Life of the Party (11 page)

“I didn’t know
your last name was Lewis.” I kidded.

“There’s a lot
about me you don’t know.” Grey smirked. He grasped my hand again
and we made our way inside. I looked around; this club was nothing
like the Aurora at home. Modern and new, the décor was mostly black
and white, with splashes of vibrant blues and greens and oranges in
just the right places. The main floor was dedicated almost entirely
to the dance floor, clear Plexiglas atop swirls of fluorescent
color, surrounded by tall white and black plastic chairs. A shooter
bar flanked the left side, and a large spiral staircase took up
most of the right. The place was packed, the music thumped over the
noisy din.

“This way, Mr.
Lewis.” A server appeared from nowhere, and motioned for us to
follow. “The rest of your party has already arrived.”

“Great.” We
followed the waitress, who led us up the staircase. The top floor
was full of circular tables surrounded by more tall plastic chairs,
impossibly tall backed booths lined the walls, and all of them were
full. The tables were made to mimic the dance floor. There was a
bar for every wall but one, the back wall the server was leading us
to. She pushed back a nearly indiscernible curtain that opened to
reveal another staircase, this one much smaller than the first.
Above us was another floor, similar to the one below. There were no
single tables, only the larger, tall backed booths about twice the
size of the usual. Each was up on its own platform, closed in by a
curtain surrounding it.

“VIP?” I asked
him.

“Nothing but.”
Grey laughed wryly. We ushered in through the curtain to join the
people already there, seated around the back of the booth. The
lights were dim, which I liked. The tabletop was like the others,
clear Plexi over lights, the cushions upholstered in soft black and
white vinyl. Grey introduced us before we sat.

“Mackenzie,
this is Jimmy, Tom and Lucas. You may recognize them from the
killer band Serpentine.” Grey chuckled and made a sign in the air.
The band mates cheered with a cacophony of curses. Jimmy was
younger, with dark black hair in a faux hawk—he smiled at me
politely. Tom and Lucas must have been brothers, though Tom looked
to be in his late thirties and Lucas seemed younger, they shared
the same shaggy brown hair and large, bushy eyebrows.

“Bass, keys,
and our manager.” Grey explained. I nodded. “And beside them are
the lovely ladies Natasha, Tracy and Lori.” I smiled, and waved
once at them all, but the girls barely acknowledged me. I scarcely
had time to look them over before we were moving to sit down, but I
noticed lots of make-up, and skin, and a general expression of
utter boredom.

We squeezed
into the booth, Grey on one side of me, Charlie on the other. I was
thankful to be past the scrutiny, to sit and relax. I lit a smoke.
Grey was talking to Alex on the other side of him. I heard someone
order champagne for everybody, and my eyebrows raised again. Was
this how they always partied? How could they afford it?

A lady came
around with hand-blown crystal flutes, filling them halfway with
sparkling, honey coloured champagne. I looked around, but nobody
was drinking theirs. It was like they were waiting for
something.

After a few
minutes Tom called us to attention. I did my best to lean over Grey
without blocking Charlie’s view, to better see the older man. The
talk quieted around us, and Tom raised his glass in the air.

“Tonight, a
celebration.” He smiled around the group from his place in the
middle. “Tonight, a first. I am honoured, and delighted, and proud
to be a part of this ride with you all. Here’s to your success, and
to your futures. They’re sure to be bright. Congratulations.”

“Fuck yeah!”
Alex shouted. Everyone cheered and then clinked their glasses
together, laughing happily. I watched them in confusion. Though it
was dim in the room, seemingly I was the only one completely in the
dark.

“Um …
congratulations for what?” I whispered to Grey. He turned to me;
his blue eyes alight with happiness, the impact of them taking my
breath away. He laughed loudly.

“Our band was
signed.” He explained. He clinked his glass against mine.

“What? That’s
awesome!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah. That’s
the idea,” he chuckled, “we’ll be recording soon.”

“Wow. That’s
great … amazing even! Let’s celebrate, shall we?”

