Making Out (18 page)

For the next half hour, they all took turns sticking DVDs into the player and screening the worst scenes from their favorite trashy films.

Then someone pulled out a porn DVD and popped it in the machine, as if it were just another movie.

Porn? Heather wasn't quite ready for that. She stiffened—poor choice of words?—waiting to see how it was going to change the mood of the party.

But apparently most of Tony's friends had seen this kind of thing before, because nobody flinched. They just went right on doing what they'd been doing before: ripping the filmmaking techniques apart, laughing, jeering, pointing out all the flaws.

The film was called
Knockers
, and it was about a door-to-door bra salesman who came in to sell skimpy lingerie to two twenty-something roommates.

“Listen to the echo on the set!” someone complained.

“You're too kind, calling it a set. That's obviously someone's living room.”

“You're too kind, calling it a living room,” Jordan shot back.

“Five points if you can spot a scene where the boom mic
isn't
showing in the top of the frame,” someone said.

Everyone was silent for a minute, trying to win that challenge.

On the screen, the two women were trying on the lingerie and making out with the sales guy, who had gotten naked while they were in the kitchen getting him a beverage.

Heather held really still, not wanting it to show that she was squirming inside. The whole thing made her really uncomfortable. Who wanted to look at some guy's dick? Ick.

On the other hand, the two young women were a turn-on. She felt her face getting warm.

“Couldn't they put some makeup on his ass?” Talia complained. “I mean, please. He's got zits up the . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Ass?” Jordan supplied.

More laughs.

“No, but watch this tracking shot,” the guy who had brought the porn DVD said. “The camera actually hits a bump on the carpet, and they just left it in.”

“Oh God, you're right. Hey, look at that. They've used that same footage three times,” Nick said.

On the screen, the salesman was doing something obscene with a hot dog bun.

“Yeah, and first he has the bun in his left hand. Then it's in his right. It's a total mess in terms of continuity,” Jordan said.

Heather was so nervous, she didn't know where to look. Tony was sitting beside her on the sofa, although not too close. She could feel his radar scanning her . . . like, if she moved funny, or breathed strangely, or crossed her legs at the wrong time, he'd pick up on it and . . .

And what? He'd know? Know that she was gay?

I'm not gay,
she thought.
I've never done anything gay in my life.

On the screen, two women were kissing.

Heather couldn't take it anymore. She set down her glass of champagne, too hard. It made a loud clunk. Then she jumped up off the couch and dashed out of the room.

 

 

 

 

Now that Li'l D was gone, Lisa Marie didn't know quite what to do with herself. She gazed around the suite at the disgusting mess. Crushed beer cans, empty plastic cups, discarded liquor bottles, overflowing ashtrays, and the torn wrappers from every single snack food in the minibar were strewn around the room.

Someone had spilled Raisinets on one of the beige upholstered chairs. Someone had sat on them. The same someone? It was a particularly unfortunate stain.

Was there anything so depressing as a trashed hotel room? she thought. It reminded her of the worst time of night at junior high sleepover parties, when girls would start trying to cut someone's hair in her sleep, or say something so hurtful that the birthday girl wound up crying and storming off to her room.

When the place looked like this, you knew things were going to get ugly.

“Lisa Marie, you want a beer?” Bradley drunkenly offered her a can and threw an arm around her shoulder, letting his hand dangle too close to her breast.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, taking the can and slouching away from his arm at the same time.

That was pretty sweet of him, wasn't it?
she thought. Even after she'd pretty much ignored him all evening, here he was, being nice and bringing her a beverage. So what if the can was already half-empty? And had lipstick stains. She gave him a droopy-eyed smile.

Wow, I must be tired,
she thought. Now even Bradley's attention was cheering her up. Not a good sign.

The room was emptying out—almost like someone had put up a sign: “This party died. Let it rest in peace.”

“Hey, pretty girl.” Marianna had pried herself out of Luke's arms and came over for a chat. “You having fun?”

“Definitely,” Lisa Marie said.

Was she?

Her mood was roller-coastering. Ten minutes ago, she'd been high on Li'l D's four words:
“You, me, next time.”
The next moment, she just wanted to curl up on the couch and go to sleep. Now she was up again. Why? Just because Bradley had given her a beer?

“I'm a little trashed,” she admitted.

“Me, too. Guess what? Luke just called me his girlfriend.”

“Well, he'd better! I mean, you've been giving him girlfriend privileges,” Lisa Marie said, nodding toward the corner where Marianna and Luke had been making out.

Marianna giggled. “We're going down to the Lincoln Bedroom,” she said, quickly explaining about the Lincoln Town Car.

“You go, girl,” Lisa Marie said happily.

That sounded like a kick—a private Town Car in the basement of the hotel. Very remote. Very private. She wished she and Li'l D had wound up there tonight.

But it could still happen, Lisa Marie thought. Someday. Maybe she'd go with him to a recording session, and the studio would send a Town Car to pick them up. After, they'd tell the driver to take a hike while they made out in the back. Li'l D would call her his bitch in that soft, sexy way he had that didn't sound disrespectful. More like tender. Like the way he had said it tonight:
“Best-dressed bitch at the ball.”

He made the word sound like a caress.

“You okay here?” Marianna asked.

Lisa Marie looked around. John and Ramone were still there. Plus Marco and Bradley, and a few other people she didn't know. She'd be fine. She still had four guys to take care of her. Now, if Bradley would just bring her another beer . . .

