Big Night Out

by Tara McCarthy

  Bill shakes his head. “I can’t deal with dogs, man.”

  “Oh, go home, Bill. I’ll stay,” you snap.

  “Once I see that Millie’s okay, I’ll get a cab back here, okay?” suggests Suzy. “I’m sorry we’re gonna miss the party, but maybe we’ll have time to get a late drink.”

  You nod dumbly, close the door, then settle down on Millie’s couch for a night of television. “Look, Margarita, Oklahoma! is on. Exciting, huh?” you whisper.

  The End

  You and Dave stop at Denny’s and have an all-you-can-eat buffet dinner. By the time you leave you’re so stuffed that you don’t know how you’ll even put away another beer. The temptation to just go home and sit on the couch all night watching TV is enormous. Still, your Big Night Out awaits.

  You and Dave hop back into the car and go to the Lunar Lounge, hoping Mike and co. will still be there.

  Read on here.

  “Thanks very much, very kind of you.” You take the card that was in her right hand.

  “Scratch it here! Scratch it here!” she insists. Clearly this woman craves excitement.

  You dutifully scratch off the silver panels to reveal … absolutely nothing. Not a sausage. Bill, on the other hand, has grabbed the other ticket without a second thought and is scratching off the last panel, his face turning pink with excitement. “Yes … yes … Yeeess! Hahahaha!”

  “No luck, Bill?” Suzy pipes up.

  “One hundred dollars! I won a hundred bucks!”

  “Well, isn’t that lovely!” beams the old lady.

  “I’m gonna go cash this thing. Where did you buy it? The store on the corner? I’m gonna go get drunk! Thanks, ma’am,” he calls, already on his way out the door. “I’ll see you girls around … tell Nick I said hi.”

  “What an incredible asshole,” Suzy mutters, once the two of you have finally persuaded the old lady that no, you don’t want a Fig Newton, thanked her again, and left. “Can you believe he didn’t even offer her any of the money? Jerk.”

  “Forget about him. Let’s just find a taxi and get to the Upstairs quickly, before Nick leaves, okay? You know where the place is, right?”

  “Sure,” she insists, flagging down a cab. A couple of minutes later, she taps the driver on the shoulder and orders him to pull over.

  Read on here.

  You and Dave swing by his place to drop off his car, then hop into a cab to get to the Lunar Lounge. You look at your watch, and so does Dave.

  “Think they’ll still be there?” he asks.

  “I hope so.” You wonder if Mike’ll be pissed off you’re so late. “What about your friend’s band? Are we gonna make it in time?”

  “Nah.” Dave waves his hand dismissively. “That’s okay, though.”

  You get to the Lunar Lounge, and to your dismay there’s a line stretching around the corner. Hopeful, you step right up to the bouncer. “We’re just looking for someone in the bar.”

  “Yeah, pal.” The large man in black doesn’t even look at you. “You and everybody else on this line.”

  “What’s this line for anyway?”

  “Elizabeth Albern’s playing tonight.”

  Why does that name sound familiar? You and Dave look at each other with puzzled expressions on your faces. Clearly, it’s familiar to him, too.

  You strike a deal: you give the bouncer your wallet, then go in to search for Mike while Dave waits outside. It’s dark and hot and crowded and smoky, and there’s no sign of Mike and co. anywhere. You meet Dave back out on the street and find a pay phone. “Maybe they called.”

  “Hey.” Dave is talking to you while you dial your answering service. “I figured it out. We went to camp with an Elizabeth Albern. You should remember. You’re the one who kissed her, then blew her off. You think that’s her?”

  “Nah,” you say as your messages start to play. “Couldn’t be.”

  If you and Dave have already eaten dinner tonight, read on here.

  If you haven’t eaten dinner, read on here.

  You have to escape from this conversation at any cost. There’s an empty chair beside Suzy, so you slide over.

  “Meet my new friends!” Suzy exclaims. “This is Andrew, Andy, and Andrew!”

  “Three Andrews?”

  “No, I’m Andy, the others are Andrew,” explains the middle guy. “Scots Andrew and I are old friends—we call him that because he’s from Scotland.”

