Chapter #16Welcome to the Warehouse by: Masktrix   “Yeah, fuck it. I’m in,” you say. Alex’s smile widens, and she offers you a fist bump. You clink your knuckles together.
“Yeah!” she laughs, climbing in to the back of the truck. “So c’mon! The night is young, as are we. And there’s only one thing to do on Saturday night in Saratoga Falls. Go to the only place that’s got everything you want. The Warehouse.”
“So what we waiting for?” Izzy asks. She tries to hop into the back of the truck, fails, and ending up hanging on the cusp with her torso, flailing her arms and legs in mock helplessness until Alex pulls her inside.
Rae, however, doesn’t move. She flicks the end of her cigarette at a nearby drain and watches as it cartwheels in the night air, tip still glowing until it hits the gutter. “Slight sartorial problem,” she says, pointing at you.
“Like anyone will give a shit,” Izzy says, somewhere on the floor of the back of your truck. You climb in, not sure what else to do.
“Nah, it matters,” Rae says. “One look and his confidence is gonna pop.” She walks over to the passenger door and climbs in. “No offence, but we gotta protect your virgin ass.” She pats your knee.
“Whoever said I was…”
All three girls burst out laughing. You have a feeling that Izzy would pet you if she could.
“We’ll sort out clothing once we get there,” Alex says. “Hit it, Will!”
“Uh, hit it where?”
“The Warehouse!”
You look blank.
“Fuck me,” Rae sighs. “I’ll give you directions. Just go.”
You start the truck up, once again watching as Alex goes flying backward from her previously standing position, to hoots of laughter from Izzy. Anything could happen in the next half hour, but you’re pretty sure whatever’s coming is better than anything you’ve had in a long time.
“Actually,” Alex shouts over the whistling air, “First, take us to get some, y’know.”
“Munchies,” Izzy yells.
“Taco Bell,” Rae says from the quiet of the cab, with an indifferent shrug. “Only decent drive-thru you can get vegan options.”
“That your deal then? Vegan?” You’re just impressed she sourced vegan iced coffee in Saratoga Falls. Maybe it had soya milk.
“Yeah, cause going plant-based defines my whole fuckin’ life,” she says. “I like fashion too, not that high end bullshit but actually feeling comfortable in your own skin. Dabble on Instagram as well, got a bit of a following. Helps when you’ve got someone like Izzy to do the shoots.”
“I thought you were graffiti artists?” Rae turns and looks at you.
“Ha! No. Alex is the artist. Tags, stencils, laminates, whatever inspires her.” She points to a sign in the distance as you drive up the Borman Road. “Taco Bell at 11’o clock. You know what you want to order?”
You suddenly realize the last thing you had was that yellow shrimp on a stick at the club. “Ah, actually, I’m a little hard up right now.”
Rae rolls her eyes, and keeps pointing for you to head to the drive thru. “Then you’re gonna get what we give you, won’t you?”
***
The Warehouse is massive, probably several football fields. You park up in the industrial center of Saratoga Falls, up by the tracks and the buildings that tower like some kind of post-apocalyptic landscape. You have expect flames to shoot out of the chimney stacks, or gangs of bikers with spiked shoulder pads to roar past. As it is, it mainly seems to be kids your age hanging around. Your belly is now full, and you’re sat in your pick up. Rae has run off, and you’ve been joined in the cab by both Izzy and Alex, who have decided the only way to hold a conversation is to squeeze in together, door hanging open to accommodate them as Izzy sits in the seat and Alex more or less topples over her.
“So, once Rae’s done her procurement thing, we’re gonna go inside. It’s kind of a dive, but it’s an awesome dive. Tables to buy whatever, whole room for music. Downstairs is a no-go. Upstairs is basically a, y’know.”
“Flophouse,” Izzy suggests.
“Love hotel,” Rae clarifies, appearing from behind her comrades and speaking through the open door. “Load of mattresses you rent by the minute. Huh, I wonder what that could be for! Gross they charge you extra for sheets.” She hurls something black and smelly at you. You whip it down, and look at a faded T-shirt with the slogan of some band you don’t recognize.
