Installation 20: Compromising Positions Part I previous
Phoebe was discovered in a passageway close to the loading dock by Bronson Menard, one of the guards, as he completed a routine sweep of hallways. She was face down, hair spread out around her like a wreath.
“Are you OK?” Bronson asked, shaking Phoebe.
For a moment she didn’t answer. Then she let out a big sigh and curled onto her side like a child.
“What are you doing?” Bronson asked.
“What do you mean?” Phoebe said. “I’m sleeping.”
“But you’re in the middle of the hallway,” Bronson pointed out. “Do you work here? Where’s your badge?”
Phoebe sat up and felt around her neck. Her badge was missing. She had a strange flashback to the man in the storage and the very comfortable bed and the Oreo… She tried to get up and stumbled. Bronson took her arm and helped her stand.
“I’m the Marketing and Public Relations Assistant,” she said.
“And what are you doing back here?”
“I have no idea,” Phoebe said. “What time is it?”
“7:00,” Bronson said.
“Oh,” Phoebe said, looking around in confusion. “I’ve missed my bus.”
“It’s 7:00,” Bronson repeated, speaking slowly to make himself understood. “In the morning.”
On Saturday evening, Phoebe had to ring the doorbell at James Trehorn’s house three times before he came to the door. She was about to turn around and leave when he finally opened it, dressed in a robe and holding a glass of wine.
“Welcome to my home,” James said.
A fire burned in the fireplace and soft jazz played on the stereo. The living room was impeccable. All Room & Board and nicely hung curtains and flat screen TV. Phoebe took it all in. She felt too warm. All week she’d had the worst headache and once she awakened on her kitchen floor with no idea how she’d gotten there. Worse, she couldn’t stop thinking about Oreos. She went to store and bought some, hoping to curb the craving, but they tasted like cardboard.
A man emerged from the kitchen in a robe identical to James’s and extended his hand.
“Hi, I'm Andrew,” he said. “The roommate.”
“Andrew is my roommate,” James said.
“I am,” Andrew agreed.
They both laughed. They swirled the wine in their glasses and took sips in unison. Andrew looked over at the fire with what Phoebe thought was a look of longing. She wondered if Andrew had someone coming over and wanted them to leave.
“I should finish dressing,” James said and moved off in the direction of what could have been his bedroom.
“Would you like to see the sauna?” Andrew asked Phoebe.
They went outside onto a large stone patio. The sauna stood in the corner of the backyard. Phoebe peered into it. It was much like every other sauna she’d ever seen and certainly not worth riding the bus and transferring twice to see it.
“It’s nice,” she told Andrew.
“We’ve had some good times in here,” Andrew said. “Some really good times.”
On the way to the party, James didn't say anything. Not a single word. Phoebe’s palms sweated inside her gloves. She watched James drive. He sat forward to look out the windshield and kept both hands on the wheel at all times. After twenty minutes, they pulled into the driveway of a well-maintained bungalow.
“The hostess is named Kristen. She has long, blond hair. That's how you'll know which one she is.”
“OK.”
“And let's not broadcast that this is our first outing together. Let's make this our fourth date. No, sixth.”
“OK.”
James led the way into the house. There were so many people crammed inside that those closest to the door had to press up against furniture to allow Phoebe and James to enter. A few slapped James on the back or shook his hand. Everyone was blonde, thin and pale. Quite a few wore wire-rimmed glasses. The women wore nice sweaters and black pants; the men oxford shirts and jeans.
James got her a glass of red wine and for a few moments they stood together, alone in the middle of the party.
“So, these are your college friends?” she asked.
“Skootillians are all over-achievers. We tend to stick together.”
“Its great that so many of you live in the same city and can get together,” Phoebe said. “I only keep up with two of my college friends.”
A group of women pushed their way up to James. They looked identical in crewneck sweaters and black pants, their pale, straight hair gathered back into low-riding pony tails. All of them talked at once.
“James!”
“How great to see you!”
“It's been since Labor Day!”
James put his hand on the small of Phoebe's back and pushed her forward. “Cathy, Karen, Kristen - this is Phoebe.”
The women took turns grasping Phoebe’s hand. Their skin was cold and felt like the paper Phoebe loaded into the copier at work.
“How great!”
“You two are dating?”
“Cute hair!”
“I have to go say hi to a few people,” James said. “Why don't you all talk for awhile?”
