Sketchtasy

by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

  I get another drink and then I motion to Calvin, we head to the bathroom. He’s about to take out the coke but someone comes in, takes out his coke—I say can I have a bump? He scrunches up his nose at me, and then leaves. I finish my cocktail while Calvin gets out the coke—he says do you have a dollar. I say put it on my hand and he pours a pile on. I snort it up then lick my hand, tasty. He snorts the rest from the foil and then I lick that too, his eyes are bulging. I say thanks. Then I study my hair in the mirror—the magenta matches the stripe in my plaid pants and it all contrasts so well with the green sweater, I’m on fire tonight.

  Someone opens the bathroom door, stares at my hair and says you look like a parrot. She thinks she’s reading me—I lick my lips and say thank you, honey. He’s looking Calvin up and down. Calvin’s pretending to piss—or wait, he is pissing and I’m just laughing, head up against the wall, loving my rush I could stay here forever. We go back into the bar, Calvin says what are we going to do afterward? I say maybe Billy can get us into the Loft.

  Calvin goes over to his buddies at the pool table and I go back to the bar. Polly’s getting sad, Billy and Joey are bored. I buy two madrases and hand one to Joey, tell him to split it with Billy. Their eyes light up. Polly’s swaying and here comes Bobby sashaying down the aisle to—no way, it’s 1995, and they’re still playing “Supermodel.” Okay, it is the Eagle so we’re all up on the runway anyway—no one knows what to do with us. I’m pushing Bobby aside, cackling and saying you’re no supermodel honey. But she actually can walk—even if she’s so exaggerated it’s scary, she does work it.

  Then the song’s over and it’s Crystal Waters—usually the DJ’s bad but not as bad as “back to the middle and around again.” Joey’s favorite song of course. Polly’s still leaning against the bar, eyes shut and she’s kind of nodding—oh no. Polly, I say, and she opens her eyes. I say honey you’re a mess, and she shuts her eyes again.

  It’s getting close to two—I ask Billy if he can get me into the Loft since he’s working there, and he looks at me like I’m crazy. He says it’s Friday.

  Friday’s straight night, but I don’t care. Billy says it’s scary, you’ll get beat up. I say honey, it’s not that scary. He says: I might get in trouble. The lights are coming up and Bobby’s pulling Polly along while Joey follows. Bobby says: My husband has a BIG dick. And she’s grabbing Polly’s crotch while Polly mumbles and shakes her head like she’s in a bad dream.

  They file outside and I look for Calvin. He runs up and says you want to go to an after-hours, I say where? He says upstairs. Sure.

  I go outside and it’s freezing but nice, Polly leans over and wraps her arms around me. Bobby says you need a ride? I say no, I guess I’m going to an after-hours with Calvin. Bobby smirks and I roll my eyes.

  Calvin comes out with two South End tragedies. Turns out the party is literally upstairs from the Eagle, which is funny at first, until we go inside and of course it’s some bougie hellhole—hors d’oeuvres on a silver tray, white frilly curtains, plush department store sofas and a bunch of scary South End gays.

  I’m too wired. Calvin goes in the other room with one of the guys who brought us and I’m stuck talking to the only queen who will acknowledge that I’m there. I’m crashing hard, just like that—no one’s taking out any drugs and I can’t stand the idea of another drink. I try to relax, but I keep thinking why am I here why am I here why am I fucking here?

  I pour myself a cocktail, but yuck this tastes gross. Some queen with too much cologne is telling a story about how he went to this after-work party and he thought it was just going to be the boys, but then this chick walked in and he looked over and said: Who brought the fish? Everyone’s cackling and I feel like I’m going to scream so I go in the bathroom. Run hot water over my hands and sip my Cape Cod and stare at myself in the mirror. I still look okay but I feel worn out. Just want to lie down. I fix my hair so it looks like feathers again, then someone’s knocking so I open the door.

  I sit down on one of the sofas and stare into space. The whole room smells like cologne and I sip my empty cocktail like it’s giving me life. Everyone is talking about this restaurant and that party and oh the shoes I got the other day at Neiman’s. And can you believe who I saw coming out of the Fens with her knees all muddy? Don’t get too close to her—she’ll give you AIDS. But, girl, are you going to South Beach? I can’t wait until summer—we are going to own P-town this year.

