Phoebe had to ring the doorbell at James Trehorn’s house three times before he came to the door. He wore an oxford shirt hanging over jeans, loafers and held a glass of wine. It was a look calculated to say, “I’m relaxed and casual. I date all the time.” The top two buttons of the oxford were unbuttoned, revealing a hairless chest. This was the kind of information that one may not want to reveal on a first date, Phoebe thought.

“Welcome to my home.” James stepped aside and waved her in.

A fire burned in the fireplace and soft jazz played on the stereo. The living room was impeccable. All Room & Board and nicely hung curtains and flat screen TV. Phoebe took it all in.

A man emerged from the kitchen in an outfit almost exactly the same as the one James had on. He extended his hand.

“Hi, I'm Andrew, James' roommate.”

“Andrew is a very big into cross country skiing,” James said.

“I am,” Andrew agreed.

They both laughed. They both swirled the wine in their glasses and took sips in unison. Andrew looked over at the fire with what Phoebe thought was a look of longing. She wondered if Andrew had someone coming over and wanted them to leave.

“Well, should we go to the party?” Phoebe asked. “Or should we go out back for a sauna?”

“Well, no, because you were a few minutes late getting here and as I explained before, the party starts at 8:00. I hate to be late.”

---

In the car on the way to the party, James didn't say anything. Not a single word. Phoebe palms sweated inside her gloves. She watched James drive. He sat forward to look out the windshield and kept both hands on the wheel at all times. After twenty minutes, they pulled into the driveway of a well-maintained bungalow.

“The hostess is named Kristen. She has long, blonde hair. That's how you'll know which one she is.”

“OK.”

“And let's not broadcast that this is our first outing together. Let's make this our fourth.”

“OK.”

James led the way into the house. There were so many people that those closest to the door had to press up against furniture to allow Phoebe and James to enter. A few slapped James on the back or shook his hand. Everyone was blonde, thin and pale. Quite a few wore wire-rimmed glasses. The women wore nice sweaters and black pants; the men oxford shirts and jeans.

James got her a glass of red wine and for a few moments they stood together, alone in the middle of the party.

“So, these are your college friends?”

“Yes. Skotillians, most of them. We're all over-achievers. So we tend to stick together. Other people tend to bore us.”

“Its great that so many of you live in the same city and can get together. I only keep up with three of my college friends.”

A group of women pushed their way up to James. They looked identical in crewneck sweaters and black pants, their pale, straight hair gathered back into low-riding pony tails. All of them talked at once.

“James!”

“How great to see you!”

“It's been since New Years!”

James put his hand on the small of Phoebe's back and pushed her forward. “Cathy, Karen, Kristen - this is Phoebe.”

The women took turns grasping Phoebe’s hand. Their skin was cold and felt like the paper Phoebe loaded into the copier at work.

“How great!”

“You two are dating?”

“Cute hair!”

“I have to go say hi to a few people,” James said. “Why don't you all talk for awhile?”

James pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared behind a door at the far end of the room. Cathy/Karen/Kristen looked Phoebe up and down.

“Are you his girlfriend?” one of them asked.

“I don't think so.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“This is our fourth date.”

One of the blondes held her hand out, distinguishing herself from the other two.

“I’m Kristen. This is my house.” “I used to date James.”

“He failed to mention that.”

“Don’t even ask me why we broke up.”

“It would take all night to tell,” one of the other blondes said.

“But if you’re enjoying his company…” Kristen said and trailed off.

The three women stood looking at Phoebe, waiting for her to say something revealing about her relationship with James.

“Well, I could use another glass of wine.” Phoebe held up her empty glass.

No one moved to take her glass or guide her towards the kitchen so Phoebe kept smiling as she shuffled her feet across the threshold of the kitchen. She found herself face-to-face with a blonde teenage boy wearing the same oxford shirt as everyone else but with a sweater vest. He sipped a beer and spooned hummus onto a piece of pita bread. He turned to her.

“Why is it that all anyone ever serves for food at these parties is pita bread and hummus and nuts. Not even a lot of nuts. Just one little dish. If you're going to have a party, you should spring for some fucking food.”

“I just want some wine,” Phoebe said because she was very nervous and her face felt stiff.

The teen went to the other side of the kitchen and selected a bottle of pinot noir, which he opened as if he’d spent his entire life waiting tables in a wine bar. He handed her the bottle.

“I’d just hold onto it if I were you. These parties are never very fun.”

“Do you know Kristen? Are you her brother?”

“No. I slept with her once though.” The teen winced at the memory.

The two of them drank for awhile and stood in front of the small dish of nuts, taking turns taking handfuls. Then someone in the living room put James Taylor on the stereo and Phoebe switched to drinking wine straight out of the bottle. The teen noticed.

“Here, this will get you there faster.” He took something from his pocket and grabbed her hand, forcing her fingers open and slipping something small into her palm.

“What is it?”

“Just take it. I think I hear Jimmy Buffet.”

She took the pills he’d given her and kept sipping the wine. Pretty soon she felt relaxed. She felt so relaxed she had trouble holding the spoon for the hummus and ended up using her fingers instead. The teen laughed.

“Hey, can you play the bongos?” the teen asked.

“Of course.”

He led her to a room off the kitchen. Another clean-cut man and a woman in a sweater set with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth sat on the floor along with a tambourine and a couple of guitars. The woman handed her a set of bongos and they all started to play. For a while Phoebe just sat and listened, sipping at the wine. But then she found that she was compelled to bongo. They tried “Horse with No Name” and “Give Peace a Chance.” Phoebe couldn’t really feel her hands, so it was difficult to bongo correctly but no one seemed to notice. She drained the bottle of wine and someone was sent to fetch another. She could no longer see her companions except in a very abstract, faces-as-floating-shapes way. They were playing “Smells Like Teen Spirit” when Phoebe looked up and saw that it was James’s face floating above her.

“James.”

“What are you doing?

Phoebe struggled to come to a kneeling position on the carpet.

“You can't even stand.”

“Yes, I can.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Leave her alone, James,” the teen said.

“Shut up, Sven.”

“Do you know each other?” Phoebe asked.

“We used to be roommates.” James knelt down and took the bongos away from Phoebe. “I think we have to go now.”

“But we’re playing music. And I thought he was a teenager!”

“We have to go. I don't think this is the impression I want you to make on my friends.”

“James, you’re an asshole,” Sven said.

“OK, we’ll go,” Phoebe said. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

It was a tremendous struggle to get out the door. People spoke to them and reached out their hands and she wanted to grasp them all, even Cathy’s or Karen’s or Kristen’s, but they all floated past her. She saw the tinkle of the diamond studs in Karen’s ears. Smoke streaming from the nose of an overweight woman sitting in the corner. The machine gun staccato of a man laughing. And then they were outside, underneath the clear and frigid night sky and James was tucking her, like a rag doll, into the passenger seat of his car.

NEXT