Mike goes to change the head count for dinner to five so as to include you. You look up at the specials board over the bar nervously. When you see that entrees can cost as little as eight bucks—in spite of the ultratrendy crowd gathered in this cool, smoky restaurant—you order yourself a drink from the bar. Since you weren’t able to collect your cash from Dave, the twenty in your wallet has to last until you can get to an ATM machine. And even then you’ll be strapped since you can only withdraw about forty dollars. To your extreme pleasure, when Mike returns he insists on paying for your drink along with his own. And now that you think about it—now that you’ve had a few drinks—you’re not even all that hungry. The group gets a table and the waiter starts taking orders.…
If you decide to eat dinner at Woody’s, read on here.
If you tell the group you’ve had dinner and just drink while they eat, read on here.
Outside Lindy’s house, Nick gives you an appraising glance while he rings the buzzer.
“Is it my imagination or did your chest get bigger within the past hour?”
“Typical guy—you don’t notice the different jacket but you notice the breast size.”
“We always notice the breast size, babe, it’s in chapter one of The Big Book of Things Guys Do. Aha, I hear our lovely hostess approaching.”
A tall, very blond woman opens the door.
“Nick! You bastard! I knew you’d be late. But it’s okay; everyone else just arrived within the last half hour. Come on in.”
Lindy’s house is beautiful, not that you can see that much of it given the number of people crammed in here. To your disappointment, Mark is nowhere to be seen.
“Shit, I forgot to pick up some beer,” Nick mutters to you. Lindy, who’s wrapping herself around an incredibly good-looking guy at least ten years younger than she is, overhears and points in the direction of the kitchen, shouting happily, “Don’t worry about it; the place is overflowing with booze. Martin’s making martinis in there; help yourselves. Haha, Martin’s making martinis! Martin, Martinis! That’s funny!”
“Riotous, Lindy. Wow, what is that music they’re playing?” Nick asks as you both make for the kitchen.
“You’re not a fan of modern jazz?” says a voice to your right, and there, lurking behind the kitchen door, polishing off a drink, is Mark. Even the way he sucks back a martini is attractive.
“No, can’t stand the stuff,” says Nick, weaving toward Mark and a table where a dark-haired, middle-aged guy—Martin, obviously—is mixing drinks. “You know Mark?” Nick asks you.
“Yeah, we’ve met a few times,” you say, hoping the jacket is doing its trick.
“How are you doing?” Mark asks, giving you a quick head-to-toe glance. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“Not since Gillian’s party.” You immediately want to bite your tongue, since it was at Gillian’s party that Mark and his now ex-girlfriend Meg had a very public fight.
“How could I forget.” He laughs, semiembarrassed. “I guess you heard that Meg and I broke up not long after that.”
“I hadn’t heard.” May God strike you down! “Sorry.”
“It’s not that bad. You know the saying If you can still be friends after you’ve broken up with someone, then you were never really in love with them? Well, we’re still friends, so you can work it out for yourself.”
Nick hands you your drink. “Better go mingle. It’s time someone took control of the music and put on something more appropriate. There must and shall be dancing!”
If you stay in the kitchen, read on here.
If you play it cool and go with Nick, hoping Mark will join you, read on here.
Half an hour later you and Mark have downed another drink each and are getting on famously. You are also getting tremendously drunk … Martin makes a mean martini. People have been trickling in and out of the kitchen, and Lindy has popped in once or twice and given the two of you some curious looks, but mostly you have the place to yourselves, just you, Mark, and Martin. You’re wondering if the time has come to make your move, while your courage is at its peak. Just then, Lindy rushes into the kitchen and grabs your arm.
“Darling, you must tend to Nick; he’s in the bathroom and throwing up all over the place. And Mark, are you going to hide in here all night? Come out and dance with me. I insist.”
She stands there smiling, but it seems pretty clear, even to someone as drunk as you, that she wants the competition out of the way so she can make a move on Mark. You’re very reluctant to leave her alone with him. Maybe you should get her to come with you while you go see how Nick is doing.
If you go to Nick alone, read on here.
If you ask her to come with you, read on here.
Dave shows up right after you order your next drink. He went all the way out to the keg party only to realize it’s next weekend. You tell him that Mike and his gang are going to Spinners and that you’re planning on catching up with them there in a little while.
“Cool.” Dave looks at his watch. “You want to check out my buddy’s band? That should be them going on now.”
You hear a couple of random bass notes and a few drum thumps.
The two of you pay eight dollars each—Dave, thankfully, has your fifty dollars—and go into the venue. When the band takes the stage you think they show promise. They’ve got a definite “look”—one that inspires Dave to immediately wonder whether they’ll sound, as they look, like a cross between the Wonders from That Thing You Do and Spinal Tap. Then they start to play, and you immediately wonder whether they sell earplugs behind the bar. The band’s as loud—and just about as tuneless—as a garbage truck at 6 A.M. Dave, however, seems pretty content to watch, his head bopping along to the beat in as much as there is one.