“That’s the best you could come up with?” Alex says, rolling off Izzy and straightening the ripped sleeves of her hoodie.
“It’s not like there’s a whole bunch of options here,” Rae says. “Lane and his silly little beard had a spare shirt for sale from last week’s gig, and it’s about Will’s size.” She turns to you. “Get it on.”
“What, here?”
“No, in the invisible changing rooms.”
“We don’t care,” Izzy says. “Don’t worry, we won’t laugh at your pasty white torso.”
You shrug and pull off the Lacoste top, replacing it with the grubby, flimsy cotton T-shirt. The cold October air starts to bite you even more than before. Both Izzy and Rae give 'aww' looks at your pasty white chest, before you shimmy the T-shirt down and stretch it out a little.
“Yeah!” Alex nods. “C’mon. Time to loosen up.”
You try and keep your cool as you walk toward the doors. There’s security outside, but they all seem around your age, and nobody gets carded as you pass through. The Warehouse lives up to its name, and inside is just as vast as you’d expect. One room has a load of wooden tables set up, where different vendors are offering everything from soft drinks and beers to bags of weed. You wonder if you’ve entered The Lost Boys – there doesn’t seem to be a single person beyond high school age in the place. Alex ducks to your side, and suddenly you find yourself walking with her tiny frame draped under you’re your arm. You look briefly at her, and she wrinkles her nose at you, even as she gently directs you toward a second room, this one with music blaring from the inside.
You don’t recognize the guys and girls here. A few are clean cut, a few are covered in acne. There’s a couple of nerd-chic girls in massive, dark-rimmed glasses talking in a corner, and one laughs and begins to neck her boyfriend as you walk past. You’d class virtually everyone here as part of the Bohemian set, and if you had to guess you’d say they were almost all Eastman students: you only recognize one or two of the faces in the crowd.
“Hey, Nadine!” Alex says, swinging you round with surprising strength for someone her size. “We meet again. Playing tonight?”
The girl she addresses turns. At least, you think she’s a girl – it’s hard to guess her pronoun. She’s wearing a pastel suit, her dye-blonde hair is short and combed neatly, and her face has a strange, androgynous quality. It’s a style that reminds you a little of David Bowie.
“Nope,” Nadine returns. “DJ set, I think. Slow Fast Hazel next Friday, so should be good if Kurt hasn’t driven ‘em apart by then.”
“Cool!” Izzy says, genuinely enthused. “That guitarist is so good. Shame her sis mostly plays these days.”
“Doubt they’re gonna let you in,” Nadine replies. “Apparently, someone’s been making bootlegs of the shows, sharing them around. Oscar was trying to find who it was earlier, someone’s real pissed about it for who-knows-what reason. Probably accidentally taped something they shouldn’t have. You’re suspect number one.”
Izzy looks mock-offended. “If it were me, it’d already be on the net.”
Nadine smiles. “Yeah, don’t doubt it. So, who’s the fresh meat?”
“Will,” you say, giving a wave. The androgynous girl twitches an eyebrow.
“He’s our project, Nadine,” Alex says, voice low and a little defensive.
“Project? You’re not still with that Guru bullshit?” She turns back to you. “Hi, I’m Nadine. Roxanne Hurley said you’d be coming by the cookout this afternoon. Guess I missed you, and you ended up with these delinquents.”
Rae gives Nadine the finger, which Nadine gamely returns. “He’s ours,” Rae says, placing a hand around your waist, so you suddenly have both Alex and her under your arms. You feel Izzy’s arms slipping around you from behind, too. Holy shit, three girls are squeezing you tight. You can’t help but get a little excited.
Nadine shakes her head at the diminutive artist and her posse, then looks you straight in the eye. “Well, we’re sitting over there if you want to come chill for a bit. You know Sienna Goldman, right? She’s with us. Come say hi, leave these bozos to head off to the dance floor.”
“Nah,” Alex says, tightening her grip. “Will’s talked enough tonight. Now we’re gonna dance with him. Ain’t we, Will?” She nuzzles her head against your chest.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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