A Supposedly Staggering Infinite Work of Heartbreaking Illumination I'll Never Read

I Think She'll Know

For You, The Stars
Chapter Eight: Installment 4

I went to the office the next day and sat in my cubicle pretending to work on Lotus macros and wanting to call Cecilia to find out how her it’s not a date went but also not wanting to sound like a pussy so I waited for her to call me. Eventually, late in the afternoon, my extension rang. We talked about other things.

“Don’t come up tonight,” she said. “I’m going out bar-hopping with Sheena.”

I crooned into the handset: “Sheena is… a punk rocker / Sheena is… a punk rocker—”

“No, she’s not,” said Cecilia.

“Sheena is… a punk rocker, now-ooh-ooh-ow.”

“No, she liked the Pet Shop Boys and Madonna.”

“It’s a song,” I said. “By the Ramones.”

“You’re not into the Ramones,” she said.

“I have hidden dimensions.”

“Whatever… So, aren’t you going to ask me?”

“About what?”

“About Brandon?”

“Who?”

“You know, my friend from Connecticut?”

“Oh, right. Him. I forgot. How’s Brandon?”

“He’s ok. It was sort of boring. He talks about work a lot without really saying anything. Stuff about deals and terms and points, or something. And names I’m supposed to recognize.”

“So what did you do?”

“He ordered dinner in his room. I wanted to go to DV8 but he said he did’nt feel like it. He doesn’t dance.”

“Did you spend the night?”

“Of course.”

“Ew,” I said. “He’s, like, old.”

“He’s not that old,” she said. “He’s kind of sexy.”

“You said he was overweight.”

“I mean he’s like rich sexy.”

“So did you fuck him?”

“Not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“He didn’t really want to screw. He just wanted me to go down on him.”

“And…”

“What?”

“Did you?”

“Yeah… Hey, you don’t have a problem with that, right?”

“Of course not,” I said, a little too fast. “Whatever, although I don’t really see the attraction. He’s a lucky guy, though. You give good head.”

“Oh, thanks,” she said, in a facetious tone of voice. “Actually, it was a little weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Well, he never really got hard, not fully hard anyway.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said. “How does that work? Don’t you have to get hard to, you know, like… finish?”

“Well, he did come. He just never got hard first.”

“I didn’t realize that was possible.”

“He said it was no big deal.”

“Is that an age thing? Is that what happens?”

“I guess. He made out like it was normal.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun for you.”

Cecilia didn’t say anything.

“So you stayed over?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he take you shopping. You said he sometimes takes you shopping.”

“No. He said he was too busy. He left early and told me I could hang out till noon, but a maid kept banging on the door yelling ‘housecleaning’ so I couldn’t sleep. He left me some money. He said ‘Buy yourself something nice.’”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Makes you sound kind of like a hooker.”

“Shut up,” she said. “It’s not like that. He’s just a friend.”

“Whatever,” I said. “So are you going to?”

“Going to what?”

“Buy yourself something nice?”

“I guess. We might get some X from Sheena’s dad.” Sheena was the one whose dad was some kind of real estate mogul in Marin who dealt ecstacy on side and spent all day lounging by his backyard pool. He probably loved it when Sheena brought Cecilia over to sunbathe in their bikinis or, better yet, topless. I wondered if he also couldn’t get it up anymore.

“OK,” I said. “Have fun tonight… faggot.”

“Shut up, faggot,” she said, and hung up.

---

I felt at a disadvantage knowing the Cecilia had fooled around with this Bradley guy or whatever his name was, even if it was pretty pathetic and seemed to mean almost nothing to her. I wanted to even the score somehow but I wasn’t really interested in looking for someone to hook up with. Even when we went out dancing together and split up and flirted with other people, even with the shot in the arm I got to my confidence knowing I was out with this sexy hot chick and probably taking her home with me too, I still didn’t feel like I was the kind of guy who could close the deal with a stranger. I never was. In all my years I never picked anyone up at a bar. I never hooked up with someone I just met that night at a party. I never brought home a girl from some college event to my dorm room. It just never happened.

Part of it was I thought I usually didn’t make that good a first impression. I used to say that I was an acquired taste. This was probably just bullshit. Mostly I was shy. But I wanted Cecilia to feel like I could hook up with a stranger, that I was as much of a player as she was, that people wanted me and she should maybe work a little harder to keep my attention. I wasn’t going to talk about the stripped and the lapdance. She was actually pretty interested in all the weird sex stuff I was into, the peep shows and the pornos and stuff. I knew I could tell her about the lapdance, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t think it really flattered me much. She’d probably laugh at the idea of me coming in my jeans and having to go home like that.

Plus, it didn’t take any mojo to get off with someone for money. The sleaziest middle aged salesman with flaky skin could do the same. I decided to make up a story, even though it made me feel even more pathetic. I couldn’t just come out with it right away or it would be obvious that I was just trying to keep up with her, but I started working on a little fantasy and waiting for the time I could tell it to her like it was real.

---

That weekend, we were hanging out at her sister’s. “Did you ever read a book called Go Ask Alice?” she asked me. “I don’t think so,” I said. “Is it like the song?”

“What song?”

“Alice doesn’t live here anymore… No wait, that’s the one about the diner.”

“You mean like ‘Alice’ the TV show?”

“Right, but I was thinking of something else

“Go ask Alice
I think she’ll know
When logic and proportion
Have fallen something something”

I trailed off. “It’s a Jefferson Airplane song,” I said. “Uh… oh yeah, ‘White Rabbit’.”

“Whatever, nerd,” she said. “I’m talking about a book. It’s supposedly this diary of a teenage girl in the sixties who starts doing drugs and then kills herself. All my friend read it in high school.”

“Supposedly?”

“Some people said it was made up. They made a TV movie of it with Captain Kirk.”

“What?”

“The guy. You know, from Star Trek?”

“William Shatner?”

“I guess. Whatever, nerd.”

“Stop saying that, you dork,” I said, and I reached out and smacked her ass.

We sat there in the sun for a while saying nothing.

“Why did you ask me about that book?” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was just thinking about it.”

“Oh.”

---

A week later I figured enough time had passed that it wouldn’t sound suspicious. Also, we had gone out on Thursday night in the city with Sheena and two of her friends from Lake Berryessa, wherever that was, and eventually we split up. Sheena drove Cecilia back to Marin and I hung out at DNA a little later before taking Muni home. That gave me a plausible scenario for my story.

“So I hooked up with this black chick the other night,” I said, trying to sound casual. I’d actually never been with a black woman at the time. It was one of my fantasies though, so I figured why not make the story more interesting.

“Really?” She sounded kind of intrigued.

“Yeah. Did you see me dancing with her? A little taller than me, with braids, really dark skinned?” I figured if you’re going to go black, don’t go halfway.

“No, I didn’t see her.”

“Yeah, she told me she wanted to take me home. She even paid for the cab.”

“That’s cool,” said Cecilia. I waited for her to ask me for details but she left it alone and I didn’t want to push my luck.

“Yeah, it was hot,” I said. “You should have been there.”

“You’d have liked that,” I’m sure, she said.

“Duh,” I said. “So, did you and Sheena, like, get it on?” I suddenly realized I hadn’t made up a name for my phantom lover. I started trying to think of something but I was distracted by trying to act natural.

“No, you perv. I told you we just make out sometimes, for fun.”

“But you’ve thought about it.”

“Well, sure. She’s sexy.”

“Not to me,” I said. She’s not my type. (Sheena was tall and skinny.)

“You’d do her,” said Cecilia.

“No I wouldn’t,” I sad. LaTanya! I thought, but Cecilia never asked her name.