Pop Kids (31 page)

“Seriously Sarah? You always look gorgeous. You’re perfect.”

I remove my shades to see if the staunch vegan is indeed blushing. She is. And Stella is so uplifted by the fertile flattery that when her BFF comes to stands next to her she appears to have grown a few inches in height

“Let’s party ladies!” Throwing up the horns, Mia joins our trio. “Let’s go!”

I turn to Holly, “Where are you fabulous girls headed this evening?”

“Sarah’s, for
True Blood
. We’re having girls’ night.”

I think that I hear the faint rumble of the ‘59’s engine as Stella moves toward me. “Unless you want to do a pre-party.”

Humming, she adjusts my hair. I peer over her shoulder, waiting to see my driver.

“Sorry, what?”

“Another Flash Premiere! It could be amazing. We’ll move girls’ night to The Palace.” Her smile looks like Eddie’s does when reflected in the water of Frank’s fish tank.

“Well, yeah, that would be cool…”
Wincing, I plug my ears as Mia shrieks and sprays us all with nose blood.
“But I’ve gotta work.”

“We should have regular girls’ night anyway, Sarah.” Holly taps the pink bear head on her metallic box. “I brought some really good tea.”

Mia joins the campaign.

“Yeah, and The Palace isn’t as fun without Zach! I don’t think he and Dustin get back ‘til tomorrow.”

“Oh fuck. They’re on the coast!”
I sleeve the blood from my Fords.
“Mia, can you give me a ride to work? ”

“Sorry Mike. Daddy dropped me off. We’re walking,”

“Shit. I’ve gotta go! See you guys at the bank!” Sprinting away, wishing I had my skate, I head for the steps.

With my Sherman bouncing painfully at my side, I’m three minutes off campus when I remember a few things: sprinting sucks, I need to make a new playlist for tomorrow, and my manager is always cool. Philip is a nice, mellow hippie. They’re nothing if not tolerant and understanding. Stopping in front of the cemetery, I wave at a disinterested grave-cutter, text Phil to tell him that I’m sick and then call Cruz.

Sitting on a marble bench, inhaling secondary clove-smoke, I’m playing Words With Friends when my driver swings open the sparkling passenger door of his ride. Blasphemy blasts toward the dead. I hop in, grab the iPod, and scroll to the
M
s.

Chapter 47

Fall has finally found our town and brought its transformative potential. In honor of ‘The Dark Grey Premiere’—a hybrid of
Donnie Darko
and Stella’s favorite porno—today was considerately sunless. Now, a cool breeze is lighting upon the WAMU lot, waving its autumnal wand and accenting outfits. With my tie tucked into my waistband and my track jacket freshly washed and ironed by Gina, I stand by our planter, greeting guests and admiring the cold nipples of my huge turnout. Tonight, Extras have brought Extras and all of them have come carrying bouquets and wearing either tightly tied raincoats or baggy sweats. Welcoming so many uninvited unknowns concerns me at first, but after one of them gifts me a pair of Varvatos Chucks, I recognize how well mannered and attractive they all are.

With Lynch at my side, and my new shoes hanging in a velvet bag strapped around my wrist, I shake hands and kiss cheeks, while discreetly pointing out which Extras I hope to work with. I overhear one of these mysterious ladies asking about me.

“Yeah it’s his party,” Stella confirms, “He’s my boyfriend. You’ve gotta try him.”

She’s a good girlfriend.

The intrigued UC Berkeley Extra glances over. Beyond her, on the bank steps, two Grave-cutters open their riding-hood cloaks to gratuitously kiss for Alvin’s camera. MK hands Lynch her ice cream cone. I clap for attention.

“Everyone. It’s time!” I raise my hands, and shoes, to the failing streetlights. “Grab your goodies, and let me show you to your new home!”

The basement is higher than usual. Stella is playing hostess in her Sanrio raincoat. The mini-fridge is obscured by a swarm of DJs, Marc by Marc shop girls, and MAC counter kids. They’re drinking, eating vitamins, smoking—someone brought a gurgling pink Louis Vuitton bong. Mia is overcoming her fear of cocaine. Jake Gyllenhaal has yet to hit the wall. And almost everyone is fucked up.
It’s fine.

