I raised the tray to eye level, then tilted it with care—two inches down toward the right. Syrupy Jell-O flowed toward the lip of each little paper mouthwash-cup, bulging but not spilling over.
I slid the tray slowly home, its upper left edge shaving a pinstripe of whiskered frost from the freezer ceiling.
“Son of a bitch,” said Sue.
“Surface tension,” I replied, closing the freezer door. “Kiss my ass and buy me dinner.”
I may lack the nautical gene, but don’t ever play me for money.
The party was roaring by nine o’clock that night. Somebody’d brought a strobe light, and we had a little vintage Funkadelic cued up on the CD player, “Maggot Brain” throbbing out our open windows into the sultry-for-September night. There was a gaggle of people doing bong hits on the fire escape, and dozens more smashed up against each other in the living room, hallway, kitchen, and both bedrooms.
I’d just made the circuit back from the bathroom and was now stationed next to the front door, cold beer in hand. Not like I had to drive home, but six Jell-O shots was nearing the limit, even for me.
Sue’s friend Mike buzzed up from the lobby, and I held the door open for him, sticking my head out into the cooler, quieter air of our second-story hallway.
His blond head soon bobbed up behind the staircase’s horizon, and I watched the rest of his skinny frame bounce into view, a foot at a time, until he’d stepped onto the landing’s chipped and gritty tiny-hexagonal-tile floor.
“Madeline,” he said, “I think I just got mugged in your vestibule.”
“Um, Mike? How could you not know?”
He smiled up at the ceiling fixture. “This guy at work had some great acid. So it’s, like, entirely possible that I just hallucinated the whole thing?”
“Do you still have your wallet?” I asked.
He patted his jacket pockets, then checked his jeans, fore and aft.
“It’s gone,” he said, grinning even wider. “What a relief!”
“Dude, your pupils are like Frisbees,” I said.
He pointed at my red plastic cup. “Hey, is that a beer?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Would you share some with me?”
“If you come in, you can have one of your very own.”
He patted me on the shoulder. “I’m so glad I know you.”
I took his hand and led him gently inside.
Sue stood in the kitchen doorway, and the music was even louder.
I leaned toward her, yelling “Mike’s tripping and he just got mugged and I think he needs help finding the keg” about a foot away from her ear.
“I’ll take care of it,” she yelled back.
“Keep him away from the Jell-O,” I said, just as the living-room speakers boomed out A Tribe Called Quest chanting “Mr. Dinkins will you please be my May-or?”
Sue gave me a thumbs-up and propelled Mike toward the living room.
The buzzer went off again and I didn’t bother trying to identify the persons at the other end of the intercom before pushing the button to let them in.
If it was the muggers, we could all jump them and get Mike’s wallet back, worst case.
Luckily, it was instead my college pal Sophia and a friend she’d called about bringing along for the evening.
Scarlet-lipped Sophia leaned forward to hug me hello, her mass of dark curls tickling my cheek.
“This is Cate Ludlam!” she yelled near my ear. “The one I told you about! Your cousin!”
I dragged them both into the kitchen. Cate introduced herself again, holding out her hand to shake. She was a little older and a touch shorter than me, with straight brown hair and eyes that made me think of Edith Piaf.
“Sophia thinks we might be related,” I exclaimed over some newly blasting B-52s song.
Cate shrugged her shoulders and smiled, pointing to one ear. The B-52s chanted, “ What’s that on your head? A wig!”
I closed the kitchen door. We could still feel the thump of the bassline, but at least the overall decibel-age had dropped from “skin-blistering” to a mere “painfully loud.”
“That’s so much better,” I said, pulling a fresh tray of Jell-O shots from the freezer and offering them around.
I said L’chaim and we each tossed one back.
“What were you asking just now?” asked Cate.
“Whether the two of you might be cousins,” said Sophia, passing Cate a second little paper cup before taking one herself.
“One of my middle names is Ludlam,” I explained. “After my great-grandmother.”
Cate tossed back her second shot. “We’re all related. Only