Singles Going Steady: Luscious Jackson's "Let Yourself Get Down"

Matthew and I had been seeing each other for a little over two months. Two months since we first made out, two months of lies and omissions, two months of expert planning, two months of nocturnal mayhem. Who knew so much trouble could be found between midnight and four in the morning? Four tiny hours meant the difference between respectful and reprobate.

There were indications, unfortunately, that Matthew was developing feelings counter to our agreed-upon edicts. For one thing, goodbyes started to last longer. I would be ready to go, and he'd always, always try to get me to stay "just for a little while—just to talk." He would say things like, "Every time you leave, I think I'm never going to see you again." Or, "I hate thinking about what happens to you each time you walk out that door." He was somewhat anxious, of late. He seemed exhausted, he got distracted easily. We'd be making out and he'd pull back, apologizing, something about having a lot on his mind. I attributed this change in behavior to his thesis: Many nights after I'd leave, he'd stay up to write or revise. His apartment had become a forest of reference books and papers.

I still liked him, no doubt about that, but this wasn't a relationship and it was starting to feel like one. What we had was an arrangement. Off the books. Under the table. It had been a good setup for us both, so I thought; I didn't want it to go off the rails because of expectations that could never be realized.

Spring break was around the corner. Victor and I had thought about taking a trip, but he was done with finals first and decided he'd go to ______ to see some friends, instead. I was going to stick around campus for a few days, then meet up with Victor in ______ later.

"Wait—so this means you're going to be here—alone?" Matthew smiled. "That's pretty great."
"Yeah," I stretched out on the carpet, "so we should…take advantage."
"Like, you can spend the night, finally?"
"Yeah. Sure..."

But what I really meant by "take advantage" was, "We should have sex, now." Somewhere in the last few weeks, as it related to that, the atmosphere had grown cloudy. Several times during an evening, we found ourselves in that situation where you either have to stop or not stop. In the beginning of our relationship, I found it sexy, that wanton longing at the end of the night. Now I just found it frustrating.

"So, I have a question," I rested my head on his legs.
"Sure. Anything."
"Are you sleeping with anyone else?"
He laughed, "Wow—that was not what I was expecting."
"Well, are you?"
He shook his head, "No. Why?"
"Well, before we have sex—I want to know if you're—if you've been, you know, tested."
He ran his fingers through my hair, "Listen, I don't know if you think I'm some sort of international playboy, or whatever—"
"I don't. But you seem pretty at home with all this…the physical stuff. And you've had a lot of girlfriends, right?"
"Okay…" he paused and sat back, "yes, I have had a decent number of…relationships. But let me assure you, I haven't engaged in anything…risky, if that's what you're asking."
"So, have you ever been tested?"
"Yes. No problems."
"Good. I haven't had one since I've been here, but I'm only sleeping with one–"
He put up his hand, "Stop. I don't want to know."
"What? It's important to talk about it, don't you think?"
"Yeah, but—it's just that—I don't want to think of you being with someone else."
"Okay…so how do you want to think of me?"
He laughed, "What I mean is that when you're here…what am I trying to say? Your life outside of here, that part—I don't want to know anything about it."
"Fair enough."
He got up and went to the kitchen, "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"When this is all over, will you write me at school and tell me why this happened?"

*****
Victor's last night in town, we made plans to go to Estrada for margaritas. I was getting dressed, listening to Luscious Jackson's "Let Yourself Get Down." They were coming in a few weeks to Stache's and I bought tickets the minute they went on sale. I was dancing around my room, when I heard someone pounding on the door.
"Iseult? Are you home?" It was Victor. He'd just called me, so he knew I was. I threw on my shirt and went down to let him in. He was with Def, and they looked looped and out of breath.
"What's going on? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Victor started looking around the apartment. "Is anyone else home?"
"No. Skinny Marie's at work. Why?"
"Let's go upstairs."
The three of us trudged up to my room and Victor said, "Lock the door."
"What's going on? Are you in trouble or something?"
Def laughed and loosened his tie, "I hope not."
I locked the door and sat on the bed. Def was tapping his foot and Victor was rolling up his sleeves.
"Okay," Victor panted, "do you swear not to tell anyone?"
"Yeah. Of course—"
He grabbed my arm, "I'm serious. Not anyone. Not Skinny Marie or Buddha or anyone."
"Okay, okay," I pulled my arm back. The outline of his hand was visible on my skin.
Def and Victor looked at each other nervously.
"You go," Victor said to him.
"Well, we were at City Center after work, right?" Def took off his jacket and threw it on the floor, "And we went to the ATM to get cash…" He trailed off and looked at Victor.
Victor jumped in, "And there were these teenage girls there, just fucking around, taking forever." He started pacing, "And they weren't paying attention to what they were doing. They really should have been more careful, you know?"
I was starting to get worried, "And?"
"They walked away! They were idiots," he laughed and looked at Def.
"Yeah. Definitely." The color had drained from Def's cheeks and his forehead was glistening with sweat. He wiped it with his sleeve.
Victor sat next to me, "One of them left her card in the machine. She just walked away in the middle of a transaction—she didn't even notice! So we—"
"Just to see," Def chimed in.
"Yes—just to see what would happen. I typed in $500. Honestly, I never thought it would work. I mean, what kind of teenager has that kind of money?" He got up, went to the window and looked around.

