Chapter One

Chapter One
“Used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that.” Broken Social Scene

“It was literally a phallus made of sausage and goddamn eggs!” Viv was describing her classmate’s latest “experimental installation piece”. She was an art major, and thus had a never-ending cache of stories about ridiculous “feminist” art.
“A whole exhibit of penises made of food?” I asked in disbelief. I was sprawled on the floor with my head resting on a propped pillow, nursing a beer.
“There was even a fucking spaghetti wiener with meatball balls!” she giggled, and made a lewd gesture with her fist.
“Let me guess,” Marie looked up with a smirk, “its title was something about the patriarchic undertones of even out most basic need: nourishment. You know, because hot dogs and tatter tots are tools to oppress women.” She rolled her eyes and looked back down at her book. She was a classics major, and her books usually looked like relics, and I was sure no one had taken some of them out since 1900.
Viv nodded solemnly, with a glint in her eye.
“All I know is that it made me hungry.”
“You are what you eat, Viv, my dear” I intoned dryly.
Just then, our neighbor James opened the door.
“Dinners ready, Janey!” Viv wiggled her thick eyebrows. We all burst out laughing.
James looked flustered, and shook his head slightly.
“I don’t even want to know what you harpies are cackling about.”
“What’s up, doll face?” Viv said sweetly, patting the spot next to her on the couch. He settled his skinny frame down, running his hands absently through his tousled black hair.
“You guys want to check out a band tonight?” He looked around expectantly.
James was our group optimist. He was always dropping by to tell us excitedly about some new band he heard about, or how interesting the lecture on global warming he went to was. He was cute and slightly dorky, but we all loved him defensively. Without his urgings, we would probably regress into some sort of Grey Gardens-like behavior, buried in our own detritus with cats. James passions included Vietnamese cuisine, Nabokov and an unending crush on all three of us that we pretended didn’t exist.
“James,” Marie said, like a cautious mother talking to a toddler, “is this a real band at a bar, or an experimental tribal band comprised of your friends in someone’s basement?”
James blushed again.
“The former! They’re called The Wake, and I hear they’re great live. And besides my friends are getting really good.”
Marie looked like she was about to say something particularly acidic, so I threw a pillow at her head.
“It sounds great James.” I said, eyeing Marie warningly.
He ducked his head, smiling at my compliment, which caused Marie to shoot me a warning look in return. It was an unspoken rule not to mess with the balance of James and us. He was decidedly off limits to everyone. No one wanted to ruin the relationship with the one boy we actually liked as a person.
“Okay,” he said, attempting to be business-like, “we’re leaving in a half hour, so…” he trailed off as we started laughing at him, “Ugh, you are all succubae! Be ready, please?” He stomped out to the sound of our giggles.
“Succubae?” Viv looked confused.
Marie answered almost immediately without even looking up.
“A female demon who raped dudes and drained their souls in the medieval times.”
“Aha,” Viv said wickedly, “So that’s what your major is good for. Translating fucking geeky insults.”
“But your major makes penises out of food and calls it art.” I pointed out.
“And you are going to be a dried up, horny spinster English teacher, have fun!” Viv retorted.
I groaned and covered my ears.
“Stop scaring me!” Viv knew that was my biggest fear. I was an English literature major, and was forever terrified of the uselessness of that in the real world. She lit a cigarette and looked smug.
“Okay,” Marie snapped her book shut, “Stop arguing assholes, and go get ready so James doesn’t wet his panties.”
Viv made a face at me.
“I saw that Vivian!” Marie’s bad mommy routine was sometimes gratingly condescending.
“Yeah, yeah, no wire hangers! Take it easy Mommy Dearest!” Viv did her best Joan Crawford impression which, despite her years at a boarding school for the arts, was pretty awful.
Marie just glared, and I hoped her mood would improve before we left, otherwise we were going to get drunken insults hurled at us for hours.
“C’mon Marie, let’s make a friendly cocktail.” I coaxed her to the kitchen, and she smiled slightly