Springfest Sugarbaby

It's hot, and the party is crowded. There are at least 25 people in the living room. The huge 70s style paper globe lantern in the corner casts a reddish glow over everything, accenting the orange in my hair and the orange of my courdouroy dress. I am sitting on the sofa, and people around me are talking, but I'm in my own space. I'm high. I mean, really high. I am thinking that it's possible I've never been this high before, and judging by the size of the joint that Randy's been passing around for the last half hour, I'm probably right.

Earlier at the after-party I'd had three or four glasses of red wine Tim had smuggled to me past security. This is the after-after-party, now. We're prone to having them. Nobody ever wants to go home after a big event, especially not one as big as this one. I'm still mulling over what Jeff said earlier, when he introduced me to Ken:

"She's not my friend. She's just a girl I work with."

I'm thinking: I listened to him bitch about his entire life for the past six months, empathized with him when he told me his tales of dating woe, smiled and nodded at him despite my annoyances and I'm just a girl he works with? That stung.

There's music playing somewhere. I can't really make it out, but it's got to be one of three songs: Stereolab's "Jenny Ondioline", or My Bloody Valentine's "Soon", or Beat Happening's "Teenage Caveman". Or possibly it's something by Sonic Youth, or more likely, Pavement, considering the house's tenants. Those are the only things I ever remember hearing in this house, where I've spent so much of my time in the last year.

Suddenly, something draws my attention up and to the left. It's Glenn. The guitarist in one of the bands from the festival. He's trying to get past me and over to the empty space of couch on the other side, but there's literally no room left in the living room for him to get up and walk around me.

"Do you mind? Can I just...?" he asks, miming climbing over me.

"Sure, no problem," I smile.

He climbs into my lap. He's drunk. Everyone here is drunk. He leans over and kisses me on the cheek, hesitating on my lap before sliding into the spot next to me.

"Thanks doll," he says. A trace of his Kentucky accent leaks through.

While all this is going on, Peter, the lead singer in his band, approaches from the kitchen, playing leapfrog over the heads of my colleagues still passing the joint around on the living room floor.

"What's this then?" he says, as Glenn slides into the empty seat. Apparently not one to waste time on formalities, he takes Glenn's place on my lap.

"Hi." he says. "I'm Peter."

"I know," I say. "I helped book your band."

"Yeah, I recognized you. With the hair," he says, and runs his hands through my sherbet-orange locks. "It's awsome. How'd you get it that way?"

"Industrial hair-dye accident," I quip.

"I imagine that happens a lot. So anyway, what's your name, doll? Are you a promoter?"

"No, I'm just a DJ. I work at the station."

"Just a DJ?" Glenn asks from my right.

"Just a DJ."

"Do you play our records on your show?"

"I do, in fact."

"Then you're not -just- a DJ. You're the coolest DJ," says Peter, and leans in and gives me a kiss.

Everything after that is kind of hazy.

Posted by lux at September 24, 2003 08:38 PM