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Description
I must be drunk, because I'm starting to like this party. Or at least it feels less dull.
The invitation that I have taken from the old man's pocket says that this is a Veteran's Reunion party. Guests are mostly plus sixty, so that makes me the youngest here.
The place where this party is happening, is actually a basement discotheque, where on weekends, students come to develop their cirrhosis and chase STDs. On Tuesdays, it's a Gay Day, so if I'm planning to stay here, I better not think about that.
These chaps paid money to have a party, so it must be Thursday. But since there are only guys around me, it may as well be Tuesday. The only girl I've seen here was a stripper. A slim twenty-something girl with Limbitrol green eyes and crow-black fifties-style hair.
Since I don't know any of these guys, I get up and squeeze through sweaty bodies and mixture of tobacco smell and cheap cologne. I lean on the door frame and peek through the crack. I can see that black hair falling down her slim neck but in the mirror, there's a beautiful face, holding its breath, while the hand is putting the mascara on.
She's dressed in a long black dress with white stripes. The red gloves, the red border of her dress and the red rose in her hair are the only vivid colours that interrupt the dark ambience of her apparel. There's a black folding fan by the sink.
It seems that her show has a theme.
When she removes the cap of her red lipstick, she sees me in the mirror and lifts her eyebrow.
»Do you suffer from identity crisis or will I have to explain the police that your broken skull is a result of self-defense? « She asks.
»You're the only one here who isn't wrinkled and doesn't smell of death. «
»Is that so? Are you some veteran's grandson? «
»No, I just left some guy unconscious and took his invitation. I heard the cocktails are free.«
»A perfectly normal way to gain access. Just so you know, I can kill you with one upward strike to your jaw. It's called uppercut. «
»I won't hurt you, don't worry. Do I know you? «
»Yeah, I am your lost twin sister who was kidnapped by aliens. I don't think you know me. Do I know you? « She says and finishes applying her lipstick.
»No. Are you a student? «
»I was. Would you mind helping me with the zip while you are here? «
I move closer and I can smell the Mugler's Angel, an unmistakable mixture of vanilla, caramel and chocolate scent. I know that, because besides my brother's anarchy lectures, I've worked at my aunt's perfume shop.
»Why did you stop?« I tried to carry on with the conversation.
»I had a quarrel with my folks, so they stopped giving me money. Since I can't do anything better, I strip for steamy old bastards, who will give me hundred bucks to show them more. They're pathetic. But they are rich,« she says and doesn't move her gaze from me through the mirror.
Her name is Ashley, but her card says she's Alexis. Her stage name. Because Ashley sounds too innocent and her middle name Deidre sounds like a medieval disease.
»What do you study, since you're so concerned about my education? « asks Ashley. Alexis. Deidre.
»Nothing,« I say. »I was too dumb for college. But even if I wasn't, I wouldn't go there. When my mom ran away with some guy and my father went to prison, my brother took care of me. He thought that education institutions would brainwash me. He was afraid I'll become one of those robots that live their pathetic lives the way the government says they should. «
I catch myself staring at Alexis' breasts and according to her gamey smile, she also noticed.
»If you wait long enough, you'll see them better. Is your brother with you? «
»Zachary is dead. Overdosed. The stupid bastard used heroin. He injected it between his toes, so no one suspected. He told me to stay away from drugs, but it turned out he spent a half of our income for them, « I say next to her ear. Her hair smell of herb shampoo.
»And what's your name, troubled young man? « she asks.
»Today, I'm Lewis. Or Derrick. Maybe Dustin, I don't know anymore. Different day means a different name. I hate routine. «
»Okay. What's the name your mother gave you? «
»Tyler. Tyler Branson. After the president, « I say.
»Well, mister president, I have to leave you now. I start in a minute. Those old guys want to see a wild young girl, before they can return to their senile wives and annoying grandchildren,« she says and rubs her perfect tush against me on purpose. »Find me after the party and buy me a burger. You can tell me more about you instead of your brother. «
She unbuttons her dress, winks at me and evaporates to the foggy dance floor, from which you can hear some eighties song.
When I hear whistles and howling of aroused seniors, I know the show has begun.
Maybe it's time for the fifth cocktail.

