Part 17 (1/2)

”I'll wait out here for a minute with Chris,” says Jerk. ”Couldn't we find Tony Rigozzi and ask him?”

”Christ!” says Tom. He walks up the three concrete steps to the front door. He opens the door. Inside there is music and dancing. He hesitates, just for one moment, and moves his lips together nervously. Then he walks in.

He slams the door behind him.

”Hey, bruiser,” says a voice from behind one of the bushes at the front door. ”Waiting for an invitation?”

The bush waggles, and out into the light steps a young man with messy blond hair, an armless jean jacket, and a bat tattooed on his arm. ”Chris, good to see you. We thought you'd come around,” he says. ”Bat is my name, and it is my symbol. The bat. I move by night and seek things out by screaming.”

Jerk isn't very comfortable. He doesn't like Bat much.

And I see that Bat has an aura. He is a vampire. I remember the tattoo. I saw him before at that abandoned church, where he ate the flesh of women in ca.s.seroles.

He says, ”Lolli Chaz is looking forward to seeing you.” And, ”She has quite an evening planned for you. Come on, sucker.”

He walks up the three concrete steps to the front door. He wipes his feet on the welcome mat and swings the door open.

”Heya heya heya!” he screams. ”Someone gonna invite me in, in, man?” man?”

There's a momentary pause inside. I can't see past Bat. In a second, Tony Rigozzi, a junior at my school, stumbles over to the door, laughing, spilling beer from a plastic cup. ”Whoa! My first day,” he says, ”with my G.o.dd.a.m.n new legs. new legs.”

”Friend of Lolli Chasuble,” says Bat. ”Can I come in?”

Tony laughs again. ”s.h.i.+t, yes! Everyone's invited! What're you waiting for, a . . . ? Get in there! My house is your house. It is! It's your G.o.dd.a.m.n house!”

”Great, man,” says Bat, punching Tony on the upper arm. ”I'm d.a.m.n glad to meet you.”

”That a real tattoo?” says Tony, stubbing his fingers on Bat's upper arm. ”Man, that real?”

”No,” says Bat, secretly motioning to me with his other arm. ”Got it out of a box of G.o.dd.a.m.n Cracker Jack! G.o.dd.a.m.n Cracker Jack!”

I walk up the steps with Jerk. We're lingering right behind Bat.

”Lolli's over there,” says Tony, waving his hand toward the living room. ”Dancing on the table. She's some . . .” He sizes Bat up. ”So, you her boyfriend?”

”No,” says Bat.

”No? She is something,” Tony says in an undertone. ”I mean, look at her.”

”She's nice,” murmurs Bat.

They're standing close, side by side now, needling each other in the ribs. Tony says, ”Those lips were made for more than talking, huh?”

Bat smirks, says, ”Heh heh heh.”

And they disappear into the living room.

The door is left open.

”We could go back to the carnie if you wanted,” says Jerk. ”The, like, haunted house is only seventy-five cents. I mean, I've been in it four times, but there's a really good skeleton and stuff.”

I shake my head. ”No. I've got to go in. Come if you'd like. Or go. It's up to you.”

I snap my fingers from nervousness. Then I go in to find her.

The party is in full swing. People are packed up and down the front stairs right near the door. They're leaning on the dining room table and dancing in the living room. Kids are singing with the music, playing air guitar, slam dancing delicately, and gargling beer.

Lolli whirls like an Indian G.o.ddess of destruction atop a side table, scattering issues of Good Housekeeping Good Housekeeping with her heels. She and Jenny are dancing, pointing at each other, casting their shoulders back and forth, up and down. with her heels. She and Jenny are dancing, pointing at each other, casting their shoulders back and forth, up and down.

Lolli's friend Asheleighe is perched on the arm of the sofa, yelling over the music to Trunk McIntyre, ”I, like, loved their first alb.u.m totally, but then when their second alb.u.m came out, it was like, G.o.d, way to be completely queer, all right?”

Trunk nods. After some thought, he washes the beer from one cheek to the other and swallows. He says, ”Yeah!”

I pa.s.s Paul. He has waylaid Tony, blathering, ”Hey, Tony, Tony, I was thinking. I brought my camcorder. It's out the car. I was thinking, like, I could -”

”Yeah, great, man,” says Tony.

”No, Tony, I could bring it in and we could make a movie. You know, it would be fun, we'd preserve this party for future generations unseen? Do some crazy video stuff?”

”Yeah, whatever, guy,” says Tony. ”My house is your house.” He turns and calls, ”Chester boy! boy! I see you I see you standin' standin' there, but I don't see you there, but I don't see you guzzlin'! guzzlin'!”

I look around and spot Tom standing on the other side of the room, talking with some other people from the cooler crowd in our cla.s.s. One of them is Rebecca.

I work my way through the crowd.

”Hi, Chris,” Chuck, Andy, Kristen, and Rebecca say when I join them. We're all a couple years younger and more timid than everyone else at the party, so I'm on their level for a few minutes. Tom sees that they've said h.e.l.lo to me, then he says hi, too, as if we're just meeting up.

”Great party,” says Chuck. ”That girl Lolli, who's dancing with Jenny Morturo, she says she knows you.”

”Yes,” I say.

”You know her? her?” Tom asks, somewhat in awe. She bucks her s.h.i.+ny pelvis; her tan legs kick.

”Yes,” I repeat.

”From where?” says Andy.

”Around,” I say.

Jerk has come up and stood next to us, peering at Tom and Kristen and Andy as if he were one of their crowd, but he is too shy to say h.e.l.lo. Rebecca says hi to him anyway - ”Hi, Jerk” - which I think is nice. She gives him a quick smile.

So we're standing there.

Time is running out. I feel anxious to begin, to talk to Lolli, to get on the road, to find the abandoned church again. Maybe two hours and forty five minutes left until midnight, and the final part of the Spell of Binding is cast. Rebecca first, though. She has to know. I have to tell her.

”Rebecca?” I say. Feeling weak, I look deep into her feet. ”I was wondering, I mean . . . Could . . . ?”

Everyone waits. Tom is raising his eyebrows.

”Could I talk to you for a minute?”