Starlight (Peaches Monroe) (Volume 2) Paperback – September 2, 2013 (32 page)

There are only two limousines in all of Beaverdale—one white, and one black, both with tinted windows and their own legends. He and his brother had rented the white one, which, to our knowledge, had never been vomited in.

Jett got out of his chair, came around to my side of the table, and got down on one knee. He removed his thick-lensed glasses and said, “I’ll take these off for the photos. What do you say, Peaches? Will you be my prom date?”

I looked up and noticed Adrian standing motionless with a tray of two cafeteria meals in his hands. (He started eating two lunches about mid-way through twelfth grade in an attempt to put some muscle on his skinny body.) He looked annoyed, which made me smile.

Jett took my smile to mean yes, and did that thing where you pump the air with your fist. A bunch of people cheered, and he returned to his side of the table looking a full inch taller. I didn’t have the heart to say no after that, because he was a sweet guy, plus I wanted to ride in the good limo and make my mother cry happy tears.

On prom night, the limo showed up at my house, and I posed for pictures on the front lawn with Jett, and with Chantalle, and then all four of us, including Jett’s brother Kevin. Chantalle pouted and said she hated me for having better cleavage, which I took as a compliment. I wore a blue dress with a sweetheart neckline, and I looked great… and yes, my mother did cry. My father sniffed a few times as well. Kyle came running out of the house with no pants on and peed on the bushes, as evidenced by three of the photographs taken that night. (I’ll be sure to bring those out with pride at
his
prom one day.)

The whole evening started off perfect. I didn’t spill food on my dress, and I didn’t even say anything to embarrass myself. I guess I was partly distracted by the corset-style strapless bra I was wearing, and my constant fear of a wardrobe malfunction that did not happen.

Jett was a dream date, always making sure I had a beverage, and dancing to all the songs I liked. At my suggestion, we went over and joined the circle of solo girls toward the end of the night, and Jett tore up the dance floor in his sharp tuxedo, to the delight of all the girls. He was getting so much attention from all of them, that I found myself getting envious. The way some of them were pawing him… you’d think they’d never seen a geek in a white tux jacket before.

The night drew to a close, and we proceeded to the Spencer residence, where I had permission to stay until two o’clock in the morning. My parents had assumed the parental Spencers would be in the house, but they hadn’t actually
asked
, so I hadn’t needed to lie.

As you may have guessed by the fact I’d given birth to a child already, I was no virgin. (I didn’t share with Mitchell the secret-baby-having details.) I wasn’t holding out anything for anyone, especially since Adrian never even showed up to the prom.

To my absolute delight, Jett made a case for us having sex that night. I’d already decided hours earlier, but I did enjoy being in the role of the girl who wanted to be talked into it.

We were sitting in his family’s recreation room, which had a pool table, two of those old stand-up video arcade games from the eighties, and a deluxe bar with a sink and a beer fridge. We were drinking beer from cans, poured into glasses. Jett had been quite particular about pouring the beer to get the right amount of foam.

We sat next to each other on the sofa, our knees touching. He said, “I feel like such a jerk, putting all this pressure on you. I feel like one of those guys in those videos we saw at school.”

I laughed and sipped my beer, then wiped the foam off my upper lip. “No way. Those guys are all, ‘I saw you dancing like a dirty slut. I know you want it. I’m gonna give it to you.’”

Jett laughed, but looked uncomfortable.

I tipped up the glass and finished the beer. It was my second one since we’d gotten there. Chantalle and Kevin were upstairs. I had to be home in an hour.

In a move I have to describe as possibly my classiest one to date, I stood up, kicked off my shoes, reached up under my pretty blue prom dress, and pulled my panties down and off. I rolled them up and stuck them in the toe of my shoe, then I sat back down in the corner of the sofa.

“Jett, I have to be home in an hour. I can tell by the way you dance that you’re a sex machine, so why don’t you climb on and start rocking my world right now.”

