"Come on, the exit is over here!"
As Megan leads us up the subway stairs I realize that I have never gotten off at this stop before, even though it is my second year in college. This part of town does not have a good reputation. Not a place where three nice and innocent college girls would normally want to get off. In particularly not on a Friday evening, at this hour.
Then again, we are fugitives. Escaping a lame college party full of lame college boys with long hungry eyes. They don't get to me. None of them make me feel anything. But I want to feel something, other than myself. Meg is from this town, her half-brother is a construction worker, and hangs with a very different crew. She suggested we go to this party with them that she knows about, and I was all over the idea. I need to meet another kind of people. Wild, masculine, unspoiled. That is what I need. It must be. Otherwise, I just don't know.
We emerge from the bowels of the subway, onto a dimly lit two-lane street. To the left of us is a stereotype landscape of seedy bars, pimped cruising cars, whores, dealers and drunkards. To the right, something that looks like an abandoned industrial zone. Claire hesitates as Megan leads us to the right.
"Are you sure it is this way?"
"Yes, I know my way round here."
"But it doesn't even look like a residential area?"
"They do it in some old industrial building. It is about to be renovated. Or maybe torn down to build something else, I am not sure. Dave is on the team, and he helped organize it."
"Can you just do that?"
"I guess they cleared it with the owners. Look, I told you it is not your usual college type of party. Are you up for it, or what?"
"Of course we are up for it!" I say briskly, not wanting to risk Claire starting to pull us out of it.
"OK, listen then. This crowd can be a bit rough, and your mothers are not here, so you'll have to take care of yourselves. Don't take any pills or powders that anyone offers you, especially not if it is for free. Only drink from cans that you opened yourself and held on to. And don't get one-on-one with any of the guys unless you are ready for whatever."
"Of course Meg, we are grown-ups. We know how to take care of ourselves." Her attitude annoys me a bit, like I was some kind of sissy girl.
"Sure, Rachel. It's just.. I mean, if anything happens, don't say I didn't warn you!"
As we speak, my mother actually shows up in the back of my mind, cool, intelligent, distant. She asks me in that slightly sarcastic voice if holding on to my beer to avoid getting drugged is really my idea of having a good time. I shrug it off. She is not here. That is the whole fucking point.
"Is Dave gonna be there?" Claire asks.
"He might not make it. He has to help out a friend with something that just came up. But they will let us in, don't worry. They know we are coming."
Megan leads us in between two temporary metal fences, to a large concrete building, knocks on a solid, featureless metal door. It opens slightly, party music seeping out from somewhere inside. A bulky muscular guy with black heavy-metal t-shirt, crew-cut and tattoos is peering suspiciously out into the night.
"What is it?"
Megan takes the lead. "We are here to party! We are friends of Dave."
"There is no Dave here!"
"Dave Gallagher! Friend of Ricky."
The guy's face lights up.
"Ah, that Dave! Then you are his little sister? And those are your little friends? Yes, we already heard a lot about you. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. Unless you want us to do it for you!" He opens the door wider with a grin that does not make me feel entirely comfortable.
We get into a relatively small and dirty room, with some tables where people have put their bags and clothes. Meg and Claire hold onto their handbags, and I have my stuff in a chic little leather rucksack, that I can wear even while dancing. The late spring is warm, and we have no overcoats either. Claire is wearing a fluffy white dress, decently hiding her soft feminine curves. Maybe a bit too much college girl? Meg perhaps a bit closer to home, with her long black tights and black top just short enough to show off her navel stone.
I envy her firm, slim figure. After long deliberations I have decided to wear my tight-fitting light-blue jeans, to show off my carefully cultivated bubble butt, even though it is still bigger than I would like. On top I have a loose white silk shirt, with just enough transparency that one can make out the contour of my black push-up underneath. Challenging, or too much college girl? We will see.
We go through another door, into a much larger room where the actual party is going on. At first I just see a good, slightly chaotic party, lots of guys and a few girls dancing, drinking, talking. Only gradually do I figure the layout of things. The light is from some bright, powerful industrial lamps, free-standing on tripod poles. Cold, bright, white light, casting dark shadows. A quite impressive sound system pumps out an incoherent mix of music, with drill rap and speed metal battling for supremacy. I make out the faint glow of tube amps in the rack, who uses those nowadays? The long bar is made of plywood boards laid over sawbucks, with frames of beer and soda cans stacked up underneath. Although there are quite a lot of people here, the room is still bigger than the party, I cannot make out its boundaries.
I deliberately separate from Meg and Claire, to move around on my own, taking in the party and its people. Lots and lots of guys in black jeans and t-shirts. The fewer girls are busty, loud, impulsive, their dress code seems to be short, tight jeans and crop-tops. The guys have groping eyes, I can almost physically feel them crawling over me as I move around. I get various suggestions, some of them very direct, and a few guys even try to feel me up. It doesn't get to me the way I hoped. I just feel tense, stifled, by this kind of attention. Way out of my comfort zone. I guess I need to relax, get into the mood, open up to this new and unexplored crowd. In other words, I need some alcohol.