James disappeared. Cathy/Karen/Kristen looked Phoebe over.
“Are you his girlfriend?” one of them asked.
“I don't think so,” Phoebe said.
“How long have you been dating?”
“This is our fourth date. I mean our sixth.”
One of the blonds held her hand out, distinguishing herself from the other two.
“I’m Kristen. This is my house. I used to date James.”
“He failed to mention that.”
“Don’t even ask me why we broke up.”
“It would take all night to tell,” one of the others said.
“But if you two enjoy each other’s company,” Kristen said. “Maybe I just have more needs than other women.”
She looked expectantly at Phoebe.
“I could use another glass of wine,” Phoebe said and held up her empty glass as proof before moving in the direction she hoped led to the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty except for a blond teenager wearing the same oxford shirt as everyone else but with a sweater vest. He sipped a beer and spooned hummus onto a piece of pita bread.
“Why is it that all anyone ever serves for food at these parties is pita bread and hummus and nuts?” he asked. “Not even a lot of nuts. Just one little dish. If you're going to have a party, you should spring for some fucking food.”
“I just want some wine,” Phoebe said.
The teen went to the other side of the kitchen and selected a bottle of pinot noir, which he opened as if he’d spent his entire life waiting tables in a wine bar. He handed her the bottle.
“I’d just take the whole thing if I were you. These parties are never very fun.”
“How do you know Kristen? Are you her brother?”
“No. I slept with her once,” the teen said and Phoebe realized he wasn’t a teen at all, just a very slight man. “Notice I said ‘once.’”
The two of them drank and stood in front of the small dish of nuts, taking turns selecting nuts to eat. Someone in the living room put James Taylor on the stereo and Phoebe switched to drinking wine straight out of the bottle. The man/teen noticed.
“Here, this will get you there faster.” He took something from his pocket and grabbed her hand, slipping a pill into her palm.
“What is it?”
“Hurry up,” he said. “I think I hear Jimmy Buffet.”
She took the pill and washed it down with several chugs of wine. Pretty soon she felt relaxed. She felt so relaxed she had trouble holding the spoon for the hummus and ended up using her fingers instead. The man/teen laughed.
“Hey, can you play the bongos?” he asked.
“Of course.”
He led her to a room off the kitchen. Another clean-cut man and a woman in a sweater set with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth sat on the floor with a tambourine and a couple of guitars. The woman handed her a set of bongos.
For a while Phoebe sat and listened, sipping wine. She joined in when they started playing “Horse with No Name” and “Give Peace a Chance.” She couldn’t feel her hands, so it was difficult to bongo correctly, but no one noticed. She drained the bottle of wine and someone was sent to fetch another. She could no longer see her companions except in a very abstract, faces-as-floating-shapes way. They were playing “Smells Like Teen Spirit” when Phoebe looked up and saw James floating above her.
“James.”
“What are you doing?”
Phoebe struggled to come to a kneeling position on the carpet.
“You can't even stand,” James said.
“Yes, I can.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Leave her alone, James,” the man/teen said.
“Shut up, Sven.”
“Do you know each other?” Phoebe asked.
“We were roommates for a semester at Skootill, ” James said and knelt to take the bongos away from Phoebe. “Are you on drugs? Is that why you collapsed at work?”
“What are you talking about?” Phoebe slurred.
“Everyone knows about the back hallway,” James said. “Brandon isn’t exactly known for his discretion.”
“That was…” Phoebe said. “I don’t know what that was.”
“Most distressing is that I stood up for you,” James said. “I told everyone you must have a medical condition you’re keeping a secret as you struggle to find a cure. But now I see that you’re just a drug-addicted drunk.”
“Man,” Sven said. “You are the lamest asshole I’ve ever met.”
“Be that as it may, we need to go,” James said. “I don't think this is the impression I want you to make on my friends.”
“OK,” Phoebe said. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”
It was a tremendous struggle to get out the door. People spoke to them and reached out their hands and she wanted to grasp them all, even Cathy’s or Karen’s or Kristen’s, but they all floated past her. She saw the tinkle of the diamond studs in Karen’s ears and smoke streaming from the nose of an overweight woman sitting in the corner. There was the machine-gun staccato of a man laughing. And then they were outside, underneath the clear and frigid night sky and James tucked her, like a rag doll, into the passenger seat of his car.