For a second, I thought he was going to run away. His face blanched, and he was already a pale guy. He took off his white jacket slowly and set it on the round, glass coffee table alongside the two empty beer glasses. He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a condom packet, then leaned over and clicked off the halogen lamp standing beside the couch.

I swung one leg up onto the couch, hiked my dress up, and prepared to be boarded. I heard some balloon-animal noises, and then Jett clambered up on me. After some fumbling around in the dark, he moaned.

I pulled his head down to mine and kissed him. He moaned again, moving in a thrusting motion with his hips.

What was I feeling in my pussy area? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

So I lay there for several minutes, which I can assure you feels like fucking eternity when you think something’s gone wrong with your vagina and it’s now completely numb.

Mitchell interrupted my story at this point, waving his hand excitedly. “He was in your butt.”

“Ew, no! I’d notice that. You’re so bad.”

“He was rubbing in between your thighs.”

“Not even. I might have enjoyed that. He was fucking the couch cushions. And, by the way he was going to town on them, I had to wonder if it was even the first time.”

“No!”

“Yes. He stopped kissing me and started french-kissing the throw pillows.”

Mitchell smacked my arm. “No he didn’t, you fibber.”

I continued, “I sensed that he was getting close to, you know, closing the deal with the sofa. So, I started to fake having an orgasm. Heavy breathing, moaning, thrashing around in ecstasy. Keep in mind I’d never actually had one before with a guy, so I was doing the movie version.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Not really. You see, he shifted his position on the couch, so his hip bone was, you know, in a very nice place. After a few minutes, my cries became real.”

“Shut up.”

“We came together. Just like that. Gasping and sweating in each other’s arms, me in my hiked-up prom dress and him with his rented trousers down around his ankles, his bow-tie slightly askew.”

Mitchell fanned his face. “I’m a little turned on right now.”

“I reached down and pulled him out of the crack in the cushions, so he wouldn’t realize what had happened, and you know what?”

“What?”

“He
did
have a really big dick, as it turned out.”

Mitchell pointed his finger at me. “That was a good one, but it wasn’t a horror story.”

“The story’s not over yet.”

He leaned in.

“So all four of us run out to the limousine, because both of us girls have to be home by two o’clock. We get in the back of the limo, and Chantalle’s being awfully quiet. I ask her what’s wrong, and she opens her mouth and barfs all over me. This gross, watery barf that smells like wine, and it’s in my cleavage, and I can feel it dribbling down inside my dress. So, Chantalle, who is pretty drunk, turns to Kevin and says, ’See, I told you if I swallowed your spunk I’d throw it back up again.’”

Mitchell began to hyperventilate.

I said, “So, yeah.
That happened.”

Mitchell’s jaw dropped open and he rolled forward, off the couch and onto the concrete floor of the studio, where he laughed and laughed until I begged him to stop.

Finally, he wiped the tears from his eyes and said, “That was the perfect mix of horror and humor.”

“Not for me. The barf-spunk mixture got into my panties, and I had to buy pregnancy tests for the next month, because I was worried some of Kevin’s swimmers had, you know, gotten in there.”

“I love you, Peaches Monroe.” Mitchell threw his arms around me and kissed my cheek. “I fucking love you.”

I hugged him back and smiled, because I’d been waiting a long time for a guy to say those words to me, and even from a platonic friend, it still felt good to be loved.

We wrapped up shooting for the day, and Mitchell wouldn’t let me take a cab to Keith’s, so he gave me a ride in his Miada. We stopped by a bakery along the way, where I bought a six-pack of cupcakes, including two special men’s cupcakes with smokey bacon sprinkles and maple icing. Mitchell ate one of those in the car while driving, while I had a miniature vacation of the coconut variety.

I walked into Keith’s apartment, all excited about the bacon cupcake. He was sitting on the sofa reading on a tablet. He looked up at me, then shook his head and turned back to his reading.

