Big Night Out

by Tara McCarthy

  “You are that kind of woman, sweetie.”

  “True. I’m just insulted that it’s so obvious.” Another slurp. “So what now? Ask the barman if Nick has been in, maybe?”

  “Ooh, that’s an idea. Wait here.”

  A minute later she’s back, and grinning. “That was inspired. Nick was here before—he told the bartender to tell anyone who came looking for him that he’d be in the Upstairs Lounge for a while. Finish that drink, we’re moving on up!”

  You gulp it back, follow Suzy outside, and get in a taxi.

  “You know where this place is, right Suzy?”

  “Of course I do! Have I ever led you astray?”

  Before you can answer, she taps the driver on the shoulder. “Pull in here!”

  Read on here.

  Kristy leads you to a remote bedroom in Joe’s house. She pushes you back so you’re forced to sit on the edge of the bed, then drops to her knees and goes to work. If there’s anything to be said for Kristy—and in truth there are a lot of things, but none of the other ones matter right now—she knows the way to a man’s heart.

  You take hold of her blond hair as she runs a hand up your shirt. You can’t believe how good what she’s doing to you feels.

  “I knew it!” Dave busts through the door, and you and Kristy scramble to make yourselves presentable. “It’s the Licorice Lady. I could smell her a mile away. It’s like Steve Martin in Roxanne—how his huge-ass nose leads him to a fire no one else knows is going on.”

  “Hello, Newman,” Kristy says bitterly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Come on,” Dave says, grabbing you by the arm. “We’re outta here.”

  “What the hell!” You’re pushed through the crowd, out to the curb, before you can get a word in.

  “‘What the hell?’” Dave is practically shouting. “You’re asking me, ‘What the hell?’ I’m the one that should be asking you ‘What the hell?’ That’s the fucking Licorice Lady, man. She’s right up there with that Chasing Amy chick in terms of fucking with your head. You know that. You don’t want to go there again, man.”

  “Maybe I do.” The Jell-O shots have gone to your head—yes, that head, too—and you’re feeling an awful mix of loneliness and horniness.

  “Are you out of your mind, man? This is the woman who used to make you sing ‘I Want Candy’ before you could get sex.”

  “Hey, whatever happened to Bow Wow Wow?”

  “Not the point.” Dave gets into the car, and you follow suit. “The point, my friend, is that you’re in a much better place now. A place where you know you deserve better than a two-timing girl like Kristy. A place where the women you go out with wear real perfume. Stuff that smells like flowers and shit.”

  Dave starts to drive, and you don’t stop him. A few miles down the road you say, “Thanks, Dave. You’re right.” Because he is. “But couldn’t you have waited a few more minutes before busting in? I’m all jived up now.”

  “Sorry, man.” Dave laughs, shaking his head. “If I’d a known I would have.…”

  You ride in silence for a while. “You know what the funny thing is,” you finally say. “I’ve got this intense craving for candy now. Any kind of candy.”

  “There’s a Seven-Eleven a few miles up this way,” Dave explains. “But if you want me to stop, you’re going to have to sing a little ‘I Want Candy’ for me.”

  If you start singing Bow Wow Wow’s “I Want Candy” at the top of your lungs, read on here.

  If you think that’s the stupidest thing Dave’s ever asked you to do and want to go straight to the Lunar Lounge, read on here.

  It may be only a fifteen-minute walk to the Upstairs, but it’s going to be a very long fifteen minutes, full of bad jokes, pathetic attempts at flirtation, and Bill trying to disguise his farts by coughing loudly. Any distraction would be welcome, so when Suzy hears whimpering, peers under a parked car, and announces, “It’s a tiny doggie!” you gladly stop.

  “He looks frightened. Think we can coax him out?”

  “If Bill stands far enough away, sure.”

  Bill just grins. Good old oblivious Bill.

