Page 14 of Night Fever
“I don’t know,” I sigh, not really wanting to tell her exactly what’s on my mind. “I just think that how we present ourselves doesn’t always reflect what’s on theinside.”
“And what’s on the inside is what counts?” Olivia says sarcastically, putting a hand on her hip casually as she pulls out a dress. “What’s on the inside counts, babe, but first impressions matter too. Here. This is the one,” she says as I stand up and walk over to her. She pushes the dress into my arms and a take it carefully with my elbows and chin so I don’t screw up mynails.
The dress she’s selected is knee-length and tight with subtle bustier framing on the bust, thick straps, and a little structured ruffle at the hem. This dress makes my waist look tiny and my butt look great, which is why I almost never wear it. I get too much attention when I’m in thisdress.
But right now, I feel as though it’s the rightchoice.
“Okay,” I sigh, “yeah. I’ll wear this. God, I haven’t worn this dress in a longtime.”
“So it’s settled. And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, you’re going to tell me every single last detail about the guy you slept with lastnight.”
She says it as though she’s asking a waiter about the kind of salsa that comes with the burrito at Dos Caminos. She wants every last detail, like is it made with white onion or red onion? Is it a salsa verde? Made with red tomatoes or greentomatillos?
I clear my throat andsmile.
“Details?” Isay.
I turn around and hold the dress up to my figure in the full-length mirror tucked next to the small white fireplace that I never use, tucked between the foot of my bed and the small table I use for both my breakfast nook and my creative writingassignments.
“I’m talking size, shape, girth,length-”
“Stop!” I laugh, stomping my foot on the ground softly in faux-outrage.
“Fine,” she says, “no details. Generalizations. Blur the details so I can fill them in with myimagination.”
“Stop it,” I say, feeling my face grow warm and seeing it flush with a pink dust across my cheeks as I turn to the mirror again. “There’s nothing to tell. It was your typical one-night-stand.”
I know that this part isn’t a lie, but that it’s also not technically the truth, either. I didn’t go out that night thinking I’d ever see him again. I did what I did not because some rational part of my brain thought I should have sex to just get it out of the way; I did it because of some hunger inside me, a need, like an empty rock quarry that needs rainwater to fill it, or a traveling backpacker who is exhausted and needs a place to rest hisbody.
It wasn’t to get it out of the way. It wasn’t to put some part of my life behind me; on the contrary, it was so I could start a new part of my life, one that Ineeded.
And I don’t think I began to understand that until the second time I sawhim.
“One-night-stand,” Olivia says wistfully, “wow. I didn’t think you had it inyou.”
“Thanks,” I say back to her with a sarcasticedge.
“I’ll get it out of you. Bits and pieces. You don’t want to talk about it now, and that’s totallyfine.”
“That’s a perfectly acceptable compromise,” I say, hiding the fact that I most certainly do want to tell her every last detail. I want to tell her all the ways he handled my inexperienced body with such care and such strength, and I want to tell her who the hell he is. I want to tell her thetruth.
But of course, the truth iscomplicated.
“Oh shoot,” she says suddenly, putting her hand to her forehead. “I wanted to ask if I could borrow some shoes from you. The Louboutins in blackpatent?”
“Yeah,” I say, “no problem. They’re at my parents’ placethough.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” she says. “Do you mind if we stop there before going to therestaurant?”
“This throws off my whole entire night,” I say to her with a smirk, “I don’t know how I could possibly delay the reservation by a whole fifteen minutes. Especially when I’m so looking forward to eating overpriced food in a snooty environment with busboys who are underpaid and who do all the work and waiters who want to impress every person who comes in with a party of more thansix.”
“Get dressed, missy,” she says, grabbing two plastic cups from the cabinet over the sink and pulling out two bottles of Miller High Life from thefridge.
I turn away from her and start to get changed into my dress for dinner with my parents and my best friend. Going out to dinner with my parents is always somewhat awkward for a few reasons, least of all because I don’t like being the center ofattention.
But when I think back to this morning and last night, and how Hendrick and I never actually had our dance lesson, the last thing on my mind is how I’m going to be able to answer questions about my classes and myprofessors.
And I don’t know how I’m going to wait until next week to see him again. I guess I’m just going to have to stay up late thinking about him every night, a thought that makes my heart ache and my mind swirl, and sends an electric jolt up my spine that makes me feel giddy and satisfied all at the sametime.
