Every single night / I endure the flight / Of little wings of white-flamed Butterflies in my brain / These ideas of mine / Percolate the mind / Trickle down the spine / Swarm the belly, swelling to a blaze / That's when the pain comes in / Like a second skeleton / Trying to fit beneath the skin / I can't fit the feelings in / Every single night's alight with my brain
Helga walks down the steps of Phoebe's brown stone, quickly sidestepping a drenched adolescent carrying a monkey wrench. Across the street a cop and two fire fighters are recapping a hydrant. A small group of soaked teenagers and parents stand around heckling them.
"Remind you of when we were kids?" Phoebe smiles.
Helga, distracted by a familiar looking man with one hand deep within a trash bin, is slow to respond, "hmm? Yeah I guess."
There's something about the shape of the man's balding head that catches her attention.
" Hey do you recognize that guy?" She asks pointing. The man, who she assumes is homeless, is now fully engrossed with the contents inside the trash bin. His upper torso is bent at the waist and his head is concealed by it's darkness.
Phoebe faces forward her smile dimming at the sight. She leans over to respond when the man rears up from his trash, taking note of them.
"Oh look! It is little half Asian girl, hello little half Asian girl… Ph - obe eh?"
He's filthy. His long straggly hair lies like a greasy ring around his head. His clothes, an old worn out suit, is covered in dark stains and holes, the left pant leg teared to shreds at the cuff. He look's emaciated. The suit jacket, which he wears without a shirt, dwarfs his chest and amplifies his protruding red belly.
"Hi Mr. Kokoschka." Phoebe says her hands already digging around in her purse. She drops what she finds into his open waiting hand.
Helga blinks. 'Kokoschka?' she thinks. Why was the name so familiar, or that nervous laugh, or the way he stood knees bent, posture terrible with that stupid nasty grin on his face. And then it hits her. This man used to live in the same house as… She stops unable to finish the thought.
This creep lived with him. She remembers now. He was always calling her ugly and other less favorable things, 'The little shit' she thinks eyes narrowing.
The guy was barely on her radar when she was young, a blip of an asshole in her asshole filled life. But she had always connected him with her past beloved, as another testament to his unending patience.
He had defended this man as a part of his family. The patience shown to the infuriating Czech had often made her feel guilty. She could barely be in the same room as her sister, but that wonderful little orphaned boy had enough room in his heart to defend that louse as part of his clan. So why in the hell was he now on the streets?
"Oh you're too kind Ph-obe, too kind…"
Kokoschka counts his change and then raises his yellow grin to address them again.
"You don't have a little more? You see my left femur isn't so good" He whines touching his neck. Phoebe hooks Helga's arm nudging her forward, the correct location of the left femur whispered under her breath.
Oscars, screws up his face a look of recognition crossing his sunburned features. They're already walking past him when he calls out, "Hey I know you!"
Helga, embarrassed and confused at her reaction, rights her head and looks away.
"You're Arnold's ugly little girlfriend! Yes, with the unibrow, all grown and pretty. Hey, he he complements is not free hehe yes hehe! Come on just a little more money? For my femur!"
Helga's heart beats in her ears. His girlfriend, hah, like they had even gotten that close.
His voice fades as they round the corner and Helga, distracted by the wild rhythm in her chest, almost collides into a group of old men playing dominoes. She rights herself on the corner of their plastic table and then straightens. She walks quickly on too embarrassed to apologies.
"Sorry" Phoebe says for her.
"No problem Chiquita anything for a pretty face!"
"Que bonita" and "God bless" the old men call before returning back to their game.
"God I hate old perverts like that" Helga growls, trying to distract from her awkward moment.
"Oh come on Helga their harmless, in fact I find their brand of male chauvinism endearing. It's much better than the obscenities you hear from construction workers, or Mr. Kokoschka for that matter. Their 'cat calling' it's almost reverential."
Helga fidgets, "Yeah whatever." She pauses then whips around to face Phoebe. "What's the deal with Mr. Kokoschka being a bum" She laughs nervously, "I mean he's always been a bum, but what, he just decided one day to live on the street? What's the story?" She rambles unnerved at the visceral reaction she's just endured. There was no reason for her to give two shits if Kokoschka fulfilled his true potential, or lack there of.
"Oh um, well I heard from Gerald that Arnold kicked him out, but that was a while ago now." Phoebe offers up with a shrug.
"What!?" Helga says whirling around.
Realizing her reaction is disproportional she turns away, crosses her arms, and continues to walk.
"I mean that doesn't sound like old football head. I mean he used to consider that guy his family right, I mean you remember." She says, praying her voice sounds normal, detached.
Phoebe sighs mirroring Helga's posture. "Yeah well things change."
There's a pause. Helga walks with her head bent and Phoebe waits for the next question.
"Is he that different?" She asks her face still tilted to the ground.
"Well Helga we're all different, aren't we?" Phoebe says a philosophical lilt to her speech.
" Apparently he'd been loafing off them for a considerable amount of time, his wife had left him, and he wasn't making any money. I feel sorry for the man but a person can only be so charitable."
Helga's eyes knit together her expression set against the golden rise of evening.
"Yeah" she says her voice a little far away, "I guess so."
For some reason that she won't decipher the run in with the now homeless Mr. Kokoschka has unnerved her. Her mood, which had been apprehensive at best, has plummeted to downright agitated.
She was nervous before hand and now it's taking all her energy to ignore this fact. The night, which is not really yet night, is filled with happy couples, screaming children, and drunk nine to fivers taking advantage of the late to set sun.
The cool evening breeze isn't calming and every pair of lovers she sees only makes her frown deepen.