“I’m pleased to bring you, for the first time anywhere…” The wild eyes of my rolling audience barely focus. “Score and Lynch’s mash-up masterpiece
Dark Grey
!” I wave to the screen. The projection casts over a THC tainted smoke scrim. Trench coats fall open, strangers start licking each other, and I begin with what I know.

“Come here Babe!” As Mia stumbles over a string of lights, Stella grabs her furry boot. “I wanna see my BF fuck my BFF.”

The bottled brunette drops to her knees.

Giving me unfocused OJ in Heaven, the two Greats sloppily make out with each other, giggling: “Oh my god I’m so wasted,” “Oh my god, this is so hot,” “Oh, my god I wanna fuck you,” “You’re sooo hot,” “Oh fuck, I think I’m gonna throw up—”

I gasp and tense. Standing, Stella outstretches her arms.

“C’mere, girl.” She, giggles, summoning her with both hands, “Let’s go sober up.”

As The BFFs sniff the PlayStation, their two massive butts protrude proudly toward Bickle. They glow in the Xmas lights. But my unsuspecting muscle doesn’t notice. With his arms folded, he’s looming over Cruz and Volta, completely fixated on their homo-erotica. Again. When the Blue Extra turns up the fury on the already upsettingly violent JO that she’s been giving me, my toes curl, and I distract myself with his broad stripes.
If I had a Paul Smith sweater I’d wear it all the time too.
My nails dig into my palms, and the raven-haired Extra begins torturing my co-star’s nipples. Cringing, The blue girl momentarily releases my abused Producer, and I notice that my security has strayed.

“You need to take your hands off her.” With one hand, Bickle forcefully grabs Soufflé’s shoulder. “She says she doesn’t want a massage.”

Dejected, the mousey Frenchman cowers out from behind Holly’s couch. Bickle bounds back to the The Boys. The Boys continue to ignore everything but their deep, deep interest in each other. I instinctively try to applaud my security’s diligence. But the Raven girl stops me.

“Oh no Daddy!” She squeezes my wrists, cinching them tighter behind my back. “Not until you give her what she deserves.”

Until now, I’d never wanted to be a father but, as the blue-haired Extra silently turns her head away and I spread my joy on her neck, I understand how fulfilling parenthood is. With her blue nail she scrapes a goopy taste from her black tattoo and feeds it to the baby bird behind me. Then they flutter away.

Good girls.
I’ve gotta remember to ask Stella for their names.

At Bob, I gently wipe off my still totally-connected, yet red and chaffed Producer. I hand sanitize and crack open a San P. In the movie, a pretty brunette wearing a pig nose is getting OJ from a guy in an industrial shirt. I pop a curiously strong mint. The splice cuts back to
Donnie Darko
. Two voices loudly quote, “What’s the point of living if you don’t have a dick?” With his knees on pillows on the stage, in front of the wall, Lynch has Stella in an anvil.

“Cheers!” I raise my bottle.

Laughing, my co-host throws up a wobbly thumb, re-props his right hand and without looking over, Stella responds to my voice.

“Scoooooore. Come fuck my ass Baby!” Her bouncing calves scissor my friend’s pink neck.

I glance toward Holly. I can hear her toy, but in front of her couch a cluster of ab-tastic Extras are giving each other OJ, obscuring my view.

“Baby, there’s room for one more. Your boyfriend won’t mind.”

On her back, with her toes above Lynch’s ears, Stella is drunkenly slurring. “Score fuck my ass!” It’s unappealing. “…Score!” Her tone is wilting my Producer. Her words are making me want to rinse my own mouth. I twist open the Tom’s. Then coming to my rescue, one of my guests fills in for me. Bridging over her face, Prius pushes my name back through Stella’s lips. I swish, spit, and return to the obscene mess in Heaven.

Roughly, I am delivered. Rising from the mats, the Raven Extra pulls me down into a sweaty, groaning, writhing cast. It’s moist. The smell of sweat, weed, wine, and joy oozes between slick flesh and crusty matted fur. It’s filthy
. It’s fine
. Calling action, I slide between the wet bodies to mingle with my guests.
This is going to be unforgettable.
This scene is going to be a timeless classic and the foreign fluids will come off in post with some orange cream body wash. I suck in my cheeks. Maintaining the expression of a leading man for Alvin’s omnipresent lens, I begin a captivating struggle with the Blue Extra, but soon can’t tell who is who, what’s on what, or who’s on me. Some vaguely familiar pierced parts asphyxiate me. I grab Mia’s ass. My hand falls asleep. I see bright red dreads out of the corner of my eye. I roll toward the beacon. And end up on Donny. “Hello my brother!” I face 3-D teeth and pigtails but what I feel dueling with my Producer is even bigger than his grin.

