Deeper

Bess chewed the inside of her cheek before remembering it was a bad habit, and stopped. “Different like how?”

Missy swaggered close enough to pluck at the collar of Bess’s Izod shirt. “I could lend you something to wear before the guys get here, if you want.”

Bess glanced at her khaki skirt, bare legs and flip-flops before looking at Missy’s denim mini and tiny top. “What’s the matter with what I have on?”

Missy shrugged and went back to her face. “Nothing…for you. I guess.”

Girls have a language in which the words have nothing to do with the meaning. Bess flushed, looking again at her clothes. She touched her hair, bound on top of her head with a spring clip. She’d showered after work and used some powder and gloss, but nothing more than that. She’d figured they’d watch TV or something, not have a party.

“I think I look fine.” She sounded defensive. “I told you, I’m not planning to get screwed.”

“Of course you’re not.” Missy sounded so patronizing and sympathetic, Bess erupted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She strode to the mirror, pushing Missy aside to stare at her reflection before turning away to glare. “Anyway, anyone who doesn’t like me the way I am can just…suck it!”

Missy’s drawn-on brows rose at Bess’s exclamation. “Cool it down, sugar-tits. Jesus! Fine, don’t get laid. Save yourself for your lame-ass boyfriend back home.”

“I’m not saving myself for anyone,” Bess said. “Just because you don’t comprehend the concept of being faithful doesn’t mean nobody else does. And he’s not lame.”

And he might not be her boyfriend anymore.

Missy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Do I care?”

“I don’t know. Do you? You sure as hell keep bringing it up.” Bess put her hands on her hips.

Missy glared. Bess glared back. After a second, though, Missy’s lips twitched. A second after that, both of them were guffawing.

“You are such a drama queen.” Missy pushed Bess aside in order to put away her makeup.

“Screw you, Missy.”

“I didn’t know you swang that way, sugar-tits.” She fluttered her heavily mascaraed eyelashes.

Bess, as usual, had nothing wittier to counter with, and settled for trying to tidy up the disaster of Missy’s living room. She’d only managed to clear piles of magazines and newspapers off the couch and chairs before the door opened and Heather arrived with Kelly in tow. Both looked pretty drunk already.

“Hey, girl!”

“Lookit you, bitch! What the hell? Who did your hair?”

“Where’s the fucking pizza?”

Bess watched the interchange and wondered what it would be like to have a house where people came in without knocking and tossed themselves onto the furniture as if they lived there. She was pretty sure she’d hate it. She nodded when Kelly waved at her, but Heather, typically, ignored her. Heather didn’t like Bess. The feeling was mutual, because Bess knew Heather thought she was a stuck-up princess.

People arrived for the next hour, many more than Missy had actually invited, but news of a party always spread fast. The trailer, not even a double-wide, soon became a haze of smoke, body heat and music. Bess, stomach growling, kept hoping someone would show up with the promised pizza. Bags of chips and pretzels appeared along with forties of malt liquor and bottles of every other kind of booze. At least Missy’s friends brought their own with enough to share.

Bess wasn’t the only one underage, but she was probably the only one not drinking. Nobody cared, assuming as long as she had a cup in her hand she was getting as wasted as the rest of them. Missy would have known, but was so busy drifting from lap to lap she couldn’t be bothered with Bess.

A cheer went up when the pizza arrived, finally. Bess had met Ryan before. He fucked Missy once in a while, when they were both drunk or stoned or bored. He held the pizza boxes high, shouting out, “Two bucks, two bucks,” to everyone he passed.

Two bucks. All she had in her pocket. For two bucks she could have gone and bought her own slice and a drink, but at the party she’d be able to eat as much as she wanted or could snag before it all disappeared. Ryan clearly knew what he was doing, though, because he’d brought four pizzas. The guy behind him, his face shadowed by a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, carried another three.

“Bess.” Ryan winked at her as she moved aside the empty cans and paper plates already stained from previous pizzas to make room for the boxes. “How you doin’, baby?”

