Chapter Four: Sex and X and Booze
Notes and Disclaimer: Sorry for the delay. School's a bitch, and I'm really very lazy. I've got half a dozen essays to write for a sadistic Government teacher –bites fist- so I'm doing my best. Not that it's an excuse. I just thought I'd share.
Anyway, here we find Roger and company in that bar place from the last chapter. In my head, it's like Contact, but with drugs and alcohol and loud, loud music. And a bar. Maybe the Continental Club will look like this in the movie. Maybe not.
I own nothing!
Roger
I'm having a hard time believing that we've come to the right place. When Mark mentioned that Benny had spirited him away to some bar, I figured, knowing Benny and understanding that Mark hadn't come home sick to his stomach, that he had meant some flashy Uptown club that would make our resident lady-killer look as hot as he thinks he is.
And while, yeah, this place is uptown, it definitely isn't Uptown, and it sure isn't flashy. As a matter of fact, it's really smoggy in here and it absolutely reeks. Cigarettes and weed and cheap beer and cheaper sex. If I can't spot Mark in the next ten minutes or so, I'll know it's either because he's the victim of a group of underdressed X-addicts or is trying to find a corner to curl up in where he won't be able to see the drunk, drugged up girls, the horny guys, and the general disregard for all of his mom's "moral values." Good luck with that, Mark; in the corner closest to April and me, there are two girls going at it. Really going at it.
"Roger," April says, tapping out the ash of her cigarette on the lip of an empty beer bottle before taking another drag and smirking towards me. "You don't really think that Mark would come here; this looks the like kind of place where we'd go for some fun." She tilts her head in the direction of the two girls in that corner, and it's my time to smirk.
"No, this is the place." I motion for the cigarette and draw on it, occupying myself in trying to blow a smoke ring while April tries to convince me that Mark's given us a bad name and followed his wonder-chick to some less-sleazy place.
"Face it, babe; our little boy's growing up and exploring the wide world of sex and X and booze." I rest my arm across her shoulders and kiss at her neck until she takes the hint and makes herself comfortable in my lap. I've found my match in April, as far as sex-drive goes.
"I can't picture Mark on X, but whatever you say. You're the one carrying him home, though, if he gets himself fucked up and knocked out."
"What about getting fucked?"
"Roger," she scolds, taking my jaw between her thumb and index finger and rattling my head a little, "Getting fucked and getting fucked up are completely different things." Actually, in our case, they really aren't that different; where you've got one, you've probably got the other, but with April very much in my lap and her mouth now very much on mine, who the Hell am I to argue? Making out is so much better than proving a point. I'll have to point that out to Mark next time I see him, just for his own good.
In the short and long of it, I guess we get a little carried away; I tip a half-empty (or half-full -whatever- no interest in Collin's philosophic stuff) beer over and bang my elbow hard against the underside of the table trying to right it. Still, you don't see me backing off; some things just aren't worth whining over. I'll have to tell that to Mark.
April pulls away way too suddenly, though, yanking her fingers out of my hair, which is just getting long enough so that it hurts when it gets pulled like that, and sitting back towards my knees.
"What?" Reluctantly, I pull my hand out from under her shirt and nonchalantly glance down towards my lap. "What?" But she's not looking down. She's looking off past my ear, her mouth hanging a little bit open with a sneaky smile coming across her red-painted lips. "April. What?"
I turn my head to look over my shoulder, and after a second or two, I see what.
I've found Mark. On the fringe of the sweaty crowd of half-naked punk-rock princes and princesses is my geeky, ex-Ivy League mamma's boy buddy, pink all the way to the ears and soaked with rain through to the skin. His hair -which I was actually almost proud of- is a damp mess stuck to his forehead, and I'm guessing that the white shine towards the collar of his shirt all the gel that it took to keep it under control, washed out since he was too drunk on this girl to wear a coat or something . So much for that.
Speaking of that girl: She's there, too. She's definitely there in all her glory, skin-tight red leather pants and one of those strapless shirt things that really shouldn't be staying up with the way she's dancing, right up against Mark, a beer in one hand and his hair in another, her hips flush against his, grinding and thrusting and just making Mark look like a complete prude. Which he is.
But, holy shit. Mark was wrong when he argued that she wasn't hot. There's no denying it; that chick is amazing, and looking at her, she's sure not afraid to let everyone know it, including Mark, who's still completely stiff and probably scared out of his mind.
It's a good thing I've got April, or I'd have to steal Mark's girlfriend.
"Do you see that?" April snaps me out of my not-so-faithful thoughts in leaning against my chest, staring over my other shoulder at Mark and his new friend.
