Campus Call Boy, page 7
Wish you coulda come. Then a devil emoji. Least I get to see you tonight.
It’s kind of pushing the friendship boundary we talked about, but he’s so adorable, I don’t mind.
I text him back: Good to hear from you! You had a fun time?
Was alright. How’s the paper?
Jesus, I feel like a low-down scumbag. Didn’t get as much done as I wanted to. Conked out early.
That’s marginally truthful. Philip and I were lights out around eleven-thirty. Guess it’s a lie of omission.
No conking out early on me tonight. You promise?
He’s got me stressing. I’m going to some pagan-themed costume party. I’ve got no idea what to expect. I type back: What should I wear?
Another devil emoji. You gonna make me go there?
I chuckle. Now he wants to hard-core flirt? I’ve got two or three responses in my head to hit him back with, but I keep my cool. What time should I come over?
9
All right. I figure I’ll target nine thirty or so. I hate to be the first to arrive. I’ll b there. Can’t wait to see you!
I probably shouldn’t have said that. Particularly with an exclamation point.
He sends me a blushing grin emoji. Then, Ciao.
Ciao
Well, looking at my watch, I’ve got four hours or so to agonize over an outfit.
I forgo ordering Chinese because I’m not even hungry anymore. Compartmentalize, I remind myself. Last night was money. Tonight is college life. Hanging out with a friend. A friend who gets my stomach doing jumps. Who kissed me at the top of a clock tower, which was probably the most romantic moment of my life. Yeah, my compartments for Carlos are like a Russian doll, and he’s naked in the center, waiting to spring out, wrestle me onto my stomach, and fuck me silly. I roll aside the doors to my bedroom closet not knowing where to start with figuring out what to wear.
Carlos said some people would be coming casual, but that’s kind of lame. I might be the only person not dressed up. Meanwhile, I own nothing costume-y. I haven’t dressed up for Halloween since sophomore year in high school when my boyfriend at the time took me to a house party, and we both dressed up as zombies.
I’ve got a pair of faded, olive utility pants and a black cotton long-sleeve t-shirt that I figure are the closest thing I own to fit into Carlos’s crowd. I set that stuff aside and hop into my car to make a quick trip to the mall. There’s a novelty store out there.
After walking every aisle three times, I grab a little kit of guy-liner and a pair of satyr horns that you can strap on your head, figuring they fit the Spring Fever theme. I make a run to the grocery store to pick up a twelve-pack of beer. Then I drive back to my apartment and put the outfit together.
I use just a touch of the mascara around my eyes so I look a little rakish. I’m not at all confident I won’t make a fool of myself walking into a house full of artsy queers. But it’s getting late, and I decide I don’t give a fuck. I grab the twelve-pack and head over to the co-op in my car.
It’s quarter to ten by the time I find a space to park off-street. Carlos’s co-op is on the north side of campus amid a bunch of dormitories. It’s an old mansion repurposed for student housing, and my, if the nineteenth century founders of the university could see how times have changed. The house has a rainbow flag, a trans pride flag, a bi pride flag, and a bunch of others I don’t know. The big front porch is lit up with pink and green track lighting, which I suppose is Easter-y. As I walk up the path to the front door, I notice shadowy, oversized Easter eggs on the lawn. They’re constructed from some hard material like cardboard and papier mâché and decorated with pagan symbols and slogans like: “We eat frat boys” and “Power to the Peeps.” Retro punk music thrums from the house.
I take a deep breath and press a doorbell, which I hope alerts somebody. At the dorm I lived in, there was a number pad where every resident had to punch in their four-digit room code. This co-op hasn’t been modernized with such things. A single doorbell?
I can’t even tell if it’s working. All I hear is the revelry and the demented vocals of the Violent Femmes. Then I see the glass paned door is open a crack. Guess it’s a let-your-damn-self-in kind of thing. I take another deep breath and push into the house.
