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The bass pumps steadily in the dark room as Chandra, my roommate for the past three years, and I make our way through the crowd of fans, looking for Cal on the stage. His band should be warming up soon.
Cal, my boyfriend for nine months, has no idea I’m coming tonight. I wanted to surprise him. I made an excuse to come back early to school even though classes won’t start up for another two weeks. I’m not sure if my mother bought the story about a research project for a local art exhibit, especially since I had the super cushy gig at the Met, but it was time to leave. That place suffocated me—not just the workplace, all of Manhattan. The constant clack of six-inch heels, prim bun hairdos sculpted by gay men with names like Ms. Marcus, and pressed suits made of fine overpriced designer linen fabric oppressed every part of my being. New York City is a machine, and while there, I was an unwilling cog forced into a ritual of pedicures and vapid living.
It’s time to unleash the caged beast I was forced to lock away over the summer.
With each step, my boots stick to the linoleum floor covered in a ten-year-plus coat of beer and alcohol. The mixed aroma of sweat, cologne, ale, and adrenaline slowly loosens the metaphorical chain around the life I was born to lead—the one I refuse to follow in New York. Freedom has been waiting for me here, a plane ride away, on campus. College is my sanctuary.
“EJ!” Chandra shouts over the bustling voices. She clutches my elbow, trying not to get lost in the flood of people. “There’s room to the right.”
Following her direction, I shuffle between the heat of bodies, careful not to spill anyone’s drinks, and I claim a minuscule space against the wall at the tiny music venue.
Cal’s band has played here before, but this is the first time they’re headlining. He was so ecstatic when he told me about it last week.
“I really like your hair,” Chandra says, patting my newly dyed platinum strands. “The color looks good on you.”
“Thanks. Being mousy brown was torture,” I say in disgust, playing with the ends of my elbow-length locks. “I couldn’t wait to change it.”
“You make it sound like someone was sticking you with needles to have a natural hair color.”
“You’ve met my mother. She has a violent penchant for prim and proper. I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“This is true. She does have a knack for making you see her way, no matter what.” Chandra relaxes against the wall, her face framed in ebony hair that ends near her waistline. “She even had me seriously considering a wool suit over the sari I had picked out last year for my final presentation in abstract sculpture. Could you imagine?”
“Absolutely. The woman is as clueless as a fish swimming in a bowl of milk. I’m pretty sure she exists on another dimension altogether.”
“And where does she vacation? A Star Trek convention?” she asks, totally mocking, her dark brown eyes wide.
“Doubtful. She’d probably think that was some stargazing adventure in the woods—which she would never go on. There would be mosquitoes and no outlets for a hair dryer.”
“Would she go if they offered mobile Botox services?”
“She might consider it if they served champagne. Good Lord, just last week, she threw a fit because her personal shopper didn’t offer her some bubbly while they were trying on ensembles for an upcoming event. She even threatened to have the poor man fired. Her focus is so out of whack.”
The amps click on, dimming some of the voices in the crowd, and we all turn our gazes toward the stage where Cal’s band is gathering. Jackson, the lead guitarist, tunes his instrument as David takes a seat behind the drums. The bass guitarist, Landon, emerges from the side, taking his place on the stage, and adjusts the strings on his guitar, turning the keys at the top of the neck.
“Do you see Cal?” I ask.
Chandra stands on her tiptoes. “Nope, not yet.”
I jump up a few times, getting glances over the spectators’ heads. At the edge of the stage, Cal’s bleach-blond hair with blue tips comes into view. He mentioned the color change from red to blue last week, something about a new inspiration he was exploring.
“C’mon,” I say brashly, pulling Chandra by the arm and pushing our way toward the front of the room. “I see Cal. I want to let him know we’re here.”
I shoulder between the tightly packed people, dragging Chandra to the crowd just in front of the stage.
My entire body stills.
Cal’s hands are all over a petite girl’s ass, and in plain sight, he’s devouring her—not like a zombie, but more like a teenage boy who found his daddy’s porn.
They even have matching hair.Cute. Looks like she’s his new inspiration. Maybe I should call her Smurfette? Small. Blue. But something tells me she isn’t the only vagina in his little village.
“Holy shit,” Chandra says at my side. “Is he…”
“Vacuuming that girl’s lips?”
This situation is inching closer to hell with every passing second as he continues to grope the nymph.
“Let’s go.” Chandra grabs my arm, gently tugging me backward.
