Baby Batter

by Alexis Angel

  Clarissa pulls out her phone as soon as we get outside, and she opens some ride-share app to get a taxi.

  “Do you need my help tomorrow? Cleaning up or something?”

  I inhale deeply and make a snap decision.

  “No, I won’t be around tomorrow. You’re off the hook. I need to get out of town…just for a few days.”

  I wait with Clarissa until her ride shows up, and then I start wandering, having no fucking clue where to go from here.

  Emily

  I can’t remember names now, and faces are becoming a problem.

  There’s that one dude with a sweater vest who looks like an evil college dean from some eighties comedy or some shit.

  Oh yeah, there he is! He’s laughing so fucking hard, and so is…Sheila? I think?

  They’re laughing, holding hands, and drinking champagne out of glass champagne flutes. They’re married or something.

  I shake my plastic cup in front of them.

  “Oh, you’re too good for one of these? Can’t drink out of plastic like commoners?”

  I wait for a laugh that doesn’t come.

  “We’re just feeling like champagne at the moment.”

  The dean looks at Sheila, and she looks back lovingly, saccharinely sweet. Please. Ugh.

  “That’s what you guys bond over? Ch-champagne?” I start swaying back and forth.

  I try to steady myself. Come on, I’m not that drunk. “That’s cool. I want to bond with someone over feeling like champagne in a glass someday.”

  I’m utterly serious, but the fuzzy splotch of people around me are chuckling. I’m getting laughs without even trying. Damn right I am. I rule this fucking barbecue.

  I can’t focus on any one of these laughing faces. Where’s Sheila and her perm? I’m trying to find Sheila or…Miranda, is it? Who the fuck knows?

  Who the hell invited me again? Oh, WineBar! Yeah, I could totally go for some wine.

  I take a sip from my cup…oh, right, that’s whiskey.

  I take a nice, satisfying gulp, and my cup is empty. Oh, there’s Miranda.

  “Looks like you could use a refill.” Miranda’s words blow right through me.

  Everything sounds like nonsense.

  I start dancing in place to the quiet music. I’m moving my shoulders a touch, swaying my hips a tiny bit. So subtle that no one notices.

  Hey, there’s Miranda again. Why is she trying to take my cup away? Is it my dancing?

  Fine, I’ll talk to someone else. I pivot around in a graceful semicircle. It feels like I’m sashaying across the ground like a figure skater across a pristine ice surface.

  Who do I recognize here? I see a pale woman in a leather top, her long red hair streaked with blond highlights and done up in kind of sloppy side bangs that still look great…wait, holy shit.

  “Trixie Firecracker!” I’m almost shrieking, pointing.

  “Excuse me?” She’s a dead ringer.

  “From Say You’ll Be There! From the Spice Girls? You know, Geri. Ginger. Trixie Firecracker! That’s you!”

  Trixie looks down at her outfit.

  “Oh, I remember that video. This is not really the same. Well, that’s funny. Thanks.”

  Wait, what happened to my drink?I spin around. Hey, there’s Miranda again!

  I now somehow have a drink in each hand—another big shot of bourbon and a full cup of beer. Just like magic. Awesome.

  “Excuse me a moment,” I tell Trixie, turning back and interrupting our important conversation.

  I close my eyes and down the shot, letting the plastic cup fall to the ground. I look up at the lanterns as I start on the beer. The entire cup is gone before I know it, and now I’m over by a keg, and I’m filling people’s cups for some reason.

  I finish filling a cup from the tap, and a hot stockbroker-looking guy smiles like he’s expecting me to hand it to him. Who the fuck does he think he is? I gulp it down myself instead.

  “Hey, Emily!”

  Hey, there’s Miranda! Now I’m standing by a table with a bunch of bottles on it, and this looks familiar. I’m still holding a half-full cup of beer. Miranda’s grinning as she hands me another shot.

  “Okay, last one.”

  In an instant, the shot and the beer are gone, and I drop both cups and…wait, why is there another person here now? She’s brunette, wearing a white top with black leggings, sipping a mixed drink.