There’s a fairly typical, dorm-style lobby with mailboxes and bulletin boards. An emerald green runner of artificial turf leads deeper into the house. It’s a clever work of art. They decorated it with hand-painted toadstools and flowers and little action figures dressed up as winged fairies. Along the way, they placed a garden gnome with red light devil eyes and made a mini Antifa T-shirt for him to wear. I wander tentatively toward the din of noise.
The common room has been transformed into a primordial Garden of Eden. These artsy types have skills, I gotta hand it to them. They moved all the furniture out and hung vines from the ceiling, built leafy trees, and covered the walls with branches and flowers. Feels like I’ve crossed into another realm.
The crowd is pretty surreal as well. People are tricked out with wings, antennas, hooves, antlers, and tails. Some are painted green or spotted like tropical frogs. A lot of drag going on. I see a butch girl wearing an enormous strap-on dildo. A queen in heels and a bright green wig is milling around in a drapey gown constructed from florets, looking like a garden goddess or something.
I stand there with my twelve-pack hanging from my hand, feeling like the nerd who crashed the cool kids’ party. My horns are lame. I’m way too conservatively dressed. People glance at me and look away, disinterested. I’m seriously considering turning around and chalking this up as a bad idea.
Then a guy comes around who looks like his outfit might even be lamer than mine. A Sigma Tau baseball cap, a “Party Naked” T-shirt, and baggy sweat shorts with what looks like a beer funnel holstered on his hip. He’s looking at me with this starstruck grin like we know each other.
“You’re Carlos’s friend.”
It’s not the kind of voice I was expecting, and then I piece things together with a closer look at her face. She was at the laundromat leafletting for the student walkout. She had a boy’s haircut to begin with and with the cap and her breasts bound, she could totally pass for a freshman rushing a frat.
“Noah.”
“Amanda.”
Now I get it that her outfit is meant to be ironic. “Great party,” I say. I’ve got, like, nothing else.
She squints at me. “You’re a faun? Or Hell Boy?”
I tap one of my horns. “Store said these are for a satyr.”
Amanda nods politely. Are the horns that bad? I guess so, considering they’re plastic and everyone else looks like they spent all week making their costume from renewable materials.
“You’re probably looking for Carlos.” She adds, slightly confidentially, “He’s been so excited you were coming.”
I smile, blush.
She waves me along. “I think I saw him on the other side of the room.”
I follow, wading through densely packed bodies. It clears up a bit in the center of the room where they built a seven-foot phallus standing like a maypole. That’s the dance floor, I guess. A few people are thrashing around, though the music is not so right for dancing. Amanda leads me to a clot of people in a corner of the room. My heartbeat is racing because I’m finally going to see Carlos. I’m literally feeling dizzy.
Amanda creeps up on a guy with rabbit ears and taps him on the shoulder. Oh man, his butt looks cute with a bunny tail. Carlos turns around and gets a huge grin on his face when our eyes meet.
“You made it.” He crushes me in a hug. A sexy, kinda kinky hug. He’s half in, half out of this plush bunny suit which is ripped into short sleeves that ride up his arms and short pant legs that ride up his calves, and gutted so his entire torso is bare. Sort of looks like he came out of the Easter Bunny Alien-style and is still wearing its fur. He scratches the scruff of my neck and releases me. As he stands back, I see his sexy skin is covered in glittery body paint.
I remember the beer I’m carrying. “I brought this.”
Carlos looks at the twelve-pack and screws up his mouth woefully. “That’s sweet, man. But we’re boycotting that company. They give big money to anti-LGBT groups that advocate for conversion therapy.”
My jaw drops, and I bury my gaze in the floor.
He slaps my arm. “I’m just fucking with you, Noah.” He snort-laughs at my shocked face. His friends laugh along with him. It’s the first time I notice them. A pair of girls wearing kitty ears and collars, holding hands. A twinky guy in a batter’s helmet, crop shirt, and super tight, athletic trousers cut out in the back like chaps so his ass hangs out. I guess he’s a slutty baseball player for the Spring opening of baseball season. The fourth is a non-binary black kid wearing a lot of goth makeup, piercings, and pointy claws.