I felt like I was watching this on TV—it didn't seem possible that it was unfolding in my room. "Did you—did you take the money?"
"Well, what did you expect us to do? I mean, the girl was long gone. It wasn't like we could chase after her," Victor looked slightly crazed.
My eyes were bugging out, "Did you even try to look for her?"
"I'm telling you—they were nowhere."
I already had an idea, but asked anyway, "What did you do with it?"
Def opened his backpack and took out a paper bag. He opened it and took out a baggie. Inside there was a golf-ball-sized chunk of cocaine. It was pure white and just the sight of it made my pulse race.
"Oh my God. Are you fucking kidding me?"
Victor looked dazed when he stared at it, "It's insane, right? We went straight to Mackey's and gave him all the money. Neither of us wanted to keep it. It didn't seem right."
"So, what, it seemed more right to do this? What the fuck?"
Def looked uncomfortable, "Iseult, we didn't—"
Victor said to him, "Wait." He looked at me, "Listen, I know it was stupid, but we didn't mean for it to happen, okay? We didn't know what else to do. What, was I supposed to just leave the money there? It was an accident."
I just stared at them. I couldn't think of anything else to do.

Def reached into his bag, got out a Swiss Army Knife and went to work chopping it out.
"You want to try it?" He cut out a small line using his credit card, "It's really clean, so go slow. We've already done some." He handed me the card, "Start with this."
I rubbed the dust from the card on my gums and they were numb instantly. He wasn't kidding—it was potent. I did the line and immediately, the high I felt was as powerful as it was the very first time I tried it. I felt sexy and disgusted, but after a few more lines, I'd all but forgotten where it came from. This was a new low.

The three of us went to Estrada. It had a patio, which was fortunate, because I was very hot and was looking forward to sitting outside with a drink. While we waited for a table, we stood at the bar and drank and talked total bullshit, nonstop, at top volume. I knew people were staring at us, but I was so zooted, I didn't care. When we got our table, I saw out of the corner of my eye a group of people who I recognized from the _____ department. A cold sweat trickled down my lower back—I had a feeling that one of those people was Matthew. I tried to not look over, but I knew I was right, and I got seated facing right in his direction. When he saw me, a series of looks flashed across his face: first disbelief, then amusement, then confusion, and finally, disappointment.
I jumped up, "Victor, trade places with me."
"Why?"
"Just—please. Come on."
"There someone over there you don't like or something?" He craned his neck around and looked at Matthew's table.
I was trying not to freak out, which was difficult because my brain was on hyper-speed along with my heart, the outline of which was probably visible to anyone looking at my chest.
"No," I lied. "It's just—I have a class with one of them and he's—he gives me the creeps." As soon as the words left my mouth I was sorry because both he and Def stared at the table.
"Which one?" Def asked.
"Do you want me to say something to this guy?" Victor started to get up.
"No. And stop staring," I hissed. "Just change seats with me."
The waiter came over and said, "Is everything okay?"
I blurted, "Yes, we were just going to switch seats."
Victor gave me a look that said, "Are you crazy?" but he got up.

I could feel Matthew's eyes on me and thought I was going to have a panic attack.
"You guys, I'll be right back," I got up and went to the restroom, splashed some water on my face and tried to calm down. I was not in the mood to be there anymore. I was not in the mood to be high. Often, I'd wished I could figure some way to turn off the jittery, sick feeling of being this geeked out. Pills usually worked. So did a joint or more drinks. I didn't want any of those things—I wanted to talk to Matthew. I drank some water from the faucet and walked back outside.
"Hey," Def said, "your freak-show table just left."
Victor laughed and poured himself another drink. "That one guy looked like a stalker. What class do you have with him?"
"Yeah, man. What the hell was that about?" Def passed him his cup.
"I don't know. He's nobody," I felt like crying.
Victor leaned over and kissed me, "If you wanted me to talk to that dickhead, I would have. You know that."

Luscious Jackson's "Let Yourself Get Down"
From the EP, In Search of Manny