TROUT 𓆝 ⋆ l. bonet + e. debarge

II.

"Testing, testing, one-two, one-two."

"The recorder works fine, René."

October 30th, 1988

René rolled her eyes as she picked up the tape recorder. "Girl, you got this from Circuit City. Who knows what kind of bootleg shit they're selling there."

"Well, it's better than Radio Shack. They once sold me a messed up Betamax player."

Today, I was spending my lunch break at René's place. We've been best friends since elementary school, our friendship blossoming with a debate on who had the best Cher doll—she had the Growing Hair one, and I had the one that got stuck with Sonny. Needless to say, she won that debate.

From that day on, we had as many playdates as Dallas had plot twists, and high school was a breeze with her at my side. If there was an Oscar category for "Best Friend Ever," she'd win the award, hands-down. Thanks to her, our bond has never soured.

"Anyway," René giggled, examining the device. "Do you know why I asked you for this?"

Lounging on her bare hardwood floor with a fashion magazine in hand, I cluelessly shrugged in response. "I've learned not to ask any questions when it comes to you."

"Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I broke away from this season's latest fashions to find René frowning at me. "I'm just saying," I laughed, sitting up. "You tend to do some questionable things. I try not to become too...involved. You know?"

The last time I let René borrow anything of mine, my Sony Handycam came back with a tape recorded of her and a boyfriend having sex. Who knew what plans she had for my recorder, I didn't want to be the one to find out.

"Dag, Perse. How many times do I gotta apologize about that tape? I'm not even with the dude anymore!"

"And yet the tape remains."

René broke into a smile. "Well, I can't bring myself to destroy it. The cat had some moves on him..."

Balling up the magazine, I quickly swatted her with it. "Ew! Come on now, René!"

"Alright, alright! But I'm up to something good, just guess."

I lay on the floor and tried to think of what René could be up to before ultimately feeling stumped. Had I known that I'd be thrown in a quiz, I would've spent my break back at the station.

"René, I'm stumped. What is it?"

Fighting off a grin, René kept her cool as she continued to mess with the tape recorder. "Well, I'm playing at Club Spice on Halloween. I ran into the promotor at work and gave her my demo with my number on it—I didn't act desperate or nothing. I waited a few days, and she called and asked if I wanted to do a set there."

Discarding the magazine beside me, I stood up and trapped her in a bear hug. "Aw, René! I'm so proud of you!"

Club Spice was the hottest nightclub on The Ave. Located in the University District, it was a safe enough area to draw in people from all walks of life—students, young professionals, creatives, club kids who were looking for a sanctuary—it was the place to be. Especially on Halloween night, when a big bash is thrown every year, and the club becomes ultra-exclusive to the average Seattleite.

"Thanks," René said in a strained breath. "Now release me, you're squeezing the life out of my tits!"

"Sorry," I said, letting go. "I'm just so excited for you!"