I aren’t a constant band of two. I’ve also bonded with Nelson over how much we think children look like creepy little mini-humans. We’ve pinky sworn to never procreate.
Artemis appeared at 10:45 p.m. carrying a bag from Goodwill and wearing goddess sandals and a slinky black dress, her red hair in wild, shining curls. “You look amazing!” I said. I felt a tangled mix of envy and awe.
Of course, Dirty Steve appeared behind me just then. “Poxy,” he said, “you could definitely get some tips from your pal here on how to dress.”
The thing about Dirty Steve that really gets me is how sometimes his meanness is completely spot-on. But Artemis snapped back, “You look like you could use some help your own self. I think the Fashion Police have been arresting men for wearing white sneakers since 2003.”
I chortled, but clearly Dirty Steve chose to see her cutting retort as some sort of flirtation, because he told me I could take off ten minutes early in a transparent attempt to try to impress Artemis with his “power.”
Artemis and I made our way to the less frequented and thus relatively clean bathroom toward the back of the store, where Artemis whipped out a whole case of beauty supplies like some sort of makeover fairy. There was a battery-powered curling iron—like something out of a sci-fi movie written by a woman—some dry shampoo, and more makeup than you’d find backstage at “RuPaul’s Drag Race.”
“May I?” she asked.
“Have your way with me,” I said.
Twenty minutes later I was transformed. No kidding, that girl knows about smoke and mirrors. “What do you have in the bag?” I asked.
“I went to the Gucci Goodwill in Tarrytown.” She pulled out an off-the-shoulder gray dress and silver cowgirl booties in a size eleven, both of which were totally rock and roll and actually flattering. “What are you, a fairy godmother?” I asked. “I’m going to give you money for this.”
“You can pay for my cover. And our first round of drinks.”
When I was all dressed, Artemis said, “I got you one more thing.” She pulled out a little box from Crystal Works and I opened it to find a gorgeous labradorite pendant on a silver chain.
“Holy Venus, Goddess of Friendship! It’s so pretty. Labradorite, for—”
Artemis and I spoke the words at the same time: “Magic and protection.”
“Thank you!” I said as I put it on. I was overwhelmed. The necklace was perfect, but the gesture was grand enough to be disconcerting. “Are you in love with me?”
“It’ll help you get your groove back,” she said.
“Who says I need to get my groove back?”
She raised her eyebrows. “When we met you were handing out samples of tuna burger.”
“Shuuuuut uuuuuupppp!”
When we walked out to the parking lot, Artemis unlocked a black BMW with the click of a key fob. I climbed into the passenger side. The car smelled like new leather seats. “Damn,” I said. “Where’d you get this? I mean, I know nothing about cars and even I can tell this is insanely nice.”
“I hope it’s nice enough to appease the Parking Gods,” Artemis joked, and sure enough, we found a spot a half block from the club. Walking through the darkness with her, I realized it had been ages since I left the house to do something fun. Annie is amazing, but she hasn’t been partying since she got her new job. And when you were living with me, dear Everett, we just watched TV together and ate vegan junk food, or I stayed home alone and drank and wrote you missives about things you were doing that annoyed me. It’s all too easy to justify staying in when I make barely double minimum wage, am financially crushed by vet bills, and hardly have the funds for nightlife. Thoughts of my financial woes made me wonder how the hell Artemis could afford a BMW.
“But seriously, where’d you get that car?” I asked as we stood in the short line to get into Emo’s. “Do you have—?”
“A trust fund? A sugar daddy? A boyfriend who robs banks? Yes, yes, and yes!” Artemis said as we arrived at the bouncer. I was happy to see it was Logan Ray Jones working the door. Logan is another one of those Austin guys who sees “keeping it real” as the ultimate success. His social media feed is like: “I’m working at Antone’s Record Shop all afternoon. Come see me,” along with a photo of Coltrane on vinyl. He and I