Chapter 2 - So This is the New Year

December 31st, 2000 -

Shannon Rutherford, age 17, ambled into a dimly lit hallway and dialed his number. "Hi, Boone," she said loudly other the sound of rap music and drunk college boys behind her.

"Where are you? It's kind of loud."

"I'm at a party, dumbass." She answered back.

"And you want me to come pick you up?" He said expectantly.

"Well yeah, I don't think I should drive, so…"

"Fine. Where is the party?"

He arrived about ten minutes later, and Shannon hopped into his car appreciatively. The numbers on the dashboard clock blurred and jumped, irritating her. She could hardly make out the letters. It was early still… ten? Or was that an eleven?

"It's ten-fifteen," He supplied after a few minutes.

"Thanks," she spat. Then she sniffled.

"Hey," he said kindly, "What's up?"

"Nothing," she said unconvincingly.

"Where's Bobby? Was he too drunk to drive?" He asked. Shannon sniffed again.

"Bobby," she began, "Is an asshole." Boone pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition, waiting for her to elaborate. There were no other cars in the driveway – Sabrina was gone, as usual, on vacation. "We got to the party, and he was being stupid and annoying, so he gave me a shot of – of vodka," she stumbled over her words. "And I drank it, and it tasted like pee, but what else is new?" She paused. "Um, we had a few more, and he was getting really drunk, and he asked if I wanted to go upstairs, b- but, I said 'No!' Well actually, I said, 'Not right now, maybe later' because I wanted to be nice. So I was talking to people, and I saw someone and I thought it was you, so I went up to say hi, but it wasn't you and he laughed and it was embarrassing." When Shannon was drunk, she rambled like a little kid a lot. Boone thought it was adorable, even though he knew she shouldn't be getting drunk as often as she did.

"I'm sorry. What happened next?" He said, patting her knee.

"I went to go find Bobby, and I checked the bathroom and there was this really awful whore-type girl with gigantic boobs. She had on white plastic sunglasses, which is really, really tacky – and she was only wearing a bra with a sweater thing tied over like she was Britney Spears or something… don't get that look on your face, Boone!" She said, hurt.

"Sorry, sorry. So what happened?"

"There was this guy who looked like Bobby…" she started full-out sobbing. " You wanna know… why?"

"Because he –"

"Because he WAS Bobby!" She screamed, and broke into dramatic sobs, burying her head into his shoulder. "He told me he loved me, like, yesterday! And then he just, you know, looked at me, no apologies, just like, 'Oh, your boobs aren't big enough for me!' He didn't say sorry or anything!"

"Shannon, that's horrible. He doesn't deserve you."

"Oh my god! That's why! He was cheating on me because I'm only a 34 and B! Oh my god!" She buried her face deeper into his shoulder. "I'm totally flat! She was like, triple thousandy double D or something! I have horrible boobs! Is that why?"

"Shannon," he said patiently, "Your boobs are fine."

"Just fine? Because she was like – "

"They're great. They're perfect." He deadpanned.

"Better than Anna's?"

"Shannon…"

"Answer me!"

"I don't know! Yes, they're better!"

"But the huge-boobed girl –"

"You know, they were probably fake, anyway." He pointed out.

"Really?" said Shannon, accusingly, pulling away. "How do you know that? Are you sleeping with the huge-boobed girl? Are you?"

"What the hell, Shan, I've never even met her! Unlike you, I don't sleep with everything that moves! I've never even met her!"

"What about Anna? What about me? I'll tell her you're cheating on her with that girl that Bobby is cheating on me with."

"Anna? Anna dumped me tonight. Again."

"Oh." Said Shannon. "Well, she was cheating on you too, the little slut."

"What?"

"I've known since like, forever."

"Why didn't you tell me? I mean –"

"She's my best friend!" Said Shannon.

"But you just called her a – "

"Just because she's my best friend doesn't mean she's not a slut."

"Jesus, Shannon! Tell me next time you know something like that!"

"I…" A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

"Oh… don't cry… it's fine." He apologized quickly.

"Can we go inside now?" She asked.

"Yeah."

Minutes later, after Shannon had washed her face and changed into a tank top a pajama shorts, she turned on the television to the channel that was doing New Year's Coverage. Boone sat down next to her, and she put her head in his lap and almost instantly fell asleep. The last thing she heard was, "In Times Square, residents and visitors…" She woke up at eleven PM. She looked up and noticed that Boone was no longer sitting next to her. Standing up, she walked into the kitchen, where he was opening a bottle of champagne.

