Penelope (15 page)

“Oh,” said Penelope.

“John, what were you saying before?” asked Lisa.

“About what?” said John.

“I forget what we were talking about,” said Lisa.

“I thought we were talking about when Professor Parker went to that party at Story Street or something,” said John. He laughed. “I don’t really know though.”

“That was before,” said Lisa.

“Oh, yeah, I think I was saying something about how long I have been spending in that fucking editing room,” said John. “But how now, I finally decided what my objective is for my movie.”

“What is your movie about?” asked Penelope.

“Well, it’s more about an effect right now. Plot-wise, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

Suddenly, Lisa started pointing. “John, guess who’s here? You’ll never guess. It’s Gary Sherman. I wasn’t sure he’d show up.”

“The panda-opticon guy? Oh my God. Awesome.”

Lisa pointed to a guy drinking a Pabst Blue Ribbon across the room. He had curly hair that was forcibly parted to the side and a handlebar mustache, and was wearing a vertically striped tunic and tiny bloomers.

“Is that mustache part of his costume?” asked Penelope. “It really matches his hair though.”

“You have to come over and meet him,” said Lisa to John. “Excuse me, Penelope.” She took John by the arm and ran in the direction of Gary Sherman. Penelope watched them. Lisa tapped Gary Sherman on the shoulder to alert him of her presence. Gary Sherman looked rather bemused at the liberty.

Penelope wandered over to a couch piled with coats and sat
down on it. She watched the people dancing on the table. There were more of them. Scott, no longer wearing his Captain Hook wig, was leading a conga line on it. The table was gently swaying back and forth.

She had been sitting on the couch for a while when suddenly the man who was Gary Sherman sat down next to her. Lisa and John were nowhere to be seen. Gary Sherman twiddled his handlebar mustache. Then he spoke.

“Yo,” he said. “That table is going to break.”

“What?” said Penelope.

“Do you see that long table with all those people dancing on it, in the front of the room?”

“Yes, I do,” said Penelope.

“Well, it’s going to break,” said Gary Sherman.

Penelope looked at the table. It did seem to be swaying more violently now.

“Are you sure?” said Penelope.

“I’m positive,” said Gary Sherman, scratching his arm. “Are you a comper?”

“Yes,” said Penelope. But her reply was muffled by the sound of the table breaking and all the dancers falling to the ground. A man in a headband seemed to take a particularly nasty spill. Penelope saw him rubbing his elbow while the others tried to clear the table debris off the dance floor.

“Come,” said Gary Sherman. He grabbed Penelope’s hand and pulled her up off the couch.

“Let’s go downstairs,” said Gary Sherman.

“OK,” said Penelope. She followed him.

“How old are you?” asked Penelope as they walked down the stairs.

“Twenty-seven,” said Gary Sherman.

“That is pretty old,” said Penelope. “Why are you here?”

“I was in town. I always try to check in on what my fellow Advo-cats are doing.”

They were downstairs. It was still pitch-black. Gary Sherman opened a door into a small room. Inside this room, the
lights were on, and there were three boys smoking marijuana on a couch. They did not acknowledge Gary Sherman or Penelope.

“Come back here,” said Gary Sherman to Penelope, gesturing to a table in the back of the room.

“OK,” said Penelope.

Gary Sherman picked up Penelope and sat her on the table. Penelope jumped off the table and stood next to it.

“So,” said Penelope, “what are you dressed up as from
Peter Pan
? A pirate?”

“I am not dressed up,” said Gary Sherman, who was shimmying, dreadfully, to the rhythm of the muffled bass coming from upstairs. The music had resumed after the accident. “This is what I wore to work.”

“Cool,” said Penelope. “That’s so cool. Where do you work?”

“I work at the Grolier Bookstore,” said Gary Sherman, “down the street.”

“Neat,” said Penelope. “So you live right near here.”

“Yeah,” said Gary Sherman. “I write on the side.”

“That’s fun,” said Penelope.

“These parties keep getting lamer though. It was at its best five years ago,” said Gary Sherman.