  “Very cunning. And the other Andrew?”

  “I’m just Andrew,” says the other Andrew. “Don’t worry, it’s only confusing in the beginning. Usually it’s just me and Andy, but Scots Andrew is in town for a couple of weeks, isn’t that right?”

  “Aye.” Scots Andrew grins.

  “What are you here for?” you ask.

  “Wait till you hear!” squeals Suzy. “This is the best bit! You’re gonna love it.”

  “Well,” begins Scots Andrew, “I’m actually here to see my cousin. We’re good mates, likesay.”

  You turn to Suzy, puzzled. “What’s so great about that?”

  “Ask him who his cousin is!” You’ve never seen Suzy this excited. Except for that time when her favorite bar was hosting a Stoli promotion, with free flavored shots.

  “Okay, who’s your cousin, Scots Andrew?”

  “Ewan McGregor,” he answers.

  Suzy was right, this is good.

  “You’re kidding! Really? Wow.”

  “Tell her the rest!” Suzy pleads.

  “We’re meeting Ewan later,” Scots Andrew continues. “He’s staying here in town for a few days. We just told your wee mate that she could come with us if she wants. That goes for you, too.”

  You turn to look at Suzy. Her eyes are sparkling and she’s nodding her head ecstatically.

  “Ewan McGregor! We have to go! Come on, you’ve seen The Pillow Book, haven’t you?” She nudges you, and you remember exactly what she’s talking about. Those nude scenes. My god …

  “Aye, all the lassies love that film,” says Scots Andrew. He leans over the table and whispers to you, “Y’know, me and Ewan used to compare equipment when we were young, you know what I mean? And if I do say so myself, he can’t hold a candle to me. So to speak.”

  “Really?” Now that is interesting. Unthinkingly, you start caressing an empty beer bottle in front of you.

  “Aye.” He grins. “Just something to bear in mind, ken?”

  “So are we going then?” Suzy asks you, hope shining in her eyes.

  “Lead the way.”

  The End

  You find yourself talking to Chris to the exclusion of all others and occasionally look over to make sure Dave’s okay; he doesn’t always like hanging out with Mike’s crowd. Tonight, however, he’s talking excitedly to Lisa and seems pretty happy about it. For that matter, so does Lisa. They’d actually make a good couple; not that you’d ever thought of it before.

  “Are you in a relationship?” Chris’s question seems to you a non sequitur.

  “Excuse me?” you say.

  “You and Dave over there. I was wondering if you were together.”

  “No, no, no. I’m not, I mean, well he’s not gay, um, neither am I.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s silly, it’s just that I thought we—oh, it’s not important.”

  “No,” you say, surprising yourself. “Don’t be embarrassed. There is something going on here; I’m just not sure what. You’re great. It’s just I’ve never felt this kind of connection with a man before.”

  “Does the idea of it totally turn you off?”

  “I don’t know, really. Right now I feel like I could do anything with you. But I’d hate to act on impulse and do something I’d regret.”

  “I totally understand. I’d like to get to know you either way, though.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Hey, you want to play pool?”

  Just then Dave comes over. “What do you say? You
going to come back and watch the band?”

  If you want to play pool, read on here.

  If you want to watch the band, read on here.

  Truly, there can be no greater love than that which compels you to stay and listen to Anton and Bill argue the merits of the word freaking, rather than miss a chance to see Mark at the party. The tension between the two of them subsides, only to explode a few minutes later when Bill accuses Anton of being a dumbass drama queen, and Anton retaliates by insisting that Bill is a brain-dead moron who needs a diagram to figure out which shoe goes on which foot. The situation is getting ugly—not that it was very aesthetically pleasing to begin with.

  “You wanna take it outside?” yells Bill at last.

  “Don’t be stupid. We don’t have to fight like freaking barbarians.”

  “Yeah? Yeah? Well, I think we do, asshole! Get outside or I’ll drag your fairy ass out!”

