Fictionalized Memoir

21 Years Old and On The Prowl, Never Knowing Where the Night Will Take You

Two stepping, anti-skinny dipping, and porn spoofs paint the night

Marilyn and I walk into the nightclub, 21 and on top of the world knowing the guys will be all over us, not knowing it’s because we’re so damn young.

We like our newly discovered allure; we don’t realize we’re figuring this out at an older age than most girls do. I’m wearing a shirt, white and tight, skin-tight black pants, and black dragonfly shoes I manage to trip on every time I walk. I’m feeling extra sexy in a cute new haircut and my skinny body isn’t showing any bruises from all this falling down yet.

Marilyn’s wearing a bright red shortcut hip-hugging dress with a lowcut neckline that enhances her huge breasts and curvaceous body. A tiny white geometric pattern of seagulls all over it adds the quirky touch that reflects my best friend’s quirky personality. She’s curvy and big-boned and takes no shit. Dark red lipstick accentuates her vivacious lips. Her shoulder-length light brown hair is pulled back in a high ponytail and she’s sporting Audrey Hepburn bangs.

My best friend is beautiful.

When we walk into the club, guys turn to look us over. We like this. We know it’s a game and we’re ready to play.

Dance music blares over a small wooden dance floor. A DJ spins in the corner between a pool table and bar stools.

Marilyn’s already wandered off to buy a drink and flirt, flirt, flirt.

Some guy looks me up and down, says, “You wanna beer?”

I say, “Yeah, sure,” dig behind my ear for a cigarette — something to do while I’m feeling awkward with this guy who’s trying to make small talk. I’m sucking on my cigarette, thinking the dark ring of mauve lipstick around the butt will turn this guy on.

It’s an adrenaline rush to be this young, this beautiful. This powerful.

The guy hands me a beer. He’s wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. He’s tall and kinda cute in a Clint Eastwood sorta way. He’s also shy and awkward. The perfect mix.

Marilyn’s been dancing with a guy who’s a little taller, bigger than she is. He’s nondescript. It’s obvious he didn’t get dressed up for a night out. She’s alternating grinding her butt against his and solo dancing.

Her rhythm, I’ll never have.

You can tell the guy who doesn’t fit in is eating her up, loves being the center of attention while she dances with him.

“You know that girl?” Cowboy asks and points to Marilyn.

“Yeah, we came together. She’s my best friend.”

“She sure can dance,” Cowboy admires her, but without the flirtatious look he’s been serving me. “What’s her name?”

“Marilyn.”

“And your name?”

“Janie — what’s yours?”

“Mike. When they play some country music, you wanna dance?”

I inhale nicotine, “Well okay, but I gotta warn you I’m not a good dancer.”

“But you know how to two-step, right?”

“Not really. I did it once a long time ago at some steakhouse that had a dance floor and a band that played country music. I was on a blind date. It didn’t seem too hard.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll lead you.”

Marilyn’s with that guy, smooshed against him while they talk with the DJ perched on a small raised box. They smile, look at me and walk back to the dance floor. The music changes from hip-hop to Smashing Pumpkins’ “Animal.”

The room instantly fills with pre-orgy energy.

Marilyn’s got a cigarette hanging out of her perfect, large lips and bends over to sip on her Jack Daniels from a tiny straw every 30 seconds. She’s lost in her own world, imbibing the energy. Guys keep cutting in to dance with her, some girls too. The song ends and she sits down on a raised barstool, a little out of breath.

That’s when the music switches to some Garth Brooks song and the whole room groans except for Cowboy.

He holds his hand out to me.

“Oh. My. God.” I groan, and smile reluctantly as he leads me to the deserted dance floor. We’re in the spotlight and I’m very aware of the fact I can’t dance. I’m surprised by how much I like Cowboy holding me. His hands gently press into the small of my back, guiding my body. I find myself lying my head on his shoulder — after all, it’s the perfect height.

“See, it’s easy,” he whispers, his breath hotly hitting my ear and neck. For the first time he’s turning me on a little bit, getting my attention. He’s so close to me and I’m feeling drunk on his ruggedness. Cowboys aren’t typically my type.

He’s gentle too, I’m thinking, when I hear, “Ouch!”

I’ve managed to stomp my dragonfly high-heel onto his boot and left an Oklahoma dust print. I notice his eyes then, they’re filled with irritation. And, they’re dark, dark blue.

I mutter, “Sorry,” and rest my head back on his shoulder.

After a pause, he says, “It’s okay. Do you want to come home with me?”