“I'm good. Have fun,” Lisa Marie said, giving Marianna a hug.

When Marianna and Luke had gone, Lisa Marie flopped down on an unstained couch, kicked off her shoes, and put her feet up on the coffee table.

Now what?

 

“Name two ways to fart,” one of the guys said.

“I give up. What are they?” Marco asked.

“No, it's not a joke. I'm serious. I think there should be two ways to let 'em fly, but I can't think of them.”

He was clearly the drunkest guy in the room. His shirt was open, and he was slumped on the couch near one of the two other remaining girls, a redhead.

“Oh, grow up, Andrew,” the redhead said, shaking her head. “If there's one thing I can't stand, it's immature bathroom talk. Can we talk about something else?”

“You mean let's talk about you,” the guy slurred. “Would that make you happy?”

“You not spitting when you talk would make me happier,” she said, wiping at her cheek.

Besides the redhead and Andrew, there were just two other people left who Lisa Marie didn't know: a guy and a girl. She was wearing a fun retro fifties-style prom dress with a huge skirt made of pink netting. The guy was sprawled on the floor with his head in the girl's lap.

“I need a back rub,” he said, looking up into her eyes.

“So turn over,” she said.

“Yes!” the guy cheered, quickly turning to put his face in her crotch.

“Woooo!” Ramone shouted, egging them on.

But the girl quickly pushed him off and scooted away. “You
know
that's not what I meant! God!”

This was boring, Lisa Marie thought, feeling fuzzier by the minute. How come she was left with these people, instead of being off somewhere with Li'l D? She tried to think back, to remember what had happened, but it was kind of blurry. There must have been a moment where she could have done something differently . . .

“Lisa Marie, come sit with me,” John said, patting his lap.

She ignored him, too tired to get up. “Marco's closer. Let him sit on you,” she said.

“Awww.” John pretended to pout.

“Here's my question,” Marco said, sitting up like he just got a good idea. “How come we spent the whole night playing cards with all these girls in the room, and not one hand of strip poker?”

“It's never too late,” Bradley said.

“Ha,” the girl nearest Lisa Marie said. “You guys are so stoned, you'd be naked before I could say royal flush.”

“I thought you said no bathroom talk,” the drunk guy joked.

Everyone laughed.

Lisa Marie reached over to a torn bag of Sun Chips and dug inside for some crumbs. There weren't many, but she licked her finger anyway. The salt tasted good.

Someone yawned, and the redhead stood up to stretch. “Andrew, I'm starving, and we promised Emily we'd drop in at her party. Let's get out of here. You coming, Becca?”

The girl on the floor said yeah, she was ready to leave. Pretty soon the four of them were picking up stray bow ties, gathering up evening bags and jackets, and heading for the door. Then the redhead turned back and came over to Lisa Marie.

“Are you okay here?” she asked. Halfheartedly she added, “You could come with us.”

“I'm fine.”

That was nice of her, Lisa Marie thought. But she was too tired to go anywhere right then. And besides—she barely knew those people.

“Okay. Ciao.”

The redhead, Becca, and the two other guys dragged themselves out the door.

Lisa Marie looked around the room and sighed. She was tired, but it was prom night. You didn't give up early on your senior prom. And besides, Marianna and Luke were busy downstairs. No way was she going to barge in on their private party.

“So what now?” she said, looking around at the four remaining guys.

John, Ramone, Marco, and Bradley. Her posse. Just like at Starbucks.

John shot a leering glance at Ramone, and they both laughed.

What's so funny?
she thought.

Then she caught a look in Marco's eyes. There was a vibe in the room . . . a bad vibe. Suddenly she realized: She was alone in a hotel room with four drunk guys.

“Now we play that game of strip poker I was talking about,” Marco said in no uncertain terms.

 

 

 

 

What am I doing?
Heather wondered as she dashed into the spacious kitchen at Nick's house.

She was wandering through a complete stranger's house, uninvited. Not normally her style—but this wasn't a normal night. Not by a long shot. How often had she sat in someone's living room watching porn with people she hardly knew?

That would be never.

For a minute she just stood there amid the granite countertops and glass-fronted cabinets feeling lost, not sure where to go next. The kitchen was just past the dining room, which was just off the living room. Not far enough away.

She could hear voices drifting in from the party, but they weren't laughing.

Were they talking about her?

Probably not. She wasn't that important to anyone there. But she still had an overwhelming impulse to escape.

She took a back stairway leading down and found herself in an elegantly decorated basement game room. There was a pool table, a mahogany bar, a dartboard, and another big-screen TV. A long nubby beige sectional sofa spanned two walls, and huge pillows cluttered the floor.

None of it looked worn. More like brand-new and barely used.

How ironic, Heather thought. Nick's parents had probably set up and furnished this game room specifically for him and his friends to have parties. But as soon as his parents were gone, they preferred to party upstairs in the living room, like adults.

That's what made them so cool, she decided. It's what had made her happy to be part of that group at first.

The sectional looked inviting. Heather plopped down on it and grabbed a pillow to hold on to. Maybe she could just curl up there and hide. Maybe no one would come looking for her. Maybe she'd even be left alone long enough to sober up—her head was still buzzing from that glass of champagne—and figure out how she really felt about sex.