Big Night Out

by Tara McCarthy

  Might be fun to hang out with Jane for a while. The alternative is going back to the Upstairs, presumably to watch Suzy slobber all over her new friend.

  If you go with Jane, read on here.

  If you decide to go back to the Upstairs, read on here.

  When you and Mike get to the Lunar Lounge and there’s no sign of your wallet, your mind suddenly flashes back to your run-in with the in-line skaters. With perfect recall, you feel your wallet being lifted out of your back pocket when the collision occurred. How could you have been so stupid and not known it at the time? Then again, you were hardly going to go after a pack of teenagers on skates and demand that they return your wallet.

  “I don’t fucking believe this.” You’re shaking your head.

  “What?” Mike asks.

  “I got mugged and I didn’t even know it.”

  “What are you talking about? You probably just left it somewhere by accident. Maybe some good samaritan will find it and you’ll get it back in the mail or something in a few days.”

  “Helllllooo,” you say. “What color is the sky on your planet? These in-line skater guys rammed into me on my way to Woody’s and they took my wallet.”

  “You sure?”

  “As sure as I am that I’m not going to get laid tonight the way things are going.”

  “C’mon.” Mike goes for the door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “This is my brother’s precinct. We’re going to report a crime.”

  “But … what about the rest of those guys? And the party and all that?”

  “Listen, if you’re going to have to mooch off of me all night, you’re going to at least be a good citizen first and report the crime perpetrated against you. The law’s useless if we don’t all participate as best we can in helping law-enforcement officials to do their job. That’s what my brother always says. Actually that’s what they all say. All three of my big brothers are cops.”

  “Jeez,” you mutter. “I can see it now. The Hamilton family sitting around watching America’s Most Wanted together on Thanksgiving.”

  “I told you about that?”

  Mike leads you a few blocks to the precinct house. Just as you’re about to go inside, someone calls Mike’s name and you both turn around.

  “Hey, Bobby.” Mike goes back down the stairs and gives the policeman getting out of the patrol car a handshake and a backslapping half-hug. He introduces you to his brother and explains you’ve been mugged.

  You spend the next forty-five minutes filling out a report and sitting in a room with a phone, canceling your credit cards with numbers from a master list Bobby provides for you. When you’re finished, he offers you and Mike a ride up to Spinners. On the way there, however, when stopped at a light, the three of you witness a robbery in progress. Bobby springs into action, radioing for backup, drawing his weapon, and telling you two to stay put and keep your eyes peeled. As witnesses, you and Mike get held up for questioning and never make it to Spinners or the party.

  Civic duty can be a real bitch sometimes.

  The End

  “Beaten by a woman!” Fifteen minutes after you wipe the floor with him, Nick is pacing the bar area, downing his fourth cup of beer, pointing at you and ranting to anyone who’ll listen. “See her? She beat me! Beat me! It’s a fluke, I tell ya!”

  “What the hell is your problem?” you yell. “So I won! Big deal, it’s just a game! You’ve had a lot to drink.” Why are you even indulging this moron? Because you want to see Mark, that’s why. And now it’s after midnight and Suzy’s going to be wondering where you are. “Look, can we go now?”

  “No! I can’t leave yet. One more game! Come on, I’ll buy your beer!”

  “Nick, I’m not playing again. It’s over, I won, deal with it. If you want to stay here, fine. Just give me Lindy’s address.”

  “Won’t,” he sulks. “S’not fair.”

  “You won’t give me Lindy’s address?”

  “That’s right.” Nick has folded his arms and is glaring at you.

  “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

  “Maybe, but I’m an idiot with Lindy’s address.” He smirks.

  “Screw you, and screw Lindy’s party.” You crumple up your empty cup and toss it at him. “I’m going back to the Upstairs.”

  Furious, you occupy yourself during the short ride back by imagining scenarios in which Nick is horribly maimed by a bowling trophy. Probably Suzy won’t even still be at the Upstairs. Probably you’ll end the night raiding the refrigerator.

  Read on here.

  “Hello, boys.” A scantily clad girl meets you at the door. “Ooooh.” She steps up to Dave. “You’re really cute.”

  “I’m all wet.” He backs away.

  “Not as wet as I am,” she whispers, but loud enough for you to hear.

  “You boys want a table?” She leads you toward the stage area, where several girls in G-strings are wrapping themselves around poles. You instantly get an erection.

  “How about that table there?” You point at a prime table.

  “That’s reserved.”

  You look around the room and see that only one other table is occupied, by a scummy-looking man in his sixties. You decide to try your luck. “Well, the joint isn’t exactly jumping and we’re here now. Can’t you give the other party another table?”

  “I’m afraid not. That table’s for Howard Stern. We always accommodate him when he wants to come here.”

  “Alright,” Dave pipes up. “We’ll take the table next to him, then.”