'Maybe I should've let Coulee come with me' she randomly thinks then balks at how stupid a thought that was. Like she, Helga G Pataki, needed an arm to hold her steady.
'Don't be weak' she chastises silently, ' It's just a bunch of dorks you used to know, and…"
She still can't admit that this will be hard. Her little reaction from earlier is testament enough that she's not yet ready to face… him. It's frustrating, she is frustrated beyond belief, because she was over him, is over him, but never the less she still finds it difficult to navigate the complexity that is her feelings for... Arnold.
This infuriating past love is engrained in her in more ways than one. Her notion of something she concocted and the actual person, are confounded, compacted, and buried deep within her psyche, and this makes it all the more harder to admit that he, or the memory of him still holds sway over things inside her.
Boston was lonely, so she missed him, of course, and then Tina left and… So at first, yeah, it had been hard. He was a part of the life that had been wrenched so unceremoniously from her adolescent hands. Arnold had been her passion for so many years, her everything really, and without him, without friends, without the small amount of acceptance and love he and the crew gave her, she withered. She became hollow inside.
Middle school had been a hell, not that she was special in that regard. Yet she felt specifically martyred. Her world became scenes that she lived in shades of grey. Without the combative spitfire side of her character she crumbled inward. Her social presence disappeared with her combative spunky nature. She became a figment, a ghost. At times not even her teachers could remember her name. Her literature professor Mr. Freed paid attention only because her notebooks were filled to the brim with disturbing ink drawings of melting footballs and hearts, bad poems on love and "the dried up well behind her eyes".
That's when she wrote most of her now famous book, in her tortured moments between classes. Just little disjointed scribbles between the bad poems and ugly drawings.
'God I was such an emo kid' she thinks while absently chatting with Phoebe.
'Shit, I was the original emo kid'.
She almost laughs, but shakes her head instead, not wanting to let Phoebe in on the joke. They turn another street corner and she takes notice of a flickering streetlight, almost ready to light the oncoming night.
So I'm gonna try to be still now / Gonna renounce the mill a little while and / If we had a double-king-sized bed / We could move in it and I'd soon forget / That what I am is what I am cause I does what I does / And maybe I'd relax, let my breast just bust open / My heart's made of parts of all that surround me / And that's why the devil just can't get around me / Every single night's alright, every single night's a fight / And every single fight's alright with my brain
After the worst, after that night, things changed. Arnold was no longer the deepest ache, or the freshest wound. He was and old wound yes, and maybe still, but he was an innocent mark that she no longer minded. He had nothing to do with the wound she made herself later on. Maybe she had thought of him, maybe she had remembered his sweet boyish face as she drifted off, but she doesn't see why that should matter. It didn't change what happened next or helped in her recovery. Really she's not sure where she'd be today if she hadn't made a friend. Or if Ace, the first person not from her past to give two shits about her, decided she wasn't worth it.
Ace Hiroyama saved her hide. There was no doubt about it. Even now she is unable to express just how cataclysmic a moment it was when Ace walked in and sat down beside her. For reasons unknown to her even now Ace thought she was worth it.
She hadn't made it easy. Hell, she was a downright bitch, but back then she didn't really know how to make friends, even if she desperately wanted one.
'Ace Bandage' she'd call herself when Helga was being difficult. She was the one to mold her into a semi acceptable human being. Without her, she would've gone down the road of anti social cretin, probably even psychopath. Thanks to her she could speak to people without insulting them, enter a room without disappearing.
'In fact, you know what ol' brain I'm fine, I'm not the little shit head delinquent I was before. I can spend a few hours at a party for fuck sake!" she tries once again to calm her rolling stomach.
'Shit I'm just cranky from waking up so darn early' she thinks rubbing her sweaty palms on the back of her pants. 'No other explanation, It's not like I give two shits about seeing Rhonda or whoever else is gonna be there'.
Unfortunately for Helga her internal reassuring isn't really working. No matter how hard she tries she can't trick herself. She's nervous and that's all there is to it.
As she continues to walk the cracked pavement of her old home she allows Phoebe's voice to take over as she drifts further and further into a moody silence.
By the time they reach the warehouse district the sun is a deep red and Helga is completely withdrawn, a war being waged just behind her irises.
Phoebe pauses in her long-winded description on democracy's violent beginnings and exploitation of the proletariat to eye her old friend. She smirks and shakes her head.
'Oh Helga are you easy to read'. She thinks, noting Helga's stiff but slouched posture.
She never understood how others could be so blind. To her Helga was an open book. A quick glance at her stance, the way she phrased a bighting comeback, a momentary slip of the tongue made her all the easier to read her.
Phoebe sighs briefly touching the necklace Gerald gave her last Christmas. Maybe she is more aware of such things, yet it always perturbed her that people could be so ignorant of the details. To her it has always been where the truth lies.
"So Helga, you excited to see everyone?" She begins gently, drawing Helga out of herself.
Helga blinks as if she hasn't heard, but then she glances down at her friend and lets out a loud characteristic scoff, her hand waving agitated across her face. "Pshh, come on Phoebes! This isn't a bad 80s movie, it's not like I'm 30 and a struggling writer worrying that I won't measure up to everyone and their stupid careers."
Phoebe chances a grin that she covers with her hand, but Helga's caught on to her.
"You're a sneaky little brat and I hate you." She grumbles as they turn another corner.
Phoebe hadn't asked if she was nervous, she didn't need to in order to get to the quick of the matter.
"So I'm nervous so what! I got a right… I mean they've all probably read that stupid book. They're gonna judge me and make fun of me and, and, why did I let you drag me to this thing!" Helga screams flailing.
