Party Time_Raving Arizona

by Shaun Attwood

  ‘She’s gone. Can I come in?’

  ‘Fuck off!’ A bouncer shoves me away with both hands, knocking the smile off my face, but only for a few seconds.

  Hovering by a sculpture of a semi-naked muscular man holding a giant globe with WORKS on one side and a map of the world on the other, and basking in the pleasure of my tingling skin, I grin at strangers. Inhaling deeply, tasting the warm night air, I stroll down Scottsdale Road. With no one to smile at, I contemplate star formations. What’s life all about? Deciding I’m a small part of something too big to understand, I get a shivery feeling. Overwhelmed by the knowledge the stars are trying to impart, I avert my eyes from them. I bob my head to dance music coming from passing cars, and my arms come to life as if conducting an orchestra. I stop outside Walgreens and call Sumiko. No answer. Tired of walking, I lurk by the payphone like a hobo, hoping for a friendly face to talk to. Hours pass. No one comes.

  The novelty of solitude has long worn off by the time a decrepit pickup truck parks. The driver’s dark-blue door creaks open. A tower of hair tilts out, a cinnamon-red beehive. A pair of high-heeled boots, pointy, black, suede, hits the asphalt. Dressed in black, the driver raises her head, confident and graceful, like a queen. She’s tall. French-manicured fingers heavy on silver rings slam the door. Resembling a cross between a ghost and a Gothic count, the passenger emerges, also dressed in black, piercings on his face. With each stride, his long silvery-blond hair bounces, expands, contracts. He speaks to her in a feminine whisper. Sashaying towards Walgreens’ entrance, she answers mockingly, all svelte brown limbs protruding from leather. Her bracelets, covering her forearms like body armour, clink as she walks. Her enormous eyes – so dilated I suspect she’s high – flash in my direction. Caught admiring her, I’m stuck for words. I offer a nod and smile. They disappear into the store.

  They re-emerge with drinks, whispering. I’m about to greet them when she spins around. ‘Hey, mister, do you need a ride?’

  ‘Yes. Yes please,’ I say, relieved. ‘I’ve been at The Works. I’m stranded. Trying to get to Ahwatukee.’

  ‘Got any concealed weapons?’ she says, her tone implying it’s not a joke.

  ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘Well, I pack at all times,’ she says. ‘If you try anything stupid, I’ll shoot your ass.’

  ‘I won’t try anything stupid,’ I say, more desperate for a ride than nervous about her weapon.

  They whisper again and she says, ‘We’re going to Tempe. That’s the direction you’re going. Jump on in.’

  They get in. I squeeze onto the end of the cabin seat.

  ‘I’m Kelly. This is Poppy,’ she says, gunning the engine. ‘We’ve been at The Works, too.’

  I shake Poppy’s limp hand.

  ‘Hello,’ he says in a protracted whisper, exposing a pierced tongue.

  ‘How do you do?’ She’s gorgeous. He’s gay. They belong in Rocky Horror.

  ‘Why don’t you tell us what you were really doing outside Walgreens on Scottsdale Road at three in the morning?’ Kelly asks.

  Having never talked to anyone about the extent of my problems with Sumiko, I unload it on them. It feels great.

  ‘Do you really wanna go home?’ Kelly asks.

  ‘No. She’s probably sharpening her Ginsu knives about now.’

  ‘We’re going to ours to drink shots of Jägermeister and listen to house music. Wanna join us?’

  ‘You’re not serial killers, are you?’ I ask, smiling.

  ‘You’ll just have to find out,’ Kelly says in a serious tone.

  I follow them into a two-storey apartment. Poppy turns music on and puts Jägermeister on the coffee table. They sit on a small black leather sofa. I start to lower myself onto what looks like a seat.

  ‘Not on that!’ Kelly yells. ‘It’s just a moving box we spray-painted black.’

  Laughing, I collapse onto a beanbag by a lava lamp. Kelly prepares shots of Jägermeister with the reverence priests reserve for Communion wine. Pretending to be a connoisseur in matters of alcohol, I throw back a shot. While it sets fire to my throat, I struggle to look normal. The burning subsides, leaving a pleasant cough-candy aftertaste. ‘How long you been raving?’

  ‘I guess back from before rave was rave,’ Kelly says. ‘I’ve been dancing since I was a little girl. When I was in high school in Upstate New York, we’d fly down to Studio 54. That’s where I met Calvin Klein and how I got my first modelling shoot.’

