“Rose.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “What?”
“I’m here if you wanna talk about it.”
I blinked at him. It was not every day my father extended his sympathy, his reassurance that he really wanted to be parental with me. He usually left the long talk, “girly stuff” to mom, or just assumed some other female figure in my life dealt with it.
“Thanks,” I said. I meant it.
Friday was destined to be a disaster from the start. Besides the fact that mom insisted on picking me up like I was a freshman that couldn’t drive, I got stuck with dad dropping me off at school and cracking jokes about the Alley-Creeping Vampire (one of various names he used in substitute for Lyle).
Images of the V and V haunted me most of the school day. In less than twenty four hours, I will have gone against everything I stand for and will have set foot on the dance floor of sin. We shouldn’t be going tonight. I should’ve just faked sick and dragged Paul out to the mall or something instead. I didn’t belong in a club full of skimpy, sweaty partiers… even with my best friend and the greatest guy in the whole school.
I was dooming us all.
Taking deep breaths through my nose and out my mouth, I walked to the parking lot after school. Calm, I thought. Inner peace. Relaxation… Calm. I spotted mom’s bright yellow mini cooper, waiting in the front row of the north parking lot. How I wished it was my car I was walking to right then. Even if it had Hayden in it. Anyone but hers.
I forced my lips up, knowing she’d pick up on any little problem if my face displayed it. Her Mom-Radar would go off if she saw me doing anything but smiling, and we didn’t need that. Dumping my stuff in the backseat, I opened the passenger door.
“Hey, honey.” Mom flashed a smile, teeth still gleaming white from ‘wedding bleaching’ a couple weeks ago. Her wavy hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing a blouse with the sleeves rolled up, acrylic nails tapping the steering wheel.
“Hey, mom,” I said, cheerful… and wondering if maybe I should go into acting after graduation. I was lucky to sound so convincing. “How are you?” “Good. A little nervous as usual, but good.” Her cheeks blushed pink. I restrained from rolling my eyes. She was thinking about Lyle again. “What
about you?” she asked, starting the car.
I shrugged. “Good.”
“Are you still going to your Halloween thing tonight?”
My stomach lurched. I’d told her, of course, that I was just going to a party
with some friends. “Oh, yeah. Chanel’s picking me up at six.”
“That’s cool.” Mom seemed content with my dull answers. “I’ll be leaving for
dinner at about five-thirty. Lyle’s parents wanted to eat early in case we decide to
catch a movie or something afterwards.”
“Oh.” Good. She’d be out most of the evening then. No suspicions if for some
reason I came home late.
“So.” She shifted her shoulders, preparing to change the subject. Mom didn’t
like silences, especially when it came to being with me. “What do you want to do
this weekend? Anything?”
“Um.” Honestly, let me see if I live through tonight first. “Don’t know yet.” “Fair enough.” She nodded to herself. “You come up with something though,
you let me know.”
“I will.” And I knew I probably would. Because if I didn’t, I’d be sucked into
a weekend of bridesmaid dresses and wedding cake samples.
It was a long drive into the core of the city. The traffic gets heavier, and
there was a huge jam near one of the boutiques (supposedly someone saw Jessica
Simpson buying a cocktail dress). Judging from the amount of camera flashes, I
assumed it was something like that. The mess took an extra forty minutes to get
through.
I was more than thankful when we arrived at the fancy sky-scraper building
of the Heiress Apartments and was let loose from the car. The elevator stopped on
floor thirty-one, the second to highest floor of the building. The doors opened to
reveal the stone hallway I’d walked down many a time, red walls hosting flowered
portraits.
We walked down the hall and mom unlocked the door at the end. “Home
sweet home.” She smiled over her shoulder.
“Mm.” I nodded. More like, captivity sweet captivity.
Mom’s flat was huge, one of the biggest in the building. It was the kind you’d
expect young or single celebrities to own—not a divorced, soon-to-be-remarried
magazine editor (I had a feeling Lyle was paying for part of it). The flat was sort of
one big room combining the kitchen and living room like dad’s house. The walls
were white with the exception of the north wall—that one was completely glass,
and connected to mom’s balcony. It was very new age.