  One of the bartenders shouts over, asking them to keep the noise down. Next thing you know, Bill is dragging Anton out the door. Maybe you should call the police, or at least get the bartender to keep Bill from pounding Anton into the ground?

  Nah.

  Anton staggers back in, holding his nose, which is bleeding profusely. He charges into the men’s toilets. Bill never returns. Suzy comes over to ask what’s going on.

  “Looks like Bill beat the shit out of Anton; that’s all I know. He’s been in the bathroom for a while now; maybe I should check up on him?”

  “We’ll both go; come on.”

  As soon as you enter the bathroom, you see Anton’s legs sticking out from under the door of the last stall. Suzy rushes over. “My god, it looks like he collapsed. There’s a cut on his head, and I think his nose is broken.”

  You don’t want to get involved—it’d be easier to just slip out of the bathroom, and the bar, before anyone sees Anton. On the other hand, Anton did say he knew where Lindy’s place was. An idea strikes you … totally selfish, admittedly, but still …

  “Hey, Suzy, does he have an address book or diary in his pocket? He said he knew Lindy; maybe her address is written somewhere?”

  “Y’think? I don’t really want to touch him; he’s all bloody.”

  “Here, I’ll do it.” You crouch over him and check his jeans pockets. Nothing there. Maybe the chest pocket in his jacket. You’re just pulling out his wallet and rummaging around for anything that looks like an address book when the bathroom door opens and someone yells, “Hey!” very loudly. It’s the bartender.

  “What are you two doing? Mugging the guy? Did you beat him up, too?”

  “No, we just found him here, he’s sort of a friend and we were…” Suzy’s voice trails off. There’s no good way to explain this.

  “You were checking if he had anything worth stealing? And you’re friends of his? Jesus. I’m gonna call an ambulance. And the police—maybe you two should stick around till they get here.”

  “But we hardly know him!” wails Suzy. “Really! We just have to get to a party, okay?”

  “Sorry, but you’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  “You watch too many bad cop shows, you know that?” complains Suzy as he hauls you back into the bar to wait for the police.

  The End

  Serge puts his hand on your shoulder and you gingerly lift it off.

  He protests inarticulately for a few seconds, with copious “y’know”s thrown in, and then, as if on cue, Nick arrives.

  “You’re up. We’re partners, playing Suzy and some English guy named Phil.”

  “See ya, Serge.”

  Though you and Nick play a good game, your opponents are too skillful. Afterward, Suzy and her new friend huddle together in a corner, flirting with all the subtlety of a bad sitcom, and Nick asks if you want to join him at the bar.

  If you decide to check your messages and go to the ATM machine now, read on here.

  If you join him, read on here.

  You’ve only been talking to Christine for a few more minutes before you’re scared for your life. She is what you like to call a member of the SWAT TEAM: Single Woman Approaching Thirty, Tries Entrapping All Men. She already has you married and living in a big house with three kids, working sixty-hour weeks so she can be a stay-at-home mother. She’s clinging to you, and she’s already started calling you by a pet name—Moo Moo. When you find out that she’s going to the party with everyone else, you fake a stomachache and leave. Sadie will just have to wait. But can those raging hormones of yours do the same?

  You decide to swing by the Pub.

  Read on here.

  This is petty. Mean. Degrading. Beneath you. But not far enough beneath you. Could it be that you’re so drunk and horny that the prospect of a surefire revenge fuck is better than trying, and possibly failing, to get together with someone you really like?

  Apparently so.

  “Can I, y’know, tell you something?” asks Serge. “You’re very pretty.”

  “Thanks. Do you often cheat on Clara?”

  “Well, not often, y’know. But I like you. You’ve got a full bounty.”

  “A full bounty? Does that mean what I think it means?”

  The answering grope leaves little doubt. Suzy is staring incredulously at you while Nick takes a shot. You find it hard to concentrate on being cheap, duplicitous, and trashy while you’re being watched. “Why don’t we go somewhere else?” you suggest.

  His place is, conveniently, just a couple of blocks from your apartment. You mumble good-byes to Suzy and Nick and apologize for missing the party. Suzy tells you to have fun and be careful. She’s busy flirting with some English guy but promises to leave a message on your machine telling you where the party is, just in case you can make it.