  Some guy wants to know how I got to this party—well, they all want to know that, but one guy asks and I say my friend Calvin who’s in the other room. Someone says oh, the cute one with blond hair—is that your boyfriend?

  I say what? I mean no he’s not my boyfriend.

  Finally the bedroom door opens and there’s Calvin—he stumbles out looking like a zombie, collapses on the sofa next to me. I say what’d you do in there? And he says I don’t know—I did a bump and then I didn’t know where I was. I say oh, you did a bump of K, and I’m kind of jealous.

  Calvin rests and I’m suddenly talkative though who knows what the fuck I’m talking about. Then Calvin’s finally ready and I’m literally pushing him out the door—thanks—and then we’re out in the cold and Calvin looks clearer. We find his car, get inside and turn on the heat ’cause I’m shivering, didn’t bring my coat. Calvin’s still dazed—I say are you okay to drive? He says yeah, let’s just wait a minute.

  Calvin says that shit’s crazy. I say yeah. He says no I mean crazy—I didn’t know where I was and the bed and the ceiling were fighting with me. He pulls the car out of the space and we’re off, I shut my eyes and think about sleep but it feels like flying.

  A FAMILY PICTURE

  Polly and I are in the spaceship on the highway, I never realized the buildings up ahead blink so much like stars and when I close my eyes we’re flying through a tunnel of light in the sky until Polly’s saying Alexa, look, isn’t that the exit?

  Oh, maybe I shouldn’t close my eyes while I’m driving. But we make it just in time, and then we’re gliding through the streets and there’s our Star.

  Inside it’s yes, oh yes, the light flickering my eyes into my head and Polly—do we need anything? Polly gets a Blow Pop, it’s already in her mouth so no need to pay, and I get tabouli and hummus and pita bread for later.

  We throw our food in the car and step into the Prudential Center to levitate up the escalators, yes we’ve got the disposable camera and Polly jumps on a cart that says WATCH OUT. But Polly, what are you watching out for?

  Polly’s modeling her first club outfit, pink T-shirt with a purple heart drawn over one nipple and a red star on the other, smiley-face boxers pulled above the waist of her baggy striped jeans and just the right shade of lipstick to look totally wrong—she pushes her sunglasses down to show off the rest of her makeup, yellow highlighter pressed into her eyelids and then permanent black marker as eyeliner, stunning.

  Wait, there’s a sign that says MASS HYSTERIA, just behind Polly’s head—get a picture of me with MASS HYSTERIA.

  Your hair. How did you do it?

  I left the dye in.

  You’re like a present—purple wrapping paper and a big magenta bow. Did the flash go off?

  Oh, what about over there by the candy—so many colors. Should we take one together?

  Your dress, it’s so soft. What’s it made out of?

  Candy, let’s get candy.

  So then we’re back at Star Market and I could stare at the colors all night long. Polly, what should we get, lemon drops and Sour Patch Kids and Life Savers and what else? Oh—orange juice, let’s get orange juice—vitamin C. For later. To bring back the colors. Let’s get the big one. With the pulp. Do you like the pulp? What time is it?

  Almost 4:30. I don’t like the pulp.

  We better get to the Loft. I’ll get the one without the pulp.

  Are you sure?

  We go outside to the car and—wait, look at the John Hancock Tower from this angle, all that shimmering glass pushing into
the sky and I wish we could go to the top—Polly, the lights, look at all the lights. Should we give her a name?

  Jeannine.

  Of course. Jeannine Hancockatiel, revealing her true nature, yes nature or nurture, I mean nature and nurture. Are you sure you want to go to the Loft instead of hanging out with Jeannine?

  Polly holds my hand and this time I’m looking at her eyes through the sunglasses, blue lenses, your eyes are so blue.

  Your hands are so cold.

  We glide in the spaceship down a deserted Boylston but it’s so late the door guy at the Loft doesn’t want to let us in—everyone’s expecting us, I say.