  “What is that?” I point at the person’s cup.

  “Rum with cola,” the person responds.

  “What’s your name, rummy?”

  The person shrugs and takes another sip.

  “Don’t worry about her name, Emily.” Shit, I forgot Miranda’s still here.

  “But now she knows mine. You just told her.”

  I’m still looking at the rum-swilling person, and she’s looking at me. Miranda holds a bourbon bottle in front of me.

  “If you took a big swig of this, do you think you could kiss her? Then she might tell you her name.”

  I push the bottle away.

  “I don’t need that for that. I do need to know your name now.”

  The person leans in, and I lean up a bit to reach her. We share a respectable kiss. It lasts a couple seconds.

  “Can you tell me your fucking name now?”

  The person just takes another sip.

  Fine, I start moving back to the keg. I’m no longer just gliding, or floating. Now I’m straight-up flying.

  Okay, now I’m upside down on top of the keg. Sheila and Trixie Firecracker are holding me up, with Trixie helping to keep the tap accessible so I can continue enjoying my delicious beverage.

  There must be dozens of people watching, and they’re all cheering, screaming. Hell yeah. I’m a fucking rock star.

  “Nice thong!” I think that’s the stockbroker guy yelling. It’s hard to tell since I’m upside down and there seems to be two of everything.

  I let out a healthy belch as Trixie and Sheila turn me right side up and set me on the ground.

  “Thanks, Sheila. I love your perm.”

  “My name’s Macy, and I never had a perm. But thanks.”

  My stomach makes a massive gurgling sound, and without warning, the smell of barbecue ribs is everywhere. I almost collapse, catching myself before landing splat on the ground.

  “Are you okay?” Macy helps me stand back up.

  “Oh yeah…I’m just starving. I need food.”

  “Okay, but you also broke a heel.”

  I look down and close one eye to focus. There’s a green spike on the ground, orphaned from my left shoe.

  I start laughing. That has to be the funniest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life. I look up, but Macy isn’t sharing my amusement.

  I slip off both shoes and make it a few steps before nearly tumbling to the ground. Two hands catch me, and I drop softly into a toned, muscular chest. I fix my open eye straight up toward the heavens, and it is indeed a heavenly vision gazing back.

  “You know that’s my cousin you kissed, right?”

  WineBar says this quietly, and I have no clue what he’s talking about. I ignore it.

  “WineBar! How are ya! You’re just in time!”

  I open both eyes to see both WineBars. Two of them? Oh fuck yes.

  The ground spins slowly as he—they?—holds me.

  “I’m glad you’re having fun, Em, but you might want to switch to water soon. Like, now. You can thank me tomorrow.”

  Whatever he’s saying sounds like gibberish. I just want some food. Some…meat.

  WineBar’s trying to help me stand up straight, but his chest feels so good. I lean into him and grab his ass tightly with both hands.

  “Oh no, I’m having such trouble staying upright. I guess you’ll need to hold on really tight, and maybe also fuck me silly with your big cock. Yeah, that would also be most helpful.”

  I keep my left hand firmly gripping WineBar’s ass while I start slowly moving my right hand around to open his fly. I’m
getting ready to plant some soft kisses on his neck—and then maybe his cock—when WineBar extracts himself and walks backward until he’s arm’s length from me. He’s still holding me up.

  “You must not be feeling well, Emily. I think you should go inside and lie down in the guest bedroom.”

  WineBar lets go, and I slump a little. I smell those ribs again. Wait, why is WineBar looking at me like that?

  I keep forgetting what’s happening. I must be pretty buzzed.

  WineBar’s still glaring at me. Well, if he wants to see them…I pull my dress down really fast to give him a nice eyeful of my big, beautiful tits…

  Oh! I see the ribs now, and there’s still some left.

  And now I’m sitting on the grass somewhere and devouring a rack of ribs with my bare hands. Is this the side of the building?

  However I got here, I’m glad I have napkins with me…and now blackness. Huh. Did I fall asleep?

