✣ ✣ ✣
"Cut the gas, Marisol. You're being a wet rag. Haven't you heard? The lead singer's a total babe. A Brit, too. Isn't that neat?"
Nothing but a groan.
"Come on, Mari. Please? For me?"
The only thing keeping you from declining yet again was the knowledge that Tawny wouldn't let you get away with saying no for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row.
You pause, tipping your head over to be able to stare at the door in case of a sudden intrusion. You'd get killed for this!
"Tawny, you know they'll go ape..."
Your words began to trail off as you ramble on, a sudden pop and crackle coming from the record player that's nestled into a tight corner on your desk.
"Give me a second, cat."
"You better hurry, I'm dying over here! I don't think you get it, this is the most important time of the year. And I'm gone the next time around, so you must hate me if you don't come with me!"
You sigh, shaking your head back and forth, which in turn sends your ratted hair flying around your face. What a drama queen! Of course, Tawny could have a good point. Her parents had decided to ship her off to upper New England, Maine, precisely, right before her final year of school. Bummer, huh?
Tawny knows best has been the motto between you two for as long as you can remember. She'd always been more experienced than you, both with boys and just life in general. But who would have been surprised? She was blessed with a rather large chest and the silkiest hair you'd seen on any living thing. Why should you question her word now, especially when it comes to her music taste?
Pushing the nagging thought to the back of your mind, you drop down the coiled pink phone onto your duvet, sliding off the edge of your bed before wandering over to flip your record to its B side.
Better.
A loud pop.
Crackling.
Finally, the music.
Better.
"Okay, Tawny. I'm back-"
You're cut off by an eager whine.
"Did you get an answer? Is it yes? Baby, please, say it's a yes!"
You snort, rolling your eyes at her tone before cautiously continuing your thought.
"Don't have a cow, alright? I'll go with you. On one condition, though."
You can only imagine how she's anticipating your response, she's probably got a half-smoked cigarette between her fingers as she twiddles the filter of it with her ruby red thumb nail.
"Yeah...?"
"You don't make a scene, as you always do."
Tawny had been notorious for making nothing less than a fool out of herself, which in turn, would drag you into it. The thrill of being the center of attention would take over, and the next thing you knew, you were dragging her out from under her pits after she had offered something - ahem - to a shy bystander. She would always admit to drinking more than she could handle, of course. But she was nothing short of a tomboy at times. A girl her size drinking beer? Hilarious.
"Okay. Fine, I guess. I'll give you an even better pitch, Mari. You won't even have to babysit me. I want to stay sober for this, I have a feeling I'll want to remember them. I mean, how often in our lives do you think we'll be able to talk with a European?"
"Wow, you have the best questions, don't you?"
"Whatever, Mari. Just let me pick out your outfit, too? Don't be such a square. Just trust me."
Again, Tawny knows best.
"I don't think I have a choice when you say stuff like that, hm? I just don't know... won't it be hot in there?"
"Thanks, genius. Of course it'll be hot. It's June. Or did you just totally forget that?"
"Right-o, Tawny. I can always count on you for the kindest words."
A roaring 'HA!' rips through the line, almost shattering your eardrums as you yank the telephone from your ears back a few inches.
"Easy! If I'm agreeing to go with you, I need my ears. Isn't that the whole point?"
You let your fingers twirl around the coiled cord of your phone as you contemplate the night.
Your parents were caring, of course. They loved you! Tawny liked to think different, though. So what if your parents were a little more... strict?
Boys have always been strictly prohibited by your father. He claims that you need to focus on your school, and not boys. What a distraction! You never seemed to question him, though. You weren't a pushover or a doormat by any means, you just could understand the reasoning behind it. A good college education to get an actual job was the top priority, the last thing you wanted was to become a stay at home wife.
But, it's the summer, isn't it?
So who cares right now? Why should it apply?
"Tawny, be here at 3, alright? We're going. I'll let you do whatever you want, make it look good."
A scoff rings through the other end, "Marisol! Doesn't it always look good?"
You roll your eyes at her rebuttal, sighing before letting out a small "yes" in response. All you can hear at this point is the clattering of what you can only assume to be numerous lipstick tubes, all which seem to be way too close to the same shade, and her favorite mascara to use on you. She says it gives you a dolly look, which you assume to be a good thing if she keeps using it on you.
"Okay, I grabbed everything. Are you sure I can't come over earlier? It's like I've got ants in my pants, come on!" She whines out.
"Tawny, I'm positive! Parents are leaving for the night, they're having dinner in Portland and staying there until tomorrow. Long drive, I know, but they're leaving at 2:45 sharp, and you know how they are with timing. It'll work out, okay?"
"Please?"
"Three, Tawny. Or not at all!"
"Fine!"
She leaves you with a strained smooch noise from her end along with a small giggle, clicking the phone off which results in the unpleasant beeping caused by a dead line.
Tossing your phone back onto your bed with a 'ding!' coming from the impact, you raise yourself up and dust off your sailor style shorts.
You plop down in front of your vanity, letting your elbows rest upon the edge before letting your eyesight burn into your reflection.
It's okay, right? Nothing special.
You wouldn't know, though. It's just like how the boys would always try to get your attention. Wolf whistles, snaps, and other name calls. You wouldn't know if they were lying or not, but you'd still ignore them either way.
Cat calling isn't a form of flattery, of course.
"Three. Three o'clock..."
You mumble, pouting out your lips a bit.
"What did I get myself into?"
✣
Three hours and multiple makeup smeared cotton rounds later...