  You sit down and order some drinks, then settle in for the show, which you have to say is pretty lame. Not that you won’t maintain your erection for its duration, but you don’t find any of the girl’s faces all that attractive. You try to put Sadie’s head on top of one of their bodies but then you feel kind of sleazy. Sadie deserves better. Dave elbows you when Howard Stern and his entourage show up, as if you could miss them. You give Dave an irritated look; you don’t want to seem like a stargazer. But Dave doesn’t seem to catch on; “Hey.” He elbows you again. “That’s one of the Baldwins.”

  “Which one?” You’re actually curious.

  “I never did get them straight. I don’t think anyone knows for sure.”

  The show picks up once Howard’s there—not because the girls are doing anything differently, but because it’s funny to listen to the shock jock’s running commentary, easily audible over the cheesy music.

  “Oh yeah, that’s gooooood.”

  “You are so hot!”

  “Mmmmn. Look at that ass.”

  “I’d like to take a bite out of that.”

  The man seems to have an endless supply of this kind of stuff. You don’t know if you should be laughing at how pathetic he is or taking notes.

  The waitress comes over and asks if you want a third round.

  On Howard …

  You look over at him and though you can’t make eye contact since he’s got his sunglasses on—what’s the deal with that anyway?—he nods his head in recognition.

  If you say, “Yes, thanks. We’ll have two more margaritas,” read on here.

  If you say, “No thanks; got to go,” read on here.

  Even as you’re asking the question, you realize that you’ve overstepped the bounds of your friendship and are now making your way toward a little patch of Very Shaky Ground. Peter’s grin has turned to stony discomfort, and he starts dipping his finger awkwardly into the salsa.

  “Ah, I thought you might start with sometheeeng a leeetle less personal,” he demurs, “like, whether I prefer dogs or cats or something. But since you ask, I guess I’ve always assumed that we both knew what the deal was.”

  You look questioningly at him.

  “Well you know,” he continues, “that we like each other and maybe there’s a certain spark but we don’t act on it, because then it’d ru…”

  He’s actually going to utter the words. Those words. The phrase that ranks right up
there with “It’s not you, it’s me” as a relationship death sentence. He’s going to say “It’d Ruin the Friendship.” You experience a temporary self-induced deafness until he’s finished his little speech and is gazing at you apologetically.

  “Sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear,” lie adds, wiping his finger on a napkin.

  “Not quite. Still, at least you didn’t start your reply with ‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’” you offer.

  You split the check between you and make your way outside. He gives you a good-bye kiss on the cheek and promises to call.

  One rejection down and it’s not even midnight. Feeling glum, you make your way to McCormick’s.

  Read on here.

  When you and Dave get to Spinners, soaked, it’s clear you’re not the only ones who got caught in the storm. Women all around the room keep pulling at their shirts to stop them from clinging to their breasts. Thank the lord for those skinny strappy things that prevent women from wearing bras. Everywhere you look there’s an erection waiting to happen. Uph, too late. Look at the pair of silver dollars on that—

  “Sadie!” You hope she didn’t see you gawking. She should have checked the forecast before wearing white.

  “Hey,” she says, pulling at her shirt. You can tell she’s self-conscious, so you make an extra effort to maintain eye contact and not let your eyes wander. “Who’s this?” she asks you, eyeing Dave.

  You introduce them, and both of their faces seem to light up.

  “I know it’s kind of wet,” Dave says, stripping off his button-down shirt. “But do you want this? I’ll be okay in my T-shirt.”

  “I would be eternally grateful.” Sadie shyly takes the shirt, though nobody’s admitting to knowing exactly why he’s offered it and why she’s taking it. “Can I buy you a drink in return?”

  “Sure.” Dave shrugs at you as she leads him away to the bar.

  “Mike’s over there,” Sadie calls over her shoulder.

  You find Mike just as he, Will, Tracy, and Lisa are leaving for the party.

  “What about Sadie—and Dave?”

  “Sadie knows where it is.” Mike basically pulls you out of the bar with him. “They’ll just follow in a while.”

  The party is totally lame and Sadie and Dave never show. You decide to go home via the Pub.

  Read on here.

  Even though you’re itching to know, something—be it instinct, innate sense of timing, or just cowardice—tells you to back off for now. Just as well, because at that second there’s a tap on the window and you look up to see none other than Mark grinning in at both of you. He’s with some guy you’ve never seen before, and you beckon them inside, warning Peter not to say anything embarrassing.

  Soon Mark is standing by your table, smiling beatifically down at you both like … well, like a very tall guy in a suede jacket smiling down at two drunken people. “Just thought we’d say hi,” he begins. “This is my friend Jay, an old high-school buddy who’s in town for a couple of days. Are you two going to Lindy’s party?”

  “Oh, it’s Lindy’s party?” says Peter, nudging you. “Isn’t that the one you were telling me about last week, where you were hoping you’d see some guy who’s just split up with a girl you said looked like a … owwww fuck!”

  You kick him under the table with your new boots and then shoot him a withering look. Luckily, before Peter can say anything else, Jay has asked if he can help himself to your pitcher of margarita.

  “So,” Jay says, “you guys both coming to Lindy’s? Mark was telling me she throws a killer party.”