Phoebe laughs catching onto a wild gesturing hand and squeezes it. "No one's going to make fun of you Helga. We're not in grade school anymore! And besides I'm sure anyone who speaks out of turn will get a mouthful of fist sandwich. Am a right?" Phoebe giggles swinging Helga's sweating fingers.
"Yeah you're right." Helga says half-heartedly.
Helga stops abruptly and pulls Phoebe in for a hug. The contact is rough and Helga, her head resting on Phoebe's, says sternly "Your not leaving me alone in there got it."
"Well I was going to find-"
"You're not going to leave me"
"But Helga"
"No leaving"
Phoebe sighs patting Helga on the back. "No leaving"
Helga lets go unceremoniously her head picking up to a loud booming sound. As they walk on the echoing gets louder ricocheting of the squat buildings and into their ears.
"Let me guess the house blasting Kanye is where we're going" Helga deadpans.
"What an astute observation" Phoebe snarks back with a smile.
Rhonda's house is a block away from the docks and the only one that is not a cement building meant for storage. As they get closer Helga checks the massive brownstone townhouse and snorts. "Of course" she says and Phoebe titters again. "Yes it is quite handsome, I'm particularly fond of this period of architecture," She says looking up at the old red brick.
A distorted number of drunken teenagers loiter on the stoop. Phoebe smiles, waving to a few, but doesn't stop to introduce her, and for this she's glad.
Helga can already see the crowds past Rhonda's heavy glass doors. Her heart rate picks up again and her hands begin to hurt. She's not good with people, or crowds, or reunions.
Phoebe pushes the front door open and she follows her into small room before another door. There are piles of shoes climbing the walls and jackets thrown willy-nilly. Helga can feel the terror rising. "I'm not taking off my shoes" she quips. Phoebe rolls her eyes.
"Okay I texted her."
They wait for a moment in silence, the loud cacophony of screaming teenagers settling between them. 'You're fine Helga, you're a Pataki, you're not afraid of anything, and most importantly you are not the same girl as before and you're going to prove it to them!' Helga tells herself in a last ditch effort to quell her rising panic.
You want a part of me / You want the whole thing / You want to feel something more than I could ever bring / You want it badly / You want it tangled / I want to feel something more than I was strangled
A distorted figure dressed in white and red walks languidly to the front doors and pauses dramatically before swinging them open.
"Helga Dahling!"
Rhonda bursts through the doors, a flurry of red and white that tumbles toward Helga at top speed. She pulls her in for a short arm hug, her elbows digging into Helga's sides.
"Oh my lord and don't you look fetching!" she says pushing herself away to get a better look at her.
Helga takes the chance to better judge the ridiculous outfit Rhonda has on. Her shorts are red and high wasted, her ass almost falling out at the bottom, and in place of a shirt, she's wearing a white tasseled Capulet that just hides an American flag bikini top. Helga almost blanches at the ensemble but manages to don a fake smile instead.
"Thanks" She spits out.
Rhonda whips her now long hair behind her, and gives a dismissive hello to Phoebe, before turning back to her honored guest.
"Come in, come in." she coos dragging Helga forward into the front hall.
"So this is my humble abode." Rhonda says a hand resting on a mahogany banister.
"Uh it's ni-"
"Oh my god Helga, I cannot believe you're here right now. Look at you. Why don't you have a Facebook? This is just too shocking." Rhonda interrupts waving a hand full of fake nails at Helga's appearance.
Helga's about to respond when Rhonda lets out a short shriek rushing toward her and taking her hands. "Oh my god Helga I just cannot believe what a super star you are! I must introduce you to everyone."
Rhonda's obviously hopped up on something. Helga's stomach does another roll, and she braves a glance at Phoebe, whose searching eyes are scanning the next room for her boyfriend.
Rhonda, noticing this smiles demurely and turns, "If your looking for that fashionable little man of yours I saw him in the upstairs lounge with Nadine." Rhonda's eyes narrow suggestively and Phoebe takes a glance upwards.
Helga is almost shocked at the obvious manipulation, but just shakes her head, and gives Phoebe one last desperate eyeball before giving up completely.
'So much for no leaving' Helga sighs, and gives a short nod to Phoebe, who grins and begins sprinting up the stairs.
" I'm just going to collect Gerald and I'll be right back." She says to Helga, already racing up the stairs.
"So how bout' a tour?"
She wants it hallow / She wants it tainted / She wants to feel something more than she was naked / You want to hide away / You're scared to touch it / I want to feel something more than I care to take
Rhonda's already pulling her away from the banister and toward the living room. Helga audibly gulps at the packed doorway. Something terrible with a mass amount of base is pulsing through the walls and she suddenly has the urge to throw up. She makes a conscious effort to collect herself, and takes a deep breath, concentrating on her breathing before following Rhonda past the open doorway.
Stepping into the next room is like walking into a vacuums sealed bag, there is no oxygen.
The place is filled with tangled sweaty bodies, grinding against their inebriated counter parts. Helga, already feeling the air evaporate around her is disturbed by the amount of people who press in on all sides. The smell of sweat and alcohol makes her nose wrinkle as Rhonda drags her through the undulating waves of sticky skin. She grinds her teeth a heat clawing at her throat. For a wild moment Helga is overcome with the fear that this sea will never end. That the claustrophobia settling over her, surrounding like a cloud that smells of acrid meets soggy and tobacco drowned in bubblegum spit, will be as ever present as the fog over LA.
I fell in love with the sweet sensation / I gave my heart to a simple chord / I gave my soul to a new religion / Whatever happened to you? / Whatever happened to our rock'n'roll?
