The Ivy (18 page)

Slut-faced whore!

Callie suddenly realized that Matt was holding the pipe, looking at her expectantly. Annoyed, she accepted, hesitated, and wondered how you were supposed to light the damn thing before thrusting it in Vanessa’s face, which was currently hovering obnoxiously close to Gregory’s.

“Oooh,
thanks
!” Vanessa cooed without even turning to look at her. “Gregory, would you do me the honor?”

“Sure thing, darlin’,” he answered, holding it for her with one hand and lighting it with the other.

In the meantime things were starting to get a little weird over on the other couch. Matt, who apparently thought he was being funny, cried: “Look, guys! I can breathe underwater!” before submerging his entire head in the gigantic bowl of popcorn, sending buttery kernels soaring around the room.

This sent OK and Mimi into a fit of hysterics until German techno-pop started playing on the iPod shuffle:
Oh, du mein touch privaten Raum, wo ich mein Herz . . .

Callie was struggling to recall the name of the song when OK leaped to his feet and roared:

“HANSEL EBERHARDT, HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE? WHERE ARE YOU HIDING? COME OUT AND FIGHT, YOU TIGHT-PANTS-WEARING SEX GOD!” In a frenzy he raced around the room, lifting pillows off the couch and peering under the coffee table, searching, apparently, for the “Techno Prince of Europe.”

Amused, Mimi started yelling, “OK! Relax! He is not actually in here. It is just his band—Sexy Hansel—playing on the iPod.”

“Oh!” said OK, clapping his hand across his forehead. “I mean, yeah, I knew that. Just don’t like this song is all . . . thought I’d change it if nobody minds?”

“Sissy,” Mimi muttered wickedly.

“What’d you just say!” cried OK, jumping as if somebody had just shot a surprise enema up his ass.

“I
said
that you are a
sissy
.” Mimi laughed. “Similar meaning to ‘wimp,’ ‘fairy,’ and ‘pussy’? I looked it up today on UrbanDictionary dot com!” she finished proudly.

Shaking her head, Callie regretted the day she had elected to tell Mimi about UrbanDictionary.com.

Still rattled, OK settled back onto the couch. Mimi patted him on the knee and reached to take the pipe from Gregory’s outstretched hand. Nobody seemed the least bit concerned that Matt’s head was still submerged in the popcorn bowl like an ostrich burrowed in the sand.

Vanessa was swaying to the music, a vacant expression in her eyes until, catching sight of Matt, she started to scream,
“OH MY GOD! Matt! What happened to his HEAD?”

Gregory started snickering, but Vanessa was on the verge of tears.

“What—what happened to it? It’s not attached to his body! Where did it go! Is he still . . .
alive
?” she stammered, recoiling from what Callie realized in some bizarre marijuana world might look like a body without a head. Clearly she wasn’t as high as the rest of them.

“Uhguh-chughuh-tawy-aetma-wee-oot!” came Matt’s muffled response from deep inside the bowl.

“What!?” cried Vanessa, clinging to Gregory for comfort.

“He said he is going to try to eat his way out,” said Mimi, a deadpan expression on her face. “Really, Vanessa, I thought you said you
know
how to speak French. . . .”

“Mais non, elle n’a pas la sophistication,”
Gregory offered as he patted Vanessa’s head (which she was resting on his shoulder), a bored expression in his eyes.

“I thought you spoke Spanish?” Callie shot at him.

“
Oui, Caliente, je parle les deux
. And Italian, Chinese, Japanese, and Arabic, in addition to a perfunctory knowledge of Latin and Greek. What?” he added as she looked at him, incredulous. “Surprised to learn I’m more than just a pretty face?”

“You
don’t
speak all those languages, my little California football champion?” OK asked obnoxiously from the couch. “Everybody knows you need at least Chinese or Japanese for business, Latin and Greek to pass boarding school, Arabic if you’re ever tapped by the CIA, French and Italian if you’re ever in love, and Spanish if you want them to get things right in the burrito you order from Felipe’s when you’re shit-faced at two
A.M.
”

“Amen to that!” Gregory and OK did a fist pound, and Mimi stared at them in awe, no doubt wondering if she had just witnessed new material to add to her high-five repertoire.

Suddenly Matt’s head shot out of the popcorn bowl. “I’ve had a vision!” he cried, springing to his feet and running toward his room.