Mom dropped her purse by the door and strode into the kitchen. “You hungry, honey?” She looked back at me.
“A little.” I followed her, plopping onto a stool at the granite counter. “I think I’ll just stick with a yogurt.”
She opened her mega fridge and pulled out a purple container from the strawberry yogurt supply, the supply she bought specifically for me. She passed the cup over and dug out a spoon from one of the oak drawers.
“Thanks.” I pulled the top off the cup.
“You’re welcome.” She leaned over the other side of the counter.
I was about to eat my first spoonful when I saw she was staring. “What?”
She shrugged, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” One could tell where my lack of communicating came from. Nothing was mom’s favorite word, too. “You can’t lie to your own daughter, mom.”
She sighed, fiddling with a strand of pale hair. “No. I suppose I can’t, can I?”
“Go on.”
She stared at the counter, then said, “My wedding shower is next weekend.”
I felt that yogurt trying to come up. I stopped eating. “O—oh. Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” She frowned, nails tapping the counter. “I… I wanted to know whether or not you were coming.”
“Oh.” I went to the fridge to retrieve a water bottle, having the sudden urge to move, be active, retrieve something to calm my nerves before my stress levels soared into space.
“So?” Her eyes followed me. “Are you… are you at least thinking about it?”
Snapping the cap, I took a long drink. Excuse. I needed a good excuse, an exaggeration, anything. Think, Rose. Fast. But as I detached the bottle from my lips, I had zip. “I, um.” I paused. My brain couldn’t even summon the power to wing it. “I really don’t know, mom. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”
She clasped her hands together, nodding. “If you can’t, you can’t. It’s alright. I’m not asking you to be there.”
She’d succeeded in making me feel like an awful daughter. I stored my water back in the fridge and took my yogurt from the counter.
“Where are you going?” she asked, alarmed.
“I’ve got some homework.” I took my bag away from the door. “I want it out of the way before the weekend, you know?”
She looked like I’d told her we couldn’t be friends anymore. “Oh. Ok. Yeah, that’s probably wise.”
“Yeah.” I strode down the hall, unable to look her in the eye. Confrontation avoided, but only barely. It was always barely.
Opening the door at the end of the hall, I looked around with a sigh. My room at the flat didn’t feel like mine. There were no band posters or pictures on the wall because mom wouldn’t allow them (she said the tape ripped paint off and tacks left marks). Instead, there was this blue flower border that’d been there since we’d moved in. She said it was cute, liked that it matched the carpet and the lavender walls.
&nbs
p; In my opinion, it was one step up from a cheaply decorated hotel room… *
I was in the bathroom, pulling on the sailor’s dress when my phone rang. I skipped over to the bathroom counter, my heart wild as I read the caller ID. “Hey,” I answered, grinning.
“Rose?” Paul’s voice was soft. Too soft.
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“Um, not much.”
“Are you ready to go? Chanel should be here soon and I—”
“Um, Rose? I’ve… gotta tell you something.”
My stomach clenched, the adrenaline rushing through my system. Every girl knew the somber tone matched with one version or another of ‘I have to tell you something’.
“You’re not going,” I whispered.
He sighed. “Yeah, I’ve spent the last hour with my head in the toilet,” he admitted, repulsed. “Ugh, I think it was that thing I had at Tito’s during lunch. I knew the thing didn’t taste right. I’ve been sick ever since.”
“So you have food poisoning.”
“I’m so, so sorry, Rose. I swear I didn’t plan this. I really wanted to hang out with you tonight.” His voice was sincere. He wasn’t just ditching me or chickening out.
“No, it’s ok.” I couldn’t be mad at him and his sincerity. It was physically impossible. “It’s not your fault you’re sick.”
“I feel so awful.”
“Well yeah, that’s normal with food poisoning.”
“No, I mean about us. I feel awful for letting you down.”
