Generally speaking, he liked house parties. They were quieter than bars and, as a rule, if he'd been invited it meant he would know people who were there. So when his brother, Danny, called and said he'd swing by at 8:30 with a couple cases of beer to head to Andrew's party, Alex was all for it. The reality of the evening, however, was not living up to his expectations.
He lifted his left wrist until he could feel his watch snug against his ear and pressed the button. Barely audible over the music, a mechanical female voice told him it was 11:02 p.m. Danny had wandered off to get more beer from the fridge half an hour ago.
Andrew was a friend of theirs through another friend so the party was a mix of new and familiar people. Usually he preferred parties that way; it was his best opportunity to mingle and meet new people. But tonight it seemed his mingling mojo was just not on. The people he did know seemed to be somewhere else in the house and striking up conversations with total strangers had never been easy for him. He ran his fingers through his hair and settled his hands in his lap, fingering absently at the cane resting over his knees.
"Yo, Batman!"
Alex smiled and turned his head in the direction of the voice. Unmistakably Simon. A large warm hand clasped his shoulder and Simon's friendly British voice spoke close to his ear.
"How you keeping, mate?"
"I'm good, man. No complaints."
"Let me introduce you to my new girl. This is Celia. Celia, this is Alex, but everybody calls him Batman."
Alex held his arm out and waited for Celia to shake his hand. Her hand was small and cold.
She must be quite thin
, he thought. Simon usually dated the really tiny ones.
"Nice to meet you, Alex," she said. "Why do they call you Batman?"
"Well, look at him," Simon boomed. "He's blind as a bat!"
"Oh my god, Simon," Celia squealed. "I can't believe you said that!"
Alex laughed. "It's quite alright, Celia. Simon's been calling me that for years and the only offense I take is at his lack of creativity."
She giggled at his comment but it sounded tight, the discomfort was still there. Simon knew that it often took joking about his blindness for some people to relax around Alex; others were just never fully at ease with him.
"I'm going to grab some beer, mate. You want one?"
"Yeah, please. See if you can track down Danny as well."
"Yeah, he's in the den, trying to chat up Theresa Watkins."
"Well, by all means, leave him to it. A beer will do."
Celia was still sitting close by; he could smell her perfume. After a moment of awkward silence, he leaned slightly forward.
"So, Celia..."
"Yes. I'm here."
"What do you do for a living?"
She muttered something he couldn't quite make out.
"Beg your pardon?"
"Oh!" She leaned in close to his ear --her perfume much stronger, mixed with a very sweet-smelling hairspray. "I'm sorry. Are you... do you have a hearing... impairment, as well?"
"No," he said slowly. "But the music is quite loud."
"Oh. Of course." She paused a moment, as though she'd forgotten why she was leaning so close to him. "Oh, right. I work at a boutique in the mall."
"That must be interesting. I'm sure you meet a lot of different people in the mall."
"Not really. We have our clientele and those are mostly the people who come in. We're very exclusive." Her voice held a tone of pride that told him about all he needed to know of Celia.
He breathed a sigh of relief as Simon returned, pressing a cold bottle into his hand.
"Simon, my man, could you point me in the direction of the washroom?"
"Christ, you ain't even started that beer."
"Well, it's probably got more to do with the four I drank ahead of it."
"Ah, you dog," he teased, but his hand was already resting on Alex's elbow.
He stood and flicked out his cane as Simon led him to a doorway and spoke in his ear.
"Straight ahead, mate. About twenty feet, on the left. No point telling you where the light switch is."
Alex smiled at the old joke and made his way forward. A small group of people, perhaps three or four, standing off to his right fell silent as he passed, sliding his cane back and forth. He'd long gotten used to the isolating novelty of being "the blind guy at the party" and could generally overcome that obstacle with wit once the ice was broken but so far it didn't seem the party was going to yield much by way of mingling efforts.
My dick is going to shrivel up and fall off from lack of use.
The random, unbidden thought rose in his mind. It had been almost three years since Patricia broke up with him and though there had been a couple of promising starts, nothing had really panned out. A couple small make-out sessions --what Simon referred to as "under the jumper action" --and several serious cases of blue balls, had left him wondering if his sex life had ended in his early twenties.
I'm going to wind up some crazy, lonely old man who's only ever had sex with one woman.
He stopped in the middle of the hallway, realizing that in his miserable woolgathering, he'd completely lost track of how many steps he'd taken. He reached out to his left and felt the smooth, cold surface of a wall. Running his fingers along its length, he could not find a door anywhere close by.
"Shit," he muttered.
