The Party Read Online Free PDF Page A

of males in our society know this. And once you know it and ponder its significance for any length of time, your whole perspective will change.”
    “The earth is really flat?”
    “No.” Bubba leaned closer. “Girls want to have sex exactly as much as boys want to.”
    Michael laughed. “Bubba, I just met Jessie. I don’t even know her. I don’t want to sleep with her. I’m afraid to talk to her.”
    “It is much easier to have sex than to talk. When you talk, you have to think. You think too much, Mike. That’s your problem. And you’re lying to yourself. Of course you want to sleep with Jessie. You don’t have to be ashamed. Chances are she probably wouldn’t mind sleeping with you if she thought she could do it and not have to pay for it later in some way. That’s why girls love me so much. I let them know that with me everything is OK.”
    “But you kiss and tell. With what you just said, that makes you a hypocrite. Take how you carried on about Cindy Fosmeyer.”
    “Who do I tell except you? And I know you would never damage a girl’s reputation.” He smiled. “And since we’re talking about Cindy, did I ever tell you she has the hots for you?”
    Cindy Fosmeyer had huge breasts. They were so huge they fairly blotted out any personality she might have had. “You never did because it’s not true.”
    “Believe what you want, buddy.” Bubba stood. “But I give you my word on this—if you don’t ask Jessica out by Monday, I will.”
    Michael was not amused. He had known Bubba a long time. They’d had a lot of good times together. But there was a lot about him he didn’t know, that he didn’t want to know. “Is that a threat?”
    “Think of it as an incentive.”
    “What about saving yourself for Clair?”
    Bubba patted his bulging gut. “There’s enough of me to go around.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
    Bubba was gone much longer than a minute. While waiting, Michael entertained himself scanning Jessica Hart’s transcript. He felt mild guilt at prying, but couldn’t resist. He was mildly surprised to discover she was taking chemistry. She must have some smarts, but then, he had observed that talking to her. Perhaps she would need a tutor. He knew the subject so well that a rumor had gone around last year that he had written the lab manual. It was incredible the things people would believe.
    When the door opened behind him, he assumed it was Bubba. The cool, soft hug from behind caught him by surprise.
    “Hi, Mikey!”
    “Alice, what are you doing here?”
    Michael had met Alice McCoy the previous winter, a couple of weeks before Christmas. Wearing what he was later to discover to be her typical sunny expression, she had popped into his Eleven and asked if she could paint Santa Claus and Frosty the Snowman on his windows. He had been immediately taken by her enthusiasm. She told him he could pay her what he thought it was worth, and if he didn’t like it when she was done, he wouldn’t have to pay her at all. It sounded like a good deal, but the owners of the store were Muslims from Lebanon, and he didn’t know if they’d appreciate Christmas decorations all over their place of business. A quick call dispelled his fears; the two brothers were eager to have their store look as American as possible.
    The next day was a Saturday. Alice showed up at nine o’clock in the morning. He expected her to chalk out a few reindeer and spray on a couple of featureless snowmen and call it done. Her supplies threw him for his first loop. She had a huge, flat black case of paints and brushes. She spent a half hour cleaning and polishing the windows before starting, and when she finally did begin, she worked steadily for seven hours, slowly, patiently, meticulously unfolding a rich colorful tapestry of sparkling elves, joyous children, and racing sleighs. When she finished, she sprayed on a sealer that she promised would protect the paintings. When he finally did