Robby admitted, with a chuckle.

  Amane responded. “So, sexual innuendos make you laugh.”

  “It sure beats the hell out of all that world-is-ending bullshit.”

  I agreed. “People like to laugh. Most of the time we just want to joke around and keep it light because, well, life pretty much sucks outside of that.”

  Amane frowned. “And you just called me gloomy?”

  Robby tossed in, “Whatever happened to Girls just want to have fun?”

  Shyly, and slyly, Amane asked Robby, “Maybe we could go out sometime? Show me your meaning of fun?”

  “You don’t want to know my meaning of fun.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  Robby covered his face. “No. Please don’t go there.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Amane asked, hurt.

  “You dress like a dude, and honest-to-god, I thought you were gay.”

  “Hey!” I shouted. That had gotten too personal. “Dick, much?!”

  Amane’s mouth hung open. She was speechless for a moment, then tried the bold approach. “I’m not gay. How’d you like to eat me out right here? Want me to spread ‘em?” She spread her legs, her party dress hiking up to her knees