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Chapter 38/Page 5 |
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“You made it!” Ex-Ass leapt into my arms and gave me a kiss that was just a touch more than friendly. “What are you supposed to be?” She gave my street clothes the once over. “I’m a crabby guy who refuses to play along because no one played along at his birthday party.” Ex-Ass laughed politely, unsure exactly how much I was joking. She looked like trouble in a black read-my-lips-tight cat costume. “Let’s get you a drink.” She took my hand and led me to the kitchen. The wire-reinforced tail sewn on her costume at the fleshy triangle just above her behind gently swatted Wiener as she walked. “What’ll you have?” It didn’t matter. I pointed to the cooler. “Beer’s fine.” She handed me an ice-cold bottle and hugged me around my neck. “I’m so glad you could make it,” she whispered and kissed my earlobe. I squeezed around the small of her back and put on a happy face. She earned it. “Of course I made it, silly.” “Let’s dance.” She led me to the packed living room where we rocked and swayed as much as we could among the ghouls, witches, bikers, rubber-faced celebrities, and one really confident girl whose costume was a coat of paint. Even stuck in the thick of the moshing mob Ex-Ass managed to look free and lissome, tail in one hand, beer in the other. As more and more people crowded the dance floor, my shoulders folded in on my chest in a claustrophobic fit. “I need some air,” I shouted. “I’m going to step outside.” The crowd spilled out of her apartment onto the beach. I made it to the balcony, wiped the sweat from my forehead and took several deep breaths. The cold beach air was a bracer to my over-heated skin. As I leaned against the railing, a raindrop hit my neck. The forecast called for clear skies, but L.A. weatherpersons/spokes models get it wrong pretty much all the time. I looked up, but there wasn’t a cloud to be seen. Another drop attacked. Then another. I wiped my neck and inspected my hand. The water was chalky. I looked up again, but saw nothing. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I heard from behind. D-Girl stepped out of the shadows dressed as a baby in footy pajamas, carrying a Gerber bottle of White Russians that she sucked out of the nipple, which she’d been flicking at me from behind. “Very funny,” I said, flicking my finger back at her. Trying to duck, she lost her balance and fell into me. The bottle was nearly empty. “Having a good time?” “Reasonably,” she said. “What are you supposed to be?” “A long story,” I said. “I don’t get it.” “You don’t have to.” I inspected her figure shamelessly. She relished my lascivious gaze and arched to give me a better look-see. “You’re missing the best part,” she purred. “It gets better?” She pulled me back into the shadows till we both stood side by side, facing the ocean. Her baby costume came complete with a trap door on the backside. She steered my hand into the opening. It wouldn’t have been D-Girl had she been wearing panties. The Hand took a short tour of her bottom, which was much softer than I remembered. “Careful. You stay there long enough, I might think you’re falling in love with me again.” I lowered my hand along the valley of her ass and pushed a finger inside her. She jumped. “Don’t fuck with me tonight,” I warned and pulled my hand all the way out of the baby suit. She exhaled with a light shiver and sucked the last drops of White Russian out of her bottle. “Well, I killed that.” She shook the bottle and set it on the rail. “You wouldn’t have a cigarette, would you?” Actually, I had bummed one off a blood-soaked Surgeon earlier. I put the Marlboro Light to my lips and smelled D-Girl on my fingers as I sucked in the first cool/hot blast of cancer. We shared the smoke in silence, casually admiring each other, letting the party carry on without us. She finished my beer and took the last hit of the cigarette. The cigarette butt fizzled and drowned in the backwash at the bottom of the bottle. “It’s time to pay up,” she said, slowly exhaling close to my mouth, to share the last puff. I inhaled the second-hand smoke and faced her. “What are you talking about?” She stepped close and pummeled my chest with an open fist. “You said you owe me one. Pay up.”
Ex-Ass wound her way around the apartment, wriggling through her increasingly drunk and slippery party guests. Navigating the crowd was especially difficult since she’d just got something caught under one contact lens. She excused herself to cut in on JFK (post gunshot wound) at the head of the bathroom line, just long enough to retrieve her solution. It wasn’t till she couldn’t find it that she remembered she’d left it on her nightstand that morning. “I’m sorry!” Ex-Ass apologized to the couple taking advantage of the privacy of her unlit bedroom. “Oh, shit.” She went pale as her good eye adjusted to the dark and she saw the Baby satisfying her oral fixation on the Crabby Guy in street clothes. “I’m sorry,” she gasped and ran out. “Fuck.” What else can you say in this situation? I attempted to zip up, but D-Girl held fast to Wiener. “Are you going to be a hero now?” “Isn’t she your friend?” “She’s my friend who would be on her knees if I didn’t get here first.” What a bitch. I lifted her to her feet and pushed her face down over the edge the bed. Ripping open the back door of her footy suit, I punished her on Ex-ass’s behalf, and marked the back of her costume in a matter of minutes. “Hey, fucker! I’m not done!” She yelled after me. Ex-Ass was nowhere to be found. I grabbed one beer for the road and headed home. Slowing on Beverly Glen, I’d already turned on my blinker to turn into my driveway, but I just couldn’t. I passed my apartment and took the right on Santa Monica, following the bus route back to work again. This time, the lights were off even on the second floor. It occurred to me to go in and sit at my desk a while to sober up, but I kept driving up San Vicente, then La Cienega till I was face to face with my old apartment building once more.
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