Ruby Red Marionette

three | spin

The driver’s name was Alex.

He was a fresh college dropout based on what he’d told me. Today was his first full day being out of college, or a “free man” as he put it, and he wanted to celebrate with his compadres.

The compadres were like the cast of a coming-of-age 80’s movie. There were two girls and three other guys. I didn’t catch all of their names, and I didn’t quite care to. I could barely remember Alex’s name after he told it to me.

All of them kept talking to me, asking me if I wanted weed or how I knew about the party tonight or what my name was. I gave them quick, terse answers, but they didn’t seem to be getting the hint.

“Jennifer’s a badass, guys.” Alex said to his friends, looking back at them despite the fact that he was driving. “She said she almost died today.”

I felt comfort in the fact that he had forgotten my name, so I wasn’t obligated to remember his.

“You did?” One of the girls asked me. “How?”

I shrugged. “A bomb went off earlier at my job.”

The sentence, now that I was hearing it out loud so many hours after it took place, sounded like an utter lie. But the potheads were excited.

Now they were asking me questions about the explosion, how it happened and who did it and who was there. I was about to tell them about Ashley, thinking that maybe one of them would know her, but I held back. That information would be saved for later. If I told them now and one of them did know her, it would defeat the purpose of me going to the party in the first place.

They spoke about bombs and explosions in general for the rest of the ride, and then I was finally saved when Alex turned onto Chestnut Street, where the hotel was located.

It was only when I got out of the car that I realized how dark it had gotten. The home of our moon looked too beautiful to be real, like a diamond-adorned backdrop behind the twelve-story hotel. Alex’s car was not the only one that had pulled up on the curb, but it was one of the least expensive. All kinds of cars, all kinds of people, had arrived.

Most of the cars, interestingly enough, were black. A couple of them had chrome and matte finishes that made me wonder what kind of party this was and how much money the people in attendance were making. They were all in our age group, though - late teens to mid-twenties. The attendees were split into two categories - stoners and college dropouts like Alex, and then kids with inheritance money who were doing something big with it. The latter half intrigued and intimidated me.

Alex led the way up to the door of the hotel. There were two entrances, one for cars to drive in a few feet and receive valet and the other for us, people who parked on the street. The two entrances were separated by greenery and miniature water fountains. The entrances seemed to separate the categories of people, as if there was VIP and then the regulars.

I was neither. I was just here to observe, to give (or get) information and then leave.

We reached inside the lobby, where regular people with suitcases in hand were at the desk checking in. It was refreshing but strange to see these people, people who weren’t going to the party and who looked at us with curiosity and fear. It was strange because I felt like them in this situation - I was curious and fearful about the group of people I’d stumbled upon - but I was on the other side of the fence.

In fact, I always was.

A queue of muscular men in all black clothing were standing in front of the elevators. Partygoers in front of us stopped in front of them, held brief conversation, and then were allowed entrance. Although all of them had no problem speaking to these men, I still dreaded the moment that it was my turn. I had time, though; there were about eight people in front of me, and then Alex. We counted as one, anyway.