“We shall.” He
promised. We smiled and drank the sharp, cold bubbly, watching each
other. Now that the feeling of ceremony was over, we relaxed and
ordered a round of more practical drinks, preparing to really
celebrate. Grey lit a cigarette and passed it to me, lighting
another one for himself. I drank my rye and Coke almost as soon as
it came, trying quickly to maintain my buzz. Grey watched me take
one last gulp, and smiled.

“That’s
impressive, but really not necessary.”

“What? Why
not?”

“Because.” He
grinned wickedly, looked around, and passed me a hand mirror from
the other side of him. There were two smudgy lines reflected on the
glass, and I could see my face looking down on them—could see the
confusion, the comprehension, and then the anxiety that overtook my
reflected expression. Cocaine. Grey was offering me cocaine.

“I promised you
a good time, didn’t I?”

My stomach did
a little flip. Cocaine had always been something I avoided. I
didn’t really know why, but it was on the other side of the line I
had drawn for myself. The stupid line. I’d never had an
interest.

“If you don’t
want to, it’s no big deal. Just pass it on.” Grey spoke softly.

“No. I want
to.” I decided. Of course I would do it. It was no different than E
or mush or weed, just another means to the desirable end. And I
wanted that end. I wanted to be higher that I’d ever been before. I
smiled at Grey.

“I don’t know
how.” I giggled, ashamed.

“Just pinch
your other nostril shut.” He leaned in close to me, explaining
under his breath. He handed me a rolled up twenty-dollar bill.
“Then suck it in with this, and chase the line.”

“From the
mirror?”

He nodded. My
heart beat convulsively in my chest, I was so nervous.

“Don’t make fun
of me.” I pleaded. Grey laughed.

“I won’t. Look,
no one’s even watching. Just don’t blow out, whatever you do. I
promise, you’ll love it.”

“I will?”

He nodded
again. That was it for me. Sold.

I leaned over
and did it the way Grey had said. I sucked in quickly and moved the
bill down the line. Then I straightened up, sniffing, feeling an
immediate burn within my sinuses. I sniffed and sniffed, rubbing at
my septum, and pushed the mirror towards Charlie. Grey laughed and
watched me.

“What do you
think?” He wondered. I looked at him, and honestly felt no
different. Just that my nose was on fire.

“I … I don’t
….” I was about to say, “feel anything,” but was suddenly unable to
speak. Because I did feel something. I felt amazing. I looked at
Grey with wonder. My hands were shaking and I felt so good I wanted
to cry. I can’t even describe the euphoria that flooded over me,
the total and complete joy and contentment that became mine in that
instant. I was physically numb but mentally clear, completely awake
and alert. Totally confident. I looked at Grey and smiled,
buzzing.

“Wow … it’s
just so, and I never realized it was like this. Is it always like
this? Did you do some? Do you feel the same? Can we do some more?”
I was whispering. He laughed, hard, like I had said something
outrageously hilarious. I didn’t even bother worrying if he was
laughing at me. How could he be? I was so awesome at that
moment.

The mirror was
passed around a few more times, clandestinely. Grey showed me how
to pull my forehead back afterwards and inhale sharply to get
better absorption. I loved it, more than anything I’d ever tried.
Grey had been right.

After a few
more lines, I was not content to sit anymore. I grabbed Charlie’s
hand and we went to the washroom, then to the shooter bar, then
back to the booth, then back to the washroom, gabbing the entire
time. Neither of us could talk fast enough or run out of things to
say. Everything we said was so profound, so right on. My entire
body was humming; I could feel my heart beating rapidly.

Then, I felt
something else. In my mouth, there was a sudden, terrible, horrible
taste. I made a face and put my hand over my lips, sliding back
into the booth.

“How you doing,
Mackenzie?” Grey noticed my grimace as I sat next to him. “Does it
taste like hairspray?” He asked.

I nodded in
disgust, my hand still over my mouth.

“Try to swallow
it. It’s just the coke. Back drip.” He explained.

“Lovely.”

“Want some
more?”

“Yes.”

Of course I
did. I didn’t want this feeling to ever end. Grey and I sat, almost
completely by ourselves now as the others dispersed, some to go
dance, some to get drinks. I leaned comfortably against him as we
shared another mirror or two. His arm rested loosely around my
waist, his hand warm. He smelt so good.

