CHAPTER 13 #2
Anna laughed, clearly understanding, and poured more wine into her glass, but Liz was oblivious and immediately began recounting a story about the dozens of people who lived in a cool warehouse with her.
They tried to run the share house like some kind of anarchist collective, which as far as Jeremy could understand meant they all had to read Foucault before deciding who washed the dishes.
After several failed launches, a long-suffering Uber driver who had a mini-vacuum cleaner prominently mounted and ready for the storm of glitter descending on his craft, and a lost phone (later found trapped in Liz’s tutu), they arrived at the party, this year taking place in the Sydney Town Hall.
There was something almost regency about it, the juxtaposition of grandeur and formality of the venue with the seething colours of queerness that packed the dance floor.
They quickly found a larger group of friends and fabulously dressed acquaintances already settled in, having created an emotional equivalent to Anna’s cubby house near an outdoor section between stages.
Jeremy immediately lost an hour talking and taking photos of outfits and lining up for a cup of warm vodka and soda that cost a thousand dollars.
It was a kaleidoscope of excitement and colour and noise, and he knew that if he hadn’t already been comfortably tipsy he’d have been overwhelmed.
He found himself on the dance floor with Liz and Anna.
There were a few different stages – pulsing electronica, a live performance, and the one they’d been drawn inexorably to: a DJ in flawless drag playing pop hits from the 2000s.
They grooved to early Lady Gaga with various levels of proficiency (Jeremy had been told he danced like someone being pushed out of a space shuttle), and he felt something unwind inside him.
He spent a lot of time at events like this, but it was always somewhat surprising when he realised he deeply needed them – that unclenching sensation was a combination of joy and relief, releasing the need to downplay his mannerisms or voice or general flamboyance.
This was a space for them, for queers, a place to finally be free without scrutiny or judgement.
It wasn’t that there were no straight people here – how would that even be enforced?
– but rather that this was an event of queer primacy: a night where they were highlighted, celebrated.
Jeremy felt a weight fly off his bony shoulders, and he threw his hands above his head, twirling in time to the music, wrists and fingers splayed and gay, feeling gorgeously carefree.
A trill of horns abruptly signified the start of a Carly Rae Jepsen song – Jeremy, Liz and Anna had actually met through mutual friends at one of her concerts years earlier.
Anna and Liz screamed and dragged Jeremy even further into the mix, the press of bodies engulfing him for a second until they cleared a space.
They held each other’s arms and jumped around in a circle.
Jeremy resisted for a moment, feeling self-conscious and stupid, suspicious of whether he really was this joyful or if it was performative, but after a second he relaxed into it.
‘I love you guys!’ he screamed, and got big screams in return that could have been conveying a similar sentiment or the fact that Jeremy had trodden on their feet.
It didn’t matter: he was flooded with overwhelming happiness – something he hadn’t felt in a while.
The song wound down, and in the brief gap before the next banger began to play, he said, ‘Christ, I am so glad you convinced me not to invite Geoffrey.’ Here he was with his closest friends in the world, screaming CRJ lyrics, and a tall and weird handsome freak could have been ruining the mood by hovering behind him the whole time.
Anna smiled and then paused, catching sight of something over his shoulder, her face an almost exaggerated comical look of surprise and shock. Liz also looked up and did a genuine double-take.
‘Oh my god, he’s behind me, isn’t he?’ said Jeremy, suddenly feeling like he was in a pantomime.
He turned around slowly, expecting to see that vacant yet handsome smile looming, but instead, past a giant clad in some pretty sparse leather and bunny ears, was a small group of people dancing, among them a short, lion-maned figure.
Jeremy felt his face go slack as he drank in the sight of Sam dancing at the Mardi Gras afterparty.
He wore gym shorts and a colourful Hawaiian-style shirt, open to reveal a cropped singlet exposing a curly shock of chest hair and an equally hairy belly.
And the glitter – Sam was a rainbow of the stuff.
It crusted his stubble, made dramatic wings of his eyes, and cascaded from his hair as he shook back his slightly sweaty fringe.
As Jeremy watched, dumbstruck, one of the people Sam was with draped a rainbow feather boa over him, and he pranced around with it goofily.
‘Jeremy!’ Sam cried, clocking that he was being stared at by three entirely stationary people on a crowded dance floor.
He threw his arms open wide, that huge grin plastered across his face, and he began moving through the crowd towards them.
Jeremy was once again struck by how solid and real Sam was, how the crowd parted around him without him having to barge through.
Jeremy himself picked across a dance floor like a stork in a reed-filled marsh.
He didn’t know what to think; it was like seeing his mum at a football game, or a lion at the mall.
He realised he was breathing hard, and desperately tried to think of something cute and funny to say.
He wanted to lick Sam’s stomach, from the band of his tiny red shorts and up that trail of hair – which was when he realised that he was possibly too tipsy for whatever this moment was.