“HellllO my brother!” I cheerily return then roll on, into another teenaged knot.

Some girl pins me down on top of someone else’s leg. Holding me captive between her fishnets, she clamps my face with her thighs. Instinctively, I begin licking upward, peering breathlessly past under-boob, toward razor-cut indigo bangs. Proudly I watch the Blue Extra’s expression change. Someone whispers. “Finger her Daddy!” I follow the order. I presume it came from the Raven Extra, before she slipped down to give me this OJ. “Harder! Hook it! She’ll give you a bath.” She’s still in my ear. I glance down at the brunette that’s sucking my Producer. Her technique is unique—toothy. Brushing her hair from her face, she pulls a strand from her mouth and looks up. I lift my head from between garters, press my chin to my chest and in a constricted creak ask, “What the fuck—”

“Don’t worry about it fucker.” Alvin keeps his grip. “It’s for Star. She’s way fucking into it.” Grimacing, he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Just let me know if you’re gonna blow. Don’t fucking cum in my mouth.”

It’s fine.
He’s in love.
Everything’s fine.

“Come backkkk! I’m so close!”

The Blue girl speaks! Driven, I return my tongue, and when she showers my face in whatever it was that Holly didn’t want on her last weekend, I have no choice but to follow.

“Fuck! Dick! You’re a DICK!” Al spits my joy back onto me. “What the fuck man?”

“Sorry Al, I forgot. Really, I swear, I’m sorry.” The Blue Extra and I can’t stop laughing as I wipe her rain from my eyes. “Go get some mouthwash, you’ll be fine.”

“Fuck you man!” Shaking his head, he skulks away.

“The poor boy doesn’t know what he’s missing!” Still giggling, the Blue Extra finishes what Alvin left behind.

With my torso tongued clean, I leave the big scene to towel off my soaked hair. I pass Bickle. We high five, and he points toward my soggy tie.

“Looks like those push-ups are paying off Scorecrow!” He giggles.

He’s right. Proudly I grab a cold bottle from the fridge and douse my chest with Pellegrino. I’ve already completed two fantastic scenes, my left pec is pulsing, and my Producer is still relevant. With my confidence soaring, I down the remains of my fuzzy water, zip up my jacket, and pocket some lube. I’m ready for the grand finale.

Erection-creeping behind her couch, I stealthily lean over Holly to deliver a French-Texan accent that’s down right
magnifique
. “
Ce va
, lil lady? Want a back rub?”

”Fuck! Mike!” Laughing, she whips back her hand and smacks my chest. An empty wine bottle bounces off her couch. It rolls against a Mac counter Extra’s heel. “I was almost there … but yes…” She slides her golden vibe back between her legs. Her smile twinges. “I’d love one.”

Biting open a tiny plastic green pillow, I spit out the tab and squirt water-based goo all over her soy-milky skin. Tasting artificial apple, I rub her neck, while my right hand attends my sensitive, overworked Producer.

The view from up here is exquisite. With her head thrown back, Holly breathes through slightly parted lips. Under the pornographic score, I can hear her toy buzzing. I can smell her cucumber though the thick musk in the air. I run my hand across her shoulders, over her collarbone, and down to her boob. When I squeeze a hallowed handful of red cotton, the autoerotic OC-angel finishes me with a super-sexual quickness that only the divine could achieve.

“You’re… ” I joy all over the back of the couch, “…fabulous.” And as the sublimity of her trembling climax surges into me through our once forbidden physical connection, I fall.

Lips first, I dive into oblivion and kiss her, upside down.
In the ether, an un-released Smiths song begins to play.
With my mouth open to hers, ignoring a faint familiar taste that reminds me of Stella, I savor our delicate union and softly Holly responds. Driving her tongue down my throat, she grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls. I barely save myself from toppling onto her fragility and gently free my head from her hand. Looking into her soul, I slowly pull away. And we are consummate.
Our scene is pure romance.