  Reaching under the car, you manage to grab the dog’s collar and pull it out. It really is tiny—some kind of chihuahua, well cared for but petrified. You hold the dog’s head gently and Suzy checks the tag around its neck. “Oh it’s a girl doggie!” yelps Suzy. “Her name’s Margarita. Aw, that’s cute! And there’s an address … I think it’s one block over. Should we bring Margarita home?” She tickles the dog under the chin. “You want us to take you to your houseywousey, diddums? Does ickle Margarita want to go home to mumsie and dadsie then?”

  Suzy always gets like this around small animals. She blames it on her parents’ never giving her enough Barbies when she was young.

  It’s agreed that you have time to bring Margarita home to her mumsie, who turns out to be an elderly woman who squeals excitedly when she opens the door. “You found her! Oh you angels! She’s been gone for three whole hours, haven’t you, missy?” She takes the dog and ushers you all inside. It’s a small, cramped apartment; clearly Margarita’s mumsie is not exactly rolling in money, so you and Suzy instinctively refuse when she starts rummaging in her bag for “a little reward.”

  “No really, it was no trouble.” Suzy smiles.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say no trouble,” Bill mutters.

  “Oh what a shame,” Margarita’s mumsie continues, “I don’t seem to have much spare cash anyway … but look, I have these!” She holds up two scratch tickets for the state lottery. “I always buy two on Friday … my little weekend treat!” she explains. You smile weakly. This is heartbreaking stuff. “But I want you to have them. The two girls can have one, and the nice gentleman can take the other! Now go on! I insist! You girls pick first! Left or right hand?”

  There’s no refusing her. Suzy motions for you to do the picking.

  If you pick the left, read on here.

  If you pick the right, read on here.

  “Whoa,” you say. “Slow down, Kristy. We can’t just get back together and jump into bed like nothing happened.”

  “Why not?”

  Good question, really. But for some reason you’re not letting her off that easily. She left you for another man. And we all know the male ego bruises as easily as an anemic on a protein diet. “You dumped me, Kristy. And it really hurt.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was a total bitch to you. Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

  “You can’t just say that and expect it to be all better right away, though. I mean maybe you’ve been thinking about this for a while, but this is like a total shock to me. I have a whole new life now—one without you in it—and I like it. And being with you, well, I don’t know. It’d have to be a lot different this time around. I’ve grown a lot. I’m a different person now.”

  “Well, I hope you’re not too different. I liked you the way you were. But can’t we spend some time together and see if there’s a chance?”

  “Well, I guess so.”

  “I’ve got an idea. I’m going to a wedding tomorrow and I RSVPed for two, but then the friend I was going to take got sick. Will you go with me? I don’t know many people who are going to be there—it’s a friend from my old neighborhood who I haven’t really seen much—and I don’t want to go alone. Please, it’ll be the perfect chance for us to catch up.”

  “You haven’t called me in years and now you want me to go to a wedding with you and see if maybe we have a future together?”

  “Yeah, basically. Is it really so hard to believe we still might?”

  You look at her and know that your answer is no. Not hard to believe at all.

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” You don’t really know what you mean.

  “So you’ll come with me?” The hope in her voice melts your insides.

  “Okay.” You really are a sap when it comes down to it.

  “Great,” she says. “I�
�ll drive you home; we’ve got an early morning ahead of us. The ceremony’s at ten.”

  “What?”

  “What, you don’t want to go now?”

  What about Sadie and your plans for your Big Night Out? Is it really worth it to give it all up—give up the prospect of something new and meaningful or maybe even something new and meaningless—for the chance at a reconciliation with Kristy?

  Well, apparently you think it is. You tell Dave you ran into Kristy and that it’s a long story but you’re leaving, sorry. He understands immediately. You’re tucked in your bed, sound asleep, by 11:30. You dream that tomorrow’s your wedding day and wake up in a cold sweat.

  The End

  The Temple is a cocktail bar with a pretentiousness quotient that’s rocketing through the roof. Naturally, Anton is in his element.

  “So classy!” he sighs, moving toward the back. “There’s a little table here that I like to call my own. Ah, Roland!” He waves to the bartender.

