Gonzo Girl by Cheryl Della Pietra

Author:Cheryl Della Pietra
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Touchstone
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“There are three Asian haircuts and two Asian pairs of glasses. For, like, way more than a billion people. Think about that,” says Rene Wang, who is about three inches from my face and unbelievably high. His black-rimmed glasses look enormous. He holds a huge joint like a cigarette and tips it my way. I’m starting to realize Walker often smokes pot first thing in the morning for a reason—it helps with hangovers. I know that’s a bad sign, thinking that my excessive illegal-drug use might be cured by another illegal drug. But for better or worse—okay, maybe just for worse—that is where I am. I take a drag off the joint and pass it to Larry.

Rene, Paul, me, Larry, and Devaney are all arrayed on the circular couch. It appears that Devaney is over last night’s trauma—either that or she’s drowning it in the red-wine glass she now holds. Walker, as usual, is on his barstool behind us. Claudia is puttering about the kitchen, tidying and making coffee.

“What are the three haircuts?” Larry asks.

“Asian number one: bowl haircut. Asian number two: crew cut. Asian number three: slightly longer, spiked crew cut. Glasses number one: mine. Glasses number two: Yo-Yo Ma. I have Asian number two hair and Asian number one glasses. It’s like Garanimals. You just mix and match.” Everyone is getting really high now, and Rene is dancing at the far end of his personality spectrum, basically running the show. “Alley, what’s your plushie fuck fantasy?”

“What?”

“Sorry. Change of subject. Your plushie fuck fantasy?”

“I can’t even figure out what you’re saying. What do all of those words together even mean?” I’m fairly high as well. Apparently, Paul crashed in town last night and has come over today to continue the party. Thanks to either gay priorities or good genes—or both—he appears perfectly coiffed and psychically fresh. Rene, who spends the summers in Aspen producing art installations and performance art for festivals, was invited over this afternoon as well. He is, as noted, often called an “enfant terrible,” which I’m pretty sure just means that he can be a tremendous asshole when you least expect it.

“I’ll repeat the question in the most direct manner possible: If you could have sex with a life-size stuffed animal, what would the animal be?” Larry says.

“Jesus.”

“Just answer the question,” Rene says, inching closer toward me. “Don’t think about it too much.”

“Or maybe think about it a lot. It’s important,” Paul says, as if it’s a matter of national security. We are all really, really high.

“I don’t know. What’s yours?”

“Easy,” Rene says. “Cat.”

“Cat? Too easy. A cat is almost like a girl,” Larry says.

“That’s my nickname back home.”

“Girl?” says Larry.

“No, Cat. Like, Alley Cat.”

“Oh, right,” says Larry.

“So what’s your plushie, Cat?” Rene asks again.

“I don’t know. Maybe a penguin?”

“Whoa.”

“That says something about you, you know, so you better mean it,” Paul says. “Your plushie fantasy is very revealing.”

“She’s frigid,” Walker says. He’s reading the op-ed page of the New York Times while drinking a cup of coffee.

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