  I hear someone throwing up…oh shit, that’s me. I’m kneeling on a metal surface and puking my guts out.

  Now I feel much better.

  Why am I outside? Where was I puking? Is that a doghouse? Oh. Sorry, dog.

  Hey, I’m back at the barbecue! “Stop” by the Spice Girls is playing. Isn’t one of them here? Emma, maybe? I’m dancing my ass off, but everyone’s ignoring me. Lame.

  Oh, there’s WineBar, carrying stuff inside. That feels nice to watch. I stop dancing.

  And now blackness…and now I’m looking at my handiwork: my panties are elegantly laid out on top of the grill. Some guy in a sweater vest walks up next to me.

  “Hey, you look like the evil college dean from an eighties comedy.”

  “Why did you put your underwear on the grill?”

  “They were a bit wet. You know how it gets. They can dry on the grill.”

  I feel the material of the dean’s sweater vest.

  “What is this, mostly polyester?”

  The dean looks down at my hand.

  “Not polyester at all.”

  “That’s good. Hey, how many inches are ya packin’? Is it twelve? That’s always what I like to hear.”

  And now more blackness, and now I’m standing about an inch in front of a handsome, salt-and-pepper haired older dude. WineBar is standing right next to him.

  “Okay, I don’t need to ask WineBar over there this question. We’re way past that point, but inquiring minds want to know, sir. How many inches are you packing? Now, before you answer, I need to tell you that the only acceptable answer is twelve.”

  And then more blackness, and then the calming hum of a car engine.

  Kirk

  Tad is, apparently, a changed man.

  My fears about his grill skills stem from a long history of him fucking up perfectly good barbecues with subpar cooking. But tonight, Tad is on his game. It’s like I never left the grill.

  I poke one of the racks of ribs lightly with the fork—it’s perfect. The brisket’s finally close to finished, and the black bean burgers and grilled veggies are already prepared and laid out next to the grill.

  Don’t laugh at the black bean burgers. They’re fucking awesome, and I know that it’s not just vegans who are greedily scooping them up.

  I want to give Tad props for doing a decent job for once, but I can’t stop glancing over at Miranda—and Emily. They’re both way over by the fence, and it looks like they’re chatting and laughing it up like old friends.

  Seriously?

  Em’s the main reason—the only reason—that I’m making this whole thing happen.

  Now almost everyone I know in town is here—drinking my booze, eating my food, and having the best time of their lives—but none of it matters because fucking Miranda had to show up and circle in on Emily. It renders this whole thing pointless.

  “Why?” I’m trying not yell as I poke the brisket for no reason. I can feel Tad standing behind me, watching me and still expecting some congratulations.

  “Why w-what?”

  I can tell by the way Tad stammers that he realizes what I’m talking about. I’m still willing to answer the question, though. I crane my head around to look Tad straight in the eye.

  “Why is she here? Did you invite her?”

  I see the wheels spinning in Tad’s head. I don’t think he even remembers inviting everyone here. It’s probably a mistake on Tad’s part—it’s not like he did this on purpose—but I still need some fucking answers.

  “I didn’t invite her. I didn’t even call. She must’ve gotten wind of it, because…”

  Tad trails off, and I hear him swallow nervously. I turn around to face him completely.

  “Just tell me what happened, Tad. I know you didn’t do this on purpose.”

  Tad takes a sharp breath, mustering the courage to fess up the true story.

  “She shows up at the gym. I’m just sitting there, ringside, calling some people to invite them—not her, of course—and out of nowhere, she’s just there, standing over me. She’s tuned into that’s happening, I guess. I’m sorry.”

  Nothing about this surprises me much. I glance over to the fence and at the table with all the hard liquor. Emily and Miranda are still buddy-buddy.

  I turn to Tad and try to stay measured, and not too angry, as I extract more details.

  “So instead of just showing up here, she goes to you? Because then it’s sanctioned, because then you invited her. Right?”

  Tad’s meeting my gaze. I’ll give him credit for having guts, because I’m borderline furious and not hiding it well.

