She’s not moaning anymore; the sounds she makes are loud and primal, unconcerned with discovery, and almost inhuman. I’ve never heard sounds like these come out of a girl before.
I raise my voice so I can be heard over the sound of Cypress Hill rapping about how they could just kill a man. “Thanks! I like your look too. But I’m not sure what you’re -”
“Did you see Pulp Fiction?” Oh, obviously. She’s Uma Thurman.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go for the post-overdose look.” I’m only half-joking; I would have recognized her costume right away if the white blouse was ripped open to reveal a syringe sticking out of her chest and the black bob wig was matted with puke and God-knows-what. Stacy turns to the quartet standing by the counter and calls for someone named Crystal.
One of the guys in suits – not actually a guy, it turns out – excuses herself from the others and walks over. She’s wearing a black jacket and pants, and a white shirt with a skinny black tie. She’s even got fake sideburns. If not for the stud in the side of her nose and the hourglass figure, she’d be the spitting image of John Travolta.
“We saw it opening night,” Stacy tells me. Then, to clarify: “My friend and I.”
The friend says it’s definitely in her top five of the year. I ask for her name and she confirms that it’s Crystal. Before I can reciprocate with my own, Stacy tells me again that they’re friends, I guess just in case I didn’t hear her the first time. It is pretty loud.
I decide not to tell them that I saw it opening day, first showing. I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to one-up them. Instead I say, “I love the theme.” I almost say “couples costume” instead of “theme”, but obviously that would be weird so I’m glad I caught myself in time.
As the thumping bass gives way to something more mellow, Amanda – I think I decided her name is Amanda – brings up Tuesday’s quiz. As she speaks I notice she’s got little stitches radiating out from her full, pleasing lips that she’s drawn on with eyebrow pencil or something. Oh, she’s a scarecrow, right? Either that or Cowgirl Raggedy Ann.
In walks Grace to refresh her red cup. Besides the Tuesday and Thursday morning class, I’ve got Monday evening Chem with her, and Intro Business Wednesday nights at seven. I have no idea what or who she’s dressed as, but she’s wearing a short blonde wig, a blue pantsuit, and a pearl necklace.
Grace makes informal greetings as she squeezes between us and pours herself some vodka out of a big Stoli bottle. To me she says, in a very exaggerated accent, “Hey Dracula! Vant to bite my neck?” I would like that very much. Grace leans in close, so I take a pair of plastic vampire fangs out of my pocket, put them in my mouth, then pretend to bite her. She’s a few inches shorter than me so I have to lean way over, but she reacts like the delicate maiden in an old horror movie who’s been entranced and feasted upon by an ancient bloodsucker. Then she tells everyone else that it’s okay because she knows me from way back. It’s true; we went to high school together, and junior high before that.
She puts her arm around my back in a way that feels good and comes pretty close to turning me on. She kind of rests her head on my shoulder, too. Grace is a sweetheart, and she’s always been. But right now I’m not ruling out the possibility that this intimacy is more than just friendly.
Someone asks who she’s dressed as, and she tells us she’s supposed to be the First Lady. This would never have occurred to me, and not just because Grace is Filipina. She nods toward the group standing at the counter and tells us that her boyfriend Edwin is the president. Hearing his name, the suit-wearer standing by the counter who’s not named Crystal turns around. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bite Grace’s neck when she offered it. Edwin is a tall, burly guy clad in dark blue. He has a saxophone around his neck, and very light brown hair that appears to be a wig.
“We were gonna be O.J. and the White Bronco, but the only horse costumes we could find were for two people.” I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a joke, but he gets a few scattered laughs anyway.
After Edwin turns back to his conversation, Grace gives us his whole story: He’s twenty-six, he lives in the Mission District and plays at clubs in the City, and his dad was a professional musician. I assume she’s going to tell him that the sax was handed down to him, but no, it’s borrowed.
“He doesn’t own his sax?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course not. He plays the guitar.” Then she puts her head back on my shoulder.
I consider asking if she’d rather go snuggle up to her boyfriend. But clearly he doesn’t have an issue with her snuggling up to me instead. Instead, I ask the group at the drinks table if anyone else from class is here.
Hammer Pants – or Josh, as it turns out – asks if I know Jamison. “Is that his last name?” I ask with genuine curiosity. Josh shakes his head.
“Tall guy. He’s got Intro Business with us.” That’s Thursday nights at seven. I scan a memory of the last class hoping to spot a tall guy, but none appear. Josh goes on: “If you saw him you’d probably know who he is.”
“He’s wearing a mask,” Amanda says.
“Yeah, that’s right. He’ll spot you before you spot him.”
Then Stacy asks, “What? Are we not interesting enough for you?” I think she’s kidding, but I don’t know her well enough to tell for sure. I’d like to know her better, though. I wonder if she has a boyfriend.
The Grim Reaper tells us – you know, I’m just going to call him Tim. Tim says there’s a room downstairs where Will is playing horror movies on a big-screen TV. This gets my attention.
“What’s playing?” I wouldn’t mind hanging out in a fancy home cinema watching scary movies.
“Some zombie movie.”
“Night of the Living Dead?”
“Yeah. That’s the one where they’re at the mall, right?”
I shake my head. “That’s Dawn of the Dead.” I think I’ll go check it out.
Continued in Part 3.