Chapter 16
The coffee, maybe more than anything else, seemed to bring us all back from the dead or the semi-dead. Sonya sipped at it black. And while she kept her oversized sunglasses on in the middle of the dining hall, she joined the conversation, which swirled over last evening’s events.
“You had your pick of the litter,” Lauren said to Amanda, who wasn’t kidding about downloading some “good grease” to absorb any remaining alcohol in her finely tuned British system.
“Litter being the operative word,” Amanda scoffed after a mouthful of scrambled eggs, then another sip of steaming coffee. “Those boys are pups.” She shook her head. “Not my cup of tea.”
“Yeah,” Lauren allowed. “But you weren’t drinking tea last night, were you? Didn’t all the alcohol make them look any better?”
“You mean beer goggles?” Amanda asked.
Lauren chuckled. “Yeah,” she stammered. “I guess I do.”
“Wait,” Chelsea put in, trying to follow the conversation, despite her small town sheltering. “Beer goggles?”
Both Lauren and Amanda swung their disbelieving faces to the innocent in our midst.
“I feel like I’m in a Disney show or something,” Lauren chided her best friend. “There should be a laugh track with your every line. Beer googles, girl. How guys, even dumpy guys, get better looking as the night – and he drinking – go on. They say half the population would never copulate, save for the sexually stimulating effects of alcohol.”
“Oh,” Chelsea allowed, her face showing that she was still processing the information. “I do notice that Daddy looks at Mom kinda funny after he’s had him some Yuengling on Saturday night. Do you think that’s it?”
Lauren cocked her head and rolled her eyes. “Well, do they find an excuse to scamper off early to bed?”
“Sometimes,” Chelsea said, her eyes widening with realization.
“I think it’s safe to say they aren’t up there playing Monopoly,” Lauren advised.
“But Mom’s so pretty,” Chelsea said, a sadness creeping into her tone. “Why would Daddy need beer goggles?”
“Alcohol has all kinds of wonderful effects,” assured Amanda, taking up the sexual schooling of Chelsea Daniels. “For a lot of people, good sex is about overcoming one’s inhibitions. A couple of drinks – or your Daddy’s Saturday night Yuenglings – can help with that.”
Chelsea considered this and seemed to accept it. “So why didn’t it help you? With all those guys interested in you at the party? Some were good-looking, I thought.”
Amanda took a breath and seemed to review the evening’s events in her mind’s eye.
“I suppose their looks were fine,” she finally allowed. “But their brains, or at least their maturity levels, well? Let’s just say even super-strength beer goggles weren’t going to fix that. There’s never been a beer goggle to improve a person’s personality, I guess.”
“So sophisticated, aren’t you?” Sonya spoke from over her coffee cup. Her voice was flat and her face, unreadable, behind the oversized sunglasses.
“The blonde British bombshell needs someone to satisfy her mind,” said Sonya, picking up steam and her voice rising sarcasm. “Isn’t that special? Guess you look down on all of us bottom feeders content with sexy sophomores and jealous juniors, huh?”
Amanda’s fair skin blanched crimson. She appeared taken aback.
“I’m not judging you,” she said, the words catching in her throat. “I’m judging them. And myself. You want to know the truth? The hard, unvarnished truth? I grew up without my father. And I had to cross this park to get to elementary school in London. Nearly every morning, there’d be some geezer in the park flashing his Longfellow at me, see? I let it shock me. But no more. Sex is sex. And I’ve seen every size and shape of penis there is. But what I never had, not really, was a father figure. So if you ask me if I’m hung up on older guys? I am. At least I know why I do what I do.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes at Sonya and threw it right back at her.
“But why did you come on to the guy who invited your roommate to the party?” Amanda demanded. “Why don’t you tell us that one, Sonya?”
Now I was the one whose face was red. Because there it was. The question of the hour, yet unstated all morning.
Until now. Until sassy Sonya, mean and grouchy from her vicious hangover, got under Amanda’s thin, British skin.
The rest of the women were quiet as mice, their eyes, big as saucers. And they were looking back and forth between me and my sunglass-shielded roommate, torn asunder by one Josh Elliot.