Jeremy was engulfed in a familiar warm hug, but this time there was a startling amount of bare flesh pressed to his own skin, the hot slick of Sam’s chest hair against him, the music pulsing over them like they were stuck in a video clip.
‘What … what are you doing here?’ Jeremy shouted.
Sam shouted something back, and all Jeremy could make out was ‘Mardi Gras!’
He pulled Sam aside, shoving their way through the crowd. He felt a little manic, excited in a way he couldn’t really understand, and when they got to a quieter area, away from the music blasting from the speakers, Jeremy repeated his question.
‘It’s my first Mardi Gras!’ Sam shouted back happily.
‘That’s … nice?’ Jeremy responded slowly. ‘Everyone has to come at least once,’ he continued inanely.
‘I came out last year,’ Sam explained, still smiling, still yelling slightly, but Jeremy thought there was a little questioning look in his eye.
‘That’s so great,’ Jeremy stuttered. ‘I … I didn’t realise you were gay.
I feel like an idiot.’ He realised he was fakely grinning like a maniac.
He took a breath, shaking his head. Then he grabbed Sam’s hands and attempted a normal voice.
‘No, that’s really great. I’m happy for you, and sorry I …
assumed you were straight. Was that why you and your girlfriend broke up? ’
Sam shook his head. ‘Not really, though I think I had to be single to do some finding of myself. I’ve known I was bi for a while, this was just my push to make it … official?’
‘Oh, a bi!’ Jeremy said delightedly. ‘I love you guys. You can be such a surprise – you never know who might reveal themselves … sneaky.’ He was making a joke, but he couldn’t get his mind around how much of a surprise this was, how unexpected.
Did it change anything? Should he apologise again?
Was his assumption that Sam was straight actually massively biphobic?
‘And you’ll find this interesting … I came out to my parents last week too,’ Sam continued. ‘I was just going to keep it among friends, but someone suggested that I should maybe stick up for myself a bit more with them. They actually took it fine, so I guess that person was right.’
‘Oh wow, that’s great,’ Jeremy said, completely overwhelmed.
‘Let’s dance!’ suggested Sam, and Jeremy followed him, bemused.
They joined Liz and Anna, who had accidentally merged with Sam’s group.
He thought he recognised a couple as potentially being climate-crisis workmates, but it was hard to tell – they were mostly women dressed like sexy aliens.
They danced, and every time Sam looked at Jeremy, he made sure to smile back, feeling ridiculously unnatural.
After a few songs, Anna and Liz called that they were getting drinks, and Jeremy withdrew with them to the comparative safety of the long bar line.
‘What the fuck?’ asked Liz. ‘What the fuck ? This is huge, Jeremy!’
‘No,’ muttered Jeremy. ‘He’s a baby bi – I just didn’t realise before. It’s no big deal. I’m happy for him!’
‘That’s great!’ said Anna.
‘Yeah, and now you know both of you want to suck on the same things, and you both have those things, you could totally date,’ pressed Liz.
‘If he wanted to date me, then he could have asked me on a date. We’re just friends – don’t make this weird,’ Jeremy said. ‘That said, I need seven drinks immediately.’
Liz made an exasperated face, but they were at the bar now, and Anna ordered shots, and Jeremy lost himself in the bitter rush of tequila, trying not to think about Sam and his huge thighs somewhere behind him.
When they rejoined the dancers, Sam and his friends were nowhere to be seen, and Jeremy relaxed, buoyed by the tequila.
Anna and Liz excused themselves to the toilet, but Jeremy kept dancing.
Who cared that Sam was queer? What did that even matter?
Jeremy found lots of people attractive and didn’t feel the need to do anything about it – it changed nothing.
He spun around while a Cher song was playing, and when it ended he opened his eyes, and saw Sam in front of him again, shyly raising a hand in greeting.
It felt like a spotlight was on him, and the rest of the room faded away, the browns and greens of Sam’s eyes shimmering brighter than the glitter on his face, the proximity between them shrinking until they were face to face.
The new song started, ‘Free Yourself’ by Jessie Ware, and they made equally delighted faces.
As the dance floor erupted anew around them, Jeremy found himself moving in slow motion, leaning down, eye contact unbroken with Sam, almost daring him to pull away, until their lips touched, connected, and everything exploded in action.
In novels and other cliched writings, time always stood still, but for Jeremy everything suddenly accelerated – the feeling of Sam’s lips and tongue, warm and smooth and softer than temptation, Sam’s hand on the back of his neck pulling him down closer, the silkiness of Sam’s hair as he gripped it.
He was lost in this moment, not a single thought except wanting more of this feeling, more of this.
They disengaged, reluctantly, and Sam looked him in the eyes and sighed, his breathing gratifyingly hard.
Jeremy looked back at him. And then Jeremy ran away.