Part V: Snakes – Snake #7 (Chapter 94)

As a reward for my weight loss, Mother and I are going to Monique’s tonight for a pasta dinner and swimming party.

Johnny will stay home with the boys so that Mother and I can have a good time.

“This’ll be your coming out party,” Mother says.

Monique’s sons will be there.

“But don’t pin any hopes on the oldest one; he’s a faggot.” Mother spits out that word.

I have bought a new bathing suit for the occasion, an aquamarine bikini, but not a skimpy one. I’m not quite ready for that.

*

Arriving at Monique’s Bel Air mansion, we drive through two large wrought iron gates opening inward into a curving driveway.

A sleek man in a red uniform with gold and black braids on his shoulders nods at Mother and waves us through. Mature palm trees line the driveway. On either side, the manicured lawn glistens from the sprinkler, which seems to be forever spraying a fine mist no matter when you visit. Funny how I have never noticed just how secure and isolated Monique’s place is, with its seven-foot stucco wall surrounding the entire property – at least five acres, maybe more.

We are escorted into the pool area by an English butler. The oversized, kidney-shaped pool has been carved out of boulders and equipped with underwater lights and a heater for cool weather. Chaise lounges are scattered around pool side, and, here and there, flowering tropical plants grow in large granite pots.

The party’s in full swing.

Monique, wearing a black string bikini, kisses me on the lips (ugh!). “You look lovely, sweetie.” She hands Mother a Hamms.

“I want one, too.” I dare Mother to say otherwise.

Mother nods. “It’s okay.”

As I slug down my Hamm’s, I realize that I know very few people here, and Mother and Monique are too busy flitting from man to man to make proper introductions.

Mother finally sits on the side of the pool, dangling her feet in the water, close to a gray-haired man, an aging hippie.

Monique grabs a younger man, a dark Italian with curly black hair and green eyes, from a deck chair. “Let’s dance!” The two bump and rub against each other.

Trish, Monique’s quiet dark-eyed roommate, the procurer of diet pills, scowls.

Trish has a slight mustache, dark circles under her eyes, and a blocky build, like a man’s.

Why does she act like such a mother hen? Why should she care what Monique does?

Just about everyone has paired off, and I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable. Is this one of those parties I’ve heard about where people go to have sex with strangers?

Mother and the old hippie are kissing but stop as I stare at them.

Mother blushes and says something to the man who grins sheepishly. He lowers his head and scratches his chin. They resume their conversation as if nothing has happened.

Other singles mill about, including two young guys who must be Rob and Tom, Monique’s sons. I screw up all the courage I can muster and introduce myself to them.

They seem relieved to have someone other than themselves to talk to.

I’m not too impressed with these guys as potential lovers, but they’d be okay as buddies.

I shudder. Anything would be an improvement after Darryl and safer than Paulie.

Besides, I need to get out and meet some people – have some fun – and maybe these guys can open some doors for me. It’s obvious that Tom is a homosexual and already has a lover he talks about all the time, and Rob moons over some girl at his high school.

He’s a year younger than me.

The two brothers are very different; Tom is thin and tall, has a head full of curly red hair, and extremely blue eyes, and a soft voice, a very gentle person. Rob, on the other hand, is short and stocky, has thin brown hair and brown eyes, and is boisterous and funny.

To him, life seems to be one joke after another.

After talking for about an hour, they decide I can be talked into being cool.

Tom says, “We got something to show you.” The three of us sneak off to the side of the house, where Rob pulls a joint from his beach robe. “You ever done this?”

“No, but I want to.” I remember a vow I made years ago: once I was out of high school, I would experience life to the fullest. Mr. Kirk once showed a love-in movie in English class; how I yearned to be a part of that culture.

Now was my chance.

Rob lights up the joint and shows me how to draw in a long breath. “You’ll get stoned faster if you make the most of each drag.”

With my first drag, I hack and cough.

“It’s okay. It gets easier each time,” Tom says.

He was right; it does get easier. After five joints, I feel like an old pro, sucking in that smoke and holding it in my lungs for as long as possible. “God!” I try standing up. I feel wobbly. “I gotta do this more often,” I boom.

“Shhhh!” Tom says, “You gotta learn how to maintain. You want the heat coming?”

“The heat?”

“The cops, silly,” Rob says. “You wanna get busted?”

“You mean lose my virginity?”

The guys laugh.

I fold my arms. “‘Course I wanna lose it. Just haven’t found the right guy yet.”

“Arrested, little one,” Tom says, “Not fucked.”

“Oh.” I feel my face turning red.

“It’s okay. You can be casual around us. You’re in California. Sex doesn’t mean a thing anymore,” Rob says.