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The guys had totally forgotten their “revered ladies,” so enchanted were they by the notion they were the best there ever was. The ladies, for their part—Charlotte could see Crissy and Nicole and, right here, Gloria slumped back in their chairs, gloriously bored and casting knowing glances at one another, trapped, as they were, in this hot tub of sentimentality. But Hoyt, still on his feet, clapping, looked down at Charlotte and gave her a big wink—and the loving smile! She felt like leaping up and giving him a kiss on the mouth right in the middle of this supreme moment of male bonding.
They began to take their seats again, all but I.P. He stood by his chair, lurching slightly as if from a psychomotor malfunction, the glass of red wine in his hand sloshing about so perilously it was hard to keep your eyes off it. He was eagerly trying to get Vance’s attention. Somebody else at another table was tapping his glass, primed to make a toast. I.P. began lurching and shouting, “Vance! Yo! Hey, Vance!”
Vance ignored him at first, but then gave in, saying, “Okay, I.P. Mr. I.P. has the floor.”
I.P. hoisted his sloshing glass up almost to lip level and said in a bellowing voice, “I just want to say—I just want to say…”
He appeared to blank out. He was still holding the glass aloft, but his eyes seemed to be fixed on…nothing…somewhere in the middle distance.
Julian began applauding. “Well said, Ipper! Next!”
I.P. wasn’t having it. Still louder he shouted, “I just wa
“Then just fucking say it!” yelled Julian. “You—” He didn’t complete his characterization.
Laughter and whistles.
“I JUST WANNA SAY…this place is the fucking greatest place, the fucking best house on campus, and I just wa
“Bullshitter?” suggested Boo-man.
Laughter, applause, catcalls.
I.P. had his mouth open, ready to say more, but an unbelievably loud whistle came from a table beyond Vance’s.
“Yo! Hey, yo!” It was Harrison, who was on his feet, pumping his fist straight up and down. He was so drunk and was punching the air so hard that he seemed about to dislocate his shoulder.
Laughter…which Harrison interpreted as encouragement. He beamed a smile and declaimed, “I just wa
Convulsive laughter, sarcastic whoops and howls. “Good job, Harrison!”…“Real smooth, baby!”…“It’s Don Juan!”…“From now on you gotta play with a helmet, dawg!”—insinuating that Harrison suffered too many head injuries playing lacrosse—and the guys began looking around at the girls to see how they took that one. Crissy, sitting next to Vance, was doubled over and laughing so hard she finally held her own head, her palms over her temple.
Harrison, taking it all at face value, assuming they were laughing with him, gri
More toasts…each more incoherently reaching for superlatives than the one before. The event was rapidly falling to pieces. Charlotte drank some more wine.
Di
Three girls ventured out onto the middle of the floor and began to dance, facing inward toward one another, as if they were in a circle, shaking their fa
The next thing Charlotte knew, Hoyt was pressing his palm into the middle of her back and steering her toward the dance floor and saying, “Let’s dance, babe.” He said the “babe” with a smile that ended with his lips slightly pursed in the way that indicates, “What I just said is merely a cue for something much more profound.” Charlotte felt as if the music were filling the atrium of the hotel with a fine, drizzling haze that crackled with electricity, and Hoyt was firmly pushing her onto the dance floor with a look that just…melted her. She glanced up for a moment—the world! The world was up there on the lobby floor, where there was a railing, and people—old people, people forty years old at least—were leaning against the railing and looking down at all of them, as if from a balcony. How sad they must feel, cut off from youth, from beauty—from a love like Hoyt’s—and how fascinated they must be, and how envious—and Hoyt pulled her close to him until her torso was flat against his—she had never been so physically close to a man’s body before—and Hoyt began moving—
—and she could feel the bone of her mons pubis pressed against his and she realized they were grinding, which she wouldn’t do at the Saint Ray party that time, but she didn’t even know Hoyt then. There was Julian with Nicole, and he didn’t just press his mons pubis against hers, he kept thrusting it thrusting it thrusting it thrusting it, which was gross—but he wanted her, and just think what it must mean to have someone as handsome and cool as Julian wanting you that much!
Hoyt had both of his hands on her back, and she had her hands on his shoulders, and he slid his hands lower on her back, and now he was really pulling her pelvic saddle up against his, because below his mons pubis there was definitely…definitely…but it didn’t really mean what it really meant—it just showed that he wanted her, madly, just the way Julian wanted Nicole—so that he was now totally in her thrall—so much so that he moved one hand still lower until it was right on top of her buttocks—
—and now he was moving her buttocks back and forth with that hand, holding her still closer, until she could also feel her crotch rolling back and forth over…over…
She didn’t so much think about it as give way to it without calling it anything. She glanced about. Every Saint Ray, everyone was doing it. They were sweating. She could see creeks of sweat ru