We drove down Sunset to the Whisky and parked. He helped me off the bike and we went inside the dark little club that smelled like smoke. I’d gotten a fake ID from this nerdy guy at my school who made them for you using a photo booth picture, but I’d always been too scared to use it. Unlike A, who didn’t seem to be afraid of anything.
The club was packed. On the stage, five girls in shabby vintage dresses were playing their instruments badly and too fast. They were amazing. The lead singer had a round, cute face that reminded me of J’s. “We’ve got the beat,” the girl sang. I’d heard the song on the radio and at Phases, but it was different live. I thought, girls can do this punk thing? I had no idea. My life changed at that moment.
“Aren’t they awesome?” A said, grinning at me in the dark. “The bass player reminds me of you.”
She was petite and wore a kilt and moccasins. Her dark curly hair was cut short. I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. When she sang backup, her voice was a squeak. “That’s Jane,” he said. “My favorite.”
Jane. I wanted to be Jane. He brought me a beer but said he wasn’t going to drink, since he was driving. The beer was cold and I was starting to love the taste. I drank the whole thing and A took the empty bottle from me. He and I slammed together in the pit, his body shielding me from the writhing wall of boys. I knew I was safe. My hair stuck to my face as I sweated from my pores. I closed my eyes. I was falling, drifting far away. He put his arms around me and brought his face close to mine. We kissed. I could feel him so hard against me. His Mohawk dark and majestic in the darkness. I was with the best guy. The best one.
We went outside. The night was warm. I never wanted to go away to Berkeley and leave Los Angeles. I wanted to drink it down like a beer. I wanted to roll in it and put it inside of me. I got on the back of A’s bike and we took off down the Strip. Billboard models watched us with their huge eyes. Frowned with their sexy mouths. I could feel the careful attention A was paying to everything around him. His body was quivering; he was alert, keeping me safe, just as he had on the dance floor.
We were stopped at a light, waiting to turn into a gas station at the corner of Crescent Heights and Sunset. I said, “I don’t know why I was afraid of motorcycles. They’re the greatest thing in the world.”
We made the turn and a car going through a yellow light tapped against us. Just like that. Lightly but with surprising precision. We went down.
We weren’t hurt at all. Not even a scrape.
“Hey,” A said when we got to my house. “I want to tell you something.”
The air smelled of eucalyptus and I could hear an owl in the distance.
“That’s not my house. My mom works there. For that actor, John Davidson. He was out of town and my mom was at her boyfriend’s when I had that party. We live in the guesthouse. Sometimes my friends crash with us when their parents won’t let them come home.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I wanted to confess something, too. “My dad has cancer and I have to go away to college in the fall.”
“Oh, that sucks.” He squinted at me in that pained James Dean way.
“Yeah.” I shrugged and tried to smile. Why had I told this to A? Why had I said it out loud?
“Where are you going to college?” he asked.
“Berkeley.” I was going to ask him the same question, but then wondered if he was even going, if the question would make him uncomfortable.
When he kissed me good night my lips were hard; I didn’t respond. Not because his parents didn’t own that big house or he might not be going to college or he and I could have been badly hurt in the motorcycle accident. More because it had fully hit me that I was moving away and probably wouldn’t see A again when I did. Because I wasn’t as pretty as L, as cute as J, as powerful and cool as M, and maybe A would realize this. Because of the cancer that was spreading through my dad’s body and would eventually take him away from me and my mom, leaving us grief stricken and alone. Or something.
I went into my little house and went to bed. I could hear my mother through the wall. She was sobbing. I thought, When Dad dies it will kill her. And then I’ll die, too.
* * *
I didn’t hear from A. My friends and I went back to Phases. The Sick Pleasure guys weren’t there. Instead, there was a pack of surfers I’d never seen before. They were all tan, with blond hair, and wore plaid shorts and T-shirts with Vans sneakers, or Levi’s with short-sleeved button-down plaid shirts and Topsiders, no socks.
M said, “Now those are some hot guys.”
I didn’t really think so. I mean, none of them were A.
J said, “Oh my God, that one’s mine,” and she pointed to the shortest one, who had angelic blond curls and a baby face.
“You got him,” M said. “That’s Angel. I get Swell.” She nodded to the tallest, best looking of the guys. “L can have Hot. I, you get Tan-the-Man.”
I didn’t want Tan-the-Man. I wanted A. Why hadn’t he called me? Did he think I didn’t like him? Had he lost interest in me? I wished I’d kissed him back. I could never explain to him why I hadn’t; I couldn’t even explain it to myself. But maybe if there was another chance, I could kiss him properly. I could make it right.
M commanded that we all dance and we went onto the floor. The surfers watched us. I didn’t feel the music the way I usually did. I kept thinking about A’s body and the taste of beer and chlorine on my lips as he kissed me in the pool.
Swell danced over to M and loped in circles around her. He was so animated, he seemed like he was made out of electricity. He had dimples and a flashing white smile with perfect teeth, like a dentist’s son. Or John Davidson. J and Angel had the same playful dancing style and shy grins. L danced with Hot but mostly she seemed to be ignoring him. I missed A as I made myself dance with Tan-the-Man. I remembered the way I’d balanced on A’s big steel-toed boots, the way his big hands felt on my waist, the clean smell of his breath. Tan-the-Man smelled like alcohol and gaggingly strong Brut cologne. He leaped, rather than loped, around in circles like Swell, but Tan couldn’t pull it off the same way. He was making me dizzy.
Just then, I saw Rat Catcher standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching me. M had given him his nickname because he had pointy features and a wiry body. I turned from Tan to look for A. He was there. He was standing next to a girl. He was standing next to the girl with skunk stripes from the fifties dance contest. They walked outside.
Part of my soul detached and tried to follow A, but it slammed into the closed door like an alcoholic or a dazed, wounded animal and collapsed onto the ground.
I turned back to Tan. And I started dancing as hard as I could.
Later I found out that Tan’s name was B. He and his friends were from Camarillo. All I knew about that place was that there was a famous mental institution there.
Yes, the guys were surfers, as we had thought. Tan was going away to UC San Diego in the fall. He was going to study pre-law.
“Hey,” Tan said. “We’re having a party. You and your friends should come.”
* * *
J drove the VW to Camarillo. The air smelled like the sea and strawberry fields. It was a nice community with midsize homes and green lawns. We parked and went up to a house. Loud new wave music was playing, so we knew it was the right place. Inside were girls with tan skin and tight striped dresses or white shorts and bikini tops, lying on couches with surfer boys. My friends and I must have looked exotic, the girls from LA. I was wearing a T-shirt, Levi’s, and Converse sneakers, like I’d worn to the Whisky with A. I realized I’d worn the wrong thing to this party.