Tawny finally decided she was finished painting on a face for you. She prides herself in her cat eye liner skills, something you'd also have to give her snaps for. She insisted on staining your lips a deep ruby red, claiming that it's "just unreal!" to guys on the scene.
"Look at your threads, Mari. Aren't I just amazing? By the end of the night your lipstick will be gone from frenching some cool cats - I bet on it! Call dibs on a good one and I'll back off, yeah? I think I've got my eyes on the bassist. You think he likes stacked birds?"
A sharp squeal leaves your lips as you smack Tawny's arm, watching as she giggles and perks up her chest a bit. An eye roll is your simple response at first, reaching over to put out her lipstick-marked cigarette before deciding on a response.
"You know the answer to that, Tawny. They all do. That's all they want, and you need to realize that! Doesn't it bother you?"
"Of course not, chick. I like myself, for a change. The beatnik style's cool, get it? I get to do whatever I want with myself as long as I find it fun. Who cares? We're best friends, Mari, so I'll be honest with you. You're a party pooper! Try being more subterranean. Just let loose."
A hard blush is slapped onto your face at Tawny's brutal honesty. Maybe she's right?
No, no! You can't let her have that again. She can't always be right. Her ego will inflate so much that it'll pop like a stressed balloon!
"Drop it for now, Tawny. Please? For my sanity? Let's talk about my outfit! I think it looks ace."
She'd dressed you in the mint colored capris that has been collecting dust in the back of your closet and a puffy tank, claiming that it'll have your bust appear larger. You click the tip of your bright white tennis shoes together, and bend down to tighten your laces. As you look up to her through long, thick lashes, she brings her finger up to flick against your shoulder.
"Stop wasting time, jeez! Let's split!"
With that, you're off.
✣
The first thing you're greeted with upon entering the dance hall is a thick cloud of grey cigarette smoke, followed by the pungent perfume of it that stuck better than your most expensive bottle. Surveying the area, you watch as couples dance up on each other to the beat of the deep bass blaring through the area.
It was comfortably cramped, to be perfectly honest. The deep pressure from all sides felt relaxing in a way as Tawny decided to tug you up to the front of the stage. An airy feeling began to swirl around your head, whether it be from the overwhelming amount of smoke or just pure excitement for what's to come, and you shrug it off with a shake of your body.
Butterflies.
Is it a welcome feeling, or one that's utterly uncomfortable?
You flip flop between the choices as you feel yourself grow hot from the mix of the bodies surrounding you along with the anticipation to see what'll come out from the beaten wooden door. What if it's just a bunch of middle aged men? What a rip off. You'd paid $1.75 to get in tonight, and if that's what you would be watching, then you'd also be getting a refund. Or, at the very least, your money back from Tawny.
The roar of close conversations comes to a sudden hush as the owner of the dance hall taps on the microphone, resulting in a harsh screech to echo throughout the cramped area.
"Apologies, all..."
He grumbles, glancing up from a furrowed brow into the sea of teens. He shakes his head, going on about something about our 'rock and roll garbage', then slaps on a cheesy grin to try and convince us that he's having the absolute time of his life.
"Ladies and gentlemen..."
You let out a hiss as you feel Tawny dig her claws into the flesh of your arm, smacking her lightly repeatedly to try to get her to lighten up.
"The Cupid's!"
Harsh screams begin to flood the room, and suddenly your rib cage is being practically crushed up against the stage. You groan, face twisting in discomfort as you wiggle around to get more room for yourself.
With your focus being more on saving your own life rather than whoever just ran on the stage, you jump as you feel a stinging smack to the back of your head.
"Fucking look, Marisol! Look at him!"
You quickly avert your eyes from you previous focus and stare up, letting your jaw fall slack as your heart begins to pound out of your chest.
"Dibs. Dibs! Tawny, Christ! I call dibs!"
She snorts loudly at your desperate call, barely audible to anyone other than you due to the sudden sharp riff from an electric guitar.
He seems young, but not like a child. Maybe in his early 20s? His appearance is one of a Greek god, Apollo, maybe, with high cheekbones and an aggressively sharp jawline. Bright green eyes light up with excitement when it's his time to come in, letting his head shake with bouncing chestnut curls.
"Maybellene! Why can't you be true?"
He belts out, and your knees begin to feel weak.
That's a first.
Your face feels hot and you know you've turned as red as a tomato as the singer locks eyes with you, a slow smirk creeping up on his lips as he continues to sing out. His gaze is so intense that it almost feels as if it's only the two of you in the crowded hall. Sheepishly smiling back, you raise a hand and toss him a light wave. You see his grin widen as he returns the gesture with a nod of his head and an obvious wink.
"Shit, Mari. He digs you!"
Tawny shakes your shoulders slightly and you whip your head around to face her.
"You think so?"
"Know so! He's making goo goo eyes at you, I think I can see him drooling, too! Are you gonna talk to him?"
Too much time in the conversation passes between the two of you, and the next thing you know, it's over.
Shit! How long were you even thinking for?
You glance around, eyes going wide as you realize you've completely lost Tawny. Well, maybe not completely. You think back to earlier and her fawning over the bassist, sighing in thought as you come to the conclusion that she's probably got her tongue down his throat hiding away in a grungy janitor's closet.
"You smoke?"
A deep voice calls from behind you, one that's completely unfamiliar to you.
British?
You whip around, dark eyes going wide as you realize who's staring down at you with a tight rolled cigarette resting between his lips. He extends a hand, letting his sight flicker between your eyes and his open palm as an invitation.
"'M Harry."