I usually post my Sunday Story in my Facebook Group, but sometimes FB decides my stories are spam, “looking for likes and follows in a fraudulent way.” So here’s this week’s story instead.
Something lightish this week – (cw for anxiety.)
Not My Scene
I shouldn’t have come. That certainty overwhelms me within five minutes of accepting a red plastic cup of unidentifiable blood-red punch and finding a place to hold up the wall with my shoulders. Ted’s great room is big enough to fit thirty people and almost that many must be crammed in here. He has the patio doors draped with black fabric and spider webs, adding to the claustrophobic feel. There’s a fog machine going in the corner near the DJ. Because yeah, live DJ.
Not coming wasn’t an option. I’ve cut it as close as I can to my commanded presence at eight, but still I’m not sure I’ll last that long.
Tami, the senior partner’s assistant, stares my way as she dances by in the arms of a man in black armor. The silver wolf mask worn high on her forehead is a classy nod to Halloween that doesn’t detract at all from her perfect face and makeup. Looking around, I see this is that kind of costume party. The vampire king skipped the fake fangs that might make him drool or slur, the werewolf gives the barest nod to a muzzle with a couple of lines on his nose. The elf has pointed ears, but a perfect pale skin color with no green undertones. Costumes that enhance the pretty people.
Unlike mine.
My Oogie Boogie costume was supposed to be “breathable burlap” but the fabric is both itchy and hot. The headpiece covers my face, which I deliberately chose, but I can’t drink through it, can barely breathe through it. My field of vision through the bug-lattice mouth is limited and cluttered. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.
Well, I do. I was thinking that Ted told us attendance was required and he’s my boss’s boss. All that “call me Ted” is fake humility. And I was thinking that if I had to show up, the less exposed I was, the better. My body does not display to advantage like Chris in his shirtless Viking outfit, or Nathan with his equally shirtless kilt and broadsword. Shapeless and muffling sounded like a good thing. Now, my back is crawling with itch and sweat where I’m pressed against the wall.
I’m going to break any moment. Faint. Scream. Something.
I carefully set the untouched cup of punch on a side table, so whatever disaster follows, I don’t add to it with a permanent stain on Ted’s carpet.
The music intensifies, laughter rises around me. Vampire and werewolf fake-snarl at each other, five feet away. Greg and Karl do hate each other, so there’s more menace in it than play, no matter how much the others laugh. Ted in his kingly robes applauds from his throne, which yeah. Surprise… not.
The sounds become a blur in my ears, voices and notes and the clang of plastic swords in one corner. I’ve been here at this event long enough. People have seen me, my boss heard my voice. I have to get out, now. Right away. I start circling the room.
But somehow I’m turned around. I end up at the draped patio doors, the opposite side from where I want to be. That dancing, laughing, drinking crowd seethes between me and the exit. Sweat trickles into my eyes and with the fog and rotating lights, my vision strobes.
I’m going to loose it. I’m going to throw up inside Oogie Boogie and choke to death. Or worse, rip the mask off, baring my wild, sweat-soaked face, and puke on Ted’s rug. In front of all my co-workers and my boss and his boss. Who will not be amused.
I flail helplessly with one hand and whack my knuckles against the glass behind the fabric. Fate is kind and I didn’t break the patio door. I start shaking.
Then my fingers are caught in a strong grip. Someone’s deep voice says, “You look hot. Here, let’s sneak out this way.” They swipe the fabric aside and ease the patio door open. A blessed cool breeze penetrates Oogie.
I hear someone say, “Hey!” but all I know is that I might not die yet.
As I blink hard and try to unglue my feet from the floor, the guy pulls me sideways a step, then gives my shoulder a little push. “Go on. Watch your feet. There’s a sill.”
I manage to stagger through the opening without tripping. The night air is like pure oxygen when I’ve been suffocating. I take a step across the deck and then another, and squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in breaths. My whole body still trembles. There’s the soft shushhhh of the door closing and the music drops three notches. I hadn’t realized how I was vibrating in time until the bone-shaking beat is muffled.