  A killer party, in the company of Mark, is exactly what you’re in the mood for. You suddenly like Lindy.

  “You know her well?” says Peter pleasantly.

  “Oh, Mark knows her pretty well alright,” chuckles Jay, with a meaningful leer. He gulps down his drink with frightening speed.

  You suddenly don’t like Lindy.

  “We went out a couple of times years ago, before she got married,” explains Mark, glancing at you. “Nothing serious.”

  So maybe Lindy’s not so bad after all.

  “I was planning to go to the party, yeah,” you say.

  “You?” Mark nods in Peter’s direction.

  “I haven’t been invited, technically.”

  “Hey, come along!” presses Jay. “Are you going to finish that drink, by the way?”

  “Help yourself,” says Peter.

  Jay needs no second invitation.

  You explain that you need to meet friends in McCormick’s, and, after leaving Julio’s, all four of you walk in that direction. On the way, you pass Mecca, a bar that’s been open for just a few weeks. Jay stops. “Hey Mark, isn’t this the place you were telling me about? Let’s go in.”

  Mark seems keen to just get to McCormick’s, but then Peter pipes up.

  “I’ve heard about this place from someone—can’t remember who—but it looks très glamorous. Come on!” and with that he’s disappeared through the steel-and-glass doors.

  If you follow him inside, read on here.

  If you shout for him to come back out, read on here.

  Dave says something right as you’re listening to a message from Mike. You try to signal for him to keep quiet, but he’s not looking at you. So you get the gist of the message, that they’ve all gone on to the party, but you can’t quite hear the address when Mike leaves it. Four sixty-seven Tenth?

  “Shhussh, I can’t hear anything.”

  You go to play the message again, but since you haven’t eaten dinner the alcohol has gone straight to your head and you’re drunk, so instead of hitting 1 to hear this message again, you hit 3 and erase it.

  “Fuck!” You slam down the receiver.

  “What?” Dave is oblivious.

  You explain that you erased the message before you could get the address of the party.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose. If you hadn’t been babbling about Elizabeth Albern, I would have heard it the first time.”

  “Well, excuse me, hot shot. You know, just because you want to get laid tonight doesn’t mean the earth revolves around you.” You and Dave stand there in silence for a minute. “Well, I’m beat and I’m bombed. I’m going to go pick up some Chinese, rent a couple of movies, and head home. What are you gonna do?”

  If the mere mention of Chinese food has your stomach doing cartwheels out of sheer excitement, read on here.

  If you’re determined to find the party, read on here.

  “Scone! Scone! I love it! It’s the best! It rules! You’re a genius,” raves Bryan passionately. “Scone!” he exclaims again, prodding Graham in the chest for emphasis.

  “Alright, enough. Were you going to let me win no matter what I said?”

  “Well maybe, but who cares? At least you get another drink out of it, and two for your friend, and now you won’t go away thinking we’re complete assholes.”

  “That’s a pretty big leap of logic, but I’ll take the drink anyway. Suzy, you want two free Stoli tonics?”

  Other questions in this category would be “May I give you enormous wads of money?” and “How about I go down on you and you don’t have to do anything?” The only thing that can drag Suzy’s attention away from a man is the adjective free in conjunction with her very favorite word: Stoli. She asks for no explanation, merely beams at you, thanks the guys, and goes back to gazing at Dan, who’s flirting gently while he slices limes. Bryan and Graham are pleasant company, but you’re starting to get a little impatient—it’s nine o’clock, Suzy shows no sign of wanting to leave, and you have to find Nick if there’s any chance of making it to the party. As soon as Dan wanders down to the end of the bar to serve a customer, you suggest to Suzy that it’s time to go somewhere else.

  “Oh, come on, he’s going to ask for my number any minute now!” moans Suzy. “I can’t leave. And besides, he’s giving me free Stoli shots!”

  “Exactly how many free St
oli shots can you have crammed into the forty-five minutes we’ve been sitting here?”

  “Four! Not bad, huh!” Her cheeks are flushed, and the needle on your internal disasterometer begins to rise.

  “What happened to the plan to eat something?”

  “Oh, yeah, I said that, didn’t I? But I’m not very hungry anymore. Anyway, they have peanuts! Look! Honey-roasted!” and she thrusts the dish in your face, smirking like an inebriated Cheshire cat.

  “Suzy, I really—” At that second a girl wearing a long Indian skirt and standard hippie regalia interrupts you with: “You two want tarot readings? Very accurate, only five bucks!”

  Suzy looks semi-interested. Maybe if you can get her to think about something other than Dan for two minutes you’ll have more luck getting her out of here.

  If you persuade Suzy to have her cards read, read on here.

  If not, read on here.

  “Nutella?” Graham frowns. “I like it, but you can’t use proper nouns.”

  “You never said that,” you protest.

  “I’m sure I did … I must’ve.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Well, I meant to.”

  “That’s not the same thing, is it?”

  This is going nowhere. Clearly they’re just trying to squirm their way out of buying your second drink. A familiar voice behind you tuts disapprovingly.

  “Bickering already! Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”