The British bombshell had detonated one, all right. And the shrapnel was tearing both me and my roommate apart.
Was The Five going to disband before we even began? Things were that close. It could have gone either way.
“I-I-I-” my stammer began. “I had no claim on Josh.”
I managed to get out the words, sending up the white flag of surrender and extending the olive branch. All to try and head off a confrontation between me and my roommate so early in our delicate dorm-life domestic situation.
But Sonya Kessler, that gifted artist so dedicated to the truth and to bulldozing her way through the bullshit, would have none of it.
She raised her face to Amanda, then surveyed each one of the Five staring back in judgment.
“I have no claim on Josh, either,” Sonya began, the steaming coffee cup just below her chin. “And I have nothing to hide. Nothing to apologize for. Nothing to explain. Haven’t we evolved beyond the so-called whore-shaming? Isn’t a woman allowed to be just as sexually bold as a man?”
Chelsea dropped her eyes to the table. She had grown up in a small town where such words coming out of a young woman’s mouth could still get one ostracized, if not burned at the stake. But rest assured, every guy in town would have that easy girl’s number. And the sleazy ones -- the guys who never got any but talked like they did -- would write the loose girl’s phone number on the bathroom wall in every bar in town. Right under the heading, “For a good time, call.” But they didn’t know. No one did. Every encounter was a private affair born of the moment and of the unique chemistry of the two lonely, incomplete people colliding in the night. But that wasn’t good enough for some women who were naked and upfront about their sexuality. It was that simple. And that complex.
I understood Sonya’s point. And I held no ill will toward my roommate and would-be friend. I didn’t hold any of it against her, not even bringing Josh into our room for their sexual games under the thin veil of her bed sheet, draped over her loft. If I felt guilt, it was my own.
“I’m sorry,” Amanda offered. “I didn’t mean to imply…”
“I know,” Sonya said, sipping at her coffee. “If I had to explain last night, I really don’t know that I could. But I do know this. Us meeting. Becoming friends. That is the relationship that’s going to last from yesterday. Not that--” Sonya’s words trailed off, then came back a whisper.
“That thing I had with Josh.”
Sonya dipped her head, took another sip of coffee, then lifted her face to mine.
“I probably do you owe an apology,” she said, the bloodshot eyes behind her dark sunglasses staring straight into my face, I was sure. “Not about the Josh thing. But for the situation I put you in. That had to be weird.”
I knew Sonya, with her vast powers of perception, was attempting to read me. She was analyzing me for any hit of reaction. I dropped my head, then shook the very notion of her apology away.
“I really don’t know why I did what I did,” Sonya pressed on. “I think we were all feeling this heady rush of leaving home and being free. And then we all met, and the five of us have this chemistry because we are so different, yet we all fit together somehow. And then Monica has this great story about the gorgeous guy taking this gnarly shit in the bathroom. Then we – well, she – gets invited to his party. And then the moment we stepped into that room, with all the music and the people – college students. And w
e’re one of them. We belong. And the beer, of course. And Josh, with his hair and the way he flips it back, off his face. And shine of the alcohol in his eyes. And the hint of boyish mischief there. All of it. It’s all like this big dare, you know? Like I’m there with you all. My girls. And I have to show you how cool I am, or something. And I have to show Josh that I’m cool. And then something clicks, and I start drinking. And that’s it.”
“Sonya, we all said you didn’t have to explain,” Amanda put in.
But the backpedaling Brit was just being polite. Every one of us was rapt by Sonya’s stream of consciousness soliloquy. Lauren Marks’ mouth hung open, perhaps at the naked honesty Sonya had revealed. Chelsea Daniels was wide-eyed at the unabashed, unapologetic nature of Sonya’s sexuality.
Me? I admired her bravery. Her certainty at being uncertain. Her self-knowledge about not knowing all the impulses and instincts that drove her, yet being fearless about following them.
“I’m not explaining,” Sonya said. “Shit. I’m trying to figure things out for myself. One thing I do know. I gotta watch the drinking.”