“You could take off the head,” that voice murmurs.
It says something about my mental space that I imagine guillotines and swordstrokes before I realize he means the costume head. Instead, I turn around.
The young man in the medieval friar’s costume is no one I recognize, but the law firm is large. He looks young enough that odds are he’s a recent hire. Lawyer, paralegal, or office assistant? His kindness speaks against the kind of lawyer Ted hires, but his easy confidence in opening the curtained-off door says otherwise. The deck is well lit, outlining his attractive round face, broad shoulders, and a frame almost as large as mine. Something about him makes me feel safe, or at least, less panicked. I realize I’ve been staring and manage, “Thank you.”
“You looked overheated.”
Overwhelmed. But he isn’t wrong about the heat, either. “I was.” Even now, the confines of Oogie’s head are stifling and I realize that, sweaty mess or no, I need to get out of this thing. I pull the hood-mask thing off and take a slow deep breath, glancing out toward the dark back yard so I don’t have to see what he thinks of my no-doubt red face and rumpled hair.
He says, “I did wonder if the plan was to have all the women come in skimpy costumes. That party gets too hot every year.”
Every year implies he isn’t the brand new hire I’d suspected. Maybe he has a baby face. I fumble for something to say, wave at his monk’s robe. “And yet, you didn’t bare your chest.”
He laughs. “No, although the fabric’s cheap and thinner than it looks. Trust me, no one wants to see my chest bare.”
“I would,” my unruly tongue comes out with. If my face could catch fire, I’d be in flames. “Oh God, kill me now.”
“Is that a heartfelt prayer, my son?” he intones. “God doth not strike a man dead for complimenting another man.”
I choke out, “That’s not the doctrine of the Middle Ages,” still amazed he’s just smiling.
“Well, it should’ve been. Bad translations have a lot to answer for.” He tilts his head. “Who are you?”
No matter how much I’d like anonymity, I can’t refuse a direct question. Anyhow, I’m curious too. “Matt Benson. I’m Christian Farmingham’s legal assistant. You?”
“Call me Dusty.” He gestures off toward the garden. “Come on. I know where we can get something to drink that won’t stain our teeth red.”
He hasn’t said who he is, but I follow Dusty anyway, down the deck stairs, around the perimeter of the big in-ground pool, and over to what has to be a pool house. Because of course, Ted has a pool house. Dusty pulls open the door like he’s done it a hundred times, flicks on a light, and leads the way inside.
The pool house is bigger than my apartment, with modern minimalist furniture in pale blues and sea greens. The hardwood floor bears a plush white carpet. I try not to step on it with my shoes as Dusty beckons me into a fully equipped kitchen. He pulls open the fridge and looks over his shoulder. “Water, OJ, Coke, Sprite?”
“Um, Sprite, but, um, it is okay if we take things out of there?”
“Sure.” He pulls out two cans, pops his, and hands me the other one. “I live here.”
“You’re Ted’s pool boy?”
His roar of laughter probably isn’t meant to be unkind, but it’s the final nail in tonight’s coffin. I drop to my knees, lean over, and puke up the tiny amount of liquid in my stomach right onto his shiny kitchen floor. Then I stay there, swaying, clutching the edge of the counter above me, the world spinning in my head. My only saving grace is that I didn’t get puke on Oogie and that’s no comfort at all in my humiliation.
“Oh, man, sorry.” Before I can tell him not to, Dusty’s crouching down, robe hiked above his knees, with a roll of paper towel. Three swipes, a bit of spray from a bottle out of the sink cabinet next to me, and the floor’s clean again. Dusty stands to wash his hands and I’m left staring at his calves, strapped with leather sandals. He’s a hefty guy but there’s real muscle in those legs and I like his strong feet and long toes.
Which is the oddest thing to be focused on, slumped here on his floor. Except if I think about anything else, I might cry. Which would be the total capper on this shittastic night.
