Chapter 29 Warm Climate
Warm Climate
Twyla leads the way, me and Oscar right behind her. The music follows us because there are small speakers above us that line the hallway. The fog is in here as well, though I don’t know where it’s being pumped in from. Another set of pulsing lights are coming from the end of this long hall.
There are offices along both sides of the hallway, their doors wide open. Lit candles sitting on the floor illuminate each office. Each space doesn’t have the furniture one would expect. Instead, there are classy stools and high-end padded folding chairs.
Some of the offices are unoccupied. Some of them have people in them, all wearing the same white half-masks that we’re also wearing, all having what looks like intimate conversations.
The hallway leads us to a large open area, where the lights are more plentiful (but still manage to keep things quite dim), the fog is thicker, and the music is louder.
In the center of this open area is a dance floor, directly underneath a spinning disco ball on the ceiling. On both sides of the dance floor are more stools and folding chairs and now small tables. In front of us, on the far side of the dance floor, a makeshift bar has been set up.
There aren’t a lot of people here, considering the size of the space, maybe a couple dozen. A few people sit and drink, a few dance, and a few mingle with the bartenders.
It’s now clear that people who are working this event do not have masks on. It makes them very identifiable. The men wear suits; the women wear short black dresses.
From what I can tell, the masked people—the guests of Perpetual Sunset—are all different ages, Oscar and I being the youngest. The oldest might be in their fifties or sixties because of their white hair, but it’s hard to tell because, even with the pulsing lights, it’s still pretty dark in here.
There seems to be about an equal number of males and females, and they seem to be of all different races, different sizes, different shapes, different body types.
The women are mostly dressed in sexy outfits, and the men are stylish and well-groomed.
Before I know it, Twyla has led us to the bar. “What do you guys want to drink?”
Neither Oscar nor I drink much alcohol. Because we’re involved in sports year-round, we try to stay pretty healthy, in terms of fitness and nutrition and avoiding things like junk food, cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs.
Once in a while, during breaks from school or during the summer, we’ll find someone to buy us beer from 7-Eleven or go to one of our friends’ houses whose parents are away and have left a bunch of alcohol behind.
Since I don’t drink that often, I’m kind of a lightweight.
One beer, and I’m flying high. So I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drink tonight.
After all, we’re not here for fun, as Twyla seems to think (and Oscar as well).
We’re here on a mission. Find Nash, watch Nash, do something that will solve the messed-up predicament that I’m in.
What that is exactly, I don’t know, so I’d better not throw alcohol into the mix.
“Hey, Fatima!” Twyla yells over the music, over my shoulder.
Oscar and I turn around, and we spot a curvy girl with black hair at the other end of the bar. She waves back to Twyla and starts walking over to us. She’s got a shot glass in her hand, filled to the rim with a light brown liquid.
“Twyla? Is that you, girl?” says Fatima.
“Of course!”
They hug.
Twyla points at me. “Nash is here already.”
Fatima smiles wide. “Nash?! Oh, my God, I was hoping you’d be here tonight.”
Fatima hugs me tight and squeezes my ass.
Then, she turns to Oscar. “And who is this hot, young thing?”
I don’t want to risk Oscar forgetting his fake name, so I say, “This is my friend Victor.”
“That’s right,” says Oscar. “I’m Victor. And girl, even with that mask on, I can tell you fine as hell.”
Fatima giggles, hugs Oscar, and caresses his right bicep. Oscar is all smiles.
Fatima takes a step back. “Nash. You look different.”
I’ve gotten this far. I can’t have my cover blown.
She furrows her brow. “Very different. I’m tipsy enough to think you look like a totally different person.”
“Oh,” I say, to buy time. “I styled my hair different tonight.”
She looks unconvinced.
Processing all the information we’ve gotten today, I decide to take a risk because I have to diffuse the suspicion immediately.
I lean towards Fatima and place my lips gently against hers. The moment I do so, she opens her mouth and uses her tongue to feel for mine. She grabs onto my hips and presses the lower half of her body into my crotch. She grinds.
Then she takes a step back, looking me up and down. She licks her lips.
Oscar says, “Damn, girl, save me some of that sugar.”
Fatima ignores him and hands the shot glass to me, spilling some liquid over the edges. She orders three more shots of whiskey, which the female bartender (who looks like a soccer mom) serves in a flash. Now we all are holding shots.
