Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [77]
Nick stood over her, watching. She was mad at him about something, he could tell. Now she was going to make herself sick just to spite him.
Eliza rested her head in Damascus’s lap and slid the tip of the funnel into her mouth. Sea Bass picked up the tap and dispensed the beer. The cold liquid tickled her tonsils. She pretended she was at the dentist, except instead of asking her to spit, the dentist’s orders were to swallow, swallow, swallow.
“All right!” Damascus cupped the back of her head in his hands. His fingers were warm and comforting against her skull. She closed her eyes and kept on swallowing. “Nice and steady.”
She’d missed dinner, but now she was filling up with beer. It sloshed around in her belly and seeped down into her tights. It didn’t even taste bad lying down. Perhaps if she’d eaten canned creamed ham lying down as a child, she would have been able to stomach that too.
“Nice,” Damascus coaxed. “Nice.”
Finally she made a little gurgling sound and Sea Bass released the lever on the tap. Damascus helped her into a sitting position.
“You okay?” He put a gentle arm around her. “You gonna hurl?”
Eliza wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She shook her head, gripping her knees with her hands to steady herself. Her center of gravity had shifted. The barn was set at a tilt.
Nick gave her his hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get some air.”
He led her over to the barn door and propped her up against the door frame. Her black bangs hung over her eyebrows. She needed a trim.
“They’re dancin’, dancin’ in the streets!” Grover sang and rattled his tambourine.
The Grannies had set up their instruments in the corner of the barn and were running through their playlist of Grateful Dead songs. All three Grannies had taken hits off Geoff’s bottle of ether, and their playing was loud and sporadic, with spontaneous drum outbursts and random elated shrieks.
Eliza’s now ever-present black down coat was unzipped. Underneath she wore black cutoff shorts over ripped black tights. “I hate this music,” she belched. No one at Dexter besides the Grannies even liked the Grateful Dead. Everyone was into Nirvana and Jane’s Addiction and R.E.M.
Occasionally the music was punctuated by the clang of horseshoes knocking against each other and the cries of some of the players. Tragedy had rigged a horseshoe throwing area in the lambing stall in the back of the barn, and a crowd of beer-wielding horseshoe enthusiasts had formed around it.
“Want to play horseshoes?” Nick asked.
Eliza shook her head, clapped her hand over her mouth, and took a few stumbling steps outside the barn. Then she puked in the grass.
“Oh God,” she gasped, wiping her mouth. “That feels so much better.”
A neatly coiled green hose hung from a hook just inside the barn door. Nick put down his beer, turned on the hose, and held it out to her. “Here,” he said. “Drink.”
Eliza took a few cautious sips, tipped her head back, gargled, and then spat. “There.” She handed back the hose. “Good as new.”
Nick turned off the hose and put it back on its hook. Eliza leaned against the door frame again, taking deep breaths of cool night air. He went over and stood beside her, looking out into the darkness. The kitchen lights were on in the farmhouse, and someone was sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch. “You know it’s supposed to snow later,” he said. “Like, a lot.”
“Thanks, Storm Field.” Eliza reached for his arm and tugged him toward her. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her mouth against his. Her tongue scraped against his teeth, prying them open.
Nick pulled away. “Hey! What are you doing?”
She scowled. “I just want to have sex with you, is that so much to ask? Think of it as a random act of kindness. And don’t tell me you’re saving yourself for someone, because that’s bullshit. Obviously if the person you’re saving yourself for doesn’t want to do it with you now, they’re not going to want to do it with you later. Capisce?”
Nick stared at her for a moment, enraged. Of course she was right. He’d been saving himself for Shipley,