Dusty turns off the water, pivots, and slides down to sit on the floor facing me, his back to the cabinets. He reaches out to barely touch a finger to my arm. “Hey, Matt, you in there? You’re scaring me a bit with the catatonic act.”
“Sorry.” I rub a hand over my face, except I forget to extend my fingers out the sleeve slit, so I end up abrading my nose with Oogie’s burlap paw. “And you cleaned up. So sorry. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.” The tremors in my knees and the flutter in my gut say that moment isn’t yet.
“No rush.” He reaches over to where I managed to set my pop down and nudges the can toward me. “Have a little sip. Take your time.”
I sag from my knees to my ass on his floor and do as I’m told. The clean taste and scrubbing bubbles clear my mouth a little. The next sip helps my head to spin less violently. “You’re being awfully nice to the stranger who up-chucked on your floor.”
“The stranger my dad tried to give heat stroke?”
“Your dad?”
“Yep. For my sins. I prefer the stranger who said he’d like seeing my bare chest.”
“That’s so embarrassing.”
He cocks his head. “Was it a lie?”
“Well, no.” And now I’ve outed myself as the queer puking stranger. I hold my breath, but I have an inkling I might not be the only queer one.
“Good.” He grins. “A guy takes the ego boost where he can get it. Especially from someone sober and not a toady of my dad’s.”
“How do you know I’m not a toady? I mean, I came to his party.”
“So did I. Command performance. But Dad mainly focuses on the lawyers. Paralegals are beneath his notice. And if you were a proper toady, you’d recognize his family, along with the car he drives and how he likes his coffee.”
“Extra tall drip coffee with full milk, none of that non-dairy skim crap,” I quote.
Dusty barks a laugh. “Oh, you do have that part down.”
“We sometimes have to fill in for absences.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” He crosses his legs and eyes me. “Are you doing okay?”
To my surprise, I am. At least, here on Dusty’s kitchen floor. I nod and drink more of my pop.
“Are you parked fairly near? Did you drive here in costume?”
“A couple of blocks, and yeah. It’s not that restricting. Except the head, of course. I’ll get out of your hair in a minute.”
Dusty laughs and rubs his shaved head. He wears a strip of fake fur in a circle as a monk’s tonsure, but his own scalp gleams under the kitchen light. “Got no hair. I shave it.”
“Why? Not that it doesn’t suit you.” The cleanshaven chin and head combine to make him look both young and mature, in a way I like.
“I’m a social worker, and I deal with neglected kids. Lice are a fact of life.” He gestures at the floor. “Puke as well, so no worries.”
“Oh. Wow.” I look him over again, taking in the warm expression in his eyes. “That’s awesome.” I can’t help adding, “What does your dad think?”
I get a snort of laughter. “He’s told me a hundred times I’ll come to my senses one day. When my basement apartment flooded and I couldn’t afford first and last month on a new place, he figured that would be the day. Mom offered me the pool house. Dad offered law school tuition. I took the pool house for a couple of months, till I put together money to move out. Passed on the tuition, though.” Dusty sobers. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a lawyer. Rule of law is what keeps bullies from riding over everyone else. But it’s not for me, and especially not the way Dad does it.”
“Or Christian Farmingham,” I mutter, because I’ve seen the cases that go through our office.
“Seems like you’re not their kind. Why do you stay?”
“For the money,” I admit. “I have mega debt. One day I’ll pay it off and then…” My voice trials silent because I can’t afford to think that far ahead. One month at a time, one payment at a time.
“I get that.” Dusty glances toward the refrigerator. “Hey, you want something to eat? Something bland maybe, settle your stomach. I bet you didn’t even get to try the canapes with that mask on.”
“I didn’t, but I hadn’t been there long. Anyhow, you don’t have to feed me. I’ll go find my car— Crap!”
“What?”
I fight to control my breath. “I have to go back in. There’s some kind of special announcement at eight. My boss said not to miss it.”