I make my way to the long bar, quickly get the attention of a barman.
"Beer, soda, coke or method?"
Coke? Method? I hope it does not mean what I think it means.
"Beer!" I say, putting a dollar bill on the counter. Meg instructed us to bring cash, this is not the kind of place where they take cards. He gets up a can of Coors, I grab it from him to open it myself. He holds up his hands towards me. "Whoa!"
"Sorry. Just habit." I say it, as if I am used to wilder parties than this. As I take a good sip of the beer, a woman comes up to the bar besides me. She is tall, maybe four or five inches above me, dressed in a one-piece motorcycle outfit, and wearing a helmet on her elbow. Thin black-and-red leather curving tightly around her broad hips, her well-rounded bottom. Her eyes are green, almost shining under her pitch-black hair, which is braided in a single tail down her neck.
She unzips the suit, cringe its upper half down so it hangs loosely from her waist. Underneath she is wearing a short army-green crop top, containing her big firm breasts. I can just make out the nipples. For some reason she fascinates me and fixates my attention.
"Beer!" she says to the bartender, putting her helmet on the plywood. He promptly hands her a can. No money are exchanged, either she has a bill, or she is just connected. She takes a long sip of the can. Then she turns towards me, her sudden attention makes me a little bit jittery.
"Now what do we have here? What is such a cute little girl doing at a party like this?"
Although it maybe sounds a bit condescending, I cannot help but smile at having that worn-out pickup line thrown by another girl.
"Well, right now I am trying to get into party mood." For some reason I want to keep cool, make an impression on her.
"You don't look like the usual clientele around here?"
"I got invited by a friend."
"Oh yeah? Who is it?"
"Well, friends-friend actually. Ricky, I don't recall his last name."
"Ah, Ricky, yeah." Her face is neutral, but I get the feeling she is holding back some disapproval. Maybe it was not such a good idea to mention that name to her.
"So, do you eat sausage or clam?"
I am not very street-wise, but I am intelligent, and I can figure out what she means. The question stirs me a bit. I struggle to keep my cool.
"Depends on the quality!"
"Oh yeah? Well, we should get to know each other. There is way too much sausage around here for my taste." She downs the rest of her beer in one go.
"But now I gotta go say hi to some people. See you on the dance floor, sweetie!"
She walks away from the bar, the upper half of her outfit dangling from her waist, hiding that bottom. I stare after her, then turn around, take another sip of my beer. Dancing. Yeah, that's an idea. I stare out into the crowd, its abundance of pumped muscle, tattoos, crew-cuts. Drugs are visibly going around, joints, pills, powders, people can be seen smoking or sniffing in the corners, or even at the bar. A guy comes up next to me, starts making a pass.
"How about it, girl, you up for something?" How subtle.
"Some dancing perhaps?"
He shrugs his shoulders.
"If you like!" It is clear he had hoped for something more outright. Oh well, I down the rest of my beer, and we head out.
The dance floor is wild and crazy, speed metal seems to have won over for now. Way too many guys. Some headbanging or moshing, others dancing with the few girls, always cutting in between each other. Impossible to dance with the same guy for more than a short while. I throw myself into it, chaos and wild moves. I am OK at dancing, and I like it, even if it is sketchy and disordered like here. I begin to feel a bit more comfortable, maybe also because I don't have to put up with the same guy for too long.
I don't know how long I dance, but suddenly motorcycle girl is there. She has dropped off the leather, dancing in her top and a pair of short black tights, showing off a magnificent body. She pulls me in close, then sends me into a spinning twirl. We begin to dance, big swinging moves, carve out a space for ourselves in the crowd. She is good. I suddenly feel upbeat, this is real dancing! Every time she pulls me in, I revel in the warmth and strength of her body. It feels a bit kinky to think that she maybe objectifies me, judges me as a potential sex partner. Oddly, I feel completely comfortable now.
And then she is gone too, replaced by some new guy in black heavy-metal t-shirt, and wild, uncontrolled moves. I try to follow, out of interest, still a bit upbeat. The music stops for a few seconds, and I realize he is sky-high on something, eyes glazed, swimming.
"Girl... I just gotta.. do you!"
I freeze over on the inside. The music starts again, I spin away from him, and he is gone, way too stoned to follow. But the incident has killed my mood, and I weave out of the dancing crowd, move over to Claire and Meg who are huddling together next to the bar.
"How about it Rachel?" Meg asks as I approach.
"Cool! Gotta love the dance floor."
"You know, Dave put together the sound system for them."
"Oh really? Where did he get those tube amps?"
