Page 20 of Melt With You

The record store felt so real. Could this possibly be a hallucination? She’d never had one before. Hadn’t had a blackout, hadn’t done LSD. But could she have stored this boy’s image in her mind for twenty years? Because she was having intense déjà vu in his presence.

‘I’m off,’ he said, ‘for a dinner break.’

‘Dinner?’ She glanced at the silver watch on her wrist. It was after ten.

‘We’re open to midnight, you know,’ he said, and she nodded. She remembered that. Revolution Records had been one of the few places in town she and her friends hung out when all the other stores had shut for the night. ‘My dinner break comes late. But I don’t mind. Then I only have an hour after, until we close.’

He eyed her, and she felt herself flush once more. She was still wearing the same outfit she’d had on all day. The white minidress, part 1960s, part 2000s, definitely noticeable in a town this size. The dress was sexy, no doubt about it. But she’d never felt so on display before while wearing the Juicy Couture number in Manhattan. She’d simply felt attractive in the tiny dress, which was why she’d bought the baby doll in the first place, knowing she had the legs to pull off the look, knowing she could pass for 28 rather than 38, so that ‘No miniskirts after 35’ rule didn’t apply to her.

‘You’re really pretty, you know?’ he said softly, and she felt a warmth creep along her jaw line. Whatever this was – dream, hallucination, coma – was there any real reason why she had to behave like a good girl? Couldn’t she act on her impulses? Couldn’t she have a little fun the way she had with Luke?

Maybe that night had been a turning point for her. Maybe rather than worry that she was now back at Ground Zero in the dating game, she should forget about ever finding a permanent partner and simply look for the perpetual party. Or was that something that Violet would have said?

‘So, you’re hungry?’ It was a silly thing to say, but she couldn’t think of anything else to ask. Not with him staring at her like that, making her feel exactly how skimpy her panties were under her dress, and how wet they were getting in the center.

‘Yeah,’ he said finally. ‘That’s it. I’m hungry.’ He emphasized the last word, and she felt her heart beat faster.

‘So am I,’ she heard herself saying, unable to believe she was actually voicing the words. ‘Famished, now that you mention it.’

The boy walked around the counter and then reached for her bag for her. She followed, feeling as if she were walking through water, feeling as if she were watching herself rather than following along behind him, admiring his fine ass in his black jeans.

She’d already witnessed her former boss doing coke and fucking Gael behind the Creamery. And she’d interrupted Chelsea and Dameron from engaging in what was most definitely going to be an indecent tryst in her own bed. There was no reason why she shouldn’t have a little fun herself.

The boy had a glossy black van parked out behind the store, and he led her there, still not talking, not releasing her hand, as if afraid she might disappear if he let her go. The van was covered all over with bumper stickers and decals, and seeing it gave her that familiar feeling again. She knew this van, and she knew this boy.

Didn’t she?

She wondered if he got lots of girls by working at the record store, if women went willingly to his van all the time. Women he’d just met. Women he’d flirted with over talk of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.

‘How long do you have off?’ she asked, giving him one last way to back out. He could say there was no time. He could call a rain check.

‘Just enough,’ he told her, nodding his head, his long hair falling forward. God, he was hot-looking. In school, she had always liked the boys with long hair, and the eye make-up, and the lipstick, although he only had the liner around his amazing eyes, dark kohl pencil that made his eyes look even larger. With his dyed-black hair, he was definitely a Goth head, she could tell, one of those who treated The Cure like gods, and he proved her correct as soon as he slipped inside the front seat and turned on the radio, and pressed in the waiting tape.

The Cure followed her wherever she went. Lyrics for every occasion. Her heart lifted as one of her favorites poured from the speakers, ‘The Perfect Girl.’

The boy reached for her, as Robert Smith sang: ‘You’re such a strange girl, I think you come from another world …’ and she found herself unable to think for a moment, lost in the way the boy’s hands felt on her. They were tentative at first, then more powerful as she responded with such ease to his touch. This was intense, the way he held her, the way he kissed her, starting with her fingertips, then flipping her palm face up and kissing slowly to her wrist. She trembled. She’d always had extremely sensitive wrists. How had the boy known that?

Was she really going to do this? Act on a fantasy? Well, why not?

In her entire life, she’d never had a dream in which she’d actually been allowed to sleep with the man. She’d always woken up at the last minute, or watched as a friend walked off with the man of her fantasies. This would definitely be one way to prove whether she was sleeping or not. If she didn’t wake up at the crucial moment, or if Violet didn’t suddenly appear to abscond with the handsome lad, then she could be sure she wasn’t asleep.

Leaning back against the window, she looked at him, seeing his serpentine-green-streaked hair, certain still that she were dreaming. Then he said, ‘I have to tell you something,’ and she thought: here it comes. He’s going to confess that he would rather fuck Violet. Or my mom. And then Chelsea will pop out of the back of the van wearing Mickey Mouse ears, and I’ll wake up naked and late for my Spanish final.

But he said, ‘When you walked through that door, I got hard immediately.’

She squirmed in the seat, surprised by his words. More than surprised, she was instantly turned on.

‘And then when you met my eyes, I thought I was going to come right there, behind the cash register. You know? There’s something in the way you looked at me that just floored me. I could have punched the keys on the register with my cock, I was so hard.’

Could she have dreamed dialogue like that? She didn’t think so. His words were too raw-sounding to be something she’d created. She felt this constant inner conversation distracting her, her conscience wondering whether this world was real or not. And she wished she could turn down the volume. Then he reached for her hand once more and pressed her palm against the crotch of his jeans, and when Dori cradled the heft there, she was the one to groan.

‘You see?’ he asked, and she nodded and thought nothing had ever felt as real as his cock straining against the front of his jeans.

‘And,’ the boy continued, ‘I felt as if I knew you. But we haven’t met before, have we?’

What an odd conversation to have with her hand on a man’s cock!

Dori shook her head. Shook her head as she bent forward and undid the shiny copper buttons of his fly. He settled back against his seat now, watching her. She was infinitely aware of every sensation. The sound of the cars pulling in and out of the parking lot around them. The sulfur-yellow lamps throughout the lot. The smell of the van, a combination of spicy cinnamon from Big Red gum – she could see the bright red paper wrappers and silver foil remnants scattered around the floor – and cigarette smoke – there were butts spilling out of the ashtray, many of them adorned with a dark scarlet lipstick. She could smell the rubber of the battered black floor mats, see glittering bits of sand and tiny pebbles stuck into the grooves.

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