style="font-size:15px;"> Maybe ‘goodtime girl’ is a bit too optimistic. In a few hours’ time I’ll be persuading him not to go at all. I’m never sure whether I’m trying to talk him out of it or making him talk me into it. We always do go. We’re always glad we’ve gone. It’s like this, I’ve a friend who prefers women although she told me once she sometimes needs to sleep with men. In the morning she smiles and says to herself ‘thank god I’m gay’. Parties and clubs and bars, they’re always incredibly exciting in advance, and such a good idea afterwards. But while you’re actually there? Somehow they make coming home such a relief.
As far as we can work out, at this one we’ll know nobody there. Not as good as knowing everyone, but better than knowing a few people not very well and dreading they’ll leave your side. Desperately trying to entertain them. Judging when you’ll see their interest waning. Thinking on your toes of what to hit them with next.
Josh says this party won’t be much of a talking one anyway, more a dancing. In that case it will depend entirely on the music. I wonder if we’ve steadily raised the volume over the past forty years to blot out our dwindling interest in chat. We used to clothe ourselves with words but now our armour is drugs and drums. It’s easier behind these, requiring less, providing an excuse. What people say, what they do are no longer criteria by which to judge them. In the chaos of a rave, their behaviour, our reaction, cannot be trusted. We rely instead on being perspicacious. We get a ‘good vibe’ from this dancer here and ‘the fear’ from that other over there.
Still, it’s fun isn’t it? And it’s not only the charity shops that Josh has been to. He pulls from his pocket his other purchases of this afternoon. Two microdots. I wink at him. Speed is scummy, coke is self-obsessed, E – I have spent evenings in my youth on E putting ice-cubes in the mouths of kissing couples, thinking they’d love it, maybe they did – I don’t know, it’s that enforced tribalism thing. I’d rather do it with people I really love, who I really think are beautiful. Acid is my favourite and he knows it.
It’s not a great idea to take it before we’ve got ready before we’ve called a cab, but we’re deciding to anyway. That way we’ll have burnt our boats, that way we’ll have to dress and go. Quickly and without thinking about it. And when we realise what we’ve done, we’ll be there.
In the cab I know we’re both checking the other for signs. I can see it in the way I’m looking at Josh, in the smile that’s playing round his lips, we’re both nearly giggling and I’m very aware of my cheeks. It’s so exciting this waiting. It’s a high in itself. What am I going to get? For once I know I’m going to get something. I’m definitely going to get something and I’m going to like it, but I don’t know what it is yet. It’s Christmas in heaven. All presents and no disappointments.
We find the street, we find the house. And I kind of don’t want to go in because the something I’m going to get is not dependent on the party. I’d have a great time just tripping with Josh and far less frightening. I mean, what is this party going to achieve? Have I ever been to a party and made a new friend? I don’t think so. No. Is this odd? Has anybody? The door is open but in front is a metal lattice which is locked and through which a girl is leaning. She has lost the plot, she’s saying ‘the philosophy is sound’, I think. But she can’t quite make her mouth move in conjunction with her voice so the effect is of some cheaply-dubbed film. From what I can make out behind her, she seems a valid example of the scene at large. Josh says, ‘Will you get someone to let us in?’ as though this is likely to happen. Please don’t let it happen. From nowhere though Garry appears. He has an iron key on a chain. I look at Josh to tell him I’m still sober, I don’t want to go in, hello! welcome to hell, but he smiles his in-for-a-penny smile and gives Garry a kiss. Garry locks the door behind us.
I can’t get over the fact that Garry has locked the door. I mean, what if there’s a fire? I want to point this out to Josh but somehow he’s been swallowed by a mass of faces in the hall and Garry’s leading me by the hand upstairs. I can’t believe it. I’m going to lose Josh. It’s my biggest fear and I’m having to confront it at the beginning of the evening. Without him, how will I get home? That whole taxi trauma, finding a number, making yourself heard, sitting off your head in the back and hoping they’re normal – it’s an ocean between me and my bed and Josh is the bridge. What happens if I don’t find him again? I will find him – I’d ask Garry only, how ridiculous. I’m in a house. You can’t lose a person in a house. Upstairs downstairs.
Upstairs seems a terribly long way. It must be like this for Oliver. Always. Imagine having more stairs than numbers at your disposal. Like walking into the infinite. Like walking up a hill that apparently never ends. This is a hill. Too many people, like so many bushes and trees and boulders, blocking my view of the top. I can’t see down, I can’t see up, I squeeze Garry’s hand to tell him to stop.
There’s a sort of corner with a wider stair and room to rest. He’s saying, ‘Okay, sweetheart? Okay?’ and rubbing my hand with his thumb. It feels delicious. Like the first time I’ve been touched. I’m nodding I think, I’m trying to smile. But that’s just it: I’ve no idea if what’s on the inside is getting through to the outside. He’s saying ‘Meet…’ and then a sea of faces where our safe stair was. I can’t meet, my mouth’s all tremble. ‘Meet Mary.’ Mary. Mary. It sounds funny, Mary. I don’t like her I think. Bad vibe. Oh definitely. She’s pointing to something in her cleavage, she’s saying ‘Should I lose the Action Man?’ She’s only wearing a bra, a bra and a doll. Should it go, yes or no? She’s demanding a decision. Don’t stop rubbing my hand, Garry. My neck is too weak for my head. Baby me.
Up up up, we’ve got there, but where are we going? I say, ‘Where are we going, Garry?’ and he says, ‘Yes’. Hopeless. More keys into a room, bed, cupboard, desk. Diet coke that he’s giving me. I’m breathing. He’s saying, ‘Just relax. Just relax and go with it.’ He smooths my eyebrows with his thumbs, he says, ‘That’s it. There’s no one else in here.’
Will you kiss me, Garry. I know you don’t, but will you? Would it be too horrid for you? A smile, and then a kiss and oh! it’s dreamy. I feel like I’m sucking the life out of him, feel like he’s feeding me. This is just what I wanted to earth me, now I’m slowing down.
Garry grins. He kisses my nose. He takes my hand and sits me on the bed. He takes off his top. I’ve never noticed before but he’s got a beautiful body. Club culture. The gym. What would Henry VIII make of the gym? Lifting things that don’t need to be moved. Running when nobody’s chasing you. He’s taken off his trousers, little cotton pants he’s wearing, and now he’s dressing in new clothes. Exactly the same but clean. He says, ‘Ready?’ and I say, ‘Yes.’
Back downstairs – and there is Josh on the dining room dancefloor. He’s surrounded by soldiers, giving it some where the table should be. He winks, he laughs, he takes my elbows and moves me to dance. I know how to do this. Find some space and start off small. Keep moving. Now feet, now arms, now hips perhaps. It’s the call of the drums this music, pom pom pom. Pom pom pom and your body jerks to it – Don’t look at anyone else yet cos they’ll put you off your rhythm before you’ve found it and suck you into theirs. You might not be able to dance to theirs. Little jerks getting bigger until the music encapsulates you, and your body learns the beat. Then your mind can wander, then when the rhythm changes and the tune comes in it’s like you’re flying, endorphins rushing, your body a freeway of racing blood, you go like billyo and you’re dancing, properly dancing, forgetting you’re physical, forgetting you’re dancing at all.
If we could float a little off the ground, would there be any need for this? I see why whirling dervishes. I see why baby-bouncers. Roller coasters, swings, fast cars and dances. The end is this: after that rush to float, after that speed to take off.
There’s Hideous Mary. Sans Ken. I don’t like her
