Neena has been talking up a storm, going on for a while now about politics, religion, life, death, and the universe, but I can’t really keep up with her, since the alcohol’s sort of slowed every reflex I have. Except, so far, the impulse that keeps me from looking completely stupid, but I’m not so sure how long that one can hold out either, mostly because of her weirdly hypnotic eyes. She has no pupils; her eyes are simply two enormous black orbs in the middle of a dark-chocolate face unframed by the luscious blue-black tresses currently held back in a ponytail. I’m trying to imagine what she’d look like with it all let down when she starts in on the massive curfew we’re all currently violating with extreme prejudice.
“It’s complete crap,” she says, slurring a little. “They can’t fucking shut down all of I.V. because of some wankers sneaking in from out of town. A campus curfew is one thing, but this is totally ridiculous. It’s just puritannical fascism, isn’t it?”
“Um, really?” I ask, replaying the sound of her English accent in my mental stereo. “Erm, yeah.” She sounds surprised and annoyed, and I think I’ve blown it. “I am a LawSo major, Colin, so occasionally I know what I’m talking about,” she says, mock authority creeping into her voice. “Oh, oh right.” I also now recall that she’s also a Campus Democrat. The mutant, bhangrafied hip-hop blasting out of her apartment next door reminds me that she is also Indus Club President; she’d thrown another party two weeks ago for new members which had been broken up by the cops. Their music had been a glorious assault on the wretched ska-revival-plus-jam-band ethos of the surrounding student ghetto.
“Colin? Colin?” Neena’s voice jumps out in front of the party’s random chatter. The sea breeze blows over the balcony, making her shiver a little. “Huh?” I’ve been distracted by the perfect V-shape a bright orange shirt makes on her chest. “Sorry. I’m just, um, trying not to forget tomorrow’s, uh, game plan, you know?” She smiles. “Right. The epic grand tour, hmm? Where are you off to, again?”
“It’s not really that big a deal. It’s just one show in Ventura, one in Malibu, a few in O.C., and one near San Diego.” It’s been a few months since Ben and I moved down from NorCal and recruited a guitarist, and though the Screaming Mimes haven’t exactly been ignored in Santa Barbara, we’re kind of bored to just bash our heads against the same old cliquey wall of local gatekeepers. Neena’s heard me bitch about this before. “Yes,” she says, smoldering, and then quotes me, “‘It’s hard to build a scene on exclusionary schizophrenia,’ right?” It must be the alcohol again, but I’m embarrassed to hear my own excuse thrown back at me.
“Yeah, well, the van was all packed and ready to go, and I was all set to get some good sleep, until you and your roommates decided to fuck with the cops’ “Zero Tolerance” policy, you know?” I take a quick gulp from my cup and Neena giggles. “Let’s just call it your ‘official pre-tour bash,’ then.” She knows I don’t mind in the least. She knows I’ve been drooling over her ever since my brother and I moved in next door, and I think she’s been doing the same since we played a “get out the vote” rally for her two weeks ago.
Ben blunders across the balcony in our direction, clutching a bottle with unadulterated love and respect. “Hey there bro,” he says, and then gives Neena a wide smile. She winks back. “I have here in my possession,” he shouts, “a bottle of the finest rum we will ever have the privilege to drink. Won’t you two join me?” He holds it up, exposing the big fat “151 PROOF” on the label. Neena and I both politely refuse. “Dude, that’s got to be some serious nitroglycerin there,” I warn.”You sure you want to drink that?” Ben is taken aback. “Of course, man.”
“You’re on your own then, bro.” He shrugs it off and wanders into the apartment, threatening Neena’s friend Vikram with the 151. I turn back to the willful captivity of Neena’s gaze and endure her 1996 electoral predictions, but then a blast of motion in the corner of my eye signals Ben’s rapid return to the balcony. He tears out of the apartment like a meteor, running around the balcony in a rum-drenched frenzy, knocking over anyone in his way. My brother actually does three or four laps before calming down enough to exclaim “Holy fucking shit, Colin!” and then hustles back inside for another shot. Neena has barely enough time to say “Fucking hell!” before Ben is out on the loose again, but he doesn’t even get halfway through his first lap before completely bowling over three people clambering up the stairs.
A girl squeals “Oh my God!” and I recognize my housemate Derek getting a hand up from several people near the stairs. “Jesus fucking Christ, bro!” I yell at Ben. “Watch out for Derek!” Ben’s offering up hasty apologies, but no one seems to care. They’re all staring at Derek, who looks like a walking head injury. The two girls with him introduce themselves as Ali and Jaimie, their eyes flickering with a little too much ecstatic joy for people who’ve just been knocked on their asses. They coo over Derek like he’s a pet unicorn, and he manages a sheepish smile for the crowded balcony. I walk over, shadowed by Neena, and try to get a closer look at him. “Man, what happened to your head? Do you, um, want a drink?”
“He needs a neurosurgeon, more like,” says Neena over my shoulder. Someone hands Derek a beer and he swallows it in one gulp. “I just, um, need a shower, or something,” he intones weakly, oblivious to the surrounding stir. I say something like “You should really take care of that, dude,” when a maniacal whoop sounds from somewhere above. Ben has somehow climbed up on the roof, gleefully shouting at people walking by on the street, twenty feet below. In the time it takes me to yell at my brother to get the fuck down from there, and then turn back to Derek, Ali and Jaimie have already dragged him away, disappearing inside our apartment. A feeling of rapid disintegration is prickling up my spine, and the sound of crashes from the ground floor don’t help.
