Friday Vermillion snuggled into the bean bag chair. Her long, reddish-brown, mostly red hair looked like it was leading a life of its own as it sprawled out across the dark purple, faux velvet chair. It was a Tuesday night in 1978 and Friday wondered what party she would go to after her nails dried.
Dirk Crandall had called earlier with some jive about a party in the Hills. Supposedly some producers would be there, Dirk said between mouthfuls of some crunchy cereal. Motherfucker loved his Grape Nuts. Why did Dirk always call while he was eating, she wondered. Either way, the summer was starting off with a bang.
The phone rang. Friday picked up after three rings even though the phone was literally right next to her on the floor and heard Melanie Starks’ voice on the other end of the line.
“Are we going to this party Dirk knows about?” asked Melanie without even saying hello or waiting for a response.
“I don’t know. Dirk’s parties are always lame. What about jamming over to the Whisky and then heading out to Malibu? There is supposed to be a bonfire at Dore’s pad,” replied Friday.
“Dore’s so lucky.”
“I know. He’s just a solid dude, though.”
“Have you met his dad?” Melanie asked.
“A couple of times. When we were all sophomores, Herb came to one of the school things, a dance or something, and talked to a bunch of us.”
“Stop. Really? I would love to meet him. Do you think he’ll be there tonight?”
“No way. Hanging out with a bunch of wastoids is not his trip. Speaking of, what’s on the menu for tonight?”
“I’ve got a bunch of ludes and two big bottles of vodka. Sound good?” Melanie had a voice that would have made it sound good if she had said I’ve got two bags of dog shit and a fifth of cat piss.
“Sounds good. I guess we can go to Dirk’s thing if you really want to. The movie sounded cool.”
“Some experimental thing. It’s supposed to be like a fake documentary about a rock star who needs some kind of transplant or something. Dirk said the producers are going to be there and they need someone to play a groupie. I could be that groupie,” said Friday.
“God knows you’ve had a lot of practice,” said Melanie with a laugh. Even the burn sounded like a compliment coming out of her mouth.
“Maybe they need two groupies?”
The girls finished up their conversation and decided to hit the Whisky first to see two bands that were supposed to be great, The Cramps and The Consumers. The show would be over early enough to hit Dirk’s party just about the time it really got going and there was always Malibu, although if they tore into those ludes, driving would be out of the question.
Friday meant a mental note to score some speed from Benny D downstairs before Melanie got there. He’d try to get her to blow him, of course, but she’d get the speed for some batted eyelashes and a couple bucks. It was a game they played, anyway. Bennie tried to convince himself he was hip enough to bag a girl like Friday Vermillion and Friday humored Bennie enough to get cheap drugs.
It was a win-win for both.
Happy Friday everybody. If you can avoid it, don’t wipe a booger on your neighbor.
See you tomorrow.
Ann-Margret as "Friday Vermillion" in The Making Of A Bet.