“Good.” She brushed off her hands. The table was sticky, but it wasn’t worth the effort to clean it. She turned in Missy’s tiny kitchen to grab some paper plates from the cupboard and set them down. Already hands were digging into the boxes and carrying away slices. She wanted to get hers.

“This is my buddy, Nick.” Ryan jerked a thumb over his shoulder as his friend set down the other boxes.

Concentrating on sliding the steaming slices onto her plate, Bess did little more than flick a glance in his direction. Her stomach had sprouted the pins and needles preceding the shakes of low blood sugar, and though there’d be more than one person passed out here by the end of the night, she didn’t intend to be the first. When she looked up, Nick was gone, swallowed by the mass of writhing, dancing bodies.

Ryan leaned across her to grab a napkin from the counter behind her. His arm brushed her breast. His breath wafted over her throat and cheek. Pinned between the table and the counter with no place to go, Bess flushed at the intimacy, especially when Ryan grinned and winked. His glance fell to the front of her shirt before he looked at her face again.

“Nice party,” he said, and turned away to load his plate with pizza.

It wasn’t the first time Ryan had flirted with her, and it wasn’t even that Bess minded. Whatever arrangement he and Missy had didn’t seem to be exclusive for either of them. Ryan was cute and knew it. It didn’t make her feel special. Just a little off balance. It had been so long since she’d paid attention to any sort of male interest, she wasn’t sure how to react.

“What are you drinking?” This came from a guy Bess didn’t know by name, though she’d seen him around. He held up a bottle of tequila. “Margarita?”

Bess looked for a blender and saw none. “Umm…no, thanks.”

“Okay.” The guy shrugged and turned to the girl next to him, who waited with open mouth. He took the bottles of tequila and margarita mix and poured both into her mouth at the same time, stopping when the liquid started overflowing. She swallowed and choked, coughing, waving her hands, and they laughed.

Bess tried hard not to make that face, the one Missy had mimicked, but…ew. Gross. Not to mention a good way to end up in the hospital. Shielding her pizza with her body, she eased through the throng, but found no place to sit in the living room. She leaned instead against the wall in a corner. People were playing quarters already. Someone else had set up a beer bong. Bess concentrated on eating.

The problem was, once finished, she was thirsty again, which meant a return trip through the party jungle to the kitchen. She had to stop to dance a little along the way with Brian, who worked with her at Sugarland, because he snagged her wrist and wouldn’t let her pass without a bit of bump and grind. Brian liked boys, but was fond of reminding Bess frottage didn’t need a gender.

“You look pretty tonight!” He shouted over the heavy bass thumping of “Rump Shaker.” “Zooma zoom, baby!”

Bess rolled her eyes as he grabbed her ass and ground against her. “Thanks, Brian. You like guys, remember?”

“Honey,” he said into her ear, with a lick that made her giggle and squirm, “that makes it even more of a compliment.”

She could hardly deny that, so she let him feel her up and down for a few minutes while they danced.

“So, who’ve you got your eye on?” she shouted into his ear.

“Oh, boys, boys, boys,” Brian said with a shake of his highlighted bangs. “Boys all over, honey, but sadly, most of them are straight. How ’bout you? Still remaining true to your Prince Charming?”

Bess kept herself from making a face at Brian’s assessment of her love life. He didn’t need to know about her problems with Andy. He’d either commiserate, which she didn’t want, or give her advice, which she didn’t need.

“Dish!” Brian ordered, twirling her. “Mr. Right’s Mr. Wrong, all of a sudden?”

If she’d been able to get in touch with Andy more than once in the past three weeks, maybe she’d know. Bess shook her head and eased herself out of Brian’s grasp. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he shouted in her ear, and she winced. “What did that bastard do?”

“Nothing!” Bess tugged her hands out of his.

Brian didn’t let her go easily. “I don’t believe you!”