Gary Sherman took a packet of white powder out from his pocket and dumped the contents on the table. He took a card out of his pocket and organized it into a line. Then he sniffed it off the table.

“Do you want any of this?” asked Gary Sherman.

“No, that’s OK,” said Penelope. “I am worried I will get allergies.”

“Fair enough,” said Gary Sherman. He patted his nose protectively.

“Were you on the
Advocate
when you were a student here?” asked Penelope.

“These are the only cool people at Harvard!” said Gary Sherman. He took Penelope’s hands and moved them in a waving motion to the beat of the music. Penelope kept her hands limp but Gary Sherman was really not taking the hint.

“Really,” said Penelope.

“Yeah,” said Gary Sherman. “Everyone else is just a banker. Or a lawyer or something.”

“Oh, wow,” said Penelope.

“You realize later that those people are such a waste of space. They don’t have interests. They don’t listen to cool music. They are robots.” Then Gary Sherman took Penelope’s hands and made them “vogue” around her face. This was the last straw.

“Hmm,” said Penelope. “You know what? I think I’d better go.”

“Why?” said Gary Sherman. “The table broke. This party could become awesome.”

“It’s sort of late,” said Penelope, “and I have so many things to do. My roommates are at home. I am sure they want to know what I am doing …”

“Suit yourself,” said Gary Sherman. He quickly exited. After standing near the table for about thirty seconds, staring blankly at the door, Penelope also left the room and the party. Because the thing was, Penelope hated whimsy as she hated hell. It was the last time she ever set foot in the
Advocate
.

“Penelope. Are you whistling?” said Ted, or the voice of Ted. Penelope couldn’t really see where he was. She was almost back to Pennypacker but it was very dark out, and she couldn’t see very much in front of her. That was why she was whistling, to inform predators that she was alive and unafraid.

Ted stepped under the streetlight in front of Pennypacker, so Penelope finally spotted him. He had his phone in his hand. He was wearing cargo shorts, a white T-shirt, and a flannel shirt over the T-shirt, like a minor figure in Pearl Jam.

“You are like the best whistler I have ever heard,” said Ted.

“Thanks!” said Penelope. This was not the first time she had heard this compliment. She was an excellent whistler. Still, it was pleasing every time it was said. She smiled at Ted.

“What were you doing tonight?” asked Ted. He shifted his weight to his other leg.

“Oh, I was at that
Advocate
party,” said Penelope. She drifted toward the front door of the dorm and opened it. Ted followed her inside.

“Was it fun?” asked Ted. He followed her up the stairs too.

“Was it fun,” said Penelope. She thought about this. It was probably more fun than other things she had done in her life, but not by much.

“Why are you home so early?” asked Ted. They were almost at Penelope’s door.

“I don’t know,” said Penelope, fiddling with the lock and opening the door. Ted was going to come inside her suite, it turned out. He followed her into the common room and sat on the futon. Penelope gingerly removed her shoes and sat next to him on the futon, to be polite.

“Everyone says those parties are fun,” said Ted, crossing one leg over the other. “Maybe you just didn’t hang out with the right people.”

“Maybe,” said Penelope. “What did you do tonight?’

“Me?” said Ted. “Well, there is still a pregame going on downstairs. I was there.”

“Oh,” said Penelope. “How was that?”

“Fine,” said Ted. “Sort of boring. Nikil is going insane because he is comping the business board of the Crimson and also doing something at the Institute of Politics. He spent like five hours talking about it. I think he wants to be president or something.”

“Do you think he would be a good president?” asked Penelope.

“No,” said Ted.

“I think he would be. It’s too bad he has already lost most of his hair. But maybe he can be secretary of state,” said Penelope.

“I just wanted to get out of there after a while,” said Ted. “It’s much better when you go. I wished you were there.”

“Really?” asked Penelope.

“I am so drunk,” said Ted suddenly.

“You are?” asked Penelope.

“I have been drinking like the whole day!” said Ted.

“I hope you don’t vomit,” said Penelope.

“I won’t.” Ted lay back on the futon and closed his eyes.

“Good,” said Penelope.

