halfway back to the city just to score more beverages from a friend of his who ran a liquor store. The friend even came back with him, bigheartedly playing the Santa of liquid refreshment. He was greeted with applause. He'd had an impressive, basso laugh, an opera singer's laugh, but Art could never remember his name. There had been life in this house once, and an excellent time had been had by all. Now it seemed like someone else's old story.
"So I get there with Dina and it's barely sundown yet and there's like twelve guys all over her, and she only has eyes for Price, and Price is… polite. Almost like she's a kid or something, I mean, not a minor, but a kid, a little kid. She disappears. There's this whole row of rooms on the second floor, and most of them have beds, because at Price's parties… you know." She shrugged.
"A lot of mating going on upstairs?"
"What are parties really for? You meet people, you drink too much, you fool around, and then the next day you talk about what you wouldn't have done if you hadn't been 50000 drunk."
That urged a laugh out of Art. It was true. Between All Hallows toasts and dawn, there'd been a bit of mating going on between his guests at his long-ago soiree, in whatever rooms became available on a rotating basis. Stacey McMullen and Bernard Whitt had booted Blitz out of the dog den so they could hump on top of the dryer.
"So I find Dina in one of these rooms, alone, thank god, except for the cheeseball trying to shove coke up his ass in the bathroom, but he closes the door and we don't see him again for the rest of the night. Dina's crying her face off. Her makeup has run down into her lap. She's crying over Price, and I go, what the fuck is this bullshit, I mean, it's not like you guys had a thing or he's your lover or something."
"Did something happen?"
"That's the whole thing. Nothing happened. And she's acting like she wants to commit suicide all of a sudden. Fucking weird. Too weird. So weird it's kinda scary."
"Was she wasted?"
"Well, everybody was pretty jolly already. Lot of booze, lot of coke, some old-timers still into 'ludes. Price generally doesn't like junkies, so there was only a couple. But the weird thing is Dina, the way she's acting. She's normally tough as nails. She's a city kid, she has pavement smarts, and even though she shows up dressed to kill, she never has any problem keeping the dogs from slobbering on her. Not you. sweetie." She began scratching Blitz's ruff, the one way guaranteed to immobilize canines. She took a long draw off her Dixie Double Hex. "Dina's pretty tall and she's got super-long legs, and great eyes, and she wore these really soft leather pants. All her jewelry is really sharp, and she's got this choker thing with an amethyst in it, and she's even got one of those belt buckles that has a little knife in it? Totally superior hair. And she's just crying and crying, like somebody died."
"Did something happen?" Art was at sea.
Suzanne began scratching Blitz's nose with her index finger, playing dodgem while he tried to catch a sniff. "That's it. Nothing happened. We said hi to Price at the door, and an hour later she's ready to leap off a building. So I hugged her and got her a tissue, and finally she swallows hard a couple of times in a row and asks to be by herself, for just a moment-you know, kind of letting me off the hook.
"So I go back downstairs, and lo and behold, the Asshole is slapping Price on the back like they did Vietnam together or something."
"Which asshole?"
" Bryan. Bryan Simonsen. The Bry-Guy. Used to be my boyfriend. Occupation: total phallus." Suzanne rolled her eyes and Art could see this was not the first time she had recounted this particular life mistake. "He's this rich computer guy, but it's all Daddy's money, y'know? He's got a Porsche and a stock portfolio and no human feelings whatsoever.
"So I get there with Dina and it's barely sundown yet and there's like twelve guys all over her, and she only has eyes for Price, and Price is… polite. Almost like she's a kid or something, I mean, not a minor, but a kid, a little kid. She disappears. There's this whole row of rooms on the second floor, and most of them have beds, because at Price's parties… you know." She shrugged.
"A lot of mating going on upstairs?"
"What are parties really for? You meet people, you drink too much, you fool around, and then the next day you talk about what you wouldn't have done if you hadn't been 50000 drunk."
That urged a laugh out of Art. It was true. Between All Hallows toasts and dawn, there'd been a bit of mating going on between his guests at his long-ago soiree, in whatever rooms became available on a rotating basis. Stacey McMullen and Bernard Whitt had booted Blitz out of the dog den so they could hump on top of the dryer.
"So I find Dina in one of these rooms, alone, thank god, except for the cheeseball trying to shove coke up his ass in the bathroom, but he closes the door and we don't see him again for the rest of the night. Dina's crying her face off. Her makeup has run down into her lap. She's crying over Price, and I go, what the fuck is this bullshit, I mean, it's not like you guys had a thing or he's your lover or something."
"Did something happen?"
"That's the whole thing. Nothing happened. And she's acting like she wants to commit suicide all of a sudden. Fucking weird. Too weird. So weird it's kinda scary."
"Was she wasted?"
"Well, everybody was pretty jolly already. Lot of booze, lot of coke, some old-timers still into 'ludes. Price generally doesn't like junkies, so there was only a couple. But the weird thing is Dina, the way she's acting. She's normally tough as nails. She's a city kid, she has pavement smarts, and even though she shows up dressed to kill, she never has any problem keeping the dogs from slobbering on her. Not you. sweetie." She began scratching Blitz's ruff, the one way guaranteed to immobilize canines. She took a long draw off her Dixie Double Hex. "Dina's pretty tall and she's got super-long legs, and great eyes, and she wore these really soft leather pants. All her jewelry is really sharp, and she's got this choker thing with an amethyst in it, and she's even got one of those belt buckles that has a little knife in it? Totally superior hair. And she's just crying and crying, like somebody died."
"Did something happen?" Art was at sea.
Suzanne began scratching Blitz's nose with her index finger, playing dodgem while he tried to catch a sniff. "That's it. Nothing happened. We said hi to Price at the door, and an hour later she's ready to leap off a building. So I hugged her and got her a tissue, and finally she swallows hard a couple of times in a row and asks to be by herself, for just a moment-you know, kind of letting me off the hook.
"So I go back downstairs, and lo and behold, the Asshole is slapping Price on the back like they did Vietnam together or something."
"Which asshole?"
" Bryan. Bryan Simonsen. The Bry-Guy. Used to be my boyfriend. Occupation: total phallus." Suzanne rolled her eyes and Art could see this was not the first time she had recounted this particular life mistake. "He's this rich computer guy, but it's all Daddy's money, y'know? He's got a Porsche and a stock portfolio and no human feelings whatsoever.
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