“Of what?” asked Mimi, giggling as OK slid his arm around her shoulders. “Trans fats and the color yellow?”

“Need pen and paper!” came the muffled reply. He emerged moments later holding a notebook covered with doodles and drawings. “Sometimes when I’m high, I like to write poetry. . . .” he said, a serious expression settling across his face.

“Sometimes when I’m high,” started OK, also looking serious, “I think that I’ve grown a third ball. I look down and I see three glorious fucking testicles just floating around like I’m the king of the fucking sperm gods. But then,” he continued, his face falling a little, “a few hours later I look down again and realize that it was all just a beautiful, beautiful dream. . . .”

Ew, thought Callie as Mimi dissolved into laughter. For some reason Callie still wasn’t feeling high at all, and she felt like the only sane person in a room full of idiots. She didn’t think she could stand it much longer: Matt’s bad poetry, OK’s third ball, Mimi’s tendency to lapse into French, or Vanessa resting her head on Gregory’s broad, muscular shoulder as if she were about to fall asleep—

“I’m leaving,” she said, standing up and feeling miserable at the prospect of returning to Hawthorne’s
Scarlet Letter
and the odd smacking sounds of inexperienced kissing drifting from Dana’s enclave of romance.

“What?” asked Gregory, turning so abruptly that Vanessa’s head fell off his shoulder. “And leave me here to pine for you, heartbroken and alone?” He leaned over the couch, reaching his arms out dramatically as if he were trying to pull her back.

Callie struggled to suppress a smile. “It’s not you guys—it’s me. I’m just not feeling it. . . .”

“No, no, no,” said Gregory, shaking his head. “I know it’s been said that not every girl can come during her first time, but
every
girl always comes with me.” Mimi and OK started to laugh, and even Matt looked up from his notepad on which he’d been scribbling. Callie did her best to look stern. The truth was, in spite of everything, his words had sparked a tiny fire in the region a few inches below her belly button—a flame that not even Vanessa’s sleepy, pouty expression had the power to extinguish.

Even when they were almost entirely pupils, Gregory’s eyes still made her feel like she was Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole—especially when they took on that grave expression. “But seriously, Callie,” he said, “you should have piped up earlier. There are definitely other ways that we can make it work.”

“Other positions we can try,” OK chimed in.

“Oh no—” said Matt, biting the edge of his pen. “You guys aren’t planning to—”

“HOT BOX THE BATHROOM!” OK and Gregory yelled simultaneously.

“Again,” Matt finished feebly. “Last time it smelled in there for days.”

“Which would actually be an improvement to its usual smell,” Mimi said delicately, “if I might weigh in on the matter.”

“Dibs on the Jacuzzi!” OK cried, leaping to his feet. “Care to take a bath, my dear?” he added, turning toward Mimi.

“Veto!” cried Gregory. Standing behind Callie, he placed his hands on her waist and guided her toward the bathroom. “
Caliente
and I reserved it weeks ago. Bad luck, buddy.”

“Oh, shut up, both of you,” said Mimi, walking into the bathroom. She slammed both the windows shut, ripped back the shower curtain, and turned the water on
hot
. OK, Callie, and Gregory piled in behind her, and Gregory closed the door. Matt stayed on the couch, engrossed in his poetry, and Vanessa had actually fallen asleep sometime between the words
positions
and
hot box
.

Soon enough the room was thick with steam. Gregory repacked the pipe and held it to Callie’s lips, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“That’s it . . . breathe deeply now. . . ,” he encouraged. As she exhaled, the smoke mingled with the steam. She didn’t cough this time, and her head was actually feeling much lighter . . . maybe it was the heat.

“Another one, just for good measure?” she asked, smiling at Gregory. He grinned in return and relit the pipe.

Meanwhile OK was filling the “Jacuzzi” and Mimi was perched on the toilet, singing Edith Piaf’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” and verifying for them all why singing was not one of her many talents. As she sang, Mimi noticed a bottle of pink bubble bath resting on the side of the tub and lifted it questioningly.

“A gift for the room from Matt’s mom,” OK explained. Mimi nodded and started pouring the entire contents of the bottle into the tub as she began to hum Simon and Garfunkel’s classic ode to cougars.

Callie felt like the fog in the bathroom had moved inside her head: it was as if in slow motion she watched OK remove his shirt, revealing ebony skin and sharply defined abdominals.

