fabulous,” said Sherri. Keri smiled and smoothed her purple miniskirt, Mary opened the door, then locked it behind them. They could hear the band rumbling from the dining room two floors below.
Across from the campus, in a bar near the physics and astronomy building called “the Black Hole,” Gary was working on his roommate Bob. “Shit. It doesn’t matter what the guys are wearing as long as you’ve got jeans and sneakers on. The thing is to check out what the girls are wearing. I’m not going to hike all the way back over to the apartment so you can put on a different shirt, and I’m not going to let you go by yourself, because you’ll find some excuse to stay there, so let’s just go.”
The clientele of the Black Hole consisted largely of students who, if asked a question about what single nutrient they might choose to have with them on a desert island (or in a black hole), would answer unhesitatingly, “Bud.” All earnestly believed that beer
was
the perfect food, and that this knowledge had been kept from them by a conspiracy of adults. While Bob knew this wasn’t true, he frequented theBlack Hole because it gave him someplace to go that was decidedly different from his apartment but not unlike Earl Butz’ confinement room with the lights off. He said, “I hate parties. I like anti-parties, like the Black Hole here.”
“Shit. If you don’t watch out, you’re going to go right back to your dad’s farm and think that a night out means going down to the Country Tap.”
Bob didn’t say anything because that’s exactly what his dad and uncles did think.
Gary stood up suddenly and said in a fed-up tone of voice, “Well, I’m going.”
Bob brought his glass close enough to his face to see it in the dim light. It was empty. Since sometimes in the Black Hole you had trouble catching a waiter’s eye and getting a refill, he stood up, too. “Okay, okay,” he said. He had known Gary about a month now. While he didn’t think they were quite friends, having no history together, for now the sense of Gary’s companionship was comforting.
The evening air was so perfectly cool as to seem like a cloud of pleasure suspended about them, specifically FOR them. Bob’s spirits lifted. Gary knew lots of the girls who went by in perfumy groups. “Hey,” they would say, and come up to him, “Hey, Gare. Done those chem problems yet? Suzy Allison was looking for you, I saw her in the Union. Cool shirt. Hey. Hey.” Bob admired the way Gary fended them off and strung them along at the same time. Instead of stiffening at their approach, the way Bob felt himself do, Gary loosened, let them in close. But he always kept walking. “Hey, Cheryl, wow, you look terrific. Hey, Carla, hey, Barb, call me.” With just his fingertips, he touched them on the elbow or the shoulder. It was a technique of such delicate instinctive intimacy that it made Gary seem like a visitor from outer space, like no male that Bob had ever known.
The lights of Dubuque House seemed to surge on the heavy beat of bass and drums that could be heard from inside. Doors and windows opened to the cool air, and customers were standing everywhere, as many girls as boys. Bob handed over his six dollars, had his hand stamped, received tickets for two beers, and pressed himself after Gary into the crush.
It was then that Diane, who had been standing with her mostly full cup of Diet Coke, watching the dancers, was pushed suddenly backward, and Bob received her in his lap, followed by another girl,who stumbled over them. “Holy Moly” was what Bob heard Diane exclaim into the shoulder of the other girl, and then a guy in a Garth Brooks T-shirt came down and Bob felt his ankle twist and give underneath the pile. Even so, as soon as they all landed they seemed to bounce, as others turned and pulled them up, and then everyone, including Diane, was looking at Bob and saying, “You all right, man? You’re okay, aren’t you?”
“More or less.” He
Across from the campus, in a bar near the physics and astronomy building called “the Black Hole,” Gary was working on his roommate Bob. “Shit. It doesn’t matter what the guys are wearing as long as you’ve got jeans and sneakers on. The thing is to check out what the girls are wearing. I’m not going to hike all the way back over to the apartment so you can put on a different shirt, and I’m not going to let you go by yourself, because you’ll find some excuse to stay there, so let’s just go.”
The clientele of the Black Hole consisted largely of students who, if asked a question about what single nutrient they might choose to have with them on a desert island (or in a black hole), would answer unhesitatingly, “Bud.” All earnestly believed that beer
was
the perfect food, and that this knowledge had been kept from them by a conspiracy of adults. While Bob knew this wasn’t true, he frequented theBlack Hole because it gave him someplace to go that was decidedly different from his apartment but not unlike Earl Butz’ confinement room with the lights off. He said, “I hate parties. I like anti-parties, like the Black Hole here.”
“Shit. If you don’t watch out, you’re going to go right back to your dad’s farm and think that a night out means going down to the Country Tap.”
Bob didn’t say anything because that’s exactly what his dad and uncles did think.
Gary stood up suddenly and said in a fed-up tone of voice, “Well, I’m going.”
Bob brought his glass close enough to his face to see it in the dim light. It was empty. Since sometimes in the Black Hole you had trouble catching a waiter’s eye and getting a refill, he stood up, too. “Okay, okay,” he said. He had known Gary about a month now. While he didn’t think they were quite friends, having no history together, for now the sense of Gary’s companionship was comforting.
The evening air was so perfectly cool as to seem like a cloud of pleasure suspended about them, specifically FOR them. Bob’s spirits lifted. Gary knew lots of the girls who went by in perfumy groups. “Hey,” they would say, and come up to him, “Hey, Gare. Done those chem problems yet? Suzy Allison was looking for you, I saw her in the Union. Cool shirt. Hey. Hey.” Bob admired the way Gary fended them off and strung them along at the same time. Instead of stiffening at their approach, the way Bob felt himself do, Gary loosened, let them in close. But he always kept walking. “Hey, Cheryl, wow, you look terrific. Hey, Carla, hey, Barb, call me.” With just his fingertips, he touched them on the elbow or the shoulder. It was a technique of such delicate instinctive intimacy that it made Gary seem like a visitor from outer space, like no male that Bob had ever known.
The lights of Dubuque House seemed to surge on the heavy beat of bass and drums that could be heard from inside. Doors and windows opened to the cool air, and customers were standing everywhere, as many girls as boys. Bob handed over his six dollars, had his hand stamped, received tickets for two beers, and pressed himself after Gary into the crush.
It was then that Diane, who had been standing with her mostly full cup of Diet Coke, watching the dancers, was pushed suddenly backward, and Bob received her in his lap, followed by another girl,who stumbled over them. “Holy Moly” was what Bob heard Diane exclaim into the shoulder of the other girl, and then a guy in a Garth Brooks T-shirt came down and Bob felt his ankle twist and give underneath the pile. Even so, as soon as they all landed they seemed to bounce, as others turned and pulled them up, and then everyone, including Diane, was looking at Bob and saying, “You all right, man? You’re okay, aren’t you?”
“More or less.” He
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