"Oooooh! Is God's Friggin' Gift to Humanity drinking underage? I don't believe it!" She teased.

"Yes. He is. Do you want some?"

"Yeah." She poured some champagne into a glass and gulped it down. He did the same, but slightly more cautiously. "That was for Anna." He said. She started pouring some more into each glass.

"Shannon, you're already sort of dr –" He started, but she cut him off.

"For that asshole, Bobby." He hesitated, but then drank it quickly. He took the bottle and glasses to the coffee table and they sat on the couch. He poured more. "To the…"

"To the huge boobed-girl rotting in hell!" Soon, the bottle was empty, and both its drinkers were appropriately intoxicated. Boone climbed on top of Shannon.

"God, you're pretty." He slurred. She giggled. "God thinks you're pretty too, Boone."

"No, but you're like, really, really pretty!"

"I know that!"

"Baby, I – I want you really bad!" he guffawed.

"Yeah, I know that, too." They started kissing, messy; wet kisses on each other's lips, ears, and necks. She ran her fingers through his hair… they giggled and made out for a few more minutes. Then, as the alcohol started to wear off, he got off of her and started watching the New Year's TV. "New Orleans, the home of Mardi Gras, shows us that they can party on New Year's, too, especially at one elite nightclub…"

Twenty minutes before midnight, she opened another bottle and brought it to the living room where he was watching TV. "You forgot glasses." He said, but Shannon laughed and answered, "Screw the glasses! I don't know about you, but I am pissed off! Being dumped sucks, yeah?" He grabbed the bottle from her ("Aren't we feisty?") and gulped down a few sips, passing it to Shannon. Turns out he was pissed off, too.

"In Dallas, folks ring in the New Year at Porker's 24-Hour-Bar!" The newscaster exclaimed as Shannon slurped down the remained of her champagne, straddled on top of Boone, who was pressing his fingers up her thighs, teasing the seams of her underwear…

"How did you celebrate New Year this year?" said the newscaster to a frumpy looking, older couple. Shannon's hands were everywhere, as were her lips. If he had been sober he would have been able to, but in his drunkenness, he couldn't keep track of where she touched him, how, and when.

"In Omaha, a group of environmentalists ring in 2001 under the stars, like one Nebraska native, Gloria Tampa –" Shannon's lips moistened his neck, shoulders, stomach, and her hands under the hem of his shirt, pressing into his pants zipper.

"… Hinders the sight of the stars, fireworks are a cause of annoyance to Miss Tampa –" Shannon gasped, giggling uncontrollably while he kissed her lips, his tongue getting way too involved. She just coaxed him on, forcing all her weight on his crotch. She felt him stiff against her. He groaned loudly. In turn, they sucked at each other's lips, tongues intertwined urgently. He grabbed the bottle, pausing to take a sip from it.

"Shannon, you got all the champagne baby," he slurred. She smiled, and once again their lips met.

"Take me…. Mmmmm…. Upstairs… let's go to bed…" she hissed.

He stood her up, with difficulty, and they continued kissing, stumbling up the stairs. At the first landing, he pulled away, gasping for breath between kissing. Jumping into his arms, she made it increasingly difficult for him to get up the stairs, and eventually they fell down outside his door. In her drunkenness, she told him matter-of-factly that she was having an orgasm, although she generally kept these things to herself.

Somehow, they finally made it to his bed, where Boone started rambling some thing about the differences between making love ("After you walk down the threshold after getting married"), sleeping together ("Only polite people say that"), doing someone ("Sounds like 'shit or get off the pot', you know?), and fucking ("Really dirty but also really, really hot that a volcano or something, yanno?") He said that they were about to fuck. As he got closer to her, she made another announcement about her sexual state. ("If you don't do me right now, I'm going to die!" She slurred). He was inside her body for a few luxurious, blissful moments, and then she promptly passed out.

Dawn on January 1st, 2001, was a subdued affair at the Carlyle mansion. Shannon sat by the windowsill in Boone's room, wrapped in a blue cashmere blanket. Her eyes were bleary and her memories of the previous night were tainted. Throbbing pains made her head ache like hell. Boone was lying in his bed, his closed eyes peaceful but his expression was troubled. How the hell had she let this happen? Before, they had gotten pretty far, but their relationship was in a whole new level of shit now that they had had sex. Shannon sat, resenting it all, and reviewing last night's occurrences. Boone stirred, and the moment his eyes fluttered open, and she saw his bright blue eyes gazing at her, she forgot what sarcastic comment she was planning to say, and instead said, "Wanna do it again?"