If you turn to Dave and say, “This sucks. Let’s get out of here,” read on here.
If you decide to hold your tongue until they’re done, read on here.
Nick is crouched over the toilet in the bathroom, looking pitiful.
“Oh god, I’m sorry about this,” he groans, in between retches. “Must have been something I didn’t eat,” he adds, glancing up at you and attempting a smile.
“You realize you may just have ruined my chances of winding up with Mark, don’t you?” You sigh, handing him a towel.
“Mark? Wow, so you do like him.”
“What do you mean?” Suddenly you’re feeling remarkably sober.
“Well…” Nick retches again and then attempts to sit up. “We were talking last week and he mentioned that he wanted to ask some friend of Suzy’s out on a date—and I’m guessing that’d be you—but wasn’t sure if she, meaning you, would be interested, especially because he felt like such an asshole after fighting with his girlfriend at some party.”
“Shit, couldn’t you have told me this earlier? I just left him dancing with Lindy, and before the night is over they’ll probably be playing Hump the Hostess.”
“Lindy? Don’t worry about her. She and Martin have been married for years. She flirts all the time, but she’d never actually cheat on him; she’s far too attached to his money. Excuse me a moment.”
With that he’s retching again, and you decide to go find him something to eat. Maybe it’ll settle his stomach. In the living room, Mark and Lindy are dancing, but from the way Mark grins as you walk past you know you’ve nothing to worry about.
“You’re not going anywhere, are you?” he asks.
“Just be a second.”
The only suitable thing the kitchen has to offer is a loaf of bread, so you take two slices back to Nick and hand him one. He reaches out blindly and … wipes his face with it.
“Oops,” he mumbles, handing it back to you. “Didn’t they have anything softer than multigrain? I have to get out of here so I can go throw up in the comfort of my own apartment.”
“Go home; you’re pathetic.” You laugh, throwing the bread and the towel in the corner and helping Nick to his feet. “I’ll give your regards to
Lindy.”
“I guess I don’t have to tell you to enjoy the rest of your evening,” he shoots back as he stumbles toward the door.
Five minutes later you’re dancing with Mark to the Spice Girls’ “2 Become 1,” and he’s singing in your ear.
“I asked them to play this,” he whispers.
“You like this song?” you ask, incredulous.
“No, but I was hoping that if you hated it as much as I do, you might be persuaded to leave the party and come home with me.”
“I guess I could do that. Of course, I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen.”
“Me neither, naturally. Let’s go.”
The End
Your lady friend’s car is parked right in front of the bar, and you both get in. She seems to have sobered up the second she got behind the wheel.
“So,” she says. “Tell me about your girlfriend.”
You figure she gets off on this kind of stuff—the idea that she’s doing it with some young girl’s boyfriend—so you decide to invent a girlfriend. You proceed to tell her about this girl you’ve been seeing for a few months, and what a great, fit body she has and how you have sex more times a day than you can keep track of.
Before you know it you’re pulling up to the gates of a mansion in a wealthy suburb. She pulls up the circular driveway and stops right in front of the door. A butler comes out and takes the keys from her, and you follow her inside. There’s a chambermaid waiting in the lobby.
“Janice here will show you to the guest suite,” she calls over her shoulder as she ascends a massive marble staircase. “And in the morning someone will show you where to find the lawn mower.”
She disappears into a room upstairs, and Janice looks at you sympathetically.
“Told her about the girlfriend?”
“Yup.”
The End
There’s a band playing in the Berlin tonight. The Daytrippers are a local group who specialize in alternative versions of Beatles songs, and if enthusiasm was the sole criterion for success, they’d be playing Madison Square Garden instead of a poky bar with a toilet the size of a matchbox. Perhaps thankfully, enthusiasm is not the only criterion for success—the world will survive quite well without the Daytrippers’ rap fiasco, “Yo Jude.”
The Berlin has dubious charms—there are plush red booths along the walls, most crammed with martini-drinking ad exec types and the kind of girls who spend far too much time and energy maintaining washboard stomachs. But there are at least two good reasons to come here, not including the possible presence of Nick. There’s the drinks—lethal and delicious. And there’s Dan, Bartender to the Gods.
“Do you think Dan has any idea how good-looking he is?” Suzy asks, scouring the bar for a couple of seats.
“Hmm. Well, judging by the way he gazes longingly at his reflection in every pint glass he polishes, I’d say yes. Hey look, two stools over there, next to those guys.”
Over you go, and Suzy, giggling like a schoolgirl the whole time, orders drinks—a Stoli tonic for herself, as always, and your usual. Nick is nowhere to be seen, but Suzy suggests that you may as well stay here for a while anyway; her decision is possibly influenced by the fact that Dan is hovering nearby and occasionally smiling in her direction. They engage in a little mindless chatter, and you, more than willing to let her flirt—you’ll get your chance later—look around for other distractions. The guy sitting next to you is waving a CD in the air as he argues with his friend, and accidentally knocks you on the head with it.
“Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,” he apologizes.