  “The bartender is called Roland?” says Suzy incredulously. “Hey Anton, they have any good beers on tap?”

  “No beers,” he sniffs. “An impressive martini menu though.”

  “That’s okay; I’ll just have a Stoli and tonic. Hell, put a slice of lemon in it; I’m feeling adventurous.”

  You order a martini. Sitting at the table next to you are three guys who look to be having a far better time than Anton could ever provide. Suzy obviously thinks so, too—she leans back in her chair to catch their conversation, then glances at you, raising an eyebrow as if to ask if she should try to butt in. Shielding your mouth, you give a tiny yawn and point to Anton, then point to the guys beside you and give a thumbs-up. Suzy looks quizzically at you, points at Anton, and mouths, “What?” You nod vehemently, trying not to let Anton see you.

  She mouths, “What?” again.

  “Yes! Yes! Go talk to them!” you practically shout.

  “Jeez, okay.” She grins, gets up, and moves to their table, leaving you to listen to Anton’s diatribe about the inferiority of Kieslowski’s later films.

  “I wonder how many people would watch those movies if the director cast ugly chicks,” is Bill’s contribution. “Y’know? All those subtitled movies have good-looking women. That Juliette Binoche, she’s pretty hot. And the Julie girl, the one who was in that movie with Ethan Hawke?”

  “Julie Delpy.”

  “That’s her! Amazing body!”

  “You’re such a philistine,” sneers Anton.

  “Yeah, well, you’re such a…” Bill struggles a moment for a suitable comeback. “a … nipple, man.”

  “I’m such a nipple?” fumes Anton. “You freaking boor.”

  “Freaking? Freaking?” Bill stands up and starts ranting. “Why can’t you just talk normal, man! Say the word fucking! Go on! What’s your problem? You scared?”

  Maybe it’s time you joined Suzy. Checking your watch, you realize that Nick may have already left the Upstairs Lounge, which would make Anton your only hope of getting the address of Lindy’s party.

  If you join Suzy, read on here.

  If you stay with Anton and Bill, read on here.

  Dave stops and looks at you funny. “Are you fucking joking? You’re bombed!”

  “I am not bombed. You’re the one who was doing keg stands.”

  “Yeah, but you were sucking down those Jell-O shots like they were pussy-flavored.”

  “What? I had, like, three!”

  “There’s no way you’re driving my car, man.”

  “Well there’s no way I’m getting into the car with you.”

  “Well then you’re shit out of luck. Because I’m your ticket back to town. Unless you want to settle down out here, maybe get a paper route.”

  “Dave, if you get stopped again for anything, your license is going to be suspended.”

  “Too late.” Dave gets into the driver’s seat, and you talk to him through the open door.

  “You’re going to drive drunk with a suspended license?”

  Dave suddenly turns pensive. “Alright, man, you’re driving. But you’re not going above forty, hear me?”

  “Deal.” Within minutes you find yourself on a generic two-lanes-in-each-direction highway of sorts, with fast-food restaurants and car dealerships on either side.

  “You think we should eat something?” Dave asks.

  If you want to eat, read on here.

  If you want to press on to the Lunar Lounge, read on here.

  This is just too good an opportunity to pass up. You have to talk to her, especially as you know you look better than usual tonight.

  “Clara! It’s been years!” You’re about to add “And not enough of them!” but it’s a little early for deliberate bitchiness.

  “Oh hi!” She untangles herself from the guy she’s with and stands up to blow an air kiss in your direction. “Wow, you look terrific! You’ve really improved since high school. It’s amazing what a good haircut can do.” Not too early for Clara, apparently.

  “Gee thanks. You haven’t changed.” You grimace.

  “Well, I guess most people have put on a few pounds since then”—she looks you pointedly up and down—“but I’ve always been able to eat whatever I want.”

  “That’s right, I remember you always had a fondness for stuffing things in your mouth.”

  “Anyway, this is Serge.” She drapes an arm possessively around the guy sitting next to her. “We got engaged last week.”