“Wow!” Neena’s voice is spiced with fearful excitement. “Someone just tossed a monitor off the balcony!” Another smash follows, and I suddenly envision all of us rotting in a county holding cell tomorrow morning, instead of driving off to an Amazing Rock Future. I swallow my own beer quickly and go looking for the keg, but don’t get too far before I’m brought up short by Ali, Jaimie, Ben, and Derek, all draped in beach towels, and my brother proclaims “Colin, we’re going swimming, man! Wanna come?” Ali, completely twisted, her pupils dilating synthetically in the low light, looks at Derek and says something like “This’ll be much better for you than a hot shower, baby,” and then they’re all filing down the stairs, supporting Derek occasionally as they descend. I shake my head in disbelief, but Neena just laughs at the escalating absurdity, and I’m too rattled by now to do anything but echo her. The powerful orbs focus in on me again, another crash sounds from the ground floor, and I can hear sirens in the distance.
Neena grabs my hand, says “Let’s get inside, Colin.” She catches Vik’s eye across the balcony, and he responds with a quick nod before taking a deep breath and yelling “COPS!” at the top of his lungs, which begins a slow stampede of drunken idiots down the stairs. We slip into the apartment, lock the door, and kill the lights. By the time everyone’s cleared out and the police are shining their beams through my windows, I’m safe behind the bedroom door, appreciating the finer topography of a half-naked female torso that’s been perfected by five thousand years of South Asian genetics. “You are so, so hot,” I blurt, but Neena just gives this regal smile and shushes me. We don’t talk for a while after that, and eventually she’s falling asleep, and I’m on the verge of it too.
The digital alarm tells me it’s only an hour later when we’re viciously awakened by a barbaric “BANGBANGBANGBANG” on the front door. Neena mumbles “Is it the police again?” but she’s answered by another volley of noise: “BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG-Colinopenthefuckingdoordude-BANGBANGColinBANGBANG!!!” I snatch up a cruddy pair of jeans and hurry to the door. I open it and am confronted with Ben and Derek shivering on the balcony, dripping with seawater and completely naked. Well, not completely- Derek’s covering himself up with a nasty-looking old sneaker, but Ben’s only in his birthday suit. They both push past me without a word into the warmth of the apartment. “What the fucking fuck happened to you two?” I sputter, trying to hold back a laughing fit. “Where are your goddamn clothes? Where are those two chicks that went with you?” Derek says nothing, proceeding straight to the bathroom and turning on the shower full blast. Steam starts to filter out into the hall as Ben returns from our room, clad in a pair of boxers and a sly grin. “Dude, there’s um, a hot Indian chick asleep in your bed.” He’s got more clothes in hand and begins to pull some on, but leave the rest in a little pile by the door.
“She passed out again?” I roll my eyes. “Christ, Neena must have been less sober than I was. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again after you rammed the door in, bro.” He laughs softly, then steps toward the door, but I physically stop him. “Dude, not before you tell me what happened.” Ben laughs ruefully again, but relents. “Skinny-dipping. Shit, man, it was the girls’ idea. Once we got down to the beach Ali wouldn’t shut up about it, and it seemed, uh, like a good idea at the time, so we left all our clothes near that rotten seawall and just charged right in.” Ben smirked. “There’s no moon out there, you know, so except for, like, stray window-light from way up above on Del Playa, it was pitch-black. And of course, it’s fucking October at night, so we got real cold real fast and didn’t stay in the water too long. When we came in, though, all our clothes and towels had been stolen! Like, just gone!”
“Ah hell,” I smile. “Any ideas?” He arches an eyebrow. “Nah, maybe a wino on the beach or something. Anyway, Derek wasn’t feeling too well by then, and the girls shamed me into taking him home and bringing them back some clothes.” He grabs the pile on the floor. “Ali and Jaimie had to hide in the little nook between the staircase and the cliff, and for all I know, they’re still there, so I better get going.”
“Wait a minute,” I cut him off. “We had cops here earlier. How thick are they out there tonight?” Ben gives a loud guffaw as he strides toward the door again. “Get this, bro. Derek and I were sprinting flat-out, you know? You don’t think about it being seven blocks from here to the beach until you have to run it naked, Colin. Anyway, we passed some Foot Patrol guys walking the other side of the street, but we just kept going. I looked back and they were just staring at us with these “I-don’t-even-wanna-know” faces, and never tried to stop us!”
We’re interrupted by a shriek from the bathroom. “Well, shit,” I say. ‘Sounds like Neena woke up again.” Ben’s face stretches into another grin as he steps out the door. Next thing I know, Neena’s standing there wrapped in a blue towel, looking indignant. “I thought that was you in the shower,” she says, baffled. “I think I scared the piss out of Derek, though. You might check on him, Colin.” I make a vague move toward the bathroom, but then Neena turns on her heel and, alarmingly, ducks back into my bedroom for her clothes. “Hey! Aren’t you, um, gonna stay?” She looks back over her exposed, stunning shoulder with only a hint of pique. “No, Colin. Get some sleep, okay? You’ve got to go out and conquer the world tomorrow, remember?”
I’m still planted to the spot when she pinches my ass on her way out.
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I was told this would be my only chapter, so I had to make the most of it, didn’t I? It’s another 12:30am post, so there’s probably plenty wrong with it, but I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Editing is for those other jokers to do, not me. I am a fucking rock star, after all.
I don’t really remember much about that night. I can’t believe I actually survived it.