The point is—I can tell from the look on his face, Jason is already wondering what’s going on under the giant purple coat. Is there a plump set of boobies wrapped up in there, a sweet ass? It’s all a mystery, but he’s more than ready to do the detective work necessary to solve it.
“Hey, check it out,” I say, looking over his shoulder, “Alisa Norman is sure looking fine tonight. That red sweater is a scorcher.”
Jason looks across the party grounds to where Alisa is laughing with some of her friends. She is not wearing a giant puffy coat.
“Spicy,” says Jason. “But what the hell? Wherever she is, Denver Quigley is bound to be close by.”
“Not this time,” I say. “Didn’t you hear? They’re over. She jettisoned him like a lump of frozen turds out of a 747. She’s on the prowl.”
“No shit?”
“I shit you not.”
He stands there sizing up the situation. The red sweater is impossible to resist. “I’ll catch up with you two later on. I think I’m gonna amble over and congratulate her on her good judgment.”
“Go for it,” I tell him.
Of course, Alisa didn’t actually break up with Quigley at all, and in fact, he should be turning up any second now, but do I feel guilty? Not a chance. A guy like Jason Doyle can always use a black eye.
Chapter 30
Aimee must be a little nervous. I catch her taking a sip of beer after all. She makes a face like she just downed a pint of bleach, but at least it’s a start. I try to soothe her a little by giving her the background on all the characters at the party, but I can’t make much headway, what with person after person dropping by to shoot the shit with me, including three ex-girlfriends. The problem is I’m just not really a benchwarmer when it comes to parties. No sidelines for the Sutterman. I like to get right in the middle of the action.
Aimee, though, she doesn’t even know what the game is, much less how to play. I try to drag her into conversations, but I’m not having much success, even when Shawnie Brown, my girlfriend from sophomore year, comes over. Shawnie’s very touchy-feely and loud. She makes these great exaggerated facial expressions to go along with her stories and loves to do this deal where we talk to each other like Italian mobsters. It’s hilarious. But I swear, with each second, Aimee seems to shrink further and further into the giant purple coat.
Then, finally, there he is—Cody Dennis in all his puppy dog–eyed glory.
Immediately, I wrangle him over and introduce him to Aimee. He eyes the coat but doesn’t make any wisecracks. In fact, he hardly says anything. It’s up to me to keep the stories cranking so that the conversation doesn’t freeze into a long, hard stretch of tundra. On and on I go—about the party at Paxton’s house, the one at the La Quinta Inn, and the really, really kickass one at Lake Tenkiller last summer—until finally I run out of party stories and, out of sheer luck, hit on the perfect topic—my online research into Commander Amanda Gallico and the Bright Planets books.
At that, the light in Aimee’s eyes supercharges. She knows all the Web sites I visited and starts in quizzing me about what I thought. Surprisingly, I remember quite a bit and impress her with my take on the philosophy behind Commander Amanda’s journey. “Inner prosperity,” I say. “That’s the thing. I mean, take me up to the Bright Planets right now. Screw a bunch of power. Screw enslaving the world. We don’t need that. No way. We just need to grow wild, like alfalfa or something.”
She’s all over that. “You’ve got to read the books. You remind me of Zoster, kind of. He’s the only one that really understands Commander Gallico. In the third book they get trapped in a Shuxushian cave prison together and escape into the underland of Marmoth, which is where I got my idea for the kind of ranch I want to have someday. I’ll lend you the book. It’s a pretty good one to start out with.”
“Great,” I say. And it does something to me to see her little white face beaming with so much enthusiasm against the background of purple coat. It’s like my beer buzz just cranked up to a whole new level. I almost forget about Cody standing next to us, not to mention the whole reason for rounding him up in the first place.
“Sorry, Cody.” I slap him on the back. “Didn’t mean to leave you stranded here in a different galaxy.”
But he doesn’t look bored in the least. “No, man,” he says. “That’s cool. I’m into sci-fi. Have you guys ever read this graphic novel series, Solar Bull by Lawrence Black?”
I’m like, “Can’t say that I have,” but of course, Aimee’s all, “Solar Bull, yes, I love Solar Bull.”
Then there they go, leaving me behind this time. And I know I should be happy. This is exactly why I carted Aimee out to the party. But the truth is it’s a little cold here in my own little non–Solar Bull galaxy.
She laughs at something Cody says about a rocket-powered llama, and he reaches over and touches the sleeve of the giant purple coat. She leans a little toward him, her face still beaming. It’s stupid, but I want to step in between them, maybe even lead her away somewhere. But just then, Cassidy appears in the clearing on the far side of the keg, looking like a beautiful fat goddess, and I’m transported to a new sparkling warm galaxy, far, far from Solar Bulls and llamas.
Chapter 31
I tell Aimee and Cody I’ll be right back, but they barely notice. Across the way, Cassidy stands beneath the bare branch of an oak. She still hasn’t seen me, but I can tell she’s searching. Then Marcus West steps out of the shadows and puts his arm around her. Have you ever started to wave at someone and then realized they weren’t really waving at you, so you abort and go for a head scratch instead? That’s how I felt. Only instead of scratching my head, I break off my beeline for Cassidy and abruptly turn toward the keg.