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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Bait for the Bastard"  Five o'clock comes, and it's time to start getting ready for Kelsey's party. You face it with mixed feelings of anticipation and dread. You shower and scrub, enjoying the feeling—as you did this morning—of Deanna's boobs and hips and bush in the cup of your hand. After carefully drying yourself all over, you put on a fresh slip and spend another thirty minutes applying foundation and powder, lipstick and eye shadow, mascara and blush to your clean, pink face. Another twenty minutes are spent combing out your long, strawberry-blonde hair into tresses that you pile up and pin into a quasi-beehive while leaving four strands to curl and dangle in front of your ears and over your shoulder blades. That done, you turn to the most important choice of the evening: the clothes. Freaking Kelsey and her parties, you mutter to yourself as you paw through possible outfits. The trouble is that Kelsey, being of bohemian temperament, likes to sneer at anything that looks like a frock or a gown: This isn't prom, she's reminded her guests while rolling her eyes. Have some fun. But being rich, she likes to dress expensive, and will cluck at anyone who shows up in anything so down market as jeans and a t-shirt. And Deanna has long since use every obvious choice in her ensemble. Fuck it, you finally decide. Carlos has already warned you that he's going to role-play extra bitchy tonight. So you just go with something minimally acceptable, and trust to the scarf you bought to add a little unexpected flair. So you choose a peach-colored sleeveless one-piece dress whose hem falls just above the knee. You fuss with some white hose before deciding to go bare-legged, and after changing into a new set underclothes you wrestle yourself savagely into the dress. Christ, you cuss to yourself. No more cupcakes! This was once Deanna's "fat" dress, to wear when she was feeling bloated. Now it's like stuffing yourself into a sausage casing, and you feel the fabric protest when you bend to put on some high-heeled shoes. That done, you drape the scarf around your neck and play with the knot, settling it over your left shoulder after experimenting with dropping it over your bosom. You're picking out earrings when the doorbell sounds. "I'll be down in a minute!" you call to your dad when he yells that someone is here to see you. You cock an eye at the clock, and decide to keep him waiting another five minutes. * * * * * "Hey." You beam at Brownie when you catch up to him in the foyer. "We're going out to Kelsey's," you tell your dad as he warily eyes you and your date. "What's my curfew?" He holds up two fingers. "Thanks, Dad." "You had to ask him your curfew?" Brownie asks when you're outside and striding side by side down the walk. "Silly, that was so my dad would know that you know what my curfew is." "Is that the way it works?" You can sense the grin on his face even without looking up and over at him. "Tch, don't worry about it. It's Kelsey's, and I'm never home before ten the next morning when I'm at her place. Can you stay out all night?" "Not on Saturday nights, not unless I wanna get in trouble. Or unless I'm—" "Oh, I love your truck," you interrupt him. It's an ultra-manly, four-door Dodge Ram—gleaming black, like onyx. "Do you drive it to school? I think I'd remember it if I saw it in the parking lot." "Nngh, I hitch a ride in with Laurent." He holds the door while you climb in, and slams it shut for you. The interior smells freshly vacuumed. "Now that we're out of earshot of your dad," he continues after he's climbed in, "I'll tell you how nice you look." "Thanks. You look great, too." He does. He's in clean but faded Levis, and is wearing a dusty red denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway between his wrists and elbows. A gray ball cap is pulled down low over his brow. "I'm underdressed," he says. "No. Guys are never underdressed. It makes me so jealous." He gives you a sidelong glance. "I look underdressed next to you." You feel a flush at your throat. "If we stick close, maybe we'll even out? Average out?" His gaze glints as he turns the motor over with a roar. * * * * * You have to give him directions on the way out, and a couple of cautions. "It's going to be really mellow," you tell him. "Kelsey likes to keep things low-key. Talking and hanging out, you know. You bring your cell phone? Good, because—" You roll your eyes. "She puts these foreign-language DVDs on her TV, so if you want to watch something really good, you have to find yourself on the internet." "What about music? Dancing?" "Sure, that's why the movies are subtitled. So you can turn the sound down so it won't