Warm and Willing - Lawrence Block [51]
And now the party was in full swing. This was an evening that should have been the ultimate in relaxation, in furious happiness. It was New Year’s Eve, the best excuse in the world for getting wildly drunk and staying up until dawn and having a perfectly wonderful time. But they were spoiling it for each other. Neither of them could relax, not the way things were between them.
She moved to join Bobbie. “Let’s put a lid on it for the time being,” she said. “Let’s have a good time tonight.”
“I’m willing if you are.”
“I didn’t mean the things I said, Bobbie.”
“I know it. Rhoda, I’m sorry—”
“I love you, Bobbie.”
“Right. And that’s what counts, isn’t it?”
She held Bobbie’s arm when the five couples walked in a body to the Barrow Street party. There was snow on the ground and more snow falling. Across the street, a batch of college kids were having a snowball fight. One of their shots was way off and came cascading down on the ten girls. Jan Pomeroy squealed and pressed her face against Megan’s coat. Roz Merrimac and her girl friend tossed a few snowballs back at the college kids. Everybody was laughing.
The party was in full swing when they got to it. The crowd was composed mostly of gay boys with a sprinkling of heterosexual couples who stalked around looking alternately daring and embarrassed. When the ten girls walked in, everybody looked their way. Bernie and Terry were there, and Bernie yelled out, “Here comes the Ladies’ Auxiliary!” Somebody took Rhoda’s coat, someone else pressed a drink into her hand. A girl she had never seen came over and greeted her like a long lost sister and wished her a Happy New Year. Rhoda drank her drink.
There was a momentary flash of jealousy when she saw Bobbie staring after a girl with long red hair. But there was no time to be jealous or moody or bitter. The party moved at too fast a pace. Things kept happening and people kept handing her drinks. A very thin boy with rouged cheeks stood on a chair and did a Bette Davis imitation. Terry Langer kissed her cheek and told her that his parents had gone home, finally. “They never suspected a thing,” he said. “You were wonderful. If only you were a boy, I’d marry you.”
A very fat man sat on the floor playing a guitar. There were jazz records going on a hi-fi in the corner. Two boys in their late teens came out of a bedroom smiling oddly. One of the straight males tried to ward off a pass by a camping gay boy without coming on too square. A husband tried to stop his wife from flirting with Peg. The fat guitarist stood up and began singing.
At five minutes to twelve someone shut off the hi-fi and turned on the television set. They watched the mob scene at Times Square. Rhoda slipped through the throng, found Bobbie. Someone was talking about the Times Square scene—“In the morning the police always come by with a wagon and clean up the debris. They always find underwear, piles of it. Bras and pants everything else. People do it standing up in the crowd with total strangers, they do everything. I almost went one year—”
At the stroke of twelve somebody turned off the lights. Everybody was shouting and screaming. She kissed Bobbie, a long, hard kiss with her arms tossed around Bobbie’s neck and their bodies pressed tightly together. They held the kiss a long time, and then the party was erupting around them, and everybody was kissing everybody. She kissed girls and gay boys, shouted Happy New Year at everyone, drank scotch straight from a bottle. A married man grabbed her and kissed her and tried to get his tongue in her mouth. His hand moved over the front of her dress. She pushed him away and got away from him. When she saw him later he was trying to get Megan to go in the back room with him.
She found Bobbie again and kissed her again. Her head was swimming and