She spreads the dining table with the appetizers, and at one point, uses the excuse of looking for an extension cord to scout around the other rooms in the house.
She’s in his office/den off the kitchen when Mr. Durbin finds her.
“Whatcha doin’, hot stuff?”
She turns and grins, hiding her guilt from snooping. “I’m looking for an extension cord, so we can keep all the appetizers warm. Do you have one handy?”
He’s standing very close. “Downstairs,” he says. “Come on, I’ll show you,” he says. His voice is sexy.
She licks her lips, looking into his eyes. “Show me the way,” she says, pointing with her beer. Her heart thuds heavily at the thought of going downstairs with Mr. Durbin.
The door to the basement is through the kitchen. It’s a finished basement, with a full bar, big-screen TV, and two giant fluffy-looking couches. Janie follows Mr. Durbin through a door into a workshop with a small worktable. On it sits a Bunsen burner and several flasks and beakers. On the shelves above it are a variety of chemicals. Janie strolls over to it and rapidly checks them out. “Oh cool! I want a lab table in my house,” she whines.
He comes up behind her and puts his hand lightly on her waist. His thumb rolls gently, back and forth on her side. She leans into him slightly as her eyes scan the shelves.
And then he’s taking her arm and pulling her with him. “I gotta go mingle,” he says. They climb the stairs, to where the music is loud again. “Here’s the extension cord,” he says, handing it to her. “Come on, you need to have some fun now. Get out of work mode and enjoy yourself. It’s a party, for Chrissake.” He grins and pinches her ass.
“Get some of this punch, Janie,” he says, holding up his empty cup. “I promise you, you’ll lighten up and have a great time.” He sets his cup on the kitchen counter, and after Janie has the network of plugs configured, so that nobody could possibly trip over all the cords, she glances around, grabs the cup, and makes a beeline to the bathroom.
There’s a line. She doesn’t want to wait.
She slips down the hall, peers into a dark bedroom, and sneaks inside, locking the door. Turns on the lamp on the dresser, and pulls a package out of her pocket. She rips open the package, takes out a round paper circle, and tips the near-empty cup, so a single drop pauses on the rim of it and splashes on the paper.
She rubs it in and waits.
Thirty seconds, and it’s dry.
And nothing happens.
She takes a second paper circle and tries again.
Still nothing.
“Hm,” she says. She crumples up the papers and shoves them into her pocket, replaces the package to the other pocket, grabs the cup and her beer, and goes back out to the party.
Janie tosses the cup in the trash and peeks inside quickly. Two empty fifths of Absolut lay at the bottom of the trash bag. She closes the wastebasket and washes her hands. She can hear the students, louder now, laughing and dancing.
9:45 p.m.
Janie’s bored. And dying of thirst. All the soda is in open two-liter bottles left unattended, and maybe she’s paranoid, but Janie doesn’t trust the tap water because it has one of those filter things on it. She looks at the warm, half-full bottle of beer in her hands. Knows it’s probably the only safe thing in the house, since it hasn’t left her hands from the moment she opened it.
Many of the guys have gone downstairs to watch basketball, and a few girls too. But most of the girls are swaying and laughing in the great room, and Mr. Wang is entertaining them with his dance moves. Four girls sit on the floor playing Texas hold ’em. The food has hardly been touched. Everybody has a beer or a cup of something in hand. Janie stabs a meatball with a toothpick and nibbles at it. It’s delicious, but only succeeds in making her even more thirsty.
And then Mr. Durbin emerges from the kitchen with a fresh bowl of punch. He makes a general announcement, and half the girls gather around, holding out cups. He generously ladles punch, and he pours one for himself, and Mr. Wang too. Mr. Wang, sweating from dancing, downs his punch and lifts his cup to Janie, who sits on the couch making small-talk with Desiree. Desiree is nicely half-drunk, not too slobbery, and Janie has really learned to like her. She’s smart and funny.
Mr. Wang pours a second cup of punch and brings it over to Janie.
“For you,” he says. His black eyes are shiny. He sits next to Janie and leans back, closing his eyes.
“Long day, Chris?” Janie says when Desiree slips away to refill her glass.
He opens a lazy eye. “Long and hard,” he says wickedly.
Janie nods. “Thanks for sharing.” She holds the cup in her hand.
Listening to the music. It’s the Black Eyed Peas. “Got any Mos Def?” Janie asks.
“Mos’ definitely,” Mr. Wang says, laughing at his own stupid joke. He lunges unsteadily toward her. “Whoa,” he whispers, catching himself on her thigh. “I’ll just get that on later. Hey, you know, lighten up already, princess,” he says, tilting his head quizzically. “Your type is supposed to get plastered at these kinds of parties. You know, free booze.” He leans in and sniffs her neck. “You smell terrific,” he says.
He rests his sweaty head on her shoulder.
My type? Janie burns. She can’t help it. She wants to kick Mr. Wang’s ass. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “You wanna know what the trailer trash like, huh, Chris?”
“Not all the trailer trash. Just you.” He’s slurring his words.