  ‘You modelled for Calvin Klein!’ I examine her face: the high cheekbones lend credence to her story.

  ‘Yeah, I was making mad, mad money until I got in a car accident. They said I wasn’t gonna be able to walk. That’s how I got this scar on my knee,’ she says, pointing.

  My eyes stray from the 2-inch scar up and down her smooth brown legs. Eager to steer her back to raving, I ask, ‘What’s the best clubbing you’ve done?’ Our eyes connect. I experience a warm feeling as if I’ve just received good news.

  ‘The Love Parade.’

  ‘No shit! I’ve always wanted to go to the Love Parade.’

  ‘First of all, I lived on the Ku’damm—’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The Kurfürstendamm. It’s like the Champs-Élysées of Berlin. Well, the Love Parade goes down the Ku’damm. And where the Uhlandstraße met the Ku’damm, I lived in a top-floor corner unit.’

  ‘That must have been insane.’

  She tilts her head and smiles at Poppy. ‘It was intense. I remember the parties before the Love Parade. Going to the Russian side of Berlin. Watching Sven Väth in this building that was all crumbled down.’

  ‘I listen to Sven all the time!’

  ‘I was afraid the building was gonna fall down.’

  ‘Maybe it had been bombed.’

  ‘It had been bombed! It was the coolest thing. To get in you had to go down a trail, cross a rickety bridge – there was a blue neon light in the water – and down a tunnel. You didn’t hear the music until you went into this dimly lit room. It just hit you like – boom! It was packed inch to inch, the whole room just jumping. It felt like the floor was moving up and down.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean. I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. I—’

  ‘It was awesome. It was insane. I’d seen Mardi Gras, but this was just like – I dunno – like you got high off the music. You didn’t need to do any drugs.’

  We drink more Jägermeister. Poppy disappears upstairs. I grow more relaxed – until I realise it’s noon. Sumiko!

  ‘I’d better get going. I’ve stayed here so long, my wife’ll think I’m off with a blonde. If you drop me off, I’ll tell her I fell asleep under a bench near The Works and it’s her fault for leaving me there.’

  Kelly parks at the end of my road. I say goodbye, get out, wait for her to leave, drop onto the ground and wriggle in a patch of dirt and leaves. Satisfied with the look, I knock on the door, bracing to be attacked. Sumiko answers and rants.

  ‘Look at the state of me! I fell asleep outdoors! This is all your fault for leaving me at The Works!’ I say, pointing at my clothes.

  Her eyes latch onto the filth. Surprisingly, her face softens. I walk in without incident.

  On Monday morning, I wake up with Kelly on my mind. I call her from work. She says to stop by any time. I do – each visit magnifying my attraction.

  Chapter 13

  Our caller ID is showing New York area codes: one number a cellphone, the other Citicorp. There’s a voicemail for Sumiko from a man, speaking with an East Coast accent and using a familiar tone.

  ‘Who’s this guy calling you from New York?’ I ask over dinner.

  ‘Old friend,’ Sumiko says. ‘No big deal.’

  On Saturday, Sumiko says she’s going out with some Japanese friends and sleeping over at one of their homes. I tell her to enjoy herself. With Sumiko gone, I relish the peacefulness. On Sunday afternoon, she shows up in a good mood and goes out of her way to be kind, raising my ho
pe that her behaviour is normalising.

  Midweek, Sumiko goes shopping. Spotting bags from Victoria’s Secret, I fantasise about the lingerie and look forward to what she has in mind. But on Saturday she says she’s staying at her friend’s house again. Seeing the New York cellphone number on the caller ID, I wonder what’s going on.

  On Saturday night, I call the house Sumiko is staying at. Her friend says Sumiko isn’t there and she doesn’t know her whereabouts. I dial the Citicorp number on our caller ID.

  It goes to voicemail: ‘Hi, you’ve reached Steven Jones at Citicorp …’

  I jot down the cellphone number and dial it from a payphone.

  ‘Steven Jones. How can I help you?’ he says in a New York accent, his voice tipsy sounding.

  He must be in town on business. ‘Can I speak to Sumiko please?’

  ‘Who’s this?’ he asks.

  ‘Her husband.’

  He hangs up.