“No problem.” You nod. How remarkably polite you are tonight. Amazing what the prospect of seeing Mark can do. Barely a minute has gone by and you’re settling back, taking another sip of your drink, when the missile thwacks you again, in the arm this time. Another brief apology, and you nod, more brusquely this time. One more chance before you get angry.…
Thirty seconds later your CD-wielding friend has clipped you in the arm with his new purchase, and not even an apology this time. Suzy’s still engrossed with Dan. Either you can confront this asshole beside you or find somewhere else to sit.
If you confront him, read on here.
If you find another seat, read on here.
You and your new lady friend are getting on swimmingly now that you’ve got a buzz going. You’ve moved over to a table in a far corner of the bar, and she’s feeling your package through your jeans. Your hand can be found up her skirt, caressing her inner thigh through her nylons. You’re so caught up in the pleasure of your arousal and the thrill of being touched so intimately in a public place that you lean in to kiss this adventuresome woman you’ve had the good fortune to encounter. Busy sucking face, you don’t see Dave come in.
“What the fuck!”
You pull away from the kiss and see your friend looking at you in shock. “What’s wrong?” you ask.
“What’s wrong?” Dave’s practically screaming, and a few people have turned around to see what the problem is.
“Dave, it’s not what it looks like.”
And now you’re the one that’s in shock. Because those words didn’t come out of your mouth. They came from your lady friend, who has gotten up, straightened her skirt, and gone to Dave’s side.
“You two know each other?” You’re stunned.
“I guess you haven’t been properly introduced,” Dave says bitterly. “This is my aunt Mary. That would be my uncle Bob’s wife.”
Aunt Mary, who has suddenly sobered up, starts to put her jacket on. “I think I should go. Dave, I’m terribly sorry you had to see this. I can’t really justify my behavior, but I’d obviously prefer if we kept this between you and me. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
Dave says, “Just leave. I don’t want to look at you another second. I’m going to get a drink.”
Aunt Mary turns to you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm.” And she’s gone.
Dave returns with his drink, and another for you—which you take as a good sign. You apologize profusely, but he doesn’t say much. You sit in silence for a while, then finally he speaks: “My family is so fucked up, man. My parents just told me last week they’re getting divorced. Apparently they’ve been miserable for years. They said they stayed together at first for my sake and were going to get a divorce when I went away to college, but by then they’d gotten so accustomed to an ‘arrangement’—they were openly having affairs—that they didn’t see what the hurry was. And now my aunt Mary! It’s like no one in my family is capable of having an honest relationship. Lord knows my track record isn’t too hot. I don’t know why they even told me all this. Now I just feel like it’s my fault they stayed together and were miserable.”
“It’s not your fault, Dave.”
Dave just sits there, staring into his pint.
“No, look at me,” you insist, and Dave turns. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know,” he says, nodding somberly.
“It’s not your fault,” you say again.
“I know, man.”
“No, really, it’s not—”
“Shut the fuck up, man. I’m sitting here spilling my guts to you, and the best you can do is start acting out Good Will Hunting? Next you’ll be telling me I’m so money and I don’t even know it—or, worse yet, making me promise I’ll never let go.” He clutches your arm and impersonates a melodramatic female. “I promise I’ll never let go, Jack. I’ll never let go.”
You stare down at his hands on your arm. “If you don’t let go now, Rose, I’m going to kick your pretty little ass. Anyway, I thought you said you didn’t see Titanic. That you were never going to see Titanic. That you were going to make a point of never seeing the most popular movie of all time.”
“And I’m sticking to that”—Dave nods his head sharply once—“meaning that I will live the rest of my life and never watch Titanic in a theater or on video. I was, however, unemployed when it came out, so I was wa
tching a lot of TV, so I figure I’ve practically seen the whole thing anyway, just not in the right order—like an interactive CD-ROM.”
“Surprised James Cameron hasn’t thought of that.”
“Oh, it exists. I was actually going to pick it up if one of the options was to rearrange events so that that egotistical maniac doesn’t win an Oscar, but it can’t be done.” Dave takes a deep breath and looks around the room dejectedly. “I need a picker-upper. You want to do a shot?”
You shrug.
“Oh come on. You jump, I jump, right?”
Dave comes back from the bar with two shots and a flyer. “So we missed my buddy’s band. But this beautiful baby just gave me this and says we can get a free drink if we go to some club around the corner.”
You know that Dave really needs you tonight. But what about Mike and the others? What about Sadie?
If you want to go to the club and forget about everybody else since Mike hasn’t shown up anyway, read on here.
If, instead, you check your messages—and therefore find out that Mike and co. are at Spinners, and you want to go there, read on here.
If you want to take a break from your adventure to indulge a fantasy that James Cameron didn’t win any Oscars, read on here.
“No, I’m not going up to him,” you say decisively. “He might be weird.”
“How many people do we know who fit into any other category?”
“Point taken. But I’m not in the mood for a meaningless fling.”
“The night is young.” Suzy slurps her drink.
You feign annoyance. “I’m insulted you think I’m that kind of woman.”
Big Night Out Page 4