I eye Carlos reproachfully. Kinda harsh for him to embarrass me in front of his friends. Or am I being uptight?
He introduces me around. “This is Dez and Rebekah. This is Ian. He was with me at the laundromat the other day.”
Slutty baseball player. Yeah, I recognize his face now, though he was covered up a whole lot more.
“And this is Jae. They’re vice president of the Students for Economic Justice Collective.”
Everyone is checking me out and trying not to look like they’re checking me out. Makes me feel a little warm inside. His friend Amanda said Carlos was telling people about me.
“C’mon,” Carlos says. “I’ll help you get those beers unloaded in the kitchen.”
Now I’m following Carlos through the crowded party, squeezing between knots of people, trying not to be a dick about it. Seems like everyone knows Carlos. They make way for him, pat him on the shoulder, stop him to grab his hand or kiss him on the cheek. We make it to the kitchen where there’s some breathing room, and we head to the fridge to find nooks and crannies to stow away the beer amid packed shelves of food and liquor.
Afterward, he gives me a lingering glance.
“You look good.”
I scoff, shove my hands in my pockets. “I feel like a total dork.”
“What’re you talking ‘bout? The horns are great. And your eyes…they’re sexy as hell.”
He steps closer to straighten out my horns. I don’t mind him getting into my personal space. Not at all. All that bare skin so close to me. He’s got hairy armpits. He’s a little hairier all over than I’d pictured him, but I like it. A patch of black hair on his chest and beneath his belly button. His nipples look delicious.
“Hey, I’m sorry ‘bout messing with you ‘bout the beer,” he says.
That snaps me back from ogling him. “Oh. No, that was funny.”
“You want a drink? Ian made this punch we’re calling ambrosia.” He smirks. “It’s pretty serious. Sort of a Long Island Iced Tea with mini marshmallows and rainbow sherbet on the top.”
“Beer’s fine.”
“Good choice.” He fishes out two bottled beers from the fridge, uncaps them, and hands one to me. We clink our bottles together, smile at one another. I toss back gulps.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I’m glad, too. You guys worked hard on the decorations. They’re amazing.”
Carlos takes a slug of his beer. “It’s our biggest party of the year. Besides ‘Homo-ween.’”
“You look pretty good as a slutty Easter Bunny,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
He dodges my gaze, darkens in the face. “You think so?”
I look him over, musingly. “Yeah. I don’t think too many people would kick you out of bed.”
Carlos peeks at me with a grin. “How come you’re always playin’ with my emotions?”
I laugh, tip back some beer. “It’s cool seeing your world. You’re like a big deal around here.”
“I guess,” he says. “This is my second year living at the co-op. They guilted me into leading the resident advisory council, so I know pretty much everybody.” He smiles at me. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a business major at one of our parties before.”
“I feel that. I pretty much stick out like a sore thumb.”
“No. It’s not like that. I’ll introduce you around.”
He takes my hand and leads me back into the Garden of Eden. Honestly, I was happy just talking to him, but I dig holding his hand. I guess friends do that sometimes. If that’s what this is with Carlos. I don’t know how to categorize our relationship, and as a second date, or meet-up, or whatever, this party has me all kinds of unbalanced.
He brings me over to a group of his Latin friends, and they’re pretty friendly. The guys give me strong, brah handshakes, and the girls look at me with aww expressions seeing I’m holding hands with their pal. I gather they’re a straight clique. I’ve seen one of the guys at the gym, and he always keeps his eyes on his own business. Ramon is his name. He and his friends give Carlos some ribs for his outfit, and a lot of jokes go back and forth about huevos.
Carlos spots a tall black girl in a blond Afro wig and a flowery dashiki, and he stops her as she’s passing by.
“Tameka. This is Noah. He’s from Philly, too.”
I remember he mentioned he lived with someone from my hometown. Tameka’s face brightens, and we make the usual small talk while Carlos gets pulled into some conversation with a group of goth kids wearing blackbird wings.