  Snapping inside, I feel sad and hurt and humiliated – until anger takes over. The wolves howl. I drive to The Works, take Ecstasy, dance and try to forget about Sumiko, but she haunts my high. I return to the empty house and fall asleep.

  On Sunday, I confront her. She denies everything, accuses me of having an affair with one of her blonde girlfriends, arms herself with a Ginsu and chases me around, demanding to sniff my penis for vaginal secretions. She destroys the house, and the police arrest her. I call my dad’s sister, Aunt Ann, pack up my belongings and leave.

  Days later, Kelly asks me to move in with her. I jump at the chance to spend time with the woman who’s been on my mind so much.

  Chapter 14

  ‘When was the first time you took Ecstasy?’ I ask Kelly.

  The 150 bracelets on each arm rattle as she puts two bottles of St. Pauli Girl on the coffee table. She joins me on the sofa, pressing her legs parallel to mine. ‘It was in the hottest club in Houston, Fizz. My boyfriend said, “Here, open your mouth, close your eyes,” gave the pill to me and handed me a Corona. I knew it was a touchy-feely drug. I was dancing and wondering how long it was gonna take to hit. My boyfriend’s friends, they’re all smiling, getting off. I yawned and they all started clapping and saying I’m gonna be feeling something soon. My leg buckled a little bit real quick.’ Kelly bounces a hand on her thigh, drawing my eyes back to her legs. ‘But I caught it and played it off like I was dancing, and then my boyfriend said, “Now it’s really gonna hit you.” I was dancing hard and fast. I looked like I was going 100mph, but it felt like two miles. Literally, I heard wahrrrrr, like a time warp had opened up. I started smiling to the point where I couldn’t dance. I took my boyfriend by the hand and sat down, grinning, like everybody else in the group. I said, “Oh my God! What do we do? I can’t move. I can’t go anywhere.” I’m cracking up, laughing at my boyfriend’s friend, this really annoying drunken Englishman.’

  I tell Kelly about my first rave. ‘I was raving every weekend after that. Making all kinds of friends. It was my religion. I mostly did Ecstasy and speed. We call speed Billy Whizz in England. You have to eat a gram of it. It’s not like crystal meth here.’

  Reaching for her beer, Kelly asks, ‘What do you think of crystal meth?’

  ‘I’ve never done it. What about you?’ I ask.

  ‘I prefer it to Ecstasy. Actually, crystal meth is my Ecstasy. It has that effect on me. I’ve got some if you wanna try it.’

  Remembering what it did to Matt, an alarm bell goes off. ‘I don’t know. I saw it destroy a good stockbroker friend.’

  ‘That’s ’cause he let it.’ On her thighs, Kelly turns her palms up. ‘The drug didn’t destroy him, he abused it and used it negatively. It does have its uses. The military use speed to keep their pilots alert. It helps my creativity. I keep this townhouse spotless. I make my own furniture.’

  ‘What’s the high like?’ I ask, the desire to bond dismantling my fear.

  ‘It feels like Ecstasy when it kicks in. It’s like the buckle and yawn, but instead of going from 100mph to 2mph, you go from 100mph to 180 beats per minute. I like to go out and dance on it.’

  ‘All right, let’s do some then.’ The consequences I’ve seen on television – before and after shots, sunken faces, open sores, blood-stained victims on stretchers, stand-offs with the police ending in suicide by gunshot, even a postman who cut his son’s head off – fade as I find excuses: ‘I’m so stressed out from dealing with Sumiko for so long and having to move out of my own home, maybe this’ll make me feel better. Besides, it’s the weekend.’

  ‘I’ll get the equipment then.’ Kelly fetches paraphernalia. She dips the flared end of a straw into a tiny baggie, scoops out some yellowish rocks and powder that stink like turpentine and petroleum, and tips them onto a black octagonal plate.

  ‘I never saw a Slurpee straw used like that before.’

  ‘I grabbed it at work. Circle K. I’m training to be a regional district manager.’ She rips a piece of paper from a magazine, places it on the rocks and rolls the lighter over. Crunch. Using a razor blade, she chops the crushed meth into fine powder. Tat-tat-tat …

  ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to do that with a driver’s licence?’ I ask.

  ‘If you get pulled over, the cops can tell.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The crystal-meth chemicals eat through the plastic.’

  Eat through plastic! What will it do to my insides?

