The thick black leather bracelet looked too tight. That made sense, kind of.
Looking closer, there was a small cobalt clip on it that must have dug into his skin.
She heard you couldn’t remove it.
The person attached to the wrist wasn’t flaunting the bracelet. If anything, he was trying to hide it.
Stephanie admired that.
She wanted to ask, but didn’t know how.
She bought the guy a beer, they exchanged names.
He was Sean, unless he was lying about that.
She wasn’t sure how it worked.
Two drinks later she couldn’t take it anymore.
“You’ve been to Whiff.”
Sean turned.
“What’s Whiff?”
“Fuck you, you know what I’m talking about,” Stephanie said, as politely as possible for a sentence that began with fuck you. “I get that you can’t talk about it, but at least acknowledge that I’m right.”
“I can’t acknowledge if you’re correct if I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sean said, calmly, almost sounding bored.
“You know where you’ve been, right? I don’t need details. I don’t even need a verbal answer. If you’ve been to Whiff, nod your head.
Sean remained motionless.
The third day of Zuckerberg’s bestiality trial was on CNN. Harvee’s was doing a drink bingo based on some of the words from the mostly lurid testimony. When an attorney said “semen” Sheila Platz pumped her fist and shouted “Bingo!”
Sheila won a Screaming Chartreuse Meerkat and a chili cheeseburger.
“This is lame,” Sean said. “But it was nice-ish to talk to you, Stephanie. Hopefully I’ll see you around.”
Stephanie weighed two things in her mind. Sean used her full first name, which she loved. She hated it being shortened to Steph.
And nice-ish.
Was that rude?
Honest?
If Sean really had been to Whiff, he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. He was playing by their rules, if the place really existed.
If It didn’t, it was one of the best hoaxes, best false rumors ever perpetrated.
Jillian Bila and Trevor Murphy both quietly unquietly claimed to have been to Whiff. Trevor had the same leather bracelet that Sean wore.
“Where ya going?” Stephanie asked. She heard the urgency in her own head.I nside those words were the unspoken words “let me come with you.”
“I’m going to the gym to work out...until ten eleven.”
Stephanie was nodding absently, feeling too pushy for asking, when the time registered with her.
Ten Eleven. According to some, that was the code for Whiff.
“Can I come???”
She almost screamed it.
People turned, then turned back to the TV to listen to the testimony of the turkey farmer.
“If you love the gym that much you can go yourself, you know,” Sean said.
There was just a tiny hint of a smirk. The barest one. Or maybe Stephanie just wanted to see one.
Stephanie followed Sean out of Harvee’s.
Sean turned.
“You’re welcome to hang out with me. But It might get weird. You shouldn’t follow me if you don’t want it to get weird.”
Stephanie was now certain he was taking her to Whiff.
She walked the treadmill at Hemisphere’s, leisurely, in her jeans and t-shirt while Sean worked out.
He looked at her occasionally and smiled.
At 9:55 he motioned for her to follow.
“Are you cool with going back to my place?”
“I should go to mine and change.”
“No,” he said, calmly but forcefully.
Then when a hint of fright showed in her eyes, he said “Trust me.”
They cut through residential neighborhoods, Sean asking Stephanie more about herself.
Stephanie wondered which house was Sean’s, until they left the residential neighborhood and turned east, then north. Sean walked in a circle, looking at his watch.
At 10:05 he turned left into an abandoned do it yourself carwash.
Sean stopped at a vacuum machine that had a small sign: Out of Order.
He put two dollars in quarters in the machine.
A voice came over an unseen speaker.
“Go away,” it said.
Stephanie shivered and turned, ready to obey.
Sean said: “Ovulate Tuesday for Optimum Results.”
The voice said: “Who was the best looking Beatle?”
Sean said: “Tom Waits.”
The drain cover in the wash bay slid open.
Sean took Stephanie’s hand gently and said “You sure you wanna go to my place?”
Stephanie could only nod. The excitement tingling through her could have started the sprayers and spit air fresheners from the vending machines.
Sean climbed down the ladder first.
“Last chance to change your mind,” Sean said.
Stephanie said “Hell no,” and climbed down.
When Sean got to the bottom of the ladder, he reached to help Stephanie down the last few steps.