"For fuck's sake get a hold of yourself." She says to her chest, an unchained hand striking out as another body stumbles too close her. Helga's always been a girl who enjoys her personal space. This moment is almost unbearable. She's on the verge of a panic attack when the sea breaks. Her head crests above the crowd and Rhonda pulls her up onto mauve, horrible abused, velvet couch.
From this vantage point she can see just how crowded the room really is. Her eyes reach back to the front hall, uncluttered in comparison to the floor of bobbing heads before her.
'All right Helga, look for exit strategies' She thinks scanning the large room.
The room is shaped in an awkward T, the mass of bodies molded by its shape. The denser section, of which she had just traversed, lies directly in front of her. To the right, the top of the T, a game of beer pong is being played. Two bald kids with bullet belts appear to be losing to a pair of girls in ironic pink leotards.
At least she prays they're ironic.
Helga's throat constricts a little more and she silently curses Phoebe for leaving her so quickly.
'I mean come on, the least she couldah done was stuck it out with me till I got my bearings.' She thinks, pulling her hair tie off and undoing her thick braid to deftly tie her long locks off her already sweating neck. She loathes the idea of having to do social gymnastics with a bunch of drunken idiots she's never met before.
You know you never decide. / Why you can't trust their lies. / It's so much pain you can't describe. / There's got to be another reason for living.
Her eyes jump back to the left where Rhonda stands, or struggles to in her ridiculous platform heels. She rolls her eyes and looks on past to the rest of the room. Back farther the crowd tapers off to what looks like a drink table, before extending into another room. Helga lets out a sigh of relief.
"Bingo" she says to no one in particular. ' Now I just gotta find a pathway outah this mess.'
Before she can make a move a prickling sensation causes her to look back up. Back to the oasis, near what she assumes is the kitchen, a flash of eyes peer at her from behind glasses. She frowns, unable to make out his features in the dim light of the next room. He is tall with light colored hair, that's about all she can gather so she turns back to the task at hand. She's focused on nudging some faceless blond with her foot to free up some space when Rhonda cuts the music.
"Shit," she whispers, 'there goes my grand escape'. She straightens, turning back to Rhonda who is addressing the now disgruntled crowd.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, or should I say whores, and well, whores" the crowd laughs and hoots throwing up a few fingers. Helga groans.
"I've got a few announcements to make so listen up!"
Rhonda firmly puts her hands on her hips and takes another wobbly step up onto the couch's armrest. Helga instinctively puts a hand out to steady her but quickly retrieves it embarrassed. What did she care if Rhonda fell on her over attention seeking ass?
'Prolly be funny' she thinks crossing her arms.
"First order of business" Rhonda rapid fires, " a little bit about waste removal. Vomiting should always, if possible, take place outside of the house. Let me stress this further. If you even think about blowing chunks on my floor, furniture, or god help you, inside my closets, well, I'll cut you" she says simply, giving a demure shrug of her shoulders before continuing, "If you see your friends about to blow chunks and do nothing I will cut you. If you Have to vomit and don't want to be cut I suggest you find a toilet, sink, bathtub, or open-air environment. Oh also" She quickly pulls up a jewelry encrusted finger and points distractedly at a random number of her guests. " I don't want anyone seizing or overdosing so best buds watch each other." She says wagging her appendage.
"Okay smokers," A moan of disapproval rises up from the crowd but Rhonda waves it away with a flick of her hand.
"Shut it, you know I love you, hell I'm am one of you but I don't love cleaning up ash from the floor the next morning. So take it outside or find an empty bottle." She quips, checking her nails before breaking into a creepily enchanting smile.
Helga can feel her heartbeat quicken. Something's up, all her nerves pull to the edge and she feels beads of sweat stand out on her brow.
She wants your image / She wants your kiss / She wants to get inside your head and tell it like it is / You want it badly / You want it so complete / I want to feel something more cos I can't fuckin' breathe
"And last but certainly not least, ladies and gentlemen I would like to introduce to you the guest of honor."
'Oh Hell no' Helga thinks, frantically trying to find a way down.
"The author of everyone's favorite new block buster book, the bullies pink ribbon, and my personal friend..."
She all but dropkicks some chick in sequins… but it's to late.
"Helga G. Pataki!"
…and the crowd goes wild…
There is a reason why she had declined to have her image on the dust jacket of her book. Her publisher had begged her, all but got on her knees to get Helga to agree to a photo, but in the end she had firmly refused. She just didn't like the idea of people knowing what she looked like. Hell, it had been hard enough to publish the damn thing in her name, let alone add her mugshot to the mix.
It's not like she thought she was disguising her identity to those who knew her. Sure she had other reasons for declining, but mainly she just wasn't interested in the hassle of being recognized by strangers. She wasn't interested in fame in that sense. She liked the idea of extra cash and prestige but at the time hadn't even entertained the notion of having either. That's not why she wrote. It certainly wasn't why she wrote the book. For her a picture was unnecessary. Her words were portrait enough.
So it pained her to be outed like this, even if she had outed herself earlier today on national television. At least that program was for the old and boring. People she probably wouldn't be at a party with. Luckily it seemed Phoebe's estimation had been a little high, and while some people recognized her from the program, most seemed surprised by her appearance.
If they had seen the program they didn't let on, choosing to repeat how "hot" she was, and how they'd imagined someone uglier, like Barb in her book.
Helga, already sensitive about her "looks" was doing her best to ignore the amazingly rude comments. She had to give it up to herself. She hadn't slapped anyone yet.
Rhonda as was expected, ate up the transferred attention like nutter-butters, dragging Helga from inebriated posse to posse. The worst part of the ordeal was the repetition. Each time they stopped it was the same thing. Rhonda would thrust her into a group and she'd have to struggle through introductions, compliments, and the worst, thinly veiled remarks about Arnold, from those who knew him.
