The Accomplice(6)

October 2003



PARTY, Saturday, @ 2100 hrs Hosted by Luna and Owen



Owen and Luna. Luna and Owen. Their names said so often as one, like twins or a romantic couple. Outsiders could never figure out what it was. Friends would often ask what their deal was. The truth was they were just friends. That’s not to say there was never any attraction. They’d each thought about it. But neither of them wanted to mess with what they had. Whatever it was had become essential to their lives. The pair had been inseparable since the day Owen stuck his fingers in Luna’s mouth.

One year and one month later, Luna and Owen were hanging out in his dorm room in Watson Hall. Luna was chomping on potato chips and watching Owen iron his shirt. She provided a running commentary, as if she were observing a sporting event.

“You’re really taking your time between the buttons, aren’t you?” Luna said.

“Don’t get chips on my bed,” Owen said, eyes focused on his chosen task.

The iron fired steam like a dragon, Luna thought.

“Any knucklehead can de-wrinkle the shirttails, but your sleeve work is mighty impressive. I give you an eight out of ten,” Luna said.

Owen regarded Luna, who was lounging on his bed, wearing threadbare jeans and a ratty old T-shirt that read “Camp Sunshine.” She had this way of making herself at home in his space, which somehow made him feel more at home.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Owen said.

Luna checked her outfit, then turned to Owen, with an expression of wild confusion.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Luna asked. “You can see what I’m wearing, right?”

“I can.”

“I’ll confirm that what you’re seeing is probably at the very least a close approximation of what I’m wearing, taking into account any weird visual anomaly and perceptual errors.”

Owen shut off the iron. Luna pulled the cord from the socket.

“Shall we?” Owen said as he checked his watch. Luna threw on her satin smoking jacket as she and Owen stepped into the hallway.

“Mason!” Luna shouted when she saw her friend leaving a room just a few doors down.

Mason spun around, startled. “Oh, hey, Luna.”

Mason and Owen nodded at each other. Once, Owen had tried to talk to the guy. He asked Mason what he did when he wasn’t smoking pot. Dude, that’s like a really personal question was Mason’s response.

Mason was exclusively Luna’s friend at the time. Owen was convinced that it was because Mason had weed. He always had weed. He even smelled like it. In a good way, Luna thought; in a bad way, Owen thought. Most people called Ralph Mason just Mason, since it was generally agreed that Ralph sounded like a grandpa or something you did after a drinking binge. Mason was a math major with crooked teeth and a haircut that always began with a comma on his forehead. It was pure coincidence that Mason lived in Bing Hall, commonly known as Bong Hall.

“What are you doing here?” Luna asked.

“I’d rather not say,” Mason said.

“You’re coming to the lab party, right, Mason?” Luna asked.

“Maybe. I can’t commit to anything right now,” Mason said quite earnestly. Mason liked to live in the present. He rarely committed to anything that might take place in the future.

Luna found this quirk endlessly amusing. She was always trying to get Mason to pledge himself to a future endeavor.

Mason, let’s go see that Wim Wenders film on Saturday.

Mason, will you study with me tomorrow?

Mason, will you meet me at the dining hall in fifteen minutes?

Mason, promise me you’ll go to sleep later tonight.

Mason’s answer was always some variation of the theme: We’ll see. Let’s play it by ear.

But then Mason broke one of the primary tenets of his life and said, “Hey, Luna, can I talk to you later?”

“What’s up?” Luna asked.

“Later,” Mason said. “When you have time.”

“I don’t know,” Luna said. “Let’s play it by ear.”

She finally understood Mason’s resistance to making plans.



* * *



—

While investigating the bowels of Markham University one night, Luna and Owen found the perfect party venue—a defunct laboratory with a faulty lock in the basement of the Life Sciences building. The lights had all burned out, but the pair found that replacing just a few bulbs gave them the ideal moody lighting for a midterm bash.

Owen draped the walls with abandoned art from his oil-painting class, while Luna pasted arrows from the archway outside the building, down the staircase, and through the hallway to direct the partygoers to the not-so-secret location.

When the clock struck nine, Owen suggested they crack the good bourbon before the early birds showed up. They toasted with plastic tumblers. Owen hid the bottle just moments before Amber, Bobbi, and Casey arrived. Owen called them the ABCs and was under the impression that they were inseparable and somehow identical, which was simply not the case.

Amber Klein was a lanky blonde who always seemed to speak at a volume two clicks above necessary. Her roommate, Bobbi Schwartz, had the shiniest black hair Luna had ever seen and a slightly wandering eye. The eye thing mostly made her look like she was suspicious of everyone. Casey Carr had unruly blond hair and equally unruly breasts. The only common denominator was that the three women lived in Avery Hall.