Legit house party (pt1/3)

There is no room to park outside the house, so Hill drives slowly past the shabby Georgian terrace and down the steep incline towards the bottom of the road. He pulls up behind an empty skip and watches as a tall, dark-haired man roughly his age walks up the hill, a skateboard in one hand and a visibly straining plastic Morrison’s bag in the other.

Don’t take drugs or drink too much, Hill thinks.

Don’t do anything, at all, Hill thinks.

Hill turns up the volume on the car stereo, rests his head on the car seat and closes his eyes. He is breathing heavily and trying to ignore the phone vibrating inside his trouser pocket.

Please stop, Hill thinks.

The vibrations stop.

Okay, great, Hill thinks.

A sudden banging noise on the driver’s side window startles Hill. He jumps in his seat then turns his head. Trudy’s face and hands are pressed on the window.

Is her tongue touching the glass, Hill thinks.

Let’s go, Trudy says.

Hill watches as Trudy steps away from the car and begins walking up the road. She is wearing an oversized navy blue cable-knit sweater, black leggings, and Berghaus walking boots. She turns back towards the car and pulls a can of Tesco generic lager out of a Morrison’s carrier bag. She opens the can and mouths come on. Hill’s hands grip the steering wheel. He looks at the key, still in the ignition. He looks at the analogue dashboard clock, still broken. He looks at his hands, still tight to the brown plastic wheel surround.

Hill, Trudy shouts.

***

Hi everyone, this is Hill. He’s a really talented filmmaker here to try and cast his new movie, Trudy says.

There is muted laughter and a vague feeling of ambivalence. The people at the house party look to be mostly Trudy’s age, some older by a few years, probably Hill’s age, and some older than that. A great many of the people are wearing cable-knit sweaters and the air is thick with weed smell. Some people pause momentarily, nod and say hi. Trudy looks at Hill and smiles.

Thank you for such a clear introduction, Hill says.

Trudy hugs Hill and says something in his ear that he can’t make out. He twice asks her to repeat herself but gives up on the third attempt.

Someone passes Hill a joint and, despite saying no, he takes it and has some. That’s nice, he says.

Hill turns to hand Trudy the joint but she’s walking down the corridor towards the kitchen. He looks down at the carmine floorboards, badly scuffed and caked with dirt, the weed smoke rising up into his face.

Okay, Hill thinks.

***

A woman with long brown hair, white Asics T-shirt, and green jeans sits down next to Hill. She opens a can of Kronenbourg and passes it to Hill before opening up another can and taking a small sip.

I’m an actor and you’re a filmmaker, apparently, she says.

Hill takes a long drink of the Kronenbourg and opens his mouth to speak.

You went to school with my cousin, she says. There’s that. What else is there? Do you know Doom? He’s here tonight. He’s very wild.

‘Doom’, Hill thinks.

He also went to school with my cousin, so, She continues. Doom’s incredibly intelligent. He’s forty, but you’d never know it. Doom? Does the name ring a bell, Hill? Doom?

No, it does not, Hill says. I don’t think–

Are you sure, because–

Sorry, I just don’t think I know anyone called Doom–

Doom said you were like this, She says. What’s that face? No, it’s chill, Hill. You’re a creative. Me too. I’m developing a new modality. There’s that. Rad thoughts welcome.

Hill tries to gauge whether she is making fun of him and, regardless, feels hurt and defensive. He thinks about how healthy Jack Black looked, how melancholic he seemed throughout their Skype meeting, how healthy Jack Black’s production assistant looked, how scared Jack Black’s production assistant looked. He thinks about Trudy and Roger and whether they have spoken together and discussed his life, his mother, Lucy. He thinks about how much he would like to sit down with a four pack and look through the photos on Lucy’s Facebook. He remembers that he deleted Lucy’s Facebook the day after she died, reactivating it three months later and writing a two-thousand-word status about how their relationship was coming to an end and then she died. He remembers thinking about how their relationship wasn’t coming to an end at all. He remembers thinking about how their relationship went through three or four definitive phases over the course of their eight years together. He remembers a conversation about having children that was left open. He remembers a conversation about having children that ended with a clear resolution. He remembers the external hard drive he posted to Roger that has all of the emails, Facebook chat logs, WhatsApp chat logs, Gmail chat logs between him and Lucy. He remembers the Post-it note he stuck on top of the hard drive: Roger, do not look at this okay. From, Hill. He remembers other things.

The woman, her pupils dilated, stops talking, seemingly mid-sentence, and presses her fingers down on the dark circles underneath her eyes. Genetic, the bags are genetic, she says.

Hill stares at her, unsure how to respond.