  Serge’s place is impeccably neat. Even the Playboy magazines on the bookshelves are arranged chronologically in special binders. When he sees you examining them, he gives a boyish, rueful grin.

  “Guy stuff. Would you like something? Y’know, beer?”

  “Got anything stronger? Y’know, vodka? Gin?” “Chloroform? Sedatives?” you mouth to yourself as you perch on the sofa. Can you really go ahead with this? Maybe you should just try to get it over with as quickly as possible.

  If you retire to the bedroom right now, read on here.

  If you delay the action a little longer, read on here.

  “Come on,” Lisa says, hooking her arm around yours. “You probably left it on the bar or something.” She tells Mike you’ll meet them at Spinners.

  A short cab ride later—Lisa’s wearing new shoes, so she insisted—the bouncer asks you for ID. You reach for your wallet, forgetting for a second that that’s why you’re here in the first place. Duh!

  “I don’t have it,” you say.

  “Sorry, pal, can’t let you in.”

  “But—”

  “No buts about it. No ID, no par-tee.”

  Lisa holds out her ID. “I’ll go in and ask. Wait here; I’ll be right back.”

  The bouncer checks Lisa’s ID, then lets her in with a sweep of his arm. “Right this way, young lady.”

  In a minute or less Lisa returns to your side. “I was right.” She hands you your wallet. “Let’s go.”

  “Hold on a minute.”

  “What?”

  If you decide to go in and check to see if Dave showed up, read on here.

  If you say, “Nothing, forget it,” and decide you’re better off heading straight uptown without Dave and his backward baseball cap, read on here.

  “Woohoo, the Nickster triumphs again!”

  It’s been like this for the past ten minutes. Nick promised to leave as soon as the game was over, but since he won—since you let him win—he’s been parading around, congratulating himself and boring the pants off anyone who’ll listen.

  “Still got it, I guess!” he bellows. “Still the best, the king, the natural!”

  “Hey, Mr. Wonderful, you gonna pay for that beer?” yells the bartender. “Or maybe one of your hordes o
f adoring fans is buying it for you?”

  Nick reluctantly hands over the money, and the bartender rolls her eyes at you sympathetically. You smile weakly. “You want another?” she asks. “It’s on me—my shift’s just finishing. And you look like you could use it.”

  You gladly take the drink, trying to ignore Nick while he rambles on and on about his bowling prowess. Now that you’ve refused to play anymore, he’s scouting for another partner. “What about the party?” you howl.

  “I don’t think I’ll go. Having too much fun here.”

  “Then give me the address.”

  “What? Oh … no, I don’t think I can do that. I mean, it’s not fair to Lindy to send complete strangers to her party.”

  Surely, surely he is joking. But no; Nick absolutely refuses to give you Lindy’s address, and nothing you say makes any difference. You sit there weighing your glass in your hand. If only he wasn’t a blood relative of Suzy’s. If only you could beat him up without feeling guilty about it.

  Still, better to do something mature, like storm outside in a huff and bum a cigarette from somebody. The bartender, now finished for the night, is leaning against the wall outside, and she offers you a smoke. “Good night?” you ask.

  “Lousy. Though I’m glad I was on my side of the bar serving the freaks and not on your side, bowling with one of them. Who was that asshole? Not your boyfriend?”

  “Hell no … just some dimwit I was hoping would bring me to a party. But once he won the game he became unbearable. And the worst thing is, I let him beat me so he wouldn’t feel bad.”

  She inhales deeply. “If they win, they never let you forget it; if you win, they hate you for it. My old boyfriend, he thought I was the greatest woman in the world until we both took an IQ test and I got a higher score than he did. He couldn’t handle it. He figured that because he went to an Ivy League school and I was bartending, there was no way I could ever be smarter than he was. As if I want to stay here forever. It’s just an easy part-time job. What I really want to do is finish my screenplay … but I won’t bore you with that. Hey, you wanna get a beer somewhere? If you’re not going to that party? My name’s Jane, by the way.”