A Slip of the Hand

Chapter 11

I push through the raging dance party. Sweaty bodies—many of them nearly naked—stumble around, basically groping each other. Booze and who knows what else flows freely. Ellie and Johnny are part of this mass of bodies, but I don't feel connected to it, and I don't have a dance partner, anyway. It's been hours; how long can a phone call take?

"Hey, Madison!" I hear a woman call, and I look over to see Isabella.

"Hey!" I respond, walking over to stand next to her.

"How's your night going?"

"It's alright! Not entirely sure what to do with myself since Ellie is a little preoccupied," I say, glancing toward the dancing mass.

"You should join us inside! I just came out to get my bag."

"I'd love to!" I reply without hesitation. While I'd wanted to stay with Ellie, Ellie isn't exactly available right now. It'd be fun to do something other than wait for Oliver to reappear.

I follow Isabella through the house and into a red room. It's accented with shiny gold and rich, brightly colored fabrics. There's a short, ornate wooden table in the middle of the room with a red, two-hosed water pipe on top. I notice Mickie, Cameron, and Daniel seated around the table. There's only one spot open—a large orange floor pillow between Cameron and Daniel.

"This is the hookah lounge," Isabella explains. "Come on—you can share my pillow."

I end up sitting half on Isabella's pillow and half on Daniel's. I haven't seen much of him since the hot tub, but I should've known he wouldn't be out there dancing.

The intricately decorated room is a stark contrast to the modern flair of the rest of the house. Silk lanterns emit dim red light, and a large opium bed sits in an alcove that can be closed off with red satin curtains. Kevin Lawrence sprawls on the opium bed, chatting quietly with a blonde woman who, if I'm not mistaken, is his girlfriend.

"Want some?" Isabella asks, drawing my attention back as she offers me a hose.

I've never smoked hookah before, but I've always been secretly curious. I'm a little nervous, but I put the hose to my lips and take a drag. The foreign sensation of something other than air in my lungs makes me sputter, but it's not so bad. The cool, minty flavor is refreshing.

"I just reloaded it. Good, innit?" Mickie asks with a large white grin, but he doesn't wait for my reply before taking a pull himself. I nod, not knowing how to answer, anyway.

We pass the hoses around as we chat, and I develop a pleasant lightheadedness. It makes the world feel less weighty.

"How long have you been in LA?" Isabella asks me.

"Only since June," I reply, then slowly add: "I'm still adjusting to the culture."

Isabella nods. "We've been here about five years, and I remember going through that. We were from a really laid back town."

"Us, too. A sleepy college town," I add.

I hear Daniel chuckle softly beside me.

"What?" I probe.

He shrugs.

"No, really—what?"

"It just makes sense," he finally admits with a grin.

I'm a little embarrassed, but I guess I have consistently shown how green I am.

"Oh, I heard about that bummer motel you tried to stay at," Mickie says.

I turn to Daniel, my eyes wide. "Was it really that noteworthy?"

Daniel feigns ignorance with another shrug.

"What else did you tell?" I probe.

Daniel's eyes flash mischievously, but he doesn't give anything up.

Mickie perks up. "Is there more?"

I realize how scandalous it must sound, and I don't want Mickie to get the wrong idea. "I blacked out and got really sick that night," I respond sheepishly. "The whole thing's super embarrassing."

"Oh, we've all been 'white girl wasted' before," Isabella assures me, "even Mickie."

Mickie nods. "I remember, like, 3 or 4 birthdays ago ending up bare-arsed, passed out in the shower, and you lot broke in when I didn't answer."

"Exactly," Isabella laughs. "But boy, did you dance before that!"

Daniel turns to me with a soft smile. "Everybody gets one free 'white girl wasted' pass."

"Have you used yours?" I ask him.

"Oh, I've used more than allotted, and I'm lucky my friends didn't get tired of my shit before I got it together."

"I've never even been close to that drunk before, and I don't want to do it again. It was awful!" I say with a sigh.

"Hangovers are no joke anymore!" Isabella adds. "The older I get—wait, how old are you? I don't want to assume," she says, turning toward me.

"Almost 23."

"Wait, you're 22?" Daniel interjects before Isabella can continue.

"What's wrong with 22?" I ask.

"It's just—you're younger than I thought."

"Well, then it's a good thing I'm almost 23!" I laugh. "This is the only life I know, and it feels long. Besides, girls mature faster than boys, so maybe we're about on-par."

He shakes his head at me with a curved grin.

"How old did you think I was?"

"I dunno, younger than me, but not that young. Like, 24-26."

"Yeah, I thought you were a bit younger than me," Isabella says. "I'm 27, and I swear everything changed after 25, hangover-wise."

"Oh, those sweet pre-25 days," Cameron agrees.

"I still don't get hungover," Mickie shares, "so I don't understand the fuss."

"How old are you, Daniel?" I ask, unwilling to let the subject go.

"A lot older than you," he teases.

"Well, you should be about the same age as Oliver and Johnny, so that means you're pushing 30."

"I'm 29," he says.

I shoot him a playful glare. "Soooo old!"

"Hey, I've got a joint in my pocket!" Mickie says suddenly. "You guys down?"

"I'm in," Daniel says.

"I'll pass," Cameron says, and Isabella nods in agreement. "We're driving home tonight."

"I'm sure the dogs need to go out," Isabella adds nervously.

"Madison?" Mickie asks, and I realize they're all looking at me.

"Yeah, okay," I respond. It's a split second decision, but why not? At least it won't make me hungover.