They walked through the sewer system.
Cobalt lights were strung along the walls slightly above Stephanie’s head.
Sean stopped. Stephanie could hear footsteps from other corridors of the sewer.
“They are going to go over the rules with you at the door. They might be a bit condescending, a bit…I don’t know. But once you’re inside, it will be worth it…I think.”
Stephanie bit her lip and nodded.
Sean turned again and Stephanie followed.
Car wash air fresheners hanging from the strings of lights only mildly mitigated the smell of the sewer.
Sensing Stephanie’s slight discomfort, Sean said “Don’t worry, the place smells great inside, incense and the aroma of…well, you’ll find out.”
“I don’t care,” Stephanie said. She looked up and saw a few people entering their corridor from another wing of the sewer. To her relief, they didn’t look dressed up for a nightclub at all. Just street clothes. “I’m grateful to you for bringing me here even though you barely know me.”
Sean nodded.
Stephanie grabbed Sean’s sleeve and looked him in the eye.
“Why did you let me come with you? I hope you don’t think it’s some automatic fuck hookup or-”
“Mostly because you accused me of hanging out at Whiff”
Stephanie’s face scrunched and jiggled and she felt like her lungs were at half capacity.
“Isn’t this Whiff?”
Sean shook his head. “Hell no. Whiff is for yogurt lube poseurs. This is Clunk.”
Stephanie’s exhilaration dissipated and her nervousness returned.
“What is Clunk?”
Sean shrugged his shoulders. “Like Whiff, with better music, cooler people, better drinks-you gotta have a Kermit Washington the Frog- and all kinds of surprises.”
Stephanie nodded, tried to retain some optimism, but she had her heart set on Whiff. She never heard one rumor about Clunk.
“If this isn’t Whiff, how come you said ten eleven and how come you have the black leather bracelet like Whiff.”
Sean turned another corridor.
There was a small line-about seven people-in front of a door with a saffron light shining from it. If one didn’t know better, it could have been some portal to hell.
Sean whispered in Stephanie’s ear.
“Whiff ripped those ideas off from Clunk. Whiff’s bracelets don’t have the cobalt clip. And stop saying ‘Whiff’. Third rule of Clunk is don’t say ‘Whiff’.”
They got to the line, which moved slowly as someone in an old man mask with a powder wig inspected everyone and held their bracelet under a black light.
Each whispered a word to a topless woman with her breasts painted to look like wicker cornucopias.
After Sean whispered the word, he grasped Stephanie’s hand as the person in the powder wig recited the rules. Stephanie answered “yes” and “no” in the appropriate places.
Someone in a Flash costume walked through the door and stepped to Sean.
“Twin Shepherds?” The Flash said.
“Ultimate Fighter Madrigals,” Sean answered.
“Now and Forever?” The Flash asked.
“Kevin Costner’s Breath Mints,” Sean replied.
The Flash placed a leather bracelet around Stephanie’s left wrist.
Thrills and terror argued at the base of her spine.
Sean took her hand and they walked into the club.
Mellow shoegaze was playing, machine made mist drifted through the room and bartenders in tight fitting crimson t-shirts were drinking from cocktail shakers, then spitting drinks into patron’s mouths. Stephanie hated shoegaze.
“I can just get a beer, right?” Stephanie asked.
Sean chuckled. “Sure. The Momma Bird drinks are kinda overpriced anyway.”
Stephanie said “I do truly appreciate this, Sean, really I do.”
She was about to give him the disclaimer that she probably wasn’t interested in a casual sexual encounter when she looked over her left shoulder and saw green haired roadies setting up band equipment.
One of them bent and put the double kick drum in place.
Stephanie wheeled and grabbed a handful of Sean’s still sweaty shirt.
“Peanut Butter and Jesus Christ, get the fuck out of here! Is that really Meatwood Flack setting up on the stage???”
“Sure is,” Sean said. “They flew them in from Fiji.”
Stephanie grabbed Sean in the tightest embrace she had ever embraced anyone.
“Oh god, oh, oh, oh my god.” Stephanie looked up at him.
“May I kiss you?”
Sean looked down at Stephanie.
“No.”
Great last line.
If I was ever going to start a band, I'd let you name it.