She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”
“It’s developer.” The chemical smells were overwhelmingly pungent inside of the eight-by-eight room, which was warm and humid. There was a stainless steel sink and counter on one side, along with a tall narrow vat where film negatives were dropped into developing solution. On top of the counter was a large timer with glow-in-the dark hands. On the other side was a wooden bench.
I bent and flicked the radio on below the sink. Music came through a speaker overhead—some kind of smooth jazz from the university’s station. “I can’t change it, but it’s something.” I looked back at Grace sitting on the bench. “You ready? I’m going to turn off the red light now.”
“I’m ready.”
I hit the switch. Photo labs are so black and warm that you feel instantly sleepy. Grace yawned audibly from the other side of the room. All my other senses went into overdrive. I popped the film open and blindly attached it to a clip. Feeling my way over to the sink, I managed to expertly drop it into the vat without making a sound.
“You okay, baby?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said drowsily.
“Give me one more minute.” I set the timer and then a mental image of Grace riding me flew through my head.
“Get naked.”
She laughed. “Are you serious?”
“I can do a lot in twelve minutes,” I said as I felt my way over to her.
I gripped her arm first and then we were kissing. There was no need for any other senses; it was all touch after that. I kissed her from her ear to the base of her neck and then pulled her dress over her head. She unbuckled my belt and yanked at my jeans. I turned her around. From behind, I kissed her shoulder and smoothed a hand down her back, over her butt, and then my fingers were there, inside of her. She didn’t make a sound.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Don’t stop,” she panted.
And then I was sliding inside of her. Our breaths were hard but we muffled them as best as we could. I moved in and out, slowly at first, then harder and more urgently. She pushed back against me, matching my movements. There was no sound other than tiny mewling sounds and heavy breathing. When I felt her tighten around me, I lost it. The cold surge shot through me like all my nerves were breaking apart. I pulled her toward me and buried my face in her neck. In one motion, I pulled out, collapsed onto the bench, and lifted her onto my lap.
We were kissing slow, sleepy kisses when buzzzzzz! The timer went off. I stood and flipped on the red light. Grace stood beside me, stunned. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “That was amazing. Are you okay?” Synapses must have still been misfiring in her brain because she just nodded.
I went to the sink and pulled about four feet of negative out of the vat and dropped it into a container full of water that acted as a stop bath. We quickly got dressed and left the room with the film.
After the negatives dried, I scanned them and found that most were black until the very end. There were three photos, each with a single word on a piece of paper. Piano. PBR. Peanuts.
I looked up at Grace. “Three Peas?” I asked, referring to a little dive bar near our dorm, which had a piano open mic night on Fridays. I often hassled Grace to play and sing for me there, but she never would.
“You got it. Let’s get Tati and Brandon. This is so fun!” she squealed and then yanked me down the hall toward our friends.
Outside, Tati produced a flask of whiskey from her purse. “You don’t mess around,” I said.
“I thought Grace was gonna drag us to a bunch of museums. I had to be prepared. Want some?”
I took a swig and then Grace yanked it from my hands. “I’m the one who’s gonna need it. Let’s go.”
By the time we got to Three Peas, we were all sufficiently buzzed. It was empty except for a female bartender I didn’t recognize. Grace leaned over the bar. “I’m doing this little game for my boyfriend and my friends, and I was wondering if I could do a supershort song up there?” She pointed to the stage.
“Oh my god, she’s gonna do it,” Tati said.
The bartender looked up and smiled. “Knock yourself out. No one’s here. You want somethin’ to drink?”
“Sure. Four PBRs.”
The bartender served our beers, and we all watched Grace down hers in three large gulps. “Oh boy,” I said.
Just as she made her way to the piano, I heard the jingling of bells as the door opened. I turned around and watched a few suits on their lunch break enter and head for the open stools. There were seven of them. Grace’s audience had grown exponentially in a second.