  Tonight’s our night: he actually listens. And oh, that feeling of walking up the stairs in anticipation, just the bass until you open the door at the top and oh, wow, I forgot it would be this crowded, but there’s Billy’s head peeking up in the corner. She’s working her new platforms that don’t taper out at the bottom so she’s having a hard time balancing, sucking on a lollipop while attempting to throw some kicks—she holds out her arms: Fierce, she says, your hair looks fierce. Fierce!

  Joey’s actually on the dance floor so I know she’s really coked out and these beats yes these beats and that boy over there his eyes into my eyes I twirl around into jump rope, feet bouncing up and up and down, down, our feet together and turn, flip the floor, his eyes, give me more. And there’s Billy through the lasers yelling fierce and Joey bouncing, I turn again pull breath up to arms swaying now I’m so close to this boy, his breath or mine, back around and when he moves his hips I rotate the bounce to move my moves into the space between his breath and the beat and maybe he can join us afterward, maybe we can drive over the Mass. Ave. Bridge for the sunrise, holding hands in the back seat oh the light yes these lights. There’s purple in this red, turn, there’s red in this purple, turn, and Billy’s really kicking now Joey’s on the sidelines and Polly stumbles over, where did she go, and I do my almost-falling move toward the queen next to me, who throws up her arms like help so I dive down to the ground and flip around, but then Polly’s waving me over. So I twirl off the dance floor still dancing, even though Polly’s standing still, eyes almost closed, leaning against the wall for support, she must have found K in the bathroom and she’s saying something to me, what did you say?

  I love you. Alexa, I love you.

  And I know it’s her first time on ecstasy so I close my eyes to feel it, but also I know it’s love so I open my eyes to look more closely, Polly’s curly hair fluorescent in this light, her skin purple like a pretty alien and she holds out her hand so I kiss it while I keep dancing a little with hips into feet and Joey looks over with big eyes and says Traci Lords was here.

  Traci Lords? The porn star?

  Traci Lords is fierce.

  And how did Billy get over here, now she’s taller than all of us, yelling something, what is it?

  Joey put Traci Lords in a K-hole. It was fierce. Fierce!

  And then the air-raid sirens like a drumroll getting louder and louder until the whole room is shaking and listen, “10,000 screaming, 10,000 screaming”—Joey says that’s Traci Lords, but is she really saying 10,000 screaming faggots? Whatever it is we’re all on the dance floor now—Billy’s working her patent leather tank top with Lycra bike shorts and the lasers are blasting past our heads and Juniper and Sage are hugging the speakers in shiny silver outfits with silver body paint and glow-in-the-dark lipstick and their newest Day-Glo wedding cake platform sneakers and then all of us, all of us together, the whole room shaking but wait, oh no, the music’s slowing down.

  Billy starts giggling at my expression as the lights are coming up and then we’re both laughing and I lean my head back, let my eyes roll while Billy holds my hand and I’m saying something about after-hours at our house, everyone. And then I hear someone spreading the word, but oh, I want to invite that boy, where’s that boy I was dancing with and Joey says which one but I don’t know, I can’t find him. Thank you so much, I say to the doormen, and Joey asks if they want a bump. Joey, don’t say that! And the purple sweater coat I found at Dollar-A-Pound, here’s my new sweater coat, so soft and furry like a bath mat, oh, warm.

  We get outside in the bright of night and I give Joey my keys. Polly’s snorting something in the back seat and Billy’s giggling about all the refreshments, yes, help yourself to refreshments. Joey says Richie and Michael are coming, and then she says it again like we didn’t hear her the first time, they’re right behind us, following us to Dorchester all the way on Mass. Ave. so no one gets lost, except then Joey takes the back route anyway, but there are still three cars behind us. Richie and Michael arrive with some blonde woman—that’s Traci Lords, Joey says, Traci Lords is in a K-hole.

  Then there’s Elana with Jon B., and I don’t know the rest, but we all make our way upstairs and I arrange the candy in bowls in the living room, bring out the orange juice with glasses. Richie’s looking around—how many people live here? Too many. Richie says is it expensive? No, I say, and then I realize he’s looking at Bobby, who’s coming downstairs in one of Brian’s BUM Equipment sweatshirts and a baseball cap—does it really say JOCKS? And then Brian’s behind her, wearing Bobby’s ridiculous varsity jacket—I guess it’s time for Brian to go to work.