“Um, no. Thanks.” It’s an enticing offer, but I’m 21 now and should know better. It’s 1999. No time for shenanigans. He shrugs, walks off without me, pays his tab, and leaves.

Marilyn laughs at me, “You’re such a geek! It’s cute that you can’t dance, but…” She giggles, “it was really great watching you squirm while everyone else witnessed that too. Where’d he go anyway?” Marilyn’s the only person who makes me feel 50 times better by teasing me.

I smile, laugh at my awkwardness, “He left when I told him I didn’t want to go home with him.”

“What a jackass! You don’t need a dumb cowboy anyway. You know that guy I’ve been dancing with?” Marilyn grins.

“Um, yeah. He’s really into you” I reply.

“His name’s RD and he invited us to go back to his friend’s house — the DJ — his name’s Cody. RD’s a weird name, huh?” I nod my head. I know it’s a bad idea, but it’ll be safer if we go together. I know how risky it is to go off with some guy alone. I can tell Marilyn’s leaving with RD no matter what.

“It’s in Midwest City.”

“It’s a bad idea,” I say, “but it sounds like fun. Let’s go.”

Cody is jamming to another song. He’s pudgy and short, has curly blonde hair and a permanent grin that evokes I really, really love to eat pussy. I can tell he’s dangerous to hook up with, but he’ll be fun to tease.

Closing time rolls around — I’ve been dancing Molly Ringwold Breakfast Club style, no rhythm, but it’s fun. I’m usually too shy to get out there, and I haven’t even had that much to drink. Cody even hopped down from his DJ box to dance with me.

My throat is cigarette sore, my voice cigarette sexy.

I’m tired though, and glad I put on lots of undereye concealer. Got to maintain the beauty, the power.

Glad my mom gave up on giving me a curfew when I started college — Marilyn’s mom when she started beauty school. We’re supposed to be going back to her house to crash eventually.

Cody cleans up the DJ gig stuff while Marilyn, RD, and I chat with a bartender. She’s bubbly, drinking a gin and tonic while she wipes down the counter one last time. The lights flicker and it’s the five of us in the dark.

Marilyn’s got a key to Uptown Hair Salon where she works. The four of us meet up there, go in to smoke a little pot, and Cody asks her for a trim. She says why not.

Cody looks over at me, says, “You know, those glasses make you look like a librarian.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“A librarian in a porn — they’re really hot!”

“Oh,” I smile, pleased.

Marilyn rolls her eyes heavenward while snipping half curls to the floor and passing around the joint. I think I should stay pretty straight since everyone else is getting fucked up, so I’m perched on a chair in the corner, my back to one of the large mirrors, staying kinda quiet, taking the occasional toke.

“I loved New Orleans,” Cody says, “They know how to party there — me and RD are gonna buy that bar we were just in — make it a real nightclub.”

“Oh yeah, how?” Marilyn asks, cutely crinkling her eyebrows for a split second.

“Yeah. There was this Vampire club in New Orleans called Blood,” Cody smiles, remembering, “Velvet-lined coffins propped up against the walls, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say morbidly curious where this is going.

“The girls are so hot, not like here, I mean they’re way more comfortable with their bods. They just stand in the coffins and some take off their tops, you go around making out with whoever, or you can hop in your own coffin and drink Jack.”

“Ooo, creepy,” I exclaim.

“Naw, no, it’s really cool, trust me,” Cody says as RD vigorously nods. “And there are lots of beads.”

“Yeah, we’re opening up a club just like that,” RD agrees.

Marilyn finishes the haircut. They finish the joint. She says she’ll clean up the mess Monday. We follow them out to their apartment in Marilyn’s mom’s car. She’s smoking another joint, listening to Led Zeppelin on blast. She’s speeding to keep up with the guys.

80MPH in a 50MPH zone.

I keep looking around for cops, but this is too country for them at 3:00 A.M. in the pitch black.

I can’t even see cows lining fences.

It’s July and sweltering. I’ve got the window down and alternate between taking a drag on my cigarette and sticking my head out the window, realizing why dogs do it. It feels beyond good.

At the generic apartment complex, there’s music pumping. And an enticing pool that’s padlocked shut. Cody and RD get out of Cody’s black and red TransAm and we follow them into the apartment. There’s a guy on the floor, a guy on the couch, and a girl and guy making out on an armchair in the corner.

The TV’s on louder than the stereo. It’s porn.

RD says “Come here,” to Marylin and she follows him. I don’t think much of it. This weasely-looking guy on the couch says to me, “Why don’t you put your head right here?” pointing down at the tent in his pants.