Sonya slowly shook her head, as if in disbelief. Then she lowered her face to the coffee again, as if the cup were, sip by sip, replenishing her life force.
“You know what they say about we Russians,” Sonya resumed, allowing a little sarcasm and self-reproach to enter to heretofore somber, straightforward tone. “Well, maybe I have the vodka gene. Who knows? I do know this; I drank that first beer, then it was off to the races. Some of it was probably nerves.”
“Nerves?” I shot back. “Sonya, you are the most fearless person I know.”
She smiled wistfully.
“Hate to disappoint you, Roomie,” she said. “But I have insecurities, too. A boatload. Sure, I try to paint them over with the badge of being some great artists or something. But inside, I’m a house of cards. Last night, it all came crashing down. I really showed you my ass, didn’t I?”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t want anyone else for a roommate.”
Just then, Chelsea looked stricken. “I think I’m gonna cry,” she uttered in a trembling voice.
Lauren rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile at her own roommate.
“Yeah,” Amanda added. “All you girls are so tight. It almost makes me wish I had someone to share the flat.”
“Dorm,” Lauren corrected. “It’s a dorm, not a flat.”
“Like I said,” Amanda repeated. “I almost wish for a roomie.”
“It’s just so great how you two can put aside that gorgeous Josh,” Chelsea said, shaking her head. “So, are you two going to date?” She stared at Sonya, her face animated with small-town innocence.
“Date?” Sonya scoffed, as if it truly surprised by the question. She grunted a chuckle.
“He has no reason to date me,” Sonya added, but seemed as if she were speaking to herself now. Chiding herself, actually.
“I mean, he got my cheese last night. There’s no more bait in the dating mousetrap. It must have looked like the freshman follies. All the guys say there’s nothing that comes off faster than a freshman’s panties at her first beer party. And in one night. Our first night, I sure proved the rule. I’m a walking, talking cliché.”
“But you two look so cute together,” Chelsea said, her word ringing like a young girl’s mournful tune. In other words, pathetic. “You’ll see,” she added, injecting manufactured optimism into her tone. “He’ll probably call.”
Sonya frowned. “This is college in the 21st Century. Not the 1950s. And it’s not some syrupy romantic comedy from the 1980s, either. There are no mornings after at State. There’s college nights, where anything goes. Then, there’s the cold light of day. And the sun shines down upon all those walks of shame, back from the frats, the apartments and the guy’s dorm rooms. But there are no dates. The guys know they don’t have to. And frankly, most girls aren’t into it, either. It’s just simpler this way. You go to a party. You cut loose. You meet someone. You have a few drinks. You blow off steam. And if the connection is right, you blow him, too. Then, if he’s sober enough, he gets you off, too. When it’s over, you go your separate ways. Life goes on. Shit happens. And you get back to why we’re really here. College. Career. Becoming independent. And totally self-sufficient.”
By now, all enthusiasm had drained from Chelsea’s pretty face. “Not very romantic, is it?” she glumly said.
“It’s not meant to be,” Sonya said. “All that shit? It’s manufactured by Hollywood and greeting card companies. Don’t buy into it because you’ll waste your life waiting for a fiction.”
Chelsea bowed her head in defeat. The table was silent. The sounds of clanging dishes rang out from the kitchen, where the dining hall staff was in full clean-up mode.
I forked some now-cold eggs to my mouth, but I was no longer hungry. There was so much to think about, wasn’t there? We had become so close, the five of us, in such a short time. But after Sonya’s sobering speech, I felt more alone than ever.
When did self-sufficiency become such a great thing, I thought? And when did the rat race of life become so busy that there wasn’t room for another person on the hamster wheel? Were we becoming a nation of naval-gazing, self-improving individuals blind to everything around us but the dim glow of our smartphones and their hypnotizing effect on our lives? Was everything virtual? Was nothing real?
No. I didn’t believe that. Because Alec Keegan was real. Conventional wisdom was his enemy. Popular trends were cause to go in the opposite direction. And uncomfortable moments and troubling thoughts were to be embraced and explored, not dismissed with platitudes, hard hearts and closed minds.
