Chapter Twenty-Six Maddie
Chapter Twenty-Six
Maddie
Bram clears his throat as I wait for Junie and the Uber she is taking here that will then take us to the Snake Pit, which is Mount Astra’s bar district and the area of town where Bram and I first . . . well, fucked. To say it’s the home of much licentiousness is an understatement.
And tonight, dear, sweet Junie needs me to be her wingwoman and I am nothing if not a girl’s girl, so when she bravely ventured into the nearest Spirit Halloween earlier tonight and sent me a picture of a very revealing costume of Daphne from Scooby-Doo, I told her I would happily be the slutty Velma to her Daphne.
“And you’re sure you won’t be cold?” Bram asks for the ninth time.
“I’m going to be fine,” I promise him. “Junie will probably tap out after one drink and then we’re crashing at her place and watching a scary movie, though I think her definition of a scary movie is on par with yours, because she floated E.T. as an option.”
Bram shivers. “That thing’s hands are grotesque. Just the thought of that pointy little finger touching me . . .” He shakes his head aggressively.
He glances at the clock on the microwave.
The twins are in bed and Fern is doing a virtual movie marathon with a Canadian pen pal and has asked not to be bothered (and for no one else to stream anything while she’s watching things).
I do feel bad leaving him here alone, especially when I would like to see what he might do with me in this costume, but I also need a night away.
After all that Veronica Balentine unloaded on me, I feel this weird, self-imposed distance from Bram.
Even though I said all along that we were just sex, knowing that we can never be anything more if I ever want a shot at public office, especially in the State of Kansas, is .
. . sobering. And I think I need a night of being decidedly un-sober to deal with that truth.
The costume, though . . . it’s a real tease and I know it.
I didn’t exactly have the cash to splurge on a plastic bag full of ill-fitting polyester, but I did have a red pleated skirt and an unfortunate clearance-rack orange turtleneck that I had purchased a year or two ago and have never worn, because the deal was too good to leave it behind.
I also had a pair of cheap blue block glasses that felt very Velma-esque.
After trick-or-treating, I ran out to the local sex shop/stripper shoe store and picked up a pair of orange thigh-highs, which are definitely closer to knee-highs on my thick lower half, and have donned a pair of red patent leather heels that I was going to wear during an anniversary date to some celebrity-owned sushi restaurant that Gentry had planned to take me to, except we had to stop at a donor party first for his dad’s reelection campaign and we got stuck in small talk purgatory.
Bram eyes the very heavy amount of exposed leg I’m sporting after rolling my skirt several times, like a walking dress code violation. His expression moves from concern to desire and back again.
I nearly give in for a little heavy petting, but then headlights flash across Bram’s large picture window as the car pulls into the driveway.
He inhales through his nose and then says, “Be careful, okay? And just know that I am stopping myself from saying very toxic things about you leaving the house in this attire and other men daring to look at you and how I will snap their arms if they even think about touching you.”
My chest is tight and warm at how overprotective he is, but my head is so, so foggy from how much I want to lean into that feeling as I nod. “Thank you for not saying those very toxic things, and yes, I will be careful. I’ll be back in the morning.”
I reach up and give him a quick kiss on the lips (no red lip stains this time, thanks to my liquid lipstick that is more stubborn than a gel manicure). “I know Halloween can be scary, so don’t be embarrassed if you have to sleep with the lights on.”
He kisses me back and then grumbles something about it being totally normal to be unsettled by movies that intend to scare you.
Outside, Junie—or someone shaped like her—is waiting for me in the back seat wearing a black cape with red antennae and eyes on the hood.
The moment I close the door, the driver reverses out. I hardly even notice the pulsing black lights that line the interior of his sedan as Junie flips back the hood of her costume and says, “Surprise!”
“Please tell me your slutty Daphne costume is under there,” I say.
She shrinks as she slithers down the back seat. The word no comes out as a quiet peep. “I chickened out. I’m so sorry, Maddie. You look amazing, though!”
“I do,” I admit. “But we were supposed to be a chubby, hot Daphne/Velma duo and now I’m just Velma with . . . with a vampire bug?”
“Mothman, actually,” she says. “Who just so happens to be my favorite cryptid.”
“I’m confused about what happened in between the time you texted me and we agreed on our great couples costume idea and . . . Mothman.”