“Were there any guys at this
Advocate
party?” asked Ted in a too-loud voice, eyes still closed. He was acting very drunk now, like a drunk person in a movie.

“Well,” said Penelope. “It was coed, yes.”

“Did you make out with anyone?” asked Ted.

“I don’t think so,” said Penelope.

“Oh, Penelope. I am sorry.” He hiccoughed theatrically.

“For what?” asked Penelope nervously.

“That you had a bad time,” said Ted. He pulled at the back of Penelope’s dress so that she had to lie on the futon right next to him.

“Yeah,” said Penelope. “It’s OK.”

At this, Ted laid his head on Penelope’s shoulder. Ted’s head was rather heavy for being comparatively small, Penelope thought. He was like a velociraptor. Penelope was more like a T. rex.

“Oh, man, Penelope,” said Ted. “I am so tired.”

“You should go to sleep I guess,” said Penelope, sitting up. “Maybe I should go too. Because I am semi-tired.”

“No,” said Ted. “Don’t go!” He pulled her back down on the futon.

“OK,” said Penelope.

They sat next to each other in silence for a minute or so, while Penelope tried desperately to think of something to say. During this silence, Ted went to sleep on Penelope’s shoulder. It was amazing how many people Penelope knew who could go to sleep in a matter of seconds. Ted put his face in such a position that his lips were slightly grazing her upper arm. If she moved her shoulder, Ted would kiss her entire arm. She decided to stay in one place, frozen like a mannequin, to avoid this.

“Penelope,” said Ted into her shoulder.

“Yes,” said Penelope.

“Hi,” said Ted. Now he was kissing her shoulder. Penelope stared straight ahead. Then Ted started kissing her neck. All this was alarming. Penelope was not sure whether she was friends with Catherine in the classic sense, but she had a feeling that if Catherine burst in at this moment, as she was wont to do, she would think this was a breach of propriety on Penelope’s part.

“Hey, Ted,” said Penelope, trying to laugh.

“What?” said Ted. He was moving up to her face. Penelope felt his lips on the corner of her mouth.

“Ted,” said Penelope, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” said Ted. His mouth had migrated dangerously close to hers.

“What are you doing?” asked Penelope stupidly again.

“Nothing,” said Ted. He kissed her firmly on the lips. Penelope opened her mouth slightly in shock and Ted stuck his tongue rather aggressively through her teeth, where it flapped around like a dying fish.

Despite the fact that this style of kissing betrayed a history of sexual ineptitude on the part of Ted, it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation, and Penelope let it go on for some minutes. Eventually, however, Penelope felt like she had to get certain things straight to maintain moral consistency. So, in the midst of some awkward repositioning on the futon, she said:

“I have a question.”

“What is it?” said Ted.

“Are you dating Catherine?” asked Penelope.

“No,” said Ted. He repositioned Penelope so that her pelvis was uncomfortably jutting into his hip bone.

“But didn’t you just hook up with her?” asked Penelope.

“Only twice. Plus, it’s not like that,” said Ted. He kissed Penelope again on the cheek. “She knows that.”

“Really?” said Penelope.

“Yeah,” said Ted.

“Well, OK,” said Penelope. “I also have another question.”

“OK,” said Ted.

“Why did you say that thing to me about Helen of Troy?”

“What are you talking about?” said Ted, exasperated.

“That time you were drunk, and you said I wasn’t like Helen of Troy or something. Do you remember that?”

“Oh, that,” said Ted. “That was a joke!”

“Oh,” said Penelope.

Ted kissed her on the mouth again.

“But,” he said, laughing. “You don’t actually think you look like Helen of Troy, do you? That would be a little inflated.”

“It’s not that I think I look like Helen of Troy,” said Penelope. “But—”

“Someone is an egomaniac!” interrupted Ted.

“Ha ha,” said Penelope. It occurred to her that this was an odd binary for discussion, this Helen of Troy gamut. No one knew what Helen of Troy looked like. It also occurred to her that Ted wore shorts all the time even when it was objectively cold out, kissed like a dying fish, and was probably involved in some sort of secret engagement with Catherine that would inevitably conclude in a Gretna Green elopement.