  ‘You wanna go first?’ she asks, offering a few inches of straw.

  Unable to refuse – whatever the consequences – I say, ‘Sure. They look like big lines.’

  ‘Big, big Kelly lines!’

  Matt’s gaunt face pops up like a ghost. That’ll never happen to me. I’ve been doing drugs for years and I’m fine. I’m a functional, recreational drug user … Hunched over, I snort a line. My nose burns as if a match has been lit inside. I wince. Leaning as far back as possible to distance myself from the pain does nothing: it gets worse. My eyes sting and gush.

  ‘You’ve got crystal tears.’ Leaning over the plate, Kelly lifts her eyes to mine, smiling playfully. ‘How’s that burn? Got you good, didn’t it?’ The line of meth Kelly snorts whistles up the straw.

  Praying for the fire in my nose to go out, I sit rocking my head, my pulse throbbing at my temples. Kelly nurses her nose. Only our breathing is heard. When our noses recover, we chat as if nothing happened.

  Half an hour later, my heartbeat accelerates. Thirsting for air, I gulp it down, relishing the sensation of my lungs filling up. My head starts trembling. A pain grips my heart that’s ticklish and terrifying. Pressure builds on the left side of my chest, so I massage my pectoral. When the heart pain subsides, rushes of pleasure ripple through my body. As if operating independently, my brain begins processing everything going on in my life. My thoughts split and I end up having multiple conversations with myself. Suddenly, everything quickens. My heartbeat, my thoughts. Energy surges through my body, forcing me forward as if an internal booster rocket is activating. Ready to talk for the rest of my life, I fire out words: ‘I’m rushing like crazy.’ Unable to sit for a second longer, I leap up. ‘I’m gonna get a Carl Cox CD outta the car. Be right back.’ I snatch my keys off the table, dart out, fling open the car door, rummage around, find a CD, dash back in, shove the CD in the stereo, fidget with the buttons, turn the volume up, smile at Kelly, get on the sofa, swig beer, rock back and forth and bob my head and tap my feet and drum my fingers on my thighs …

  ‘I wish I could get as high as you,’ Kelly says, her eyes dilated. ‘I’m always kind of hyperish without drugs, so the crystal tones me down.’ She takes another swig.

  ‘This tones you down! How does that work?’

  ‘On it, I’m more conscious of my behaviour.’

  ‘It’s making me conscious of all kinds of things. I can see what an idiot I was for staying with Sumiko for so long!’ Am I speaking too fast for her to understand? ‘What was I thinking? It’s weird how clear it all is in my head right now,’ I say, powerless
to slow my speech down. How’s she staying so relaxed? I feel movements in my brain that I’ve never felt before – as if things that shouldn’t be rubbing against each other are doing so. The feeling lasts a few seconds, scaring me, and stops. The rushing intensifies. I feel so alive! I rock even faster.

  Admiring her French manicure and the peculiar silver rings protruding from her fingers, Kelly says, ‘I had to get a restraining order against my psycho ex. He grabbed me by the hair when I was trying to leave one time. I told him, “Dude, I will shoot you dead in your own house.” His aunt was there and she called the police. They took a report. I said he didn’t hit me. I just wanted to leave.’

  We exchange relationship stories. Happy and sad. We laugh at our mistakes. We shift closer. The next thing, I lean in and kiss her.

  The meth gives me the courage to ask, ‘Should we go upstairs?’ I scan her face to see if I’ve caused offence.

  She raises her bottle, takes time to drain all visible signs of beer, emits an exhalation bordering on a sigh and says, ‘I don’t see why not.’

  Chapter 15

  Walking into Circle K, I say, ‘Kelly, I’ve got something to show you!’

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ she tells the clerk, and follows me outside.

  Flinging my arms open, I sing, ‘Ta-da!’

  Admiring my new Toyota Supra, white with beige leather seats, Kelly asks, ‘How much was it?’

  ‘Almost fifty thou,’ I say.

  ‘Dude, with that, you could’ve bought a helicopter to go to work with!’

  I open the door. ‘Fancy sitting in it?’

  She gets in. ‘Wow! It’s like a spaceship.’

  One month and two speeding tickets later, the dealership demands the car back, claiming to have found a problem with my credit. Perplexed by their U-turn, I refuse. Worried about repo men, I park on the top of a lot visible from the stockbrokerage.