Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [88]
“Come on, J! Let's go! It's free! It's for democracy!”
Then she broke into song.
“Well I'm proud to be an American . . .”
“Okay! I'll go if you stop singing!”
Her voice is a violation of the Geneva Convention, I swear.
And so, while Dexy effortlessly assumed the guise of a young urban politically active hipster (low-rise Rock & Republic jeans, THE ONLY BUSH I TRUST IS MY OWN tank top), I agonized over my inability to so mindlessly do the same. There's always so much pressure to have the right look in this city, especially in the downtown cobblestone territories, and I never feel like I get it right. After more time than I'd like to admit, I borrowed silver kitten-heeled flip-flops from Dexy to go with a cutoff denim miniskirt and the Jacksons' Victory Tour '84 T-shirt that I've had since high school, which I thought could be interpreted as a political message, only one that wasn't so in-your-face obvious.
As we stepped into the elevator, we had a bipartisan clash with Mini Dub.
“What are you ladies doing tonight?”
“Meeting Democratic hotties!” Dexy chirped.
“Be careful,” Mini Dub warned, with a smirk and a twitch of his eyebrow ring. “It's no coincidence that the Democratic symbol is the jackass.”
And then the doors shut, leaving his snickering visage behind. This was a good thing because the only comeback that had popped into my head was, “Well, uh, you're the jackass!” which really wasn't very good. I hated getting faced like that, especially by a fascist.
Dexy crooned. “Forbidden love . . .”
“Oh please,” I said, wincing. “There's a better chance of me hooking up with Saddam himself.”
“You won't have to!” she gushed, wrapping her arms around me. “There are a ton of hottie liberals! Enough to get your mind off The Gay Cowboy!”
We had recently started referring to Marcus as The Gay Cowboy. Humor, Dexy assures me, is a helpful way to get over someone. That, and having sex with someone else. This was her mandate for tonight. One of us would surely fulfill our duty, but I doubted it would be me.
The Beautiful People Against Bush party was held at Moonshine, an upscale lounge designed to look like an old-fashioned speakeasy, complete with lack of signage marking the entrance. The only indication that a hipster haven was on the other side of the nondescript wooden doors was the wall of bouncers keeping the desperately underdressed on the wrong side of the velvet ropes. It's in the meatpacking district, which is a misnomer now that boozing has replaced butchering as its industry of choice. (Insert meat/meet market joke here.) Moonshine is the type of place that I've read about on Page Six, the type of place frequented by the staff of True, the type of place that normally wouldn't let the likes of me squeak past the bouncers. But tonight I had the golden $250 ticket. And quite honestly, I'm not sure how I felt about that.
But democracy is alive and well, as long as there's an open bar. The place was packed with young, artfully dressed-down creative types who were drinking heavily and talking loudly over the music.
“What did I tell you? Hotties!” Dexy's pupils dilated with what I've come to know as her I'm-gonna-get-laid look. “Let's circulate!”
And then she crashed her way through the crowd, too quickly and expertly for me to keep up. But it was okay because it wasn't long before I found more interesting company. The DJ was spinning REM's “It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” when I heard a male voice over my shoulder ask, “Have you ever noticed how people pretend to know all the words to this song?”
On cue, the crowd shouted, “LEONARD BERNSTEIN!” then quieted down to a murmur for the tongue twistier lyrics.
I turned around to confirm that the person who had made this astute observation was a very familiar Democratic hottie in a form-fitting I LIKED BUSH BETTER WHEN HE WAS A SMACKHEAD T-shirt.
“If I didn't know any better,