"No shit, I see it," I shoot back, not even bothering to hide my smile or cut my low laughter until Mark, for whatever reason, turns and looks around. Shit. He can't see us. "April," I hiss, pulling her back around and into another kiss that results in more casual groping until I think the coast is clear.
But when I turn back around, the happy couple is gone. They're not dancing, anyway, but they aren't too hard to follow; just follow the sexy red pants. She's leading him off by the wrist, towards the nearly empty bar, a toothy, but still extremely hot grin on her face to contrast Mark's desperate look.
Now, if there's one reason that Mark shouldn't be here, it's not because he's too young. It's not because these places freak him out or because he'll lose his cool if someone approaches him. It's because he can't drink. Mark can not hold his liqueur to save his life. Not only does he go completely nuts after only a few beers, but he'll pass out not too long after that. Believe me; it's happened before and resulted in me and Benny sharing a bed with an unconscious Mark who fell out of bed and puked his guts out around five in the morning. Alcohol poisoning my ass.
So when there are three bottles of beer sitting out on the bar in front of the mix-matched Mark and chick, April nudges me in the side.
"Rog, he's going to make himself sick."
"So? He knows that he's in trouble if he drinks. If he doesn't want to make an ass of himself, he'll be smart enough to stop after one or two-"
"So you're just going to let him?" Maybe it's that freaky maternal instincts thing, since April never had any little brothers or sisters running around to look after. Even if she's out getting smashed and high and sleeping with me every night, she sure does look out for Mark. And she accuses me for following him here. "What's he gonna say? 'No thanks. I'd have one, but last time I got drunk, I lay on the bathroom floor all morning?'"
"He might. Knowing his mom-"
"Bullshit, Roger. He's crazy for this girl; he's not gonna turn her down and risk getting humiliated."
Looking back over at them, I see that Mark's started on his first drink, while the girl's still on the one she had dancing. She's twisting his wet hair into loose curls and running her hand up and down the back of his neck, grinning while he smiles nervously and laughs in spite of himself. For someone so pasty, Mark blushes like nothing I've ever seen.
"So, you want me to go over there and remind him that he'll get sick if he drinks too much? Yeah, I bet she'd get a real kick out of that, April. 'Oh, that's cute. You have a chaperone with you.'"
"Yeah, well." April slips out of my lap, fixes her skirt, and scowls down at me. Must be that time of the month. "It might not matter to you if Cabrini calls to say that they need someone to take him home after they pump his stomach, but I'm not-"
"Jesus, April!" I growl, standing and taking her by the arm as she turns to walk away. "I was joking. Okay? Shit.. I'm not going to leave Mark to get wasted here; he'd get himself killed. Just.. calm down, alright?" From the way she's glaring at me, I don't think she's convinced. "Listen: we'll stick around. If he's looking like he's going to keep drinking, we'll go and introduce ourselves, okay?"
But it looks like we might be a little bit late for that. When I look back over to spot Mark, his wonder chick is staring dead at us, an sly sort of amused smirk on her lips as she turns her head back towards Mark. Her hand creeps towards his lap, and he spins around all of a sudden, and both of them are looking straight at me and April, who are staring right back at them. The girl says something to him, and Mark's face goes from very red to very white, then back to red again while he stands up too quickly, knocking over the full bottle of beer in his rush to run away. I can see the girl laughing as the tries to clean it up, only to be stopped by a bartender with a rag and then again by his friend, who's aranged herself so that her knee is between his legs and her arms are around his neck. Pinned between this hot girl and the bar, Mark looks helplessly over at me, and I grin, seeing the curly-haired girl wink obviously in my direction just before she presses her mouth right against his, her hands stopping his head when, in his surprise, he tries to jump away.
But his eyes are closed now, and he's got to be enjoying this.
Unable to contain it and ready to get Mark for noticing me before I could sneak up on him, I yell, "Score, Mark!" in his direction, and April smacks my thigh. Mark's girl, though, breaks her kiss long enough to grin at me, then goes back to leading a stunned and embarrassed Mark in his first kiss.
This chick's going to eat him alive.
Notes: Aagh. Roger is reminding me more and more of Angels in America's Prior Walter. I suck.
I apologize for my pathetic attempt at sex in general. I can't say that I speak from experience, and while it may sometimes seem that I've got no shame, I'm really just an innocent boy who doesn't always think lovely thoughts.
I've got ideas bouncing around for a significantly less happy story, but I can't sort them out right now. Maybe after I've eaten something.
Fare thee well.
