Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [23]
At least we have pockets full of Alex to help us through those periods. It can be challenging to do coke at parties, considering the complications: not showing judgmental nonimbibers that you do it while also not giving it away to the free riders who like to hit you up and ask if you’re “holding” or who gather in the bedrooms, knowing those are the number one choices for people looking for special party rooms. Jane and I opt for the roughly thirty-minute-interval bathroom break routine. There’s nothing that screams “we’ve just been doing drugs” louder than two girls emerging from a bathroom together, usually sniffling, after having held up a line for longer than it could possibly take them to pee, but it usually seems like the lesser of several evils.
Jane and I seem to be doing a solid job of not letting each other get too paranoid or sensitive or unable to communicate with other people, and I find myself intensely grateful for her companionship. I marvel at those people who seem able to cruise through a party solo, who don’t need a friend by their side to help them deal with bitchy women or cute guys that ignore them. Without a wing-woman, I tend to fall apart.
Stephanie handles big parties completely differently. She basically goes in search of liquor and boys and disappears entirely, only to emerge hours later with her lipstick smeared. Tonight is no different, and by the time Jane and I are on our fifth bathroom visit, we’ve completely lost her. Gus and his friend Dan wander in and Jane and Dan go off to smoke pot—a drug I’ve yet to see the appeal of.
Gus and I move onto the impromptu dance floor in Steve’s living room. 50 Cent’s song about wanting to unbutton my pants just a little bit is blasting from Steve’s enormous Bose speakers as Gus and I start dancing alongside a slew of drunken William Morris assistants.
“God, this song makes me want to have sex,” I say to Gus, and he smiles, nods, and moves closer to me.
And I guess if you want to be annoyingly accurate, you’d probably say that Gus and I start dirty dancing. Nothing insane—it’s not like we’re all but having sex with our clothes on or anything—but yes, it gets a little intimate. But that isn’t really the problem. The problem is more that Gus starts kissing me and I kiss him back.
We’re kissing for maybe a minute or so when I look up. And that’s when I see Stephanie standing at the door staring at us with this completely devastated look on her face. And, even in my not terribly sober state, I realize that for all that she talks about how she doesn’t really care about Gus and they’re just “friends with benefits” and all that, she’s devastated. And I should have known—it’s my responsibility as her best friend to translate what she says into what she means. I pull away from Gus and motion for her to come over.
“Steph, there you are!” I say like I’ve been looking all over for her and not swapping spit with her sometime fuck buddy.
There’s something different in her face than I’ve ever seen before. See, Stephanie is just about the most tolerant person I know—she’s put up with my moodiness and crying jags and negativity like no one else I’ve ever met—and no matter how inappropriate my behavior has been, the look on her face is always one of forgiveness. But now she’s gazing at me coldly, like I’m someone she doesn’t understand or have any interest in tolerating. Obviously, if I’d been thinking—if I hadn’t been high and liked the song and the feeling of connecting—I’d have realized that Stephanie probably wouldn’t have liked the idea of my kissing Gus. But somehow I never seem to understand these things until it’s too late. She gives me the world’s nastiest glare and starts walking down a staircase. I follow her.
“Steph! Wait! Can I talk to you for a minute?” I yell as I run after her. Gus is right behind me.
Stephanie looks past me to Gus and says, “You’re coming with me.” She grabs his hand and leads him outside and I’m left standing