  “That’s such great news. I’m so glad you two found each other.” It’ll save two other people, you think. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  “Very kind of you,” says Serge. It speaks!

  Back at the bar, you deliberate what to buy. Clara could never hold her liquor. Tequila, in particular, made her sick.

  “Three shots of Cuervo, please,” you call. “Make one of them extra-large.”

  Clara looks at you with thinly disguised horror when you arrive back with the shots. Serge even registers shock. “Baby, I didn’t know you drank tequila.”

  “Clara? Oh sure, she’s always had a strong stomach,” you cut in. “Real party girl. Remember, Clara, the time we all went to a party given by my boyfriend? And you had a couple of shots and next thing we knew you were dancing topless with him on the lawn and using the plastic flamingo as a prop? Hilarious. Clara was just so much fun to be around. One of the things I admired about her in high school. That, and her basic generosity of spirit.”

  “Well actually, I don’t…,” she sputters.

  “Come now, don’t pretend you can’t handle it! Drink up!” You hand her the biggest shot, and all three of you knock them back.

  “I’d better be getting back to my friends.” You wipe your mouth and wait for the aftertaste to disappear. “Congratulations again. Have a great night.”

  Nick and Suzy are playing pool, and they’ve put your name up on the board. As you stand in front of the jukebox rummaging in your pocket for change, there’s a tap on your shoulder. It’s Serge.

  “Hey, Clara wanted me to say good-bye to you. She wasn’t feeling well so she went, y’know, home.”

  “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to chatting about old times later.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Now this is unexpected. “Sure, I guess so.”

  Twenty minutes later it’s clear that Serge’s interest in you is not platonic. He’s complimenting you on your shirt … which for some reason he has to touch in order to appreciate.

  “Y’know, Clara and I aren’t really, y’know, engaged.” He’s leaning very close and you can sense that the Lunge is going to happen any second now. “I mean, we’ve, y’know, talked about it, but I don’t feel ready yet. I’m not really, y’know…”

  Pause. Not really, y’know, articulate? Not really, y’know, ready to commit to a full sentence?

  “… at that place in my life right now. So it’s a sort of … y’know … open engagement.” He leers suggestively.

&nbs
p; “Open engagement, right.” Serge is not the type you—or any other sentient being—would normally be attracted to, but there’s a tiny, vindictive part of you that wants to finally get back at Clara for breaking your teenage heart when she stole Tony Mill … Millhouse? Milton? Miller? Whatever. And it’s not like it’s your fault that Clara has chosen to settle for someone with the morals of a weasel. Then there’s the fact that you’re feeling pretty drunk right now … why didn’t you and Suzy have dinner?

  Shit.

  If you try to escape from Serge’s clutches, read on here.

  If you go along with it, read on here.

  After driving for a few minutes, Dave realizes he’s too drunk. He pulls into a McDonald’s, and the two of you stuff yourselves. Dave drinks loads of coffee to sober himself up, but you refrain; you’re working on a buzz. On full stomachs, you proceed.

  Read on here.

  Why move? The Upstairs Lounge has everything you need—a seat, a jukebox, alcohol, a toilet to relieve yourself of same. The next time you look at your watch it’s pretty late. Nick gulps back the rest of his beer and suggests you get going.

  He reaches behind him, expecting to find his jacket on the back of the chair. It’s not there. It’s not on your chair either, or on the floor, or on any of the chairs around you. Panicking now, he asks the bartender if anyone’s handed in a leather jacket. No luck.

  “Fuck. I know it was on this chair. You’re sure no one put it behind the bar?”

  “I’m sure, and I’ve had a lot less to drink than you,” replies the bartender. “Look, what can I tell ya, someone must have taken it. Happens, especially with leather jackets. Leave your name and address if you want, and if it turns up I’ll let ya know.”

  Nick is understandably annoyed. Suzy finally drags herself away from the guy she’s been flirting with to find out what’s happening. “At least my wallet wasn’t in it,” Nick fumes. “Nothing was in the pockets except, oh fuck, my address book. Shit, shit, shit.”