I wondered how much Sonya believed of her own words. Then I got my answer.
“Speak of the devil,” Lauren said, her eyes focusing across the dining hall, as Josh Elliot, Corey Stills and a couple of their other cronies from the dorm shuffled in at the very last moment.
“Or should I say, the zombie?”
Our heads turned in unison to see this grand entrance of hung-over, hound-dog college men. Yet even under these circumstances and in the harsh light of day, Josh radiated star quality. He wore shades, too, against the light of day. And his long hair hadn’t been washed. Yet even in a T-shirt and sweats, and moving at a practiced pace, he was sexy. And there remained a sensual side to the languid movements of his lanky limbs.
Despite herself, Sonya radiated shock. Panic even. The breath caught in her throat. Her color faded to an even paler shade of white. Then, she hunkered down, as if trying to disappear under the table. She lowered her face and raised a hand, as if to hide.
The rest of us watched the hang-over parade. The guys went through the mechanical motions of getting their trays, then ladling on the last of the food steaming up in the serving line. But then as they turned for the seats, Josh caught sight of our table. Sonya had her back to him, but he paused, as if the sight of her was as startling and unexpected to him as his was to her.
Lauren nudged Sonya in the ribs, then whispered from the side of her mouth. “He’s looking.”
Sonya grinded her teeth at the show Lauren was making. But Sonya slowly turned, like the accused facing her executioner. She peered across the dining hall from behind her sunglasses. She saw Josh with his Wayfarers on.
For the briefest moment, a pulse of electricity seemed to pass between them. Then, Josh tilted his head back in mute acknowledgment, then made a path for the opposite side of the dining room. His guys followed their leader. But as Corey made the turn with his tray, he saw that I was looking his way and he reached down with his free had to his crotch and gave it a squeeze. And he shot me a sideways sneer as he did so.
I swung my head away. But it was no good. Amanda, seated to my left, had noticed the exchange.
“What in the hell was that about?” she demanded.
The faces of the rest of The Five joined Amanda in staring me down.
I raised my head, my hot face coloring.
“Don’t tell me?” Lauren uttered, her face twisting with revulsion. “Creepy Corey?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You and Creepy Corey?” she repeated, her face morphing into new levels of distaste.
Now I was the one who was shocked, the breath caught in my throat.
How could they even think such a thing!
“No!” I finally managed to exhale. “No f-ing way. Ewwe.”
“So why was the wanker grabbing his weenie?” Amanda asked, in a way only she could.
I cocked my head, my face still hot and red, then turned to Amanda.
“Well, what you said about those weenie waggers in the park?” I began. “Well, Corey gave me a show from the shower this morning.”
“The full monty?” Amanda asked.
“And then some,” I added.
“Big?” Lauren put in, trying to sound outraged but coming off as intrigued.
I nodded. “But that wasn’t all,” I said.
The Five stared back at me.
“I think he was getting an erection,” I added.
In unison, the girls sang out: “Ewwe. Gross.”
As if on cue, we all swung our heads to the guy’s table, where across the dining hall the motley crew of hung-over dorm dudes dutifully forked eggs and home fries into their mouths. It was time to refuel. The guys were recharging their bodies for countless more rounds with beer, music and coeds. Such was the winning combination at Old State. And every guy on campus felt he was entitled to his share.
That was the problem.
As we stared in judgment at the well-endowed exhibitionist, Corey Stills, Sonya eyed Josh. A few hours ago, the couple was as close as two members of the opposite sex can get. Now, they were like perfect strangers.
“Guys and their cocks,” Sonya muttered, as if this explained everything.
“Let’s get out of here,” she added, throwing her napkin on the tray and pushing her chair back, making a god-awful screech that caused her to cringe.
But I think she wanted Josh to notice.
And he did. But Sonya wouldn’t have known.
She marched out of that dining hall without ever looking back. And we followed her like so many sheep.
Because we had her back. And we always would.
Or at least, we thought so at the time.
Innocence Page 16
