Page 15 of Salvatore

“Do you need any condoms?” Christy asks, digging into her purse as Marilyn finds an empty spot.

“No, I’m good,” I answer. I do my best to keep my tone light, but fail miserably.

“You sure? I have plenty,” Christy says, oblivious to the heat flushing my cheeks.

“Positive.”

I try not to react when Julia and Marilyn take Christy up on her offer. My friends are sweet, lovely girls, with alternating shades of blonde hair. They’re not promiscuous, but they are sexually experienced.

They don’t know that I’ve never had sex and I don’t want to tell them. They like to include me, but it’s moments like this I realize how very different we are. They weren’t raised in a strict Baptist household like I was, and they’ve probably always been beautiful.

Growing up, my teeth and jaw were a mess and my vision horrific. When I graduated high school and my parents and grandparents asked what I wanted, I asked for Lasix and braces. Their financial troubles had finally stabilized so they could grant both requests.

My vision repair was easy and successful, helping me toss those awful glasses I used to wear. Repairing my bucked and crooked teeth and the issues with my jaw, however, took a great deal of work. I wore braces all four years in college. During that time, young men finally began to notice me. I dated a few who touched me and who I touched in return, but most were impatient and quickly moved on when I wouldn’t have full-on intercourse with them.

“You’re a nice girl, Aedry. But I have to get mine while I can,” one of them told me. “Understand?”

No, I didn’t understand. I wasn’t averse to sex, or think it was necessary to be married, or even in love, to engage in sexual activity. The only thing I asked for was a commitment, but even that seemed like too much of a burden for the men I dated.

I graduated from college, enrolled in a Master’s program made up mostly of women, and accepted a position at a school where administrators and teachers were mostly women, leaving me with few opportunities to meet many men. So, here I am, likely the only virgin over twenty still left in the area.

As much as I’m starting to, well, panic, that the day to lay my “V” card down may never come, I still want to be in a committed relationship when it happens. Is that too much to ask? I groan. Based on the hoots and hollers we hear stepping out of Marilyn’s car, it probably is.

“Oye, mama, want some of this?” the guy leading his group of friends asks, grabbing his groin.

“I don’t touch shit I can’t see,” Marilyn fires back, hauling Christy away when she grins at the guy in the red hoodie who winks at her.

I think it’s fair to say my future baby daddy doesn’t hang with this tempting bunch. If there was a doubt, the short guy who drops his pants and smacks his hairy butt confirms my suspicions.

“Ew,” we all say, when he can’t seem to stop spanking it.

We hit the stairwell and practically run the remaining two blocks to the club. None of us bothered with anything warmer than light sweaters, and the cold October wind is positively brutal.

I can barely keep up in the silver platform pumps Marilyn shoved me into and Julia is all but dragging me behind her. We must look comical to all the cars passing. Here we are, this group of girls trying to run in footwear capable of killing us with no grace to our steps, and our hair flying in all directions. As it is, we’re all laughing. But the moment we round the corner, my girlfriends’ stumbles morph into struts packed with plenty of attitude.

They sashay past the irate people waiting in line while I do my best not to fall. Oddly enough, the happy-go-lucky clubbers don’t appear happy we’re skipping ahead of them.

“What the fuck?”

“Skanks,” someone else yells.

My, Toto, there really is no place like the northeast.

Christy waves her hands as we pass. “Sorry, bitches,” she fires back.

I try to mirror their prancing. But the shoes I’m wearing have already destroyed my toes and all I did was walk from the car. How in the world am I going to dance if Salvatore asks me?

We stop in front of the bouncer. He smiles when he sees us, but then his smile fades when he collects our passes. He motions to the other bouncer who leads us through the velvet ropes. My friends squeal before resuming the flouncing and twitching I’m clearly incapable of. I should have practiced before we left Marilyn’s apartment. At best, I resemble someone walking for the first time, following surgery.

Thank God, Julia holds tight to my hand, because the moment we step into the club, I can’t hear anything over the blare of loud music or see past the light show smacking against the wall to wall people dancing.

It’s as if we’ve stepped into a world where big hair reigns, short skirts rule, and lots of unprotected sex is sought and expected. My steps slow and I almost freeze. What am I doing in a place like this? Christy, Marilyn, and Julia frequently club hop, which is why I typically meet them for brunch on weekends or Happy Hour on Friday nights. Silk is a figurative smack-upside-the-head reminder why I prefer to stay home alone rather than join them on their Saturday night adventures.

“Come on, Aedry,” Julia yells over her shoulder when she senses my hesitation, yanking me with her.

I clutch my tiny purse against me, gathering my courage and reminding myself that Salvatore invited me. If I can hang in another thirty minutes, I’ll see him and perhaps talk him into going someplace quieter. A lot quieter. Good Lord, it’s loud.

The techno beat leads into another song with bass heavy enough to vibrate the floor. A group of men nudge each other when they spot Christy and Marilyn. Christy smiles their way, assuring them she’s noticed and that she likes what she sees, too.

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