I look helplessly in the direction where Marilyn disappeared. Fuck it. I get on the couch and cradle my head in his lap while we watch a spoof of Monica Lewinsky going down on Bill Clinton in a bathroom stall. The scene takes forever. Couch guy doesn’t move. Neither do I. There’s another sound now.

The shower’s running.

Marilyn comes out smiling, in only her lacy red bra and panties. “We’re going swimming. Wanna come?” I’m thinking shit, fuck, shit. I’m skinny, flat-chested, hate to bare my body and don’t want to reveal my padded bra or my thong, but I don’t want to be deserted again, so I say yeah, okay.

We leave the living room glowing in the blacklight, CD player spinning, porn playing, and go out to the pool, jumping the fence. I hope no one will notice as I hop into the cool water with my clothes on. No one does at first.

“Oh my god!” What are you doing?! Look at her — she has all her clothes on,” Marilyn laughs, “You can’t go back in the apartment sopping wet.” I shoot her a look that’s meant to read We’re going back to your place after we get out of the pool — I can’t believe you’re half-naked in some stranger’s pool and I have no intention of going back in that apartment.

Marilyn looks grumpy, says, “Well, I guess we should be getting back anyway, but I was kinda planning on staying here tonight.”

I glare at her even harder.

We all get out of the pool. I instantly feel my sopping wet clothes weigh me down as I attempt to get out of the water with all the extra weight.

Marilyn goes back into the apartment. I can’t hear the porn anymore. It’s hard to tell if people are in there fucking or sleeping. She’s doing god knows what. I drape myself on the cement stairs, hug the cold rail, shivering. Cody comes out to say goodbye, but ignores how cold I am.

It feels like forever until Marilyn’s outside, keys jangling, kissing RD on the cheek. Cody runs inside to some girls he’s been making out with probably.

“You ready?” she asks me. I shake my head yes and we get into the car.

“Here, you drive.” She tries to hand me the keys.

“No, I’m too tired — you drive fine when you’re stoned.”

We’re quiet watching the wide expanse of plains under the bright half-moon. Soon the sun will be peeping out. Even the radio’s off at this point. About ten minutes from her house Marilyn says, “Remember when the shower was on?”

“Yeah.”

“We did it in there, ya know, had sex. It was weird.”

“Hmm…” I’m thinking that was risky but don’t want my look to betray me.

“He was kind of weird afterward. He got dressed and walked away from me all pouty. I walked over to check on him and he said it was a test to see if I’d take care of him. He works security at Quail Springs Mall. I’m supposed to go visit him later this week. The sex was really good.”

“Hmm…” I say, head heavy, eyelids pulling down, falling asleep. I’m waking up every few minutes feeling uncomfortable in my wet, sticky clothes.

We pull up to Marilyn’s two-story country house. In the living room, her younger brother’s gaggle of friends is passed out on the floor. We make it upstairs to her bedroom before her mom creeps downstairs and makes her way through tangles of boys’ legs to start the coffee.

Marilyn’s got the window cracked, smokes her last cigarette and falls back on her twin bed, feeling exhilarated by our adventure, and the fact that we came out alright.

She’s painted ocean-colored lovers on her sliding closet doors. Each time the doors slide apart, the lovers detach from their closed-door kiss.

I desperately peel off my clothes, tug on some sweats and a t-shirt, roll onto a pile of dirty laundry on the floor, throw a blanket on, and fall into a headachy sleep.

Marilyn’s been hanging out with RD a lot. I miss her. I’m in my room eating nacho cheese Doritos, Skors, and Necco wafers while watching reruns of The Cosby Show when my phone rings.

“I’m so dumb. I can’t believe I fell for that creep, you’ll never guess what he did.” There are tears caught in her throat.

“I had a weird feeling about him. What did he do?”

“He wanted to use the phone at my parents’ house, out in the workshop. He’d disappear for 30 minutes at a time.”

“What was he doing?”

“900 numbers, sex talk, and with me right there ready to do it with him — that fucking dick!” Marilyn is indignant.

“Ugh. Jackass. I’m sorry.”

“My parents are really pissed off. It’s a $300 bill. Now I’ve gotta go to his work and kick his ass and make him pay up.”

“Wow, I bet your parents are pissed. What a prick! Fuck. You need some distraction — want to dress slutty and go to the pool hall tonight, flirt with the guys?”

“Yeah that sounds good. Meet up at 10:00?”

~Fin~

Do you have stories to embellish from the year you were 21? Cheers, Aimée Gramblin