Chapter 7

The stereo ground out an old Beatle's tune, slowing now and then with the power failures typical of poorly wired urban apartment buildings. It may have been two high school girls dressing for their first dates, judging from the excitement and expectations, matching lipstick and nail polish, changing stockings and shoes.

"... It all went well last night then?" asked Sandy, stroking the hair brush through her long, thick locks.

"Perfect. Just perfect! In fact," confessed Chris poking an earring through her pierced ear, "he was a real doll. Very mature and dignified and he didn't even try to kiss me! God, maybe I have bad breath or something," she chuckled, never loosing sight of her profile in the dressing mirror.

"That could almost get to be a drag," mused Sandy, with raised eyebrows. "That has never happened to me, so I wouldn't know. "

Chris snapped the earring shut. "Tell me about it, Sandy." she said light-heartedly, but with a sting of sarcasm.

"Come on. I can't help it if I like to make love. It's the neatest thing in the world. Can you think of anything that feels any better?"

Chris laughed. "Its been so long I couldn't say..."

Sandy turned from her girlfriend and searched through her big leather bag until she found the foil-wrapped packet she had stashed there for emergencies. Actually, it was Roger's idea, but she had to agree it was a good one. "Chris, come on, this will get you in a party mood."

Chris looked up, saw that Sandy was holding a lighted cigarette in her hand. She held the lighted stick of marijuana in offering and Chris accepted it, though reluctantly. Too many times she'd let herself loose control while stoned; it was a vice she had grown wary of.

"I'm no sure..."

"Don't be such a prude!" chided Sandy, taking a deep puff herself. "Here, smoke a little. C'mon." She held the hand- rolled cigarette to Chris's lips; first the blonde turned away, but then when it was obvious that Sandy would persist, she reluctantly took one tiny puff. A tingle of warmth followed the sweet-smelling smoke down her throat and along the nerve channels of her body; just the one puff was enough to bring a wave of relaxation to her excited body. She felt her mind loosen as if obeying some secret command; another, deeper drag followed, then still another...

Soon, in minutes, or in hours, they had finished the joint and Sandy had produced another from her tin foil packet. Chris didn't hesitate this time; the nerve-soothing drug seemed to answer a deep inner need, and the inbred instinct to resist it had been destroyed.

"There, you feel more like partyin' now without getting goose bumps?" Sandy asked her shy friend.

Chris nodded. "Yes, thanks. I feel a lot... a lot better now." Her words were beginning to blur together, and she hesitated at places that needed no pause.

"Now about tonight. We're getting paid one hundred dollars each since this is a private party that Roger is giving for some business friends. Is that cool with you?" asked the brunette watching her friends eyes sparkle with dollar signs.

"That sounds okay to me!" burst Sandy, stepping into her platform shoes. She always waited 'til the last minute to put them on out of consideration for the neighbors below who had to listen to the heavy clump, clump of her wooden heels. Bending over to secure the straps and buckle the tiny metal fastener at her slim ankle, Chris lost her balance and fell on her buttocks, with a groan.