Each time Rhonda, at some point, would throw in, "I've known Helga since we were three, isn't that right darling" to which apparently Helga was not meant to respond. She then would continue on, "She used to be such an ugly duckling, but of course you would never guess to look at her now." Once again, she had to give it to herself; there had been no murders yet.
They were on their fourth group of kids and Rhonda had just used her favorite ugly duckling joke. As was the trend, everyone laughed as Helga tried to slip further within herself without appearing completely disconnected.
'Fuck do I need a drink right now' she thinks as Rhonda begins pulling her on to the next destination.
'What the hell was Phoebe talking about, this bitch hasn't changed' she thinks pushing at another massive back. In fact, in Helga's opinion, she seemed to have worsened. Her fall from grace only adding to her insecurities.
'Why am I here' she keeps thinking. 'It's been at least fifteen minutes since I've got here and I've yet to see a single familiar face, and apparently, that's the whole point of this fucking excursion, so what the hell!"
She groans as she nudges through another group of dancing bodies. 'They probably think of me as some Casper the fucking ghost, I'm a figment of the past to them, or a fucking accessory.' She thinks while shooting Rhonda another evil glare.
'Why do I want to see any of them anyway, it's not like they liked me. Not like I ever gave them a reason to...'
She's sweating underneath phoebe's kimono, still stuck in the crowd, and her social reservoir is all but tapped dry. Rhonda's still tugging at her and she wants to rip off her bejeweled hand and make a run for it. She's already feeling transparently despondent and the night's just begun.
While nudging her way through more bodies, some punk, unaware of his flailing dance moves smacks her in the back of the head. The anger that shoots through her is instantaneous. With a growl she whips around ready to rip the insipid green Mohawk from his head. Just as her free hand reaches the idiot she's violently pulled through the rest of the crowd, colliding heavily with Rhonda's back.
"Well if it isn't Helga G. Pataki"
She whirls around, eyes a little wide at the sudden shift in surroundings.
The boy addressing her is dressed all in black, a torn Pogues T-shirt hanging off his wide shoulders. His right hand holds a red plastic cup, a studded cuff wrapped around his wrist. She almost doesn't recognize him. The accent's depleted if not gone completely, and there is little remanence of the gangly hick she remembers from her childhood.
"Stinky Patterson" she says smirking.
"Hot damn, she remembers my name" His voice is soft and syrupy, his cool gaze never wavering.
She can see he's grown into a lady-killer. This boy she left crying by the tree she carved another boys name in. The poetic punk with ripped jeans and oh-so-sexy unwashed hair had once pathetically called her darling in that ridiculously out of place accent of his.
'He grew up handsome.' She thinks remembering that week of fabricated affection.
' But he's still got that beak' she smiles, a little pleased that his appendage marks him as more interesting than that.
"Hey, Hey Helga, remember me?" A shorter boy to her left buzzes in her peripheral and she's momentarily annoyed until she realizes who it is.
"Sid!" She says surprised. She turns toward him ready to trade pleasantries, when she notes how his eyes are running the length of her body, resting in all the wrong places. Her cheeks color in anger, her momentary cheerful surprise dissipating. He opens his arms for a hug and she stiffly obliges.
She quickly turns back to Stinky, ignoring Sid's eyeballs dropping to her ass.
"So how are ya" Stinky begins his eyes shifting across her face.
"Yeah how's the life of big babe in the city?" Sid adds edging in closer.
Sid apparently, though handsome in his own scummy way, was not as versed in the façade of gentlemanly cool that Stinky was pushing. Not that she was fooled. While Sid might have been obvious, Stinky's act didn't fool her either. Helga frowns. Both of them thought they were hot shots. They both had the studied look of bad boys, with a few conquests between them, but she wasn't impressed. It only depressed her further the way their eyes and body language painted a picture of men who were only interested in one thing, and that one thing certainly wasn't how she was doing.
"Can't complain." She says crossing her arms and effectively breaking Sid's eye line with her bust.
"So what happened to your accent Stink?"
Stinky who had been drinking from his red cup sputters and croaks, "Mah accent?"
"Boy Howdy there it is!" Sid claps letting out a hoot, "He lost it in middle school, kid got mad made fun of" Helga's quick to roll her eyes at Sid's use of slang but he doesn't seem to notice.
"It only comes out when he's a-wooing or too drunk"
"Well I'ma getting there" Stinky says raising the cup back up to his lips while giving Helga a practiced wink.
"Off my booze I might add" Rhonda sniffs. "Well if you two idiots are gonna block the drink table would you at least pour us girls something!"
While Rhonda instructs, Sid turns to Helga hoping to keep her attention.
"So, Helga, Damn girl who would thunk you'd be the one to show us all up." He says giving Helga a playful punch, which comes off as awkward, and an obvious ploy to touch her.
"Yeah… who woulda-" but Sid isn't finished.
"I mean I've even read your book! It was so fuckin' popular my English teacher made it our Final since everyone was reading it already."
Helga has to laugh at that, ' glad to know I'm the lazy teachers go-to.'
"Well thanks Sid."
"Yeah, and I mean if I were Arnold I'd be kicking myself for letting you go, cuz damn, did you grow up fine" He finishes, a large grin plastered on his flushed face.
When she doesn't respond immediately Sid's color turns pail, obviously remembering whom he in fact is speaking to.
She's aware that Rhonda and Stinky are deathly silent, their bodies turned towards, what she's sure they think will be a swift beating.
'yep, boy's got no tact at all.'
