Free Pop Kids by Davey Havok Page B

re-usable grocery bag is gripped in her fist. It’s clinking.
    “Hayyyy kids…” Giggling, the tardy equestrian bounces into our gathering. “Wooh!…” As she dismounts her heels tik and her boy-pony bails out onto the lot. “Am I late?” she asks.
    “Fashionably, of course.” I nod to her sack of supplies. “What’cha got in there?”
    “Oh just a lil’ something to celebrate your first party Babe!” Thrusting her hip like a swimsuit model in a liberty pose, Stella victoriously raises a large bottle of Cook’s.
    Her libations elicit praise from everyone but me, Lynch, and Alvin, who is silently hunting atop the warm black asphalt. Using his advantageous position to look up her dress, he stealthily captures ill-lit stills of Mia’s vast wonders while she’s yelling “Woooooo!” at the hoisted bubbly.
    I knew Stella would bring booze. And if she didn’t, someone else would have. This was inevitable, yet I still feel conflicted about permitting drinking at my party. If I don’t put a stop to it immediately, everyone will be drunk, annoying, and potentially vomitous for all Premieres to come. Bagging her poison, Stella commandeers Lynch’s ice cream and shares a simultaneous lick with Mia. Though I wouldn’t want to be seen as an ungrateful, oppressive host. Their tongues circle the creamy pink—they almost touch. Or discourage any loss of sexual inhibition . I decide to overlook the thoughtful gift of champagne. A pink drop drips from the communal cone. Mia looks down to check her dress and, sadly, Alvin is caught.
    “Little pervert!” Her furry boot kicks at his ribs. The baby pap screams like a kitten.
    “C’mon! Don’t Stifle!” Reaching out with his camera, unharmed and unashamed, he continues snapping. “Don’t stifle. I’m a fucking artist, baby.” Flash, flash . “I’ll make you famous.” KICK . “Owe! Cunt! “ He laughs. “Don’t be a bitch—”
    Extending my hand, I pull him up. After wiping his black palms on his sleeveless Too Fast for Love shirt, Al takes off his shades to inspect his art. He shows Mia the shots of her own ass. She giggles. And I’m ready to go.
    “Well, now that we’re all here … Shall we?” Grinning over his brother’s camera, Lynch gives two thumbs up. I command, “Friends, if you would all be so kind as to follow us, we shall escort you into our new home!”
    “You bought a house?” Mia throws up the horns. “Hell yeah! Michael Massi Cribs!”
    Shaking his head, Lynch points across the street to the dark four stories. “We’re going in there.”
    “No way, we’re gonna watch fucking Breakfast Club in the fucking Palace?” Cramming his sentences into one breath, Alvin takes off toward the secret door. “I fucking love this place. I knew it. I knew you’d be into it Mike. It’s totally fucked and creepy!”
    In the center of a quavering streetlight halo, Alvin stalls, turns back, and waves. “Come on fuckers! I know how to get in!”

Chapter 13
    We’re gathered outside our secret entrance. Anticipation crawls back and forth between us, jumping to and from each aspiring Filmgreat. Alvin pries open the leafy mouth. I squeeze through the serpentine ivy, guiding Stella by the hand. The rest of my honored guests follow. The heavy mouth of the mystical portal snaps shut, and we all stand inside the cool lounge. Our new lifestyle begins now. We all sense the elevation.
    “What the hell is this? I thought we were going to watch a movie? Are there spiders in here!? Or RATS?” Mia clings to Lynch. “OMFG. Are there fucking rats?”
    “I think rats are cute.” Seemingly speaking to herself, Stella curiously inspects the boarded front door. Alvin offers her his back.
    “I like rats too. Rodents are fucking tits!” He crouches. “Hop on, let’s go upstairs.”
    A filthy, powder-pink vermin, perched upon Stella’s shoulder, gnaws on the gobstopper beads of her plastic necklace.
    “No, no rats.” I rush over to reign in the pony .