interfere with the music. Brownie hesitates, then point-blank asks if you really want to go out to Kelsey's. "I have to show my face, at least, but we can leave early if you want," you assure him. He doesn't look happy, and he grunts non-committally. And you wait until you're pulling up the private drive before telling him that there's going to be weed at the party. Lots and lots of weed. "So if you don't want to go home smelling of it—" His face falls further, and he says that might be a good excuse to bug out early. "Come on up," Kelsey chirps through the intercom when you buzz the front door, and Brownie waggles a quizzical eyebrow as you let yourselves in. You give him a quick grin, and at the base of the stairs leading into "Kelsey's wing" you grab him by his meaty paw of a hand and tug him along behind. "Oh my God! Deanna!" Kelsey squeals with tinny insincerity when she meets you in the upstairs hall. "You're wearing your best dress! I love that one! It and the scarf!" She herself is in a black, buckskin skirt that falls halfway down her thighs and a denim shirt with silver thread running down the front. "And I love the rest of your ensemble," she adds in a sly voice as she looks Brownie up and down. "It's brand-new, isn't it?" "Picked him out special for your party!" "I'm gonna have to borrow him off you some time." She grabs Brownie's left hand in hers, and runs her right hand down the front of his shirt. "I knew you'd like him." You take Brownie's free arm in yours and show Kelsey your canines. She fastens a hard, meaningful grin on you. "Just go on in," she tells Brownie, pointing to her private den down the hall. "What do you want to drink? I'll take Deanna down to the kitchen so she can bring it up to you." "Whatever you think I'll like," Brownie replies, a little uncertainly, for among your cautions was that, for alcohol, Kelsey only stocks weird craft beers. Kelsey smiles at him, the pulls you back toward the stairs. "So are you going to be a bitch to me all night long?" you mutter. "Just wait'll I get started. But first, I have to warn you that Danielle is here." "Danielle Davis? So?" "Jesus, Will, don't you remember? That's who Philip wanted for his second beta." "Oh! So it's really Philip who's—" "No! Danielle was late getting out here. We were going to do the switch before the party, but other people started showing up first. So she's here, and Philip is too." "God! He doesn't fit." "Neither do you, sweetheart. But—" She has to break off as you enter the kitchen, for Anthony Kirk and Brooke Galloway are there. They nod at you, but their expressions are tight, and both turn so as not to look directly at you. Guess they haven't forgiven Deanna for snapping and posting those pics of them giving each other a mutual tonsillectomy ... But they don't linger, not after Kelsey starts squealing about how awesome it is that Brownie showed up, and asking you in a very direct way if it's "serious" between you and him. You try to deflect her, but she presses ... at least until the other two have left. Then, right as you're in the middle of telling her how you ran into him and Laurent at the donut shop, she waves you silent. "What I need to tell you," she hisses, "is that we're still going to try to finish that swap tonight." "Tonight?" you gasp. "Here?" "Everyone's gonna be baked out of their minds, they won't notice anything. But you need to stay sober so you can help if you have to." "But with everyone around—" "Look at the size of this place, W— Deanna. We could butcher and roast an elephant without anyone noticing." But she glances back over her shoulder. "If worst comes to worst, we'll take her out to the spa and do it there." "We'll have to do it early if you want me to help," you warn her. "I don't think Brownie wants to be here when people start, you know." You mime taking a hit off a joint. She makes a face. "So, after all that moaning and bitching about coming out here, you're going to ditch my party so you can suck him off at the river?" Your jaw drops and your face burns. "Where did that come from? Jesus, it's just the two of us here, man, you don't—" "Don't you have a clue, Will? Deanna's not clueless." Her lip curls as she puts a hand on her hip. "He's the Oscar Meyer of Westside." She cocks a knowing eyebrow. And your heart sinks at the familiar jibe, one that you've been studiously ignoring ever since inviting him out to the party. How is Alec Brown like Oscar Meyer? Because he's had his wiener inside every bun. Without paying close attention to what you're doing, you pluck a beer bottle from inside the refrigerator. "I wasn't planning on doing that," you mutter. "You can do whatever you like," she replies. That's all for now. |
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