She knows what they expect. Knows that if this were ten years ago she'd be cracking the Five Avengers before thrusting Betty into Sid's regretful features. But that wasn't her anymore, not really. Helga was mature enough to admit that she had a violent side, would be the first to make fun of it actually, as it seemed to be what everyone remembers her for.
'But I'm not nine anymore' she thinks.
"Relax Sid. I'm not gonna clobber ya. Look," she says, turning to address Rhonda and Stinky. "I get why everyone thinks the book is autobiographical, but its not" She says, a slight edge to her voice to amplify her sentiment. "The people in the book are just characters who, yes I'll admit, are based off of myself and other people I've known in the past. But Roland is not Arnold, and Barb is not me. So don't go saying shit that'll get ya in trouble." she finishes, patting Sid on the shoulder, effectively scaring shit out of him.
"Wow," Rhonda says, handing her a plastic cup filled with some kind of liquor and juice, "You certainly have changed."
Helga takes a tentative sip an eyebrow quirked at Rhonda's comment as well as the drink.
'shit that's strong…'
"Uh, thanks. I guess." She says taking another swig. She is beginning to think she'll need a few of these this evening.
"Yeah, for a minute there I thought you were gonna tear Sid a new one." Stinky grins, punching Sid roughly in the shoulder.
"Shit man, fuck, I only meant it as a complement" He says sheepishly as he rubs his bruised arm.
"Stick to your day job honey" Rhonda sneers, and Helga joins in Stinky's laughter, glad the tension has been eased.
Helga casts a glance at Rhonda who seems jittery, her hips shifting back and forth. Her pupils are dilated to there fullest and shoot around the room.
"Oh god, I am so over this." She says turning her back to them. Her attention is then caught by some calamity on the other side of the room "Alan Li, don't you dare jump off that!" and then she's gone, her voice and body disappearing back into the crowd.
"So how long you here for Helga?" Sid asks, his eyes red and half lidded.
" I'm actually back for good, or at least four years."
"Oh shit so you're like going to college here?" his face lights up and Helga inwardly cringes. "yeah you know gotta go somewhere." she says distractedly, wondering for the umpteenth time where Phoebe has gotten to.
"Says you" Stinky interrupts lighting a cigarette.
Helga scoffs and graces Stinky with a mocking expression, "Oh and what are your plans big shot? Opening up your own pumpkin patch?"
Stinky rolls his eyes; an expression of hurt crosses his features. She immediately feels bad, 'there goes my big mouth again.' she thinks.
She knows Stinky had always been insecure as a kid, thinking he was good at nothing. She remembers how ridiculously proud he'd been over his massive green thumb. She hadn't meant to belittle that. For a moment she can see the boy underneath all the cigarette smoke and machismo cool.
"Stinky hasn't grown a pumpkin since the city filled in their backyard" Sid offers shooting his friend a slight sympathetic look.
"Mmhmn that's right, it mighta been a dream once but…" he trails off seeming to mentally check himself. He takes a pull of his cigarette and looks away, "I ain't going to school that's for sure. Nah I've been out for at least a year now. Got my GED and my buddy Joey got me a job working construction. Now" he grins, the male bravado pushing out his chest, "I'm rollin' in the dough."
"Well good for you" Helga smiles and for the first time all evening the action is sincere. She's glad one of her old mates is doing well, construction job or not.
"What about you Sid, you going to college?" She asks politely taking another swig of the contents of her cup.
Sid shrugs his shoulders, a light pink tinging his cheeks.
"Uh? Another year at hillwood high?"
Stinky snorts and slaps his knee and Helga tries not to laugh along with him. She's starting to enjoy their dynamic, a nostalgic wave fluttering over her.
"Hey dude, it's not funny" Sid whines, socking stinky in the chest. The taller boy sobers, a flash of violence flaring in his eyes.
"Yo, fuck off man. It's your own damn fault. I already told you to get your GED and come work with me" He says rubbing his solar plexus.
Sid huffs, jabbing a thumb at himself, "Hey man I already got job. Speaking of…" He turns to Helga and runs a hand through his greased black hair, " if you need any party favors tonight" He leans in conspicuously, "look no further, I got your regs, meds and highs, some great stuff from my connect in Cali, uppers downers, mali, and some nice nose candy. Interested?"
Helga is about to respond in the negative when Rhonda breezes into the conversation seemingly from nowhere. "Sid stop trying to sell my guests your shitty drugs." She turns to Helga, wrapping an arm around her waist making her tense. "Honey if you need some yayo I've got some delectable product upstairs, on me of course." She purrs, the whites of her eyes shot through with red and purple.
Then just as quickly she turns to Stinky and screams, "Did I not just say to smoke the fuck outside!" She grabs his burning cigarette and takes a puff and throws it into his drink, "really manners" she says grabbing on to Helga's arm again and pulling her back into the crowd.
"Fuck you Rhonda" the two call in unison, but they're already far off, the crowd blocking them from her view.
"They really are the dullest bunch, but you know I thought you'd like to play catch up. Shall we resume the tour?"
They've reached the front hall and stairway and Helga briefly considers just walking out the door.
'I've made it this far' she thinks
"Sure princess, lead on"
Rhonda smiles "oh you and your nicknames. No one's called me that in ages."
The stairway is littered with stray teens, all of whom need introductions. One girl has seen her on Regis and Kelly but only because she'd spent the morning in the hospital. Helga who can clearly see the girl has been crying refrains from asking the obvious question. Rhonda however is not as discreet.
"Abortion" the girl mutters.