“Wahooooo!” cried Mimi. “Take it
off
!”

Obediently OK removed his pants. Mimi clapped her hands. To Callie’s surprise—and Mimi’s apparent delight—he didn’t stop there: in under three seconds his white boxer briefs were lying in a pile with the rest of his clothes. Before Callie could even start to feel embarrassed, he had hopped into the tub: concealed by a sea of strawberry-scented bubbles.

“Your turn, Mimi, dear!” he yelled, suds splashing.

Callie giggled as Mimi also started to remove her clothing. When she was down to her boy shorts and bra, she jumped into the tub. Callie glanced at Gregory and was pleased to find him staring at her instead of Mimi.

“Let’s just chill over here,” Gregory said to Callie’s vague disappointment, spreading a fluffy blue towel across the cold tile floor and motioning for her to sit.

She obeyed him readily and plopped down onto the towel, amazed at just how
fluffy
it really was . . . and how
blue
, too. She ran her fingers over it, up and down, up and down, marveling that her
fingers
were actually attached to her
hands
that were touching this towel that was so
fluffy
and
blue
. . . .

“This is great,” Gregory said as Mimi and OK squealed and splashed, sitting down next to her so that their shoulders were touching and she could feel the warmth of his skin through her thin T-shirt. The little blond hairs on her arm started to stand on end and she suddenly felt cold . . . then shivery and hot. . . . Wait a minute—did he just say something?

“What . . .” she asked, rubbing her arm, “what . . . did you say?”

“Oh,” said Gregory, staring at his hands. “I just said that this is great—you know: us getting some time to hang out like this. We should do it more often.”

“What—smoke pot?”

“No,” he said, “just hang out. Talk about books or something. You know, whatever.”

Am I high or is he being serious right now? she wondered. A little shiver ran down her spine.

“Are you—are you
cold
?” Gregory asked as the hot steam swirled around them.

“No . . .” she said, shivering again. Suddenly she felt his arm slide around her shoulders, pulling her close to his body.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he whispered, and rather than reacting in horror that her mortal enemy Gregory Sleazebag Bolton was trying to touch her, all she could feel was pleasant and content, like this position was totally natural for two people who generally behaved like they despised each other.

In the meantime it appeared that OK had sprouted his “magical” third ball.

“Mimi!” he was insisting, waving aside the bubbles. “Mimi, come on! You’ve got to take a look at this!”

“Okay, OK.” She sighed. “But
only
for clinical purposes.” She peered down through the translucent water.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, waving the bubbles back into place, “I can
see
only two, but that certainly does not mean there is not a third one somewhere else. . . .”

“Oh, shit,” said Gregory. “I think somebody got way, way too high . . . damn. I
told
him that if he didn’t slow down he was going to green out later on.”

“Green out?” asked Callie, blinking and struggling to concentrate on what was happening around her when all she could feel was the weight of him around her shoulders and that
hand
caressing her bare arm.

“Like black out but for weed? That’s clever,” she murmured stupidly.

“OH, MY SWEET JESUS!” OK roared suddenly, leaping to his feet for the second time that night as Mimi leaned back. “SOMEBODY’S TAKEN MY THIRD BALL AND HIDDEN IT IN THE ALLEY. IF I DON’T GET IT BACK TONIGHT, THEY’RE GOING TO BOMB THE ENTIRE CITY!”

“OK . . .” Mimi started.

“NO!” he cut in. “NO! IF I DON’T GET IT BACK TONIGHT, NONE OF YOU—I REPEAT, NONE OF YOU—WILL LIVE!”

With that he sloshed out of the tub and flung open the bathroom door, giving them all a generous view of his glorious, royal rear. Mimi sighed, stood, and reached for a towel. Turning to Gregory and Callie, who were still sitting on the floor, she said, “Now I am better understanding the meaning of the phrase ‘tripping
balls
.’”

Gregory laughed. “I should go put him to bed,” he said, getting to his feet.

No, don’t go—

“Come on,
Caliente
,” he added, holding out both hands. She took them and he pulled her up toward him. They were only a few inches apart now, and he had yet to let go of her hands—

At that moment Vanessa appeared in the bathroom doorway, rubbing her eyes and looking confused.

“Guys, I fell asleep and had a dream that a large black man was running naked through a field and then there was a big slam that sounded like a door—”