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[candyispretty.livejournal.com]

This is part of something I've been working on for the past couple months. To summarize, the narrator, Evelyn, has been dragged to a party by her boyfriend after he broke plans for dinner. This is part 3 of a single chapter (I write in big nonlinear chunks, so this tends to happen) so it might seem out of context. If anyone wants to read from the beginning of the chapter, here are links. Part 1, and part 2. I need some help catching small errors of grammar/redundancy. Thanks. Oh, there's some mild drugs/sex/language.


Inside, we briskly passed by a sweaty, pulsating throng of guests, among which several of our close friends and personal acquaintances were scattered. Allen tugged me along by the arm, ignoring some of our friends as they waved and wailed pleasantries our way. I, with my head turned toward them, all pearly-toothed and sunny-eyed, shouted back "hello"s and "how’ve-you-been"s, alarmed but completely unsurprised by Allen’s manic behavior. Try as I might, I could not tear myself away from his grasp, as he is big and I am small. The crowd surrounding us also formed an impenetrable wall that pushed me back into Allen’s clutches as soon as I would make an escape. After an eternity of pushing anad pulling, Allen and I made it in safely to the refuge of David’s bedroom. David’s room was far less crowded than the rest of his home; on the bed sat David, Lavinia, and Georgette. David was only wearing his white briefs, and Lavinia was coiling his chest hairs around her index finger, visually fixated on the coarse strands. With her middle and ring fingers, she held a lit cigarette that was already halfway burnt to ash; the column of ash was hanging on precariously, and every movement of Lavinia’s hand seemed to bring it closer to collapse.

David looked up at us after failing to detect our presence for at least two or three minutes. I waved, still adjusting to all the foreign stimuli around me (as well as the increasingly louder waves of euphoria from the various substances coursing through my body by then); Allen smiled nervously, clearing his throat a few times and acknowledging the ladies with a nod each in their respective directions. They waved at us, waggling their slender fingers our way (Lavinia using her free hand). David gestured to a few makeshift chairs (a rolled up ornate rug and an old orange milk crate), and said, with the same absent-minded look as usual on his face, “Feel free to sit down.” Allen and I both wanted the carpet---it looked far more comfortable and inviting. Allen, however, with his eel-like demeanor, slipped right past me, and, deliberately avoiding my eyes, plopped himself down on the rug. His weight caused it to collapse into itself, and we all shared a gay chuckle at the sound of his ass hitting the floor; in better spirits after enjoying a healthy dose of schadenfreude, I retreated to the milk crate in silence. Allen shrugged at me like a little boy, and I tried hard to hide my smile.

I quietly watched on as Adam made small talk with David, each asking what the other has been doing with his time, talking about their latest favorite movies, books, and records. Lavinia, who was wearing nothing but bright pink track shorts and a single tube sock, used her free hand to dig a clear plastic bag full of grass out of David’s stash box. Finally, as she was struggling to open the zip-loc baggie with one hand, the column of ash broke off onto David’s chest, breaking apart slightly upon impact and dispersing a minute cloud of fine ash on his skin. Noticing this, David sleepily blew the rest of the ash at Lavinia’s face, grining stupidly and giggling. I observed, unable to hold my head upright any longer. With my head sinking ever so deeply toward the floor, as I listened to the sloppy wetness of David and Lavinia’s playful displays of intimacy, I began to seriously regret taking Vicodin and cough syrup on an empty stomach. Everything seemed to be getting farther and farther away. The shag carpet seemed to be leaping at my face, smothering me in the elaborate creases of its fibers, the winding patterns left by feet and furniture.

Suddenly, I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw Georgette, the international student from France that had been living with David and Lavinia. I gazed at her, probably slobbering, admiring the ridiculous sweater she was wearing. It was an old Christmas sweater with a row of small, identically embroidered Christmas trees across the chest. It was an obnoxious, ugly, red and white thing, with the noisiest green tinsel outlining the figures of the trees. She wasn’t wearing pants, and the warm amber glow of David’ bedside lamp made her pale legs and long golden hair glow like the moon. She grinned, flashing buckteeth between her pink and plush lips. With her thick Parisin accent, she asked me, “Aren’t you going to take one?” and gestured at the joint clutched in her slender fingers. I was completely taken aback by just how fast things seemed to be going. I’d sworn they’d just started rolling a joint a second ago, but when I turned around, Adam was nowhere to be found. Lavinia was now completely barefoot, and David was searching around for his lighter. He appeared frantic, rummaging through drawers and throwing the thick blankets on top of the bed this way and that. He was mumbling, and though I couldn’t catch all of what he was saying, I heard small phrases like, “my father’s lighter,” and “where could it be?”

I sleepily let my jaw fall ajar and retrieved the joint out of Georgette’s grasp with my teeth. Georgette said something French and giggled, then climbed back into bed. She began stroking Lavinia’s mousy short hair with one hand, while rubbing David’s constantly moving back with the other, almost as a lazy effort to try and calm him down. I sat there, inhaling as much as I could, as Georgette’s other hand made its way off of David’s back and slowly onto Lavinia’s bare breast. As I watched, it seemed like they were becoming one creature, taking on a new form. Their eyes were half-closed as they suckled greedily at each other’s mouths. As I exhaled slowly and walked over to David to hand the joint off, Lavinia began trying to light a new cigarette while still preoccupied with Georgette’s thrashing tongue. The cigarette was hanging from the corner of her lips, diverting to the side and barely brushing against Georgette’s cheek. David finally noticed my hand tapping at his shoulder, and he whispered a “thank you” as he brought the joint to his chapped lips. He and I both shamelessly stared at Georgette and Lavinia, mesmerized by their amorous tossing and turning. He turned to me and shrugged, handing the joint back and climbing on top of the both of them.

As I left the room, I heard David joke quite loudly, “I’m Henry fucking Miller!”