Boyfriend in a Dress by Louise Kean

she was a little nervous. She didn’t think she would get in, the reason being she was Jewish, and Pi Krappy whatever didn’t usually take Jewish girls. I practically threw my lunch up all over her. She was desperate to get into some mock Tudor shit-hole of a house with a bunch of tight arsed wasps who wouldn’t like her anyway because she was Jewish. I told her you would never get it in Britain. We make our own friends when we get to college I explained, trying hard not to sound like her rabbi. We go down to the pub and have a legal drink at a sensible age, and make friends that way, half cut. We don’t discuss how much our parents earn. What about the class system in England she had said? I told her I had a lecture to go to, and she was too bright a girl to be doing something so stupid as join a sorority.
    I wasn’t going to a fraternity party, therefore, that evening, but to the pub, Henry’s, where all the ‘foreigners’ went – Aussies, Brits, Kiwis, Paddies – for the birthday of one of the guys from university back home. You see I hadn’t braved this new world on my own – there were at least fifteen students from my university with me, and that’s not even counting all those from the other British universities. What with not actually having to pass any courses, it was more like a multicultural holiday camp with racial tension and inadequate airconditioning, than work. It was Jon’s birthday, and we all congregated in the pub, which we did most nights anyway. It wasn’t like all the other bars – the ‘sports bars’ – with their neon lights and blonde-haired waitresses, and TV screens and dozens of pool tables. It was dirtier, dingier – all the bar staff looked slightly tortured and, if not unattractive, they all had tattoos at least. The tables were made of old battered wood and engraved with fifty years’ worth of drunken etchings by students missing lectures. It reminded us of home. On these occasions, we would drink until the birthday boy or girl threw up. This was generally about ten p.m., as they had invariably been in the pub all day. I don’t know why I told Dale this, but I did.
    ‘No actually, Dale, I am not going to a fraternity party, I’m just not in that date-rape mood tonight. And besides, I’m always scared I’ll spot you hiding in the bushes, weeping in loneliness and wanking over bikini-clad freshers – and that’s just the boys.’
    Dale swore at me under his breath.
    ‘I am actually going to the pub.’ I continued to stand and stare expectantly at him, waiting for him to leave, nodding towards the door, holding up my towel, wet hair dripping all over the floor, as I needed him to go before I could put the towel covering my body on my head.
    ‘I don’t see why I have to leave. I won’t look; I’m working.’ Dale stared down at the letters on his typewriter, supposedly in concentration.
    ‘Oh Dale, just get out, will you – I shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells to get a little fucking privacy in my own room. Joleen’s not even here,’ and with that, Joleen walked in and practically had a seizure at the sight of me in my towel, standing in front of Dale, begging him for something, even if the something was his speedy exit.
    She turned on me straight away. ‘What the fuck are youdoing – can’t you put some fucking clothes on?’ She spat the words at me, which she pretty much did whenever she talked anyway.
    Joleen’s sudden appearance in the room meant Dale’s attitude towards me changed completely.
    ‘Nicola, can’t I stay for a little while? I yearn to kiss your milky white shoulders.’ He looked at me, looked at Joleen, and then back at me again, a smile playing on his lips.
    ‘They are not milky white. Get out.’
    And for once, Joleen agreed with me.
    ‘Yeah, Dale, leave while she gets dressed for God’s sake, she’s just a prick tease.’
    Dale grabbed his Marlboros from the desk and pushed past me, his proximity immediately making me want to