My heart fluttered. He said us. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. We’ll hang out when you’re better.”
“Yeah. I’ll make sure we do something really—” He cut off.
“Paul?” I said. No response. “Hello?”
The sickening sound of someone retching came through the phone line. I cringed, holding the phone away. When the line was silent, I brought it back to my ear.
“I’ve got to go,” Paul choked.
“I can tell. Get better soon, ok?”
“God, I hope so.”
“Bye, Paul.”
“Bye, Rose. I’m sorry.” He hung up.
I hit the red button on my phone, leaning against the counter. I stared at the tile as the severity of what just happened hit me. He wasn’t going. It would be just me and Chanel. He wouldn’t be there. My core reason for going wouldn’t be there.
I started losing will-power. My body twisted with panic at the thought that I couldn’t do this now, that I couldn’t attend the Viper and Vixen knowing I was breaking rules for close to nothing in return.
Turning around, I met my reflection in the mirror. My pink hair, the dress, the makeup all stared back at me, a girl I barely recognized. Chanel had stayed up on the other two conditions; Paul was the only iffy one, the one that could be changed. That still left her two out of three standards met—outnumbered.
She would be so disappointed, I thought. And she could still take off on her own if I backed out. What would Trent do to her if I wasn’t there? What would any of those hotheaded senior football players do to her?
I heaved a sigh. Halloween was the one night you could be someone else, the one night where you could pull on a blue dress, braid your hair, and call yourself Dorothy, or throw on tight pants and a metal bra and rename yourself Madonna. If Chanel and I were going to make it through tonight, I would need to be someone outside high school senior Rose Ridgewood.
I would be Rosella, pink-haired water siren of touch-us-and-lose-your-reproorgans. Yes… that might work.
*
If Vegas had a child, it would be named the Viper and Vixen.
The front parking lot was crowded with cars and people of every shape and size. Driving around the brick building with its spray paint murals, neon lights, and flashing sign with the fox and snake, I got just a hint of what I’d be witnessing soon.
Five bleached blondes, two that were quite heavy, were wearing nothing but corsets and frilly panties as they laughed outside their cars, trying to pull their thigh-high boots on. Meanwhile, four Playboy Bunnies in equally risqué outfits strutted to the front doors, three musketeers hit on some tightly dressed elves, two Ms. Kitties fluffed their tails—
Where’s the partridge screwing the pair tree? I thought as I glared at the shameful crowd. Nobody was wearing the traditional floor-length witch dresses or the white tablecloth ghost ensemble—not that I was expecting this to be anything near a kiddy party, but still, this was like a who-can-show-the-most-skin contest. If dad was here, this would be the moment where he said: Holy sheet dip!
My nerves were shot by the time we pulled into the back lot, taking the last space up front. I rotated towards Chanel in her tight pinstripe dress, pink hat cricked to the side over her black curls. “Give me your car keys,” I said.
She went all doe-eyed as she killed the engine. “What? Why?”
“Because.” I flicked my fingers impatiently. “If you take off or I can’t find you in sixty minutes, I want to know I can still get out of here.”
After informing her of Paul’s unfortunate drop-out, we’d worked out a deal: I would go, but if I didn’t like the atmosphere of the Viper and Vixen (which I already knew I wouldn’t) we would stay only an hour. No more, no less.
She scuffed, tugging the keys out of the ignition and dropping them in my hands. “I can’t believe you don’t trust me to keep a sixty-minute promise.”
“After Trent’s house party?” I stuffed the keys in my clutch purse. “Tough love, baby.”
Chanel called the jock who invited us here, and the back door of the club swung open. Three figures emerged into the street light, and I suppressed a groan as Trent and two of his friends headed towards the car. They were all dressed in their football uniforms (so much for Halloween creativity). I’d secretly expected something like pimp outfits, 80’s disco, even Men in Black.
Chanel was out in an instance. “Hi!” she squealed, waving.
I took my sweet time getting out. The boys were already in ogle mood, chatting about Chanel’s outfit with wandering eyes. I tried not to look self conscious.