“Mm. He’s making Farmingham a partner. I heard them sealing the deal last week, and planning to announce it.” Dusty eyes me. “Do you really need to go in for that? The party’s crowded. Odds are they won’t even notice you’re not there.”
“In this?” I gesture up and down Oogie, the costume making me even bigger and taller than I am in real life. “Farmingham will notice. He’s already on my case for not being a team player, because I don’t come to his pub nights.” My breath comes short again. “He’s going to be pissed at me for showing up in a stupid costume this time, but he’ll be even more pissed if I don’t show. Fuck.” I pick up the head but my hands are numb and clumsy. I drop Oogie’s head and fumble for it. I don’t, don’t want to go back into that cauldron of heat and fog and pretty people. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I can’t do this. If I pass out or puke, I’ll never live it down. I’m fired, either way.”
“Hey.” Dusty leans toward me. “Do you think your boss will want to go over and talk to you after the announcement?”
“Huh?” I wipe clammy sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, remembering to push up the sleeve this time. “No, he just wants to see me there watching and applauding in the audience, I’m sure.”
“Then let me do it.”
“Huh?”
He taps the burlap over my knee. “No one will have any clue who is in this thing, if I don’t speak. I can go on in, applaud wildly, and leave. You’re covered and there’s no fainting or puking.”
“But… why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me.”
“No, but years ago I was you. In my teens, I stood on the periphery of Dad’s parties and hoped he’d notice me and homed he wouldn’t. I sweated and worried and looked like a dork—”
“Oh, thank you,” I mutter.
That gets me a smile and a pat on the knee. “You’re a cute dork. Anyhow, it took six years away at college getting my degree, and two years working around people who have real problems to stop caring what my dad thinks. Mom asked me to do the party, put on the happy family thing greeting the most important guests, so I did because Dad’s kinder to her if he’s happy. But I don’t care. In fact, parading around his party as Oogie Boogie sounds like fun.”
“Not too much fun?” I’m torn between wishing I could take him up on his offer, and fear if he goes in there, it’ll all crash down worse than ever.
“No, I promise. I’ll stay in the background and be the most restrained Oogie Boogie the world has seen.”
“God, I wish I could accept.” I raise my knees, muffled in the costume, and set my forehead on them.
“Well, why not?” Dusty scoots a little closer. “You don’t have to swap and be the monk. I’ll find you some sweats or a robe to wear. You can hang out here and relax. Fifteen minutes. Less.”
I turn my head to look at him and pluck at my front. “You’re the kindest person I’ve met in a long time. But I’ve sweat all over this thing. I only have shorts and a T-shirt under it.”
“As long as you don’t have lice.” Dusty grins at me.
“Well, no, I promise.”
He stands to peer at the clock over his stove. “Five minutes till eight. What do you say, Matt? Who marches in there as Oogie in front of the Kingston, Miller and Chase law firm, with Dad on his throne as King Ted?”
I imagine the scene. All the lawyers, a bit tipsy on blood punch, grinning with teeth stained red. Ted on his raised golden seat, Farmingham at his side as heir apparent. Cheers, laughter, a toast, the heat, the fog, and me as Ooogie… “Fuck. Okay. You, please. Thank you. I’ll owe you my firstborn.”
“Planning to have one?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Not any time soon, no.”
“What I thought. I might have to take it out in trade.” He gestures at me. “Come on, get up and out of that thing. Let me get you a robe.” He hurries out and I push to my feet.
This is nuts. He can’t mean it. But I fumble with the zipper on my costume, breathing a sigh as the front falls open. I kick off my shoes and peel the baggy burlap down my arms and legs.
Dusty hurries back into the room, clad only in blue boxers and a T-shirt. I take a moment to confirm that yeah, he’s all the things burly and rounded that I like in a guy, before I remember I shouldn’t stare. And that I’m in boxers and T-shirt that are a lot less pristine and a lot more plastered to my body with sweat. I jerk the stupid costume up in front of me to hide myself.