“Rough day at work?” I asked. “Having issues getting everyone ready for your departure?”

“Business is fine,” he said curtly.

“So, are you having your period?”

He didn’t even crack a grin.

I continued, “I thought today might be a heavy flow day for you, so I brought you home a cupcake. Let me know where your hot water bottle is and I’ll get you set up.”

“You were kissing Dalton Deangelo.”

I set everything down on the kitchen counter with a thump, then got myself a glass of tap water. I called out from the kitchen, “Oh, you heard. No, I wasn’t kissing him. I had to ride a bicycle past him and say one line of dialog. My thighs were rubbing together so bad on the bike, but I was a good model. No complaining, except to Mitchell.”

I took a seat next to him on the sofa and passed the water his way. “Want some?”

He pushed the water back, splashing it all over my lap. I opened my mouth to let out a few choice words, but then I saw the photo on his tablet: me, kissing Dalton just outside the restaurant where we’d had brunch on Friday. Thundernuts! I’d forgotten all about that, in my hungover haze.

Keith did not look happy at all. Heavy flow day, indeed.

“I got you a bacon cupcake,” I said.

“Are you just stringing me along for fun, and him, too? I actually feel sorry for the guy.”

“Okay, I can explain. Dalton found me and Mitchell hitch-hiking in Malibu, for reasons that are perfectly logical and not at all illegal, and we had brunch. There were some photographers outside, and he suggested we give them a little something to get free publicity.” I pointed to the short blond fellow at the edge of the image. “See, there’s Mitchell. I was never alone with Dalton, not even for a second, I swear.”

Keith frowned and wiggled his lips back and forth, as though goofy facial movements helped his brain process information.

“I’m sorry,” I said, which is what I should have led with.
I’m sorry.
Why don’t I lead off with that particular phrase more often? Pride, I suppose. I always think I can use my big mouth to talk myself out of trouble, but I should just try that whole begging-for-forgiveness thing more often.

“Now I’m the jealous asshole,” he said, still frowning.

“Bacon cupcake?”

“I don’t like how I’m feeling right now.”

“If you don’t like bacon, there’s a pink cherry one, with those weird silver sprinkles that look like ball bearings.”

He shook his head. “What time is your flight to Washington on Wednesday?”

“Nice!” I said angrily, getting up from the couch in a huff. “Real nice, Keith. Don’t worry, you’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

He didn’t say anything.

I felt the crazy coming. It swirled up around me like a toxic cloud—like the black eels that swoosh around Ursula the sea witch in
The Little Mermaid
.

I had one little in-public peck on the lips with a friend, and now Keith wanted to throw me out like yesterday’s coffee grounds and banana peels? Nice. Real nice.

The crazy swirled. A big, dark, inky cloud of crazy. I curled my lips around my teeth like a mummy in a horror movie, then I grabbed the box of cupcakes and stomped to the spare bedroom and slammed the door.

The door didn’t bang shut very loud, so I pulled it open and did it again, with a much more satisfying crack.

I flicked on the TV, turned it to a music channel, and cranked the volume. Sitting on the bed, I stuffed the entire bacon-maple cupcake into my mouth, pulled out my phone, and sent a message to Shayla.

Me:
The honeymoon is over! Keith Raven is a cheese-fucker, and LA is hot and smelly and would you just slap some sense into me if I ever consider leaving town again?

Shayla:
I went by Peachtree Books today. Adrian completely changed the window displays.

Me:
Someone is going to die.

Shayla:
The windows look nice, actually. Your father was there, building some custom shelves.

Me:
I hate everyone and everything.

Shayla:
*Hugs.*

Me:
*Goes limp. Receives hug begrudgingly.*

Shayla:
Didn’t you have the commercial shoot today? How did that go?

Me:
I guess it was okay. Tomorrow is a shorter day, and I get to sit on a trapeze thing for a bit before plunging to my death, which will be a welcome relief.