“Yeah, I got it at the mall the other day,” Chanel was saying as I stiffly joined the group. “Oh! Boys, this is my best friend in the whole world, Rosalia.”
A bulky boy with a Mohawk smirked. He was eyeing the bustier half of my sailor dress. “We know.”
I was glad it was dim where we stood. My cheeks were blazing. I hoped Mohawk Boy’s uniform included the usual jock cup. He stared much longer and I’d be—as my mother once said—putting my stiletto where the sun don’t shine. Crossing my arms over my cleavage, I looked away.
“So, we already cleared the ok with my uncle.” Trent held out an arm for Chanel, flipping his hair back with a smile. “Shall we?”
She was positively entranced. “Ok.” She took his arm and he led her inside, like they were the prom king and queen.
Trent’s two friends and I lingered behind, looking awkward. No way was I taking either of their arms. I could guide myself. At least Mohawk Boy had enough manners to hold the door for me, but I didn’t thank him. One, because he was so not getting lucky, and two, because I was too nervous to open my mouth.
We followed Trent and Chanel up a hallway darker than the woods at camp. At the end on the left, I saw the disco lights flicker. The music was loud (and uncensored). There were screams and laughter and shouting.
I swallowed hard. Here we go.
We emerged into the core of the Viper and Vixen. It looked just like the videos I’d seen on Youtube and Myspace; the walls were splattered with glowing neon paint; not one but two disco balls hung from the ceiling as black lights touched every corner of the room. An enormous bar with every possible brand of alcohol on the wall sat at the back.
There were people of every kind in this room. Most looked to be in their twenties, but I did spot other students from the high school—mostly populars. It was slightly comforting to know I wasn’t the only one breaking the rules tonight,
but only slightly.
I glanced up towards the stage and cringed. On both sides of the DJ, there was a set of poles. I had looked just in time to see a skinny crimp-haired gal throwing her skirt off into a sea of cheering men.
I snapped my eyes away, but it did little. Everywhere I turned, my eyes faced sleazy young girls wearing bunny ears with swim suits or mega short-shorts with butt cheeks hanging out. There were more frilly panties, fuzzy animal-print bras, Santa boxers and men in sparkling thongs. It was the most insane thing I’d ever seen!
I wanted out.
But my feet continued after the football players. We came to a table in the front corner where the whole football team was gathered, along with several cheerleaders in their own sordid attire. One was wearing a glittery thong with the words, kiss here, spray-painted across her butt cheeks. Oh my goodness.
I waited for my body to go into shock. How had I ever agreed to this?
And then Derek pushed his way into view. “What’s up, doll?” He flicked his eyebrows at my dress. “How you doin’ tonight?”
I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling. Of course I should’ve known he would be here. If I wasn’t so nerve-wrecked I’d have wiped the cheesy grin off his face. “Wonderful, Derek,” I snapped.
“How’s the hair?” he asked, and the boys around him laughed.
I gritted my teeth. One hour, Rose. Then it’ll be over. Leaving the bunch to laugh like howler monkeys, I checked the time on my phone. It was exactly sixten. Taking away entrance time, I’d make us leave this grunge pit at seven. Fifty minutes… I would live. I could do this.
The clock ticked slowly. As the bass shook the floor beneath our feet, I lingered at the edge of the group against the wall. Between Derek’s jokes, the smell of alcohol combining with that of cigarette smoke, and constantly being bumped by tipsy preps and punks too rude to apologize, I found my patience wearing much faster than I’d predicted. I was ready to tell Chanel we were leaving early.
She, however, was having a joyous time. Trent and his friends had pretty much adopted her, and she fit right in as they swayed and danced by the stage. They laughed and talked and joked, like they’d known each other forever. The cheerleaders didn’t like her, especially tan and blonde Becca Keg—Trent’s most recent ex. At one point she disappeared with a slinky cat-suited girl and a sexy bumble bee. I figured she was pouting.
A Taste of Silver Page 14