Party Season – A Short Story

Party Season – A Short Story
by Myra Williams

(Follow-up to “Dating Season”)

This Texas weather changes a lot. As day turned to night, my feelings like the weather, went from hot and sticky to cool, breezy, yet still a little humid. My cousin and I are exhausted as we stand outside the wedding reception saying our goodbyes to those who are leaving town in the morning. After giving hugs, kisses, and words of farewell to our merry, drunken, and sleepy-faced loved ones, we get in the car and start driving to the club we talked about earlier.

My cousin turns to me, “Whew! What a party!” She sighs loudly then puffs her cheeks to blow out more air. She says nervously, “You sure you want to go to that club? I think I am all partied out.”

I give her a reassuring look. “Of course girl, this night is not over. Let’s go and chill. Don’t be nervous, you’ll see. It’s fun!”

As we pull up to “The Strip” I tell her, “Welcome to the gayborhood!” She just laughs and shakes her head. I roll down the windows to let the cool night air hit my face. I exhale loudly. We listen to the sounds of people talking and laughing in the distance, car engines running, tires rolling across pavement. People around us are driving by in search of a place to park. We hear light music playing in the background but can’t tell where it’s coming from. We know there’s a party somewhere. We soon realize that there’s a party all around us.

My cousin stares out the car window at the bars and clubs lining the street. We see an older lesbian couple waiting in line who appear to be in their 40s and decked out in all their country-western gear. She gives me a look that says, “Oh my God.”

We stop at the red light. A group of skinny gay men walk across the street, some wearing tight blue jeans, some wearing baggy blue jeans, but all wearing t-shirts and polo shirts. Then we spot a group of about eight Caucasian girls walking across the street in similar attire, some are wearing half shirts that show their mid-drift.

We pull up to the African-American club and park. We see a bunch of African-American women hanging around outside, most of them dressed in hip-hop attire. We watch as two very masculine women walk across the parking lot sporting their oversized baggy shorts, big colorful t-shirts, socks, and tennis shoes.

My cousin still looking surprised says, “Interesting crowd. Look at those two girls. They are more masculine than men! Look at their hair.” She shakes her head then turns to me, “Also, we’re a little overdressed don’t you think?”

“Naw girl, I got it covered. I just did the laundry yesterday and I’ve still got my clothes in the trunk. We’re about the same size. I’ll get us both a pair of black leggings. You can change in the back seat and I’ll be the lookout.”

She rolls her eyes at me, smiles, then says, “Total fail. You didn’t take your laundry inside yet? You crazy girl!”

We laugh. “Shut up! Good thing I didn’t, don’t you think?” I roll my eyes back.

We change our clothes, freshen up our make-up, spray on more perfume, and tidy our hair. I grab a stick of deodorant out of the glove compartment and apply it to my underarms.

My cell phone lights up and starts vibrating for the third time in a row. “I’m getting a text message.”

My cousin says, “Who is that?”

I look at her out of the corner of my eye, then gasp for air as if I’m surprised. “Um, none of your business maam!” She rolls her eyes.

I decide to go ahead and tell her, “Girl, it’s this dude who has been stalking me, you know, texting and calling all the time. He’s telling me that he’s not in a relationship but I know he is. Like I told you before, I’m not a dumbass, I know he has something up his sleeve.”

“Girl, you better sing that Lady Gaga song to him." She sings, “…stop telephoning me… I’m at a par-tee...”

“Hey, did you hear that Lady Gaga is a self-professed hermaphrodite? Yeah girl, supposedly, she was born with BOTH…”

She shakes her head. “Yeah, I heard that but I think she’s lying. Who really knows the truth?”

“I don’t know. Ok girl, let’s get it! We’re early so we should be able to find a table and chill out before the show starts. Later they will have exotic dancers, karaoke/lip synching, and stuff like that.”

We walk up to the club and see security. I get patted down by a female security guard with permed hair, long shorts, and tennis shoes. She then points her index finger downward and twirls it in a circle telling my cousin to turn around. My cousin turns around and gets patted down. The security guard looks into my cousin's purse, then moves on to the next person in line.