Turns out Tameka grew up just one subway stop away from me. She went to the City Honors High School, which is no surprise. Not many kids at the high school in our neck of the woods go on to college. That’s why my grandparents were so hellbent on sending me to a private Catholic school. Tameka tells me she’s doing this one-year program teaching in inner cities after she graduates this semester, which sounds really cool.
The music gets louder with more of a heavy bass beat. Guess the deejay is finally cueing up some stuff you can move to. Carlos bops back over and points at me. I’m not sure what he’s suggesting, and I can’t hear him until he sways over close to my ear.
“You gonna dance with me?”
I nod. I don’t recognize the song, but I figure I can improvise. Carlos pulls me to the dance floor, which is now packed with people raising their arms in the air, bouncing to the beat, and hollering.
We dance freestyle for a while. That’s pretty much all I know how to do. Pretty soon, we throw in some flirtatious moves, a little hip bumping, a little Carlos backing up on me wagging his tail, a lot of eye contact while we grind our bodies to the beat.
Then a Latin track comes on. Latin couples storm the dance floor, and Carlos takes my hands and tries to lead me in a salsa. He has me laughing. His hips are magic, and I’m a mess trying to follow along. He finally gets behind me and holds my hips to show me how to move them while he guides my feet by nudging the inside of my ankles. When I somewhat have the steps, he holds my waist with his bare chest against my back, and I’m totally re-assessing my opinion of this second date.
He’s so slick on the dance floor. The heat between his legs feels great against my buns. People smile watching us, hoot, and shout approvingly. I actually feel like a dancer.
The deejay slides into a techno track, and we look at each other, both ready to take a breather. I tell Carlos I wouldn’t mind another beer, and he takes my hand again to lead me back to the kitchen where there’s now a motley group of young partyers smoking cigarettes.
Carlos breaks things up. “Nope. You gotta take that outside.”
The girls and guys scowl a bit, but they slink off to do what they’re told.
“Fuckin’ freshmen,” Carlos complains. “They try to get away with everything.” He pulls out two beers from the fridge.
“You turning into a grumpy dorm dad?”
He holds his cold beer against his forehead. “Not tryin’ to be. But Res Life is always up our ass about the rules.”
I take a long draw on my beer. I worked up a sweat, and Carlos’s head is soaked worse with that plush bunny costume covering his back and arms. He grabs a roll of paper towels, hands it to me, and I rip off a sheet to wipe my brow and hand it back to him. I ease back against the counter watching him wash his face in the sink, trying to cool down. The problem, he realizes after dabbing his face with a paper towel, is he’s washing off his sparkle body gel.
He tosses away the sparkly wad of paper towel. “Well, guess the party’s over,” he says.
I grin. “You always known how to dance like that?”
“It’s Latin culture. My dad’s side of the family.” He smiles. “I also know how to dance the Hora if you wanna try.”
I stare at him. I admire the guy so much. Organizing students to take up important causes. Taking leadership of his co-op. Burning up the dance floor. Is there anything he can’t do?
He sidles over, plants himself up close, clasps my shoulder blade with his warm hand. “You havin’ a good time?”
“Yeah.” My face is pretty much blooming. I think he’s going to kiss me, but he holds off, just teasing me by standing so close.
“How’s that complicated thing going?” he asks.
“Oh. It’s getting less complicated.”
He brushes my face with his knuckle. “How so?”
“Well, the judge just gave me three years probation.” I puff a breath up my face. “No jail time after all.”
Carlos cocks his gaze at me. I don’t break from the dead serious expression on my face.
“That’s what I was going to tell you.”
“You thought you were going to jail?”
I nod.
“For what?”
“Vehicular manslaughter. I drove over this homeless guy coming home from a house party. Served him right if you ask me. Sleeping on the sidewalk in the middle of nowhere. Turns out he had kids who wanted to make a big deal about it.”
Carlos’s face blanches. He takes a half step back. I hold in my laughter until I can’t take it any more, and it bubbles out of me.
“I’m just fuckin’ with you.”
He mumbles some expletive in Spanish.