“Do a toast, Nash,” Fatima says.
“Here’s to us!” I say.
Everyone drinks except me. We’re all in such close proximity and looking at each other that I can’t throw my drink over my shoulder like I’ve seen people do in the movies.
“Why didn’t you drink?” Fatima asks.
I try to hand the glass back to her, but she doesn’t accept.
I say, “I’m drinking later. Here. You can have it.”
“Drink!” yells Fatima.
Twyla follows suit. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
For some reason, Oscar joins in. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
“Later,” I say.
“Whaaaaat?!” Fatima says. “You are Nash, right? You never turn down a drink.”
I feel I might be screwed if I don’t drink. Damn it.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’m just playing with you.”
I drink. The alcohol burns my throat. I try to repress a cough (because Nash wouldn’t cough), but I can’t help it.
“You’re acting so weird tonight,” says Fatima.
I have to think quickly.
“Oh, yeah?” I lean in and kiss Fatima again.
This time, she opens her mouth, as if she’s trying to devour my face.
Oscar says to Twyla, “Don’t you feel left out?”
Twyla shrugs, grabs Oscar’s arm, and pulls him to her. She kisses him on the lips, and then she opens her mouth as wide as Fatima’s and makes out with him like he’s the last man on earth. He’s loving every second of it.
Then, almost in unison, Fatima and Twyla pull away from me and Oscar. And like they’re magnetized or something, Fatima and Twyla quickly move towards each other: lips touching lips.
Oscar’s eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them. His mouth is open, in awe and delight.
Twyla softly bites onto Fatima’s lower lip and gives it a light tug. Fatima extends her tongue and glides it along every inch of Twyla’s lips. They make out slowly, passionately, as if that’s all they need to totally get off.
As they continue kissing, Twyla deftly takes hold of the back of Oscar’s head and guides him toward her and Fatima, until his face is pressed up against theirs. All three of them: their lips, their tongues, their mouths: they touch each other, explore each other, seduce each other.
Since the three of them are so close to one another, their faces seem to blend into one.
They try their best to keep their lips on each other at all times.
Sometimes one of them will slip and only be kissing one other person.
But most of the time, they succeed in sustaining the three-way make-out session.
They’ve got their arms around each other too, holding each other tenderly.
Then, Fatima grabs the back of my head and pulls me into the group hug, the group kiss. I’m kind of tipsy already, and this is all so weird, so I keep my eyes and my mouth closed.
I then feel a single tongue pressing up against the side of my mouth. At the same time, a second tongue touches the other side of my mouth. Then, with both those tongues still on me, I feel a third tongue against the front of my lips and sliding into my mouth.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice says.
We all pull away from each other and see an intimidating man in a suit, no mask. He looks like a pro wrestler, his face a little busted up.
“I’m happy you’re all having a good time, but may I suggest moving to the Scorching Heat side of the venue?”
“We got it,” says Fatima. “Thanks, Harrison.”
“You’re welcome, miss,” says Harrison.
Fatima pulls me by the hand away from the bar, and Twyla pulls Oscar along by the hand too.
The alcohol is now hitting me really hard. My brain feels stimulated, and the room starts to spin.
Soon, we’ve made it down the hallway and back out into the lobby area. Twyla and Fatima lead us to the hallway on the other side of the reception counter.
Standing at that entrance is yet another military-looking man (another brother?! a triplet?!).
Twyla shows him her thermometer stamp. She says, “Scorching Heat!”
The rest of us raise our wrists too, and soon we’re in a similar hallway as the other one, lined with offices.
This side, however, is much darker, and the fog is much thicker. I can barely see in front of me, so I just let Fatima guide me.
The offices we pass are quite dim because of small candles with small flames. I do manage to see what looks like couches and large beanbag chairs.
I also see silhouetted figures on the furniture: people are lying on the couches, side by side or on top of each other, or they’re very close to one another on the beanbag chairs.
I see flashes of naked flesh. Glimpses of bare skin on bare skin.
Masked guests exploring, enjoying each other’s bodies.
Oscar, who’s barely audible because of the pounding music, says to me, “Bro, is this a fuck party?”
I nod. I don’t say anything, but I don’t have to. Because, yes, Oscar, this is a fuck party.