  “She’s standing there, listening to me talk to Gary about it. I try to get off the phone as soon as I can. Then she asks what time it starts—the barbecue. Kirk, I don’t even answer, but she still just fuckin’ says ‘okay’ as if I invited her, and then she’s all ‘See you there.’ She invited herself and pretended it was me.”

  I set the barbecue fork down next to the grill. I step in a little closer to Tad, and I lower my voice.

  “You know she’s an alcoholic.”

  Tad looks down at his shoes.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Look, I hope Miranda gets whatever help she needs, I don’t blame her for her problems…but she’s really fucking problematic right now. You know how toxic she can be. She shouldn’t be at this party, not with all the alcohol here, not with Emily here, and not with me here. You know that’s the only reason she’s here, right?”

  Tad’s still looking down. He can’t do shit about it now, of course. I pat him on the shoulder.

  “Just…never again, okay? I need you to realize how bad it can get. But, hey, good job with the gri—”

  Emily’s laugh, really loud and high, pierces through everything. I have to stop myself from jumping. What the fuck is going on now?

  I turn toward the sound. What I really hope to see is Emily having a good time with Miranda nowhere in sight. If Miranda has to be here, can’t she at least leave Emily alone?

  No such luck.

  Of-fucking-course, Miranda is still standing right next to Emily, clutching a cup full of straight whiskey.

  A half dozen of my friends are gathered around Emily. They’re all enraptured by her, just listening to her talk. Miranda’s not looking at her, though. She’s looking over at me.

  She’s staring, and probably not for the first time today. Something Emily says causes almost the entire group to fall over themselves with laughter.

  Miranda doesn’t laugh, though. She’s barely smiling. She just sips her drink, and she switches from looking at me to looking back at Emily.

  Em says something else and starts cracking up hysterically, her face turning beet red. It looks like she’s still making everyone else in the group laugh as well.

  I notice that Tad’s also checking out Emily’s comedy routine. He turns to me with a wide-eyed expression that says, “Hey, it’s not so bad after all.”

  I shake my head. I don’t know if he’s right or wrong yet.

  Anyone who spends a lot o
f time with Miranda ends up meeting a few different versions of her. The Miranda who’s at the barbecue right now—the version who always has a drink in her hand—brings out the cynic in me.

  I want Emily to enjoy herself no matter what, but Miranda hovering next to her does not bode well.

  I turn my attention back to the ribs and brisket. Emily’s laughter explodes through the air yet again.

  “Emily’s really popular tonight,” I hear Tad proclaim behind me. “She’s making a lot of new friends, at any rate.”

  “You know what they say, Tad,” I mutter down at the grill. “With friends like those…you know the rest.”

  Emily

  Seriously, what the fuck?

  This is turning out to be way worse than I thought. I try to will myself to be invisible while walking down the hallway. It doesn’t work.

  Every single goddamn person I pass looks up from their food or away from their conversation to stare at me. I know I’m grimacing. I hope it looks like a smile, but mostly I don’t give a shit.

  The party’s now somehow even more crowded. I don’t even hear music, just loud talking and laughter reverberating off every surface and making my stomach churn for some reason.

  Who the fuck are all these people?

  I don’t see anyone who looks like they could be WineBar’s parents. Everybody is young and fashionable. There are a lot of attractive women here, and now I’m noticing all of them.

  Is that Miranda? Or is that her?

  I realize I’m just standing in the middle of the room, staring at the wrought-iron doors that lead outside.

  I hate this shit.

  Is WineBar really that oblivious? He must know how much this sucks for me. Acting like his ex-girlfriend being here is some kind of mistake…it feels almost intentional.

  I have a strong urge to turn around and walk out the front door. I take a deep breath. This is confusing, and upsetting, but I know that leaving could cause a lot of problems and regrets.

  Also, it looks a lot less crowded outside, and I could sure as hell use a drink.

  Nobody looks at me as I walk to the door—maybe the invisibility is working. It’s much nicer outside. There’s a slight breeze; mellow, loungy music is playing quietly, and the atmosphere is more relaxed and open.