“Do we have to
get you back anytime … curfew or anything?” He asked, his voice a
deep rumble in my ear. I lit my eightieth some odd smoke and blew
it out in a laugh.

“Hardly. My mom
works nights, my dad’s away on business. They’ll never notice that
I’m gone.”

“Well, maybe
I’ll just keep you, then.”

“Sounds good to
me.” I agreed.

I was content
to sit now, with Grey beside me, but nothing could stop the
uncontrollable chatter that poured from my lips. From our lips.
Thankfully, Grey had done his share of cocaine too, and we talked,
and talked, our words not coming fast enough for the thoughts that
drove them.

We talked about
work and the pain in the ass customers. About Charlie and how she
was surprisingly likeable. I told him about my sister and her dick
fiancé—how much my parents sucked. He let me blather on and on and
listened intently the entire time. After expounding on Marcy’s
upcoming wedding, even describing the prissy dresses to him in
finite detail, I figured it was time for me to stop talking.

“So, anyway …
um, tell me about your band being signed. How did it happen? What
does it mean?” I leaned forward and took a drink; my mouth was
bitterly dry.

“Well,” he
chuckled at my ignorance, “basically, we’ve a contract with a
record company. They put out the CD and set up a tour and do the
marketing and everything. We just sit back, and make music.” He
grinned widely. “Which is really the best part.”

“How do you do
it? I mean, how do you write the songs?”

“Mostly me and
Alex write them. The melodies just come to me. Sometimes, I’ll wake
up in the middle of the night, and I just have it, and have to get
it down. Alex helps a ton, he can think of wicked parts for guitars
and layering and stuff.”

“That’s
amazing.”

“I write the
lyrics too. Sometimes it’s hard, but most the time they just write
themselves, like certain melodies were made for certain words,
certain moods.”

“Wait.” I put
my drink down and stared at Grey, baffled. “So, not only do you
write the music and play the music and sing the songs, you write
the lyrics too? How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.”
He shrugged humbly. “It’s just, easy for me. A lot of the time I
can say things in songs that I can’t say otherwise. Like an outlet,
I guess.”

“Wow. How long
have you been playing?”

“Music had
always been it for me, even when I was little. I started playing
when I was … um … seven I think. It’s only been guitar for me,
ever, and if you think I’m crazy, Zack can play every instrument we
have on stage and he’s really, really good. A natural. I think he
can even play the saxophone and shit.”

“You guys are
impressive. I can’t even carry a tune and here you all are, writing
your own music, singing, making your own lyrics ….” A sudden idea
occurred to me. I smiled in amusement.

“If you’re so
good, write me a song right now.” I suggested. “Make me some
lyrics.”

“Right now?”
Grey laughed. “No, no. I need music and a situation.”

“Okay … I can
do that. Write it to the tune of …
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little
Star
, and make it about ….” I looked down at my cigarette.
“Smoking.”

“A song about
smoking. To the tune of
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star
?” He
looked at me incredulously, but humoured me, and began humming to
himself. He broke into a smile. “How does that shit even go?”

I laughed,
thoroughly enjoying myself. Grey worked away for a moment, frowning
in concentration as I watched him and smoked. He mumbled words
aloud as he tried to place them into the song.

“Okay, okay, I
think I’ve got it.” He chuckled and cleared his throat. “Here goes.
Smoking, smoking cigarette, how much better can it get? First I
suck, then I blow, it gives me a healthy glow. Smoking, smoking
cigarette, how much better can it get?”

I burst out
laughing, clapping my hands for his impromptu performance. Grey
laughed with me, his face reddening slightly.

“What’d you
think?” He asked.

“I think … that
was … the dirtiest song … I’ve ever heard ….” I admitted between
fits of laughter. Grey went over the words again in his head, and a
smile broke over his face as he realized the implication.

“I didn’t have
much time.” He explained. “I did the best with what I had.”

“No, you did
great. You did great. I just don’t think I’ll ever look at a
cigarette the same way.”

“Me either.” He
grinned.

“No.” I shook
my head seriously, clearing the laughter from my throat. “I mean
it. I think that you are very talented. Soon, you’ll be so famous
that you won’t remember the rest of us.”