Description
I must be drunk, because I'm starting to like this party. Or at least it feels less dull.
The invitation that I have taken from the old man's pocket says that this is a Veteran's Reunion party. Guests are mostly plus sixty, so that makes me the youngest here.
The place where this party is happening, is actually a basement discotheque, where on weekends, students come to develop their cirrhosis and chase STDs. On Tuesdays, it's a Gay Day, so if I'm planning to stay here, I better not think about that.
These chaps paid money to have a party, so it must be Thursday. But since there are only guys around me, it may as well be Tuesday. The only girl I've seen here was a stripper. A slim twenty-something girl with Limbitrol green eyes and crow-black fifties-style hair.
Since I don't know any of these guys, I get up and squeeze through sweaty bodies and mixture of tobacco smell and cheap cologne. I lean on the door frame and peek through the crack. I can see that black hair falling down her slim neck but in the mirror, there's a beautiful face, holding its breath, while the hand is putting the mascara on.
She's dressed in a long black dress with white stripes. The red gloves, the red border of her dress and the red rose in her hair are the only vivid colours that interrupt the dark ambience of her apparel. There's a black folding fan by the sink.
It seems that her show has a theme.
When she removes the cap of her red lipstick, she sees me in the mirror and lifts her eyebrow.
»Do you suffer from identity crisis or will I have to explain the police that your broken skull is a result of self-defense? « She asks.
»You're the only one here who isn't wrinkled and doesn't smell of death. «
»Is that so? Are you some veteran's grandson? «
»No, I just left some guy unconscious and took his invitation. I heard the cocktails are free.«
»A perfectly normal way to gain access. Just so you know, I can kill you with one upward strike to your jaw. It's called uppercut. «
»I won't hurt you, don't worry. Do I know you? «
»Yeah, I am your lost twin sister who was kidnapped by aliens. I don't think you know me. Do I know you? « She says and finishes applying her lipstick.
»No. Are you a student? «
»I was. Would you mind helping me with the zip while you are here? «
I move closer and I can smell the Mugler's Angel, an unmistakable mixture of vanilla, caramel and chocolate scent. I know that, because besides my brother's anarchy lectures, I've worked at my aunt's perfume shop.
»Why did you stop?« I tried to carry on with the conversation.
»I had a quarrel with my folks, so they stopped giving me money. Since I can't do anything better, I strip for steamy old bastards, who will give me hundred bucks to show them more. They're pathetic. But they are rich,« she says and doesn't move her gaze from me through the mirror.
Her name is Ashley, but her card says she's Alexis. Her stage name. Because Ashley sounds too innocent and her middle name Deidre sounds like a medieval disease.
»What do you study, since you're so concerned about my education? « asks Ashley. Alexis. Deidre.
»Nothing,« I say. »I was too dumb for college. But even if I wasn't, I wouldn't go there. When my mom ran away with some guy and my father went to prison, my brother took care of me. He thought that education institutions would brainwash me. He was afraid I'll become one of those robots that live their pathetic lives the way the government says they should. «
I catch myself staring at Alexis' breasts and according to her gamey smile, she also noticed.
»If you wait long enough, you'll see them better. Is your brother with you? «
»Zachary is dead. Overdosed. The stupid bastard used heroin. He injected it between his toes, so no one suspected. He told me to stay away from drugs, but it turned out he spent a half of our income for them, « I say next to her ear. Her hair smell of herb shampoo.
»And what's your name, troubled young man? « she asks.
»Today, I'm Lewis. Or Derrick. Maybe Dustin, I don't know anymore. Different day means a different name. I hate routine. «
»Okay. What's the name your mother gave you? «
»Tyler. Tyler Branson. After the president, « I say.
»Well, mister president, I have to leave you now. I start in a minute. Those old guys want to see a wild young girl, before they can return to their senile wives and annoying grandchildren,« she says and rubs her perfect tush against me on purpose. »Find me after the party and buy me a burger. You can tell me more about you instead of your brother. «
She unbuttons her dress, winks at me and evaporates to the foggy dance floor, from which you can hear some eighties song.
When I hear whistles and howling of aroused seniors, I know the show has begun.
Maybe it's time for the fifth cocktail.