What'd I say to her / Why'd I say it to her / What does she think of me / That I'm not what I ought to be / That I'm what I try not to be / It's got to be somebody else's fault / I can't get caught / If what I am is what I am, cause I does what I does / Then brother, get back, cause my breast's gonna bust open / The rib is the shell and the heart is the yolk and / I just made a meal for us both to choke on / Every single night's a fight with my brain
By the time they reach the top step she's finished her drink and is finally feeling it's woozy affect, yet instead of feeling social, she feels socially allergic. Rhonda flitters around her an erratic mish-mash of insecure nerves. Helga feels almost out of reach to her. The erratic hyperactive energy she exerts shoots right past, leaving a cold distance that Helga finds impossible to breach.
'Innocence fucking lost' she thinks.
"Sorry bout that downer. Marianne is always getting abortions, the little whore, but we love her" she says flippantly, before turning away from her.
The second floor is like a completely separate party. Right off the landing the space opens up into a wide living room stocked with lounge chairs and throw rugs. The space is polluted with pseudo intellectuals apparently discussing the state of the current presidency.
"In there's the think tank." She says turning away from the room. "I'd introduce you but they're kind of a bore. There's a second bathroom back there if you need one and there's another here. She says trotting down the adjacent hallway and tapping a door on her left.
She then turns a massive grin on her face. Opposite the bathroom is what Helga can only guess is Rhonda's room.
"Okay listen, I don't just let anyone in my boudoir, but since we're such old friends," She flips open a mettle lock and fingers the combination. "819, Coco Chanel's birthday, if you want to, you know later on, take a breather or need a private place." She smirks, "to talk, you can come here. Just no hanky-panky on my bed."
Helga suppresses a frown. 'Like the smirk wasn't enough' she thinks.
"Yeah thanks."
Rhonda pulls the lock and turns the knob.
At first glance of Rhonda's inner sanctum, it was clear to Helga that the girl had never gotten used to a life without a maid. Clothes and jewelry, old magazines, makeup, and empty cartons littered every available surface. The room while large, only added to the monstrosity of its messiness. On top of that the place smelt like too many perfumed magazines and something else clawingly feminine.
The only thing Helga could say she envied was the far wall and it's deep-set windows, and the massive four poster bed in the center of the room.
Rhonda ran over to it and fell, rolling around in rumpled satin sheets.
"Ugh the life of a hostess is sooo hard" she says, kicking off her massive platform heels.
"You don't have any bud do you?" Before Helga can say no Rhonda continues, "Oh right, no matter"
Helga enters heading toward the cluttered bureau by the right wall. She leans against it and faces Rhonda, who has sat up, her eyes wide and manic.
"You like my bed?" She says throwing her arms wide. The thing is something out of a dickens novel. Helga shrugs. The black velvet of the canopy cloth is a little heavy for her taste, but she can't deny that it's cool.
"I got it brought over from our house in Italy… before we lost it" She finishes lamely.
There was a short silence. Helga scratches at the bug bite on her elbow. The moment had suddenly turned awkward. Helga has nothing to say and Rhonda seems to be running out of things to show her.
Rhonda sits up further to rest her feet on the ground and Helga decides to try and speak.
"Yeah it's definitely a nice place you got going here. Are you renting or…" She asks for no other reason than to keep the conversation going.
"Oh god no, we're not that poor, who to told you I was renting?" Rhonda scoffs, "Daddy bought this place for me. He thought it would be a good investment. You know being so close to the water. The areas bound to go up in property val….ahhh"
Helga starts. Rhonda who has fallen back on the bed, is wriggling back and forth.
It looks as if she's having a drug-induced seizure and Helga is about to step forward and investigate when a high pitched giggle starts from her mouth.
"Rhonda, what the fuck..."
"Oh my god, please mercy, stop STOP you crazy baboon!"
Helga jumps back as a figure dressed all in black emerges from underneath the petty coat of the massive bed. The man grabs Rhonda's foot once more and continued his torturous tickling.
"You are right to call me a baboon my love for my butt and heart are red with passion for you"
" Ugh you are so disgusting!" She shrieks a laugh in her throat.
"You mean I thrill you! Ah me amore." And with that the couple entangle themselves further. Rhonda letting out shrieks of pleasure while the man bites at her neck and collarbone.
"Uhh" Helga is both weirded out and confused.
Both turn at her utterance. Rhonda's face is flushed, the boy's is full with a manic grin that seems to swallow his face.
Almost immediately the stranger leaps from the bed landing inches from Helga's face.
"What the-"
"Ah so it is the great white shark, the impenetrable fortress mommy, the masked invader Helga, Helga, Helga, the Horrible, back to reclaim her love and crown as queen of the playground!"
The kid's eyes are black pools, his pupils dark voids that eat up the surrounding white. He is painfully skinny and unattractive by popular standards. His over bight and pallid skin stand out against the black grease of his hair. He looks like a cross between Serge Gainsbourg and Buddy Holly she thinks.
'If some crazy scientist ever used their genetics to make a baby...' Then she realizes.
"CURLY!"
Helga's voice jumps an octave in surprise. She pauses and takes a look closer. "What are you on?"
"I am on the moon where I am no longer the Curled Crusader but Thaddeus Gammelthorpe the immaculate antelope running through the vast landscape of love with my beauty." He says throwing his head back at Rhonda who smiles and rolls her eyes.
"Baby how much acid did you take"
Curly pauses then turns half way to reply. "Only 4 my lady since you instructed no less than 2 no more than 5"
I said ONLY 2 because of last time you idiot"
But her voice is surprisingly soft.
"Wow did not see this coming" Helga says aloud.
The couple turns and Curly bounces back over to her.
"But you hoped, I know," He says silencing her with a finger to her lips.
"Because you felt the sting of unrequited love just as much as I"
He hugs her then, his feverish doped up body presses insistently against her. She can feel the twitchy heartbeat, all the sinew strained in his neck against her shoulder where his head rests.
