Suddenly the dog had enough and started barking for us to vacate the garage.
“On that note,” I said. “We’re heading back to the party.”
We reentered the labyrinth and weaving through the darkness I felt twitchy. The rooms seemed even more crowded than before, and outside people were swimming in the pool. Realizing that a lot of kids from the college had crashed I started worrying about what Jayne was making of all this. The hallways were so jammed that Jay and I had to walk through the kitchen to get to the living room for drinks and just then Joe Walsh’s familiar opening riffs to “Life’s Been Good” blasted me into a manic moment of air jamming. Jay looked suitably amused. The sweet aroma of pot began announcing itself in the living room. My heartbeat had doubled because of the cocaine, and I had acquired a new crystalline focus and wanted everyone to be friends. That’s when I noticed Robby wandering around in a Kid Rock T-shirt and baggy jeans so I grabbed him roughly by the neck and pulled him toward us. “I bet it took a lot outta you, huh? Coming down all them stairs?” Robby shrugged, and I introduced him to Jay and then handed them both margaritas, which Robby took so reluctantly that I had to playfully smack him around, urging him to drink it. Robby and Jay started having the kind of inane conversations eleven-year-olds have with people approaching fifty. Robby had taken his usual stance when talking to an adult: You mean nothing to me. I noticed he was gripping a baseball designed to look like the moon.
And then more tugging on my guitar: Sarah again.
I rolled my eyes and muttered a curse under my breath. I looked down and sighed: she was wearing tiny white hot pants.
“These are the kids,” I told Jay, gesturing at Robby and Sarah. “Her look is glam, and pink is very in on six-year-olds this season. Robby’s wearing white hip-hop and is now officially a tween.”
“A tween?” Jay asked, then leaned toward me and whispered, “Wait, that’s not like a g*y thing, is it?”
“No, it’s a tween,” I explained. “You know, someone who isn’t a child or a teenager.”
“Jesus,” Jay muttered. “They’ve thought of everything, haven’t they?”
Our conversation had not deterred Sarah.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetie? Why aren’t you up in bed? Where’s Marta?”
“Terby’s still mad.”
“Well, who’s Terby mad at?”
“Terby scratched me.” She held out her arm, and I squinted in the purple darkness but couldn’t see anything. This was exasperating.
“Robby—take your sister back upstairs. You know she needs her usual twelve hours and it’s getting late. It is now officially bedtime.”
“Then can I come back down?” he asked.