“Right,” she says. “So I was going to grab the costume. Technically, it was displayed up high so I had to ask an employee to reach it for me, which is just a sales barrier and something they should really consider when doing product placement. Can you imagine how many shy consumers they’re missing out on just because our worst fear is asking for something and being perceived . . . or even worse, being told no?”
I nod for her to continue as Bram’s neighborhood slips away and there is an escalating number of drunk college students lining the sidewalks.
“So I was all ready to be a brave girl and ask the very intimidating teenage boy who worked there for help, but then this incredibly beautiful sorority girl who I helped last week with a research project about the scientific plausibility of Jurassic Park was there. I think she picked the topic as a joke, by the way, but it was fascinating. Truly. And she was actually very clever.”
The car begins to slow as pedestrians clog the streets and we are getting closer and closer to the action.
“Anyway, the very pretty and also very smart girl had her huge boyfriend whose arms were as thick as an electric pole reach up and grab the costume for her and I just—I panicked. Because that was a hot girl costume, Maddie. And you—you are a very hot girl. But I’m—I’m the girl who dresses up as Joan of Arc or the girl who gets genetic testing done on her cats. I’m not a slutty Daphne.”
I lean over and touch the spot just above her knee, which is covered in black fleece leggings. “That’s not how that works, Junie. You must be the slutty Daphne you wish to see in the world.”
She sighs in a forlorn sort of way and then nods.
“Well, I looked for a Scooby costume or even Shaggy or Fred, but they were sold out, and then I saw this Mothman costume and—” She shakes her head and braces her hands on either side of her head.
“It’s Joan of Arc all over again. We should just go home.
I’m so sorry, Maddie. We don’t have to go back to my place if you’re allergic to cats.
I can just have the Uber take you back.”
The car stops where the street is closed for the night, and I open my door, pulling Junie along with me.
“Junie Ellis,” I say. “We are going to have the night of our lives and it doesn’t matter if you’re slutty Daphne or Joan of Arc or a DNA-obsessed cat lady.
Because we are grown-ass women and we can wear as little or as much clothing as we want on Halloween. ”
“Hell yeah,” the driver says as he reaches out the window to fist-bump me. “I’d appreciate a five-star rating, ladies.”
“Of course,” Junie calls after him as she nods to herself and then at me. “Okay, okay.”
“And you know what? Joan of Arc was a badass bitch. So let’s go out and party for teenage Junie and for Joan of Arc and for the ability to DNA test your cats and for Mothman.”
“Yeah!” she says, a fire lighting her eyes. “Who’s to say Mothman isn’t a total slut?”
“Woo!” some girl cheers as she walks past us, a very suspicious water bottle in her fist that is definitely full of something boozy and clear.
“Let’s do Halloween up the butt!” Junie yells as a battle cry.
I laugh at how incredibly bad she is at being bawdy. “Wow, okay. Did not expect that. But yeah, let’s sodomize the hell out of Halloween!”
10:42 P.M.
The Dry Bean is a sea of bodies, but Junie and I are diligent as we weave our way through the crowd to the bar. I search for Sloane, but if she’s here, I’m too short to see her.
The bar crawl includes one drink and one shot from every bar in the Snake Pit, so we have some work to do.
I pull Junie along, refusing to let her get swallowed by the crowd. Her eyes are wide, but she’s putting on a brave face.
When we finally make it to the bar, the bartender is quick to notice our wristbands and pulls two Jell-O shots from the windowed mini fridge on the counter behind him.
“Two Water Snakes for you, ladies!”
I pass Junie the small disposable cup full of blue gelatin and a gummy snake.
“Do we . . .” She eyes it thoughtfully. “Do we need a spoon?”
“Use your tongue!” I yell over the chaos.
She appears to be entirely daunted, so I take her hand and hold up my shot. “To slutty Mothman!”
“To slutty Mothman!” And then with absolute gusto, Junie tilts the cup back and tongues the glass like a thirteen-year-old attempting their first French kiss.
“Atta girl!”
The bartender hands us each a cup full of a glittery red drink that he calls the Skin of a Killer and tells us that we can take it outside as long as we don’t leave the Snake Pit.
“That was disgusting!” Junie shouts in my ear. “I feel so cool!”
11:28 P.M.
“Oh my god, oh my god, I have to take your picture.”
Junie’s costume is a hit, but I was unprepared for the blood-curdling scream that left a girl’s mouth when she rushed Junie and hugged her just a moment ago.