Heather’s skirt laid across her stomach, her panties balled up on the floor of the student radio station. Henry’s jeans and boxers at his ankles stopped by his sneakers.
“What if someone comes in?” said Heather.
Henry kept at it with purpose, but without emotion, “Don’t worry about it.”
Heather‘s shallow breathes pushed out from pressure not pleasure. She thought about the sordid history of this couch. Over twenty years ago it had been hijacked from the library by DJs after dropping acid. A legendary amount of sex and other nefarious acts had been committed on it. Now they had joined radio station lore.
“Someone could come in if they have the code right?”
“I piled some promo crap in front of the door we’ll have a warning if nothing else,” said Henry.
It seemed as if Heather’s plan of revenge sex was losing steam. Perhaps this wasn’t the solution for dealing with Tommy groping a freshman. Henry would be quick to disagree. To Henry, the plan seemed sound. After all, he enjoyed sex almost as much as he hated Tommy.
“Are you crying?” Henry knew what he heard.
“No, I am OK.”
Heather swallowed her sadness, “Is this song over?”
“I put on a compilation, seventy minutes worth.” Henry went deep into the dirty corridors of his mind. There he found his favorite porn star, Audrey Hollander and her fire-engine-red hair doing the dirtiest stuff ever. The porn loop in his brain brought it all to a boil.
Heather pulled up her panties behind Henry. He could feel her thinking. He continued filling out his log and lied about playing PSAs.
“You OK Heather?”
“Yeah, hey that was fun, but I am still with Tommy and I want to work it out. I am sorry if it’s weird.” Weird? What’s weird about awkward crying sex you insisted on, thought Henry. “Hey things happen. No harm no foul. Right?”
“No harm, none at all. Thank you for understanding and if you wouldn’t tell anyone... Not that I am embarrassed to have sex with you, but you know, Tommy and all that.”
Henry cued the next song, “of course.”
The smell of sex lingered in the booth. No surprise there the booth, an unventilated hot box. At the last station meeting, a NO GAS policy had been floated, but no one could figure how to implement such a rule.
RING!
Henry faded out The Shins and faded in The Black Keys as he answered the phone, “Radio.”
“Hey, how about some good music?”
“Doing it”, Henry replied.
“No, some good shit how about Slipknot?”
“Who?’
“Slipknot, you never heard of Slipknot?”
“Are they the guys with fourteen members wearing masks?” Henry asked.
“Yeah!”
“Never heard of them,” Henry said.
“What?”
“Just kidding. I will see what I can do.”
“Thanks”
Henry dropped the phone on the cradle. No one has any taste he thought.
Henry scrolled through his cell phone’s call history. He hadn’t bothered to put Dean’s number in but recognized the Los Angeles area code. Waiting for Dean to pick up Henry prepared to leave a message. “Hello, what?” Dean sounded like he just woke up. “Did I wake you?” Henry asked.
“No,” sound faded out as Henry could hear the phone leaving Dean’s ear, “Hey Henry what’s up?”
“Just hoping you could hook me up.”
“Looking for a little smoky smoke?”
There’s the code that throws off law enforcement. “Yup.”
“I didn’t’ think you smoked?”
“Sure,” Henry answered.
“OK, things are between drop offs, so all I got is an eighth. Is that OK? I mean killer bud and all.”
“That’ll be fine,” Henry said.
“Never took you for a pothead. Guess you never know.”
“Right.”
“OK, I will be swinging by the station in twenty minutes.”
“How did you know I am at the station?”
“I am listening to your show.”
“Oh,” Henry said.
“See you Henry.”
“Yeah see you Dean.”
Henry faded out and turned up the microphone, “It’s ten- forty in the PM on this Friday and time for eyewitness weather. Hmm, looks dark. Now we have a special treat for a listener who wanted to hear some good music. Some real kick ass rock and roll. Some face melting heavy metal. This is for you caller.” Backstreet Boys faded in and Henry had to chuckle.
RING Henry picked up the phone, “That was quick.” Homophobic profanities from a crank caller. “Nice talk,” Henry said, hanging up before the meathead could respond.
Built to Spill’s Untrustable Part 2 faded in, all eight minutes and fifty-four seconds of it. Henry dialed Allison.
“Hey Henry!” Allison yelled before Henry even heard a ring on his end.
“Hey,” Henry said.
“What you doing?”
“At the station.”
“Huh? Oh yeah it’s Friday. What you doing later?”
“Thought I would come by after,” Henry checked the song countdown, “if that’s cool. I am getting a package from Dean.”
“Very nice. Treats, bring them over. Got to go Henry. See you soonish buddy.”
“Later!”
Buddy, pals, friends with benefits. Get Allison high and she would do all kinds of things. Not Audrey Hollander things, but things none the less. If nothing it should be the least awkward sex of the night.
Henry’s phone vibrated with a text, “BE THERE 20!” Henry waited for pot he had no intention of smoking. Allison didn’t even question the fact he didn’t smoke it. She would just fire up her Hello Kitty bowl and puff away. She would start coughing and giggling. Then Henry would start rubbing her leg or running his hands through her hair. She would make faces and wrestle around. Same beginning and middle and it always ended with sex. Henry didn’t dare to make a move on Allison without weed. If she wasn’t high it might mean something else. Dating? Maybe? Henry couldn’t be bothered with a girlfriend. Girlfriends involved work. You had to do things with them.
Modest Mouse blasted in the booth as Dean pounded outside the station door. He fumbled for his cell phone to call Henry.
“Hey Gaywod!” Dean jumped when he heard the voice. He turned and a fist filled his vision. His eye socket erupted in pain. Things went gray as he fell against the door. His legs gave way ever so slowly. Still stunned, another fist hit him where the jaw connects to the skull. He slumped to the floor. He made out three figures as he put his hands over his head only to be kicked in the ribs.
Henry perused the College Music Journal charts and upcoming releases. He wrote a note to himself regarding which label reps could put him on which guest list.
Meanwhile Dean was already on the way to the hospital with a broken orbital bone and a busted jaw. His ribs had been bruised. The weed as still stashed in one of the many pockets in Dean’s cargo pants.
Two chain smoking theater students snickered as the meatheads had been handcuffed and forced into a cop car, crying with snot running down their rugby shirts in the Quad. As the cops bellowed for all in earshot regarding felony assault, attempted murder and possibly a hate crime if Dean was indeed gay.
Henry wondered if he could convince Allison to dye her hair fire-engine-red.