  Richie says Champagne lives here too? And Bobby giggles like they’re best friends, she doesn’t even realize Richie is reading her.

  Orange juice, I ask, and hold out a glass.

  No, Miss One, I’ve got to get the husband to work.

  Work, Polly mumbles.

  Work! Billy shrieks.

  Michael puts a tape in the boom box and now there are 10,000 screaming faggots right in our living room—really, 10,000, really? Joey says it’s a thousand—honey, keep counting.

  And I go in the bathroom to take a shower oh yes this is what I needed my skin yes my skin the light this water yes this water oh warm please more warm until, wait, it’s getting cold, better dry off. And then my green chenille sweater with burgundy underneath, but then there’s that sadness behind my eyes, just a little, and can it be happening already? I go in my room and sit on the futon—I look at my hands and they don’t look like my hands, but what do they look like? I’m crashing already, should I take another hit? I bought three this time, thought I would save the others but maybe this is what I was saving them for so then I go in the kitchen for orange juice and stare at the colors in the bowls—do I eat candy?

  Polly’s in the corner with Traci Lords, doing a bump of something. Polly, I say, I just did another hit of X. I love you, Polly says, eyes closed, but her eyeballs are moving really fast and then the room suddenly feels lighter, yes the vitamin C. And, wait, is that Michael Sheehan on our sofa? Michael Sheehan, I love this mix you made for us.

  Michael’s laughing and I’m petting the sofa and then I have an idea—wait a second, if we go into Polly’s room, we can climb out onto the roof to sit outside in the sun so here we go up the stairs and out the window one at a time and yes the light in my eyes oh I love this light this light give me more light. Just then the landlord decides to come outside and at first I’m thinking oh no, this is the end, because who the hell would be out this early on a Sunday and are we really supposed to be out here anyway, but she just looks up and says it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? And we’re all nodding our heads—beautiful, yes, beautiful, like spring already.

  I lean back and close my eyes and suddenly everything is shooting up into my head, voices too fast and eventually I realize Polly’s holding my hand and Joey’s talking to us, something about how everyone just left and somehow that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, how long has it been, maybe hours or days or weeks or years and I’m freezing, Polly’s petting my sweater and Joey’s gritting her teeth but kind of smiling too and then I look at Polly and she still has her eyes closed and I guess my eyes were closed too, right, open or closed it really doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this feeling in my head and Joey hands me a glass of orange juice, but
how did you get that on the roof? Magic, yes, magic, please.

  I take a sip of orange juice and boom it’s like the sun is suddenly in my eyes and I’m flying backward through the sky over rooftops toward the light and when I open my eyes I say look, a tree. And I don’t know what I mean exactly except then I start picturing the three of us falling off the roof, tumbling to the ground and would anyone help us? Like the guys at the auto repair shop across the street—I don’t think so. Or maybe the homophobes at the Irish bar on the corner that everyone always jokes about because it doesn’t have any windows and what would happen if we went inside?

  But then we’re climbing back into the house almost like one motion—Polly taps some K onto her dresser and Joey some coke and then they blend it together and I wonder how long this has been going on, what have I been missing, and Joey says you did another hit of X? I nod my head, and she says do you want some CK One and bitch that’s brilliant—I start twirling around in the room, but where’s the music? Yes, Michael Sheehan left the tape in the boom box downstairs and now we have it for ourselves, we can play it as many times as we want to. Polly starts shaking her body and making cat noises, and is this really our house?

  Polly says something about needing to go to work soon. Work? Work. Work! Joey takes a look at her vial, still half-full—okay, she’ll drive. But first I need to take a shower—wait, did I already take a shower? Polly, do you need a shower?

  I decide it’s time to wash out the dye so then the colors are pouring down my face when Joey comes in to do a bump of coke because she doesn’t want Billy to ask for any. I lean my head out for a taste and when I get downstairs Polly’s standing in the middle of the living room shaking her head back and forth, still making cat sounds and I’m wondering why I did that coke. Polly, do you want some orange juice?