Dusty comes over to me, holding out a maroon velour robe. “Here.” His voice is soft and kind. “Put this on. Give me Oogie.”
As if I ‘m a puppet, I obediently hold out the burlap costume and take the bathrobe from his fingers. My hands tremble. Dusty shakes his head and smiles, sweeping a look down my body and back up. “Not a good time tonight, obviously, but you look a hell of a lot better out of Oogie than in him.”
“Ooh.” I clear my throat against the choked whisper and try again. “The compliment to end all compliments.”
I do like Dusty’s laugh. “I’ll do better next time. You get that robe on. You’re shivering.”
While I belt the robe around me, Dusty wriggles into the costume. The fit isn’t too bad. He’s maybe an inch shorter, a couple of inches thinner, not enough to matter. Objectively, that isn’t a bad costume, if this were a normal party.
He comes up close to me, reaching into the front pocket of the robe, inches from my dick. His face is close to mine, but I don’t flinch or draw back. Just when I’m both terrified and hopeful his nearness is meaningful, he pulls something out of my pocket, sets it on the counter, and steps back. “Here. Clean toothbrush and paste. Get that taste out of your mouth.”
Oh. I’m bot relieved and disappointed. But I realize how much that stale acid was adding to my roiling stomach. As Dusty tucks himself in and zips up Oogie, I turn to the sink for a quick tooth scrub. The mint paste is like that cool outside air, flushing the humiliation from me. I rinse with a mouthful of Sprite and smile at Dusty. “You’re a god among men.”
“Just a humble friar, brother.” He grins and picks up the head. “Right. T minus two. Time for Oogie to make his appearance and cheer the knighting of a sleazy lawyer by the lawyer king.”
“If anyone tries to talk to you…” This has to be a bad idea.
“I’ll pretend I don’t hear them.” He puts the head on, cups his hand in the ear region. “Hmm? Huh?”
“I don’t know.”
Dusty gives me two thumbs up, then slides his hands back into Oogie’s sleeves. “Forward, march!” Before I can protest again, he slips out the glass door of the pool house, closes it behind him, and crosses the yard. The floodlights pick up his pointy-headed bulk as he slides the patio door aside, ducks past the black curtain, and goes out of sight.
I stand, watching the blank outside of the house. A minute later the faint party sounds die down. I swing the pool house door open to let the cool air in on my face, and listen.
A drum roll. A quiet thirty seconds. Some cheers, applause. And then the party sounds gradually resume. I keep watching. Surely there’ll be outcry. Cruel laughter. Something. I shouldn’t have made Dusty take the heat for me.
Then there’s a flash of brightness as the black curtain is pushed aside. The patio door opens. A hulking shambling brown figure skirts the pool, heading toward me. When he’s almost at the pool house, Dusty pulls the head off. He’s grinning. “Easy peasy,” he says. “They didn’t suspect a thing. One big, ordinary gay boy is just like another to them.”
“You’re not ordinary.” Not even close. I’ve never met anyone like Dusty.
“Neither are you.” He nudges me back inside and closes the door behind us, pulling a curtain across the glass. “Question is, what now? Shall I walk you to your car? Do you want a shower first? Can I get out of this sauna of a costume?”
“Yes. Ditch the costume and…” Suddenly daring, I ask, “Is there maybe an option four?”
“Being what?” He unzips the front of the suit.
I clear my throat, wondering if I’m nuts, but all the panicking I’ve been doing maybe burned out my adrenaline because my words come out clear. “A hug?”
“Just a hug?”
My voice isn’t as strong, but I manage to say, “Maybe not.”
Still swathed in padded burlap, Dusty reaches for me. His arms around me are as strong as I imagined. And after a moment of eye contact, his mouth finds mine. Tonight, I’m glad for the first time in a lifetime that I went to a party that was totally not my scene.
#### the end ###
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Enjoyed this story.
Yay, thank you.
Great story! I hate parties so could really empathise!!
🙂 Me too. Thank you.
Oh, that was sweet! And I think I’ve been to that party!