Her lungs cave in, the strange wet mossy smell claws at her throat.
'Personal space. Personal space.'
She steels her spine and sucks in a breath of air. She will not be reactionary.
"Don't get too cozy there soul sister. " She deadpans.
Her hands grasp his shoulders and she slowly pries him off of her. She doesn't yell or act out, the motion is surgical.
"Ah see her walls how they sparkle…" Curly says to no in particular. His hands play in the air between them making Helga lean back farther.
"Down idiot savant"
Rhonda says as she stands and walks over to them.
Curly turns distracted and lunges for Rhonda's feet yet again. She gives a half laugh and half shriek and playfully smacks him on top of his head smiling softly down at him.
Helga's shoulders pinch for some reason.
'Jealous.'
She crosses her arms briefly frowning.
"Don't mind him he's just off on his own trippy little adventure."
Helga forces a smile and shrugs.
"So how'd this happen anyway. I mean Phoebe keeps me moderately updated but she didn't say anything about this".
"Oh well it's a pretty new development" She says letting her hand drift back to Thad's head.
He was playing with the lace of a discarded braw, completely oblivious to the world around him.
"It was so cliché but ridiculously romantic. You know how it goes" She pauses her eyes twitchy and unfocused. She scratches her nose.
" He cornered me at prom and poured his pathetic little heart out. I'd just been in another bad breakup with some handsome bastard and I was tired of being treated like" She stops, her face transforming to a blank sadness.
For a moment Helga can see deep inside the girl in front of her. It's brief but powerful, leaving her with a feeling of sympathy that she is unaccustomed to. But then it's gone and Rhonda is digging into her back pocket.
"And then this little darling" she says pulling Curly to his feet, "Came back into my life and made me see that I was worth something again."
"You're worth all of the stardust in the galaxy!"
"Speaking of stardust" Rhonda grins pulling out the coke from her pocket.
Curly reaches for it but his hand is smacked away. "You can't have any silly." She turns to Helga, "But you can." She winks cheerily walking past Helga to her cluttered vanity where she proceeds to take a seat and quarter off some white, arranging it in two nice concise lines.
"No thanks"
Helga's having a hard time keeping up, for a second there she felt like Rhonda wasn't just the vapid empty shell she perceived her to be, but now that impression is gone. Her gaudy party façade is once again screwed on tight and ready for the rest of the evening.
"Never tried it before?" Rhonda asks holding a hollowed out pen to her nose. Her head dips down and a horrible snort hurtles from her throat.
"Rhonda share the fairy dust baby"
Rhonda's head comes up her eyes rolling; she replies, her voice fast and strange.
" No Thaddeus, none for astronomers. This stuff will make your head explode. You'll have bad dreams."
"I've done it before" Helga finally responds, " Just not into it right now." She goes to take another sip of her plastic cup but quickly realizes it's empty. She sets it down.
"Well" Rhonda bounces from her seat, the obvious "pep" back in her step. "I think it's time to continue the tour. We haven't seen everything yet!" She winks again grabbing Helga's hand. Briefly Helga wonders why she feels it's necessary. It's not like she's not going to follow.
"You coming darling?" Rhonda says to Thad as she moves quickly towards the door.
" If it's the roof my darling I will not go. But-" He pauses dramatically grasping the two of them by a shoulder.
"Your journey begins there" He says his black pupil eyes looking through Helga's.
"He's waiting the king of the courtyard, his crown askew, but maybe you dear dreamer can right your heart enough to let him fix himself while fixing you. He is a man who needs incentive, yes."
Helga's eyes tense and she catches herself from acting out. It's pointless to stare down an empty cave she realizes. Instead her nose flares instinctively and Curly backs of grinning.
"Darling don't be a weirdo" Rhonda drolls opening the door.
"Okay Mon Cheri" Helga watches as he makes a low bow, just before the door swings closed his eyes land back on hers knowingly.
"Hopefully he'll peak it out in there before going downstairs. He can be such a nuisance on hallucinogens." She laughs taking a step toward the mettle ladder that leads to the roof.
"I see"
"You're just going to die when you see my view" Rhonda says grabbing the first rung of mettle. She begins to climb.
'He's up there'
She knows it. She can feel it like a pressure drop before a heavy rain. Just like the sinus pressure that she suffers from in spring.
'Well that makes sense' she thinks, 'I always was allergic to the little twerp.'
Her heartbeat quickens. She wants to say 'I'm afraid of heights' and take the coward's way out. Back out down the stairs and tell phoebe she's got a stomachache. Hide in the bathroom till the party dies down and sneak out. But she knows she can't, that any measure of avoidance would be obvious. Her pride won't let Rhonda think she's afraid, afraid of seeing him.
The latch opens and Rhonda looks back and down at her.
"You coming?"
She quiets her heart. She quiets her mind. She knows who she is. They have been apart so long. She knows who she is apart from him. She had been so young and now she knows it's just leftover nerves. She is strong. She is Helga G. Pataki. She is famous and Arnold is only a boy she used to know.
"Yeah criminey give me a second."
She grasps the white railing and ascends upwards.
So there you have it. I was on the verge of making it two chapters but thought ya'll would like the long read.
I realize it might be annoying to read about a character who isn't around yet, but Ace is important. She and Helga have a history separate from the world of Hillwood. We all make friends and have histories apart from our childhood selves and Helga is changed and made different by this, naturally. Those of you who love Sid I want ya'll to know I'm not a hater. I just know a lot of guys. Maybe he'll redeem himself later.
As always let me know how I'm doing! REVIEW!
Next up the fated renuion DUN DUN DUN!