Appropriately Wicked performed a killer concert. The best concerts are about more than just the music—they bring an extra level of sense-blasting awesomeness to whatever is happening onstage. And Appropriately Wicked delivered: the music, ambiance, and excitement, all rolled up into one hyped package. There were one hundred, like-minded people, hanging out and enjoying themselves. The concerts gave people a sense of community and connection. People showed off their dance moves, jumping and pumping their fists in the air.
Jack was intense on stage, a real crowd-pleaser. He flirted with the audience, but it was his final act—which had involved dry-humping his instrument and smashing it onstage—that made the crowd go crazy; it was also what would make him a star.
Carl, Rosie, and Sal hit the dance floor, screaming along with about fifty percent of the lyrics.
“I really need to pee,” Sal yelled into Carl’s ear before going off to the restroom to take a leek.
As Sal was washing his hands, he heard some people talking outside: “She's a fucking whore, that Adler chick. I’ve heard that she got it on with both the football team and the swim team,” some punk college boy with a smart mouth said.
Sal’s fists clutched the outer seams of his jeans. Every time the guy opened his mouth, Sal got angrier.
“But with all that experience, I’m sure she gives a mean BJ.” He laughed. The guy he was talking to gave him a high-five.
I see you there, coward, analyzing your next move, Sal’s blurry mind thought as he stepped out of the restroom.
“Hey, you’re Sal Williams, aren’t you? You’re a fucking legend…on the basketball court and with the ladies.” The guy stuck his hand out to greet Sal, but he didn’t take it.
Sal took a lurching step forward instead. He felt sick that a lowlife like that guy admired him. The information he got in his head wasn’t clear, but it slowly came to him. “Louise is my friend, you prick. You're only mad because she laughed at your tiny dick. That's also why you're still a virgin.” Sal grinned. He couldn’t even stand properly.
The guy raised his fist. “What did you say?” the guy hissed, angry over the fact that his reputation had taken a severe beating
“Let me spell it for you: V…I…R…G…I…N,” Sal said. "It means you haven’t had sex with anyone despite you telling people otherwise.” Sal saluted the guy.
A punch came out of the blue, hitting Sal on the chin. He staggered backward, but he didn’t fall—Sal made absolutely sure he didn't fall.
"Is that all you got?"
The spry, smirking college guy got ready to launch a second blow, but Sal ducked under it. He knew he wasn't going to win the fight, seeing as he couldn’t aim his blows or stand properly.
As Sal was trying to figure out his next move as well as his opponent’s, Carl showed up behind him. “What’s going on, Sal? What’s taking so long?” he said semi-incoherently.
“Well,” Sal said, drowsily, "it turns out that this dork is bad-mouthing Louise because he has a small dick—I kid you not.”
Sal heard Carl’s blood humming in his veins. His chest gently rose and sank with each shallow breath he drew in.
“Careful," Sal warned, "in a minute he's going to pull a knife to defend his hurt ego."
The guy looked confused, but he still reached into his pocket, searching for something. He withdrew a hunting knife, twisting it in the light from the restroom lamps as if testing to see if it could slice up the air. There was something about his expression that said it was the last time he'd allow himself to be mocked.
“What the hell are you doing, Dale?” the guy’s friend asked, slightly panicked.
A shadow crept up around them, and Sal felt a strong presence, a powerful presence.
Seth appeared like a mist from behind the college guy, seeming to materialize from nowhere like some Dracula. The guy began to tremble with fear and surprise.
“I suggest you put that knife away and act like a gentleman or I'll break your arm,” Seth warned. He whispered something into his ear which made the guy’s eyes open wide. The college guy made a gesture to indicate he'd understood every word and agreed.
Seth took the knife from him, put it in his pocket, and gave the guy a push, sending him in the direction of the exit.
In their drunkenness, Sal and Carl stood like a couple of zombies, unable to really comprehend what was going on. The display began to draw unwanted attention.
“Sal, I don’t feel so good,” Carl said, holding a hand on his stomach. He walked over to a lonely bush nearby and emptied the contents of his stomach onto it.
Security approached rapidly, as fighting and drinking weren’t allowed in the park, let alone drinking by minors.
Sal scratched his head.
Seth filled a paper cup with water and handed it to Carl. We need to leave," he told them. "You two have raised hell and now Judgment Day's coming." Seth gazed around the place. In one swift move, he lifted Carl up onto his shoulders as if he was light as a feather. He took Sal by the arm and dragged him along with him.
“Stay close, Sal," Seth said. "I'll make sure they don’t see us.”
They stopped at a booth selling ice cream and leaned up against it, waiting for a couple of minutes while security paced back and forth, searching the perimeter. Apparently, no one had seen the drunks who had caused the commotion by the restroom. They'd vanished.
Sal had begun to feel ill as well. His stomach churned as if someone was making butter down there. He touched Seth on the shoulder. “Seth, I'm going to be sick, too.” He stood there, feeling like a little kid.
“Oh, God,” Seth said, wiping his forehead. He hurried across the Giantsfair grounds, carrying Carl and pulling Sal behind him. “See if you can make it to the parking lot, Sal.”
Sal belched and said he would do his best. “What about Rosie and Jack?” he asked, suddenly remembering.
“They're fine, trust me,” Seth said without stopping or slowing his pace. Strangely enough, no one seemed to notice them as they made their way through the chaos of booths, rides, and high school kids running around the park.
Sal felt hazy. His vision was blurry. The lights and the screams seemed to melt together into something surreal, forming a funny-looking painting.
Carl had passed out, happily dreaming with his weight against Seth’s shoulder.
Lucky bastard, Sal thought as the nausea in his stomach increased.
When they'd reached the Giantsfair parking lot, Sal was no longer able to hold onto whatever was floating around inside him, and he bent over and puked. It felt as if his intestines were coming up alongside the vomit. His throat was sour, and he was dizzy. He was unfortunate enough to have stepped into the goo and almost slipped before a strong hand grabbed him and pulled him away.
“Keys to the bus, please,” Seth politely commanded. He unlocked the bus, put Carl into the back of it, and turned to Sal.
“What the hell were you thinking?" he scolded. "Were you planning to drive home drunk or didn’t you stop to think about this before you went bottoms up?”
“Bottoms up!” Sal giggled like a little kid.
Seth eased up a little. “Why did you have to go and pick a fight with that dumbass? You could have really been hurt.
"Come on—I'll drive you home.”
Sal crammed himself into the passenger's seat and threw secret glances at Seth. My God, he was handsome. He was so elegant. The way he'd handled that punk was so cool. It made his blood roll faster in his veins just thinking about it.
“Thank you, Seth,” Sal murmured before he leaned his head against the window and fell immediately asleep.