We look at each other then burst into a smile. I laugh at her and tease,“That was fun huh?” She elbows me then grabs my shirt, holding on as we walk through the door. As we walk into the building, we see women hugged up and kissing, some sitting, some standing. While others stand by the bar and people-watch, a few shake their butt on the dance floor.

She whispers to me over the loud music, “Girl, are these women going to try to hit on me?”

I shake my head. “Most likely, not. This is not like the straight club where men might walk by you and rub on your booty. The women at this club don’t play that if they don’t know you. The secret code is eye contact. They say that eyes are the window to the soul…so be aware of the way you look at people because you might be giving someone an invitation to approach you. You can usually tell who’s straight or just bi-curious though, by the look of excitement on their faces. The veterans here are always just chill and relaxed because this is what they do every weekend.”

We stand side by side at the bar and people-watch. A young couple walks toward us holding hands, one pulling the other towards the dance floor, both girls grinning, eyes sparkling, with youthful faces like cabbage patch dolls. I say to myself, “I hope they’re old enough to be in here.” As the first one passes, the second one brushes the back of her hand lightly across my stomach above my belly button. When she passes my cousin, she lightly tickles her forearm the way a small child might when pretending their hand is a spider. She has a huge grin on her face but never makes eye contact.

I look at my cousin and say, “Aww, cute.” She elbows me again.

As people pass in front of us and behind us, I feel someone lightly touch both of my hips with their fingers and gently pull me over and out of their way. I look behind me and see a pretty, feminine/masculine girl sporting a very long ponytail. She smiles at me while she is also pulled by her partner to the dance floor.

I turn to my cousin, “Let’s go sit at that empty table over there.” We walk across the dance floor to the empty table and sit down.

I turn to my cousin, ”You know that story you told me back at the reception really broke my heart. It’s got me feelin’ kind of sad now. You know, I’ve heard so many sad stories about men using women that it’s amazing. I could put them all in a book and I’d have hundreds of stories.

“Fa sho’ girl… I am just happy I got to come to Dallas this weekend and take a break from all the drama and stress in my life.” She nods. “Thanks for bringing me out, girl." She laughs. "I still like men, though.”

I agree with her, “Yeah, me too.”

She jokes, “I’m strictly-dickly though.”

We laugh.

I tease, “Yeah, whatever you say ho.”

She pulls out a piece of paper and a pen. “Let’s play a game. Let’s try to name all the different characters we’ve come in contact with out there. You know, like the mama’s boy, etc.”

I laugh. “Ok, cool. Hey, a good name for the one you told me about earlier is Robin Hood. You can write that down. Robin Hoods like to steal from the rich and give to the poor.”

“But I’m not rich.”

“I know that. You know what I’m trying to say. He took from you and gave to another.”

“Oh, okay.” She nods. “Now what about Mama’s Boy? Have you ever seen that movie with Jennifer Lopez called Monster-In-Law? Girl, what would you do if your fiance’s mom treated you like that? Really though, would you put up with someone trying to sabatoge your relationship like that?”

“Girl, hell to-the naw! Hell no! If my boyfriend’s mom treated me like that I would have to drop him and her like a hot potato. You know, one time I called a guy I met at the club and his mom’s voice was on the answering machine saying ‘…we are not available to take your call…’ I was just done, through, finished.” I shake my head.

“What are some signs that a guy is actually Mama’s Boy in disguise?”

I laugh. “If he tells you that he massages mom’s tummy when she’s having menstrual cramps…you know for sure he is Mama’s Boy cause he does stuff for his mom that most husbands don’t even do for their wives!

She laughs as she writes down what I said.

She looks up and points to the bar. “Hey look at that cute guy over there with his girlfriend! He looks like your type.”

I look where she is pointing and I’m am shocked speechless. I think to myself, “Breathe breathe breathe.” I duck and hide my face. “Girl, that is the guy who has been texting me all night. What is he doing here?! Who is that girl he’s with?”

She gasps, “You are kidding.”

“No, I’m not! Girl, put that paper away. We need a game plan.”

(To be continued…)