Big Night Out

by Tara McCarthy

  “Yeah … Lindy Graham.”

  “And did you think of just looking up her address in the phone book?”

  “Of course,” you lie. Damn she’s good. How come you didn’t think of that? “But the point is, we need Nick because he’s invited, and we’re not. I don’t think it’s gonna be the kind of party you can just crash.”

  “Even better; the more sophisticated she’s trying to be the less chance that she’s going to make a scene. We find the address, go to the party, and act like we belong … maybe Nick and Suzy turn up, maybe they don’t. Either way, you see Mark, get lucky, and then Hayley can go home happy in the knowledge that she’s done an old friend a favor. Now I’m going to ask if they have a phone book behind the bar, so sit here and put some more lipstick on.”

  A minute later she’s back, thumbing through the local phone book. “Voilà, only one L. Graham. Must be her. We can have a few drinks here and go straight to the party.”

  “Shouldn’t we call and see if it’s the right L. Graham?”

  “We could,” she considers, “but that might make her suspicious.… I vote for just showing up.”

  If you call, read on here.

  If you decide there’s no need to call, read on here.

  You watch the rest of the band’s set, becoming more mesmerized by Elizabeth Albern as each moment passes. When they’re done playing and you see she’s settled into a table in a far corner of the bar—alone—you make your move.

  “Excuse me, Elizabeth?”

  She looks up blankly.

  “I don’t know if you’ll even remember me, but we went to camp together when we were kids. My name’s—”

  “I know your name.” She smiles, but it looks as though she’s trying not to. “Every girl remembers the first guy who treats her like shit.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll go. But I am sorry about that.” You start to walk away.

  “You can buy me a drink next door at Peju,” she calls after you. “To make up for it.”

  “I’d like that.”

  She goes to get her stuff, and then the two of you go to Peju. It’s a dark and romantic little spot where they make killer cocktails. As in strong. So you’re taken aback when the waitress comes over to your quiet table in the back and Elizabeth orders two drinks for herself. Not one to make a woman feel uncomfortable about her drinking habits, you do the same. You’ve already had a number of beers, so the idea of two martinis isn’t exactly sending chills of anticipation through your spine. But on the other hand, the idea that Elizabeth might become affectionate after her two Cosmopolitans is sending strong sensations through another body part.

  “Are you expecting someone, too?” She takes lipstick and a mirror out of her bag.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You ordered two martinis.” She reapplies the color on both lips. “Who’s joining you?”

  “I, uh, I thought…”

  “Oh my god, you thought these were both for me!” The drinks arrive at that very moment. “What kind of alcoholic do you think I am? I’ll barely finish this one before I’m sloshed. I told my boyfriend to meet us here.”

  “I see.” You’re avoiding eye contact.

  “You didn’t think…?” She points at you, then at herself. “You and me?”

  “No, no,” you say a bit too adamantly. “Of course not.”

  Suddenly a guy dressed from head to toe in black—mostly leather—sits down next to Elizabeth and slides an arm around her. “Hey, babe,” he says, planting a wet kiss on her mouth. You detect an English accent and dislike him and his arrogant rock-star vibe immediately.

  Elizabeth introduces you to Nat, who takes a hearty swig of the second Cosmopolitan. “You know I hate these poncey drinks,” he says to her. Then he turns to you. “So, how is it that you know E. B.?”

  E. B.?

  The drinks you’ve had are taking effect. They’re making you obnoxious. “Well I don’t know about E. B., but Elizabeth and I went to camp together when we were kids.”

  “Right, fascinating.” He takes another swig of his drink and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. The three of you sit in silence as he lights up a smoke.

  “And what is it that you do now?”

  You tell them.

  “Right.” He looks at Elizabeth, as if to ask how the hell someone as cool as she is knows you. “And do you like that line of work, then?”

  You suddenly feel like the biggest loser going. You must escape, and fast.

  “You know…” You take a big swig of your martini, finishing off the first one. “I do actually like it, but the hours are a real bitch. I should really get going; I’ve got so much work to do.” You’re about halfway through the second drink by the time Elizabeth responds.

  “Don’t be silly.” She grabs Nat’s cigarette and takes a drag, in what strikes you as an annoyingly couply moment. You want to be couply, too. Or at least coupling. And Sadie’s miles away. Where you’re supposed to be.

  You say, “Well, it was nice seeing you,” and head for the door. You vaguely hear Elizabeth say something—maybe “But we hardly talked,” or “What a fucking dork.”

  You’re out on the street, with the address of the party in hand, before you realize you left them with the bill.

  If you go back in and give the bartender a twenty-dollar bill, read on here.

  If you think stiffing them with two stiff drinks was a stroke of genius, albeit an accidental one, and treat yourself to a cab with the money you’ve saved, read on here.

  You plant yourself on a bar stool and order a drink, and one for Hayley.

  “So, you’re not leaving?” asks Suzy, in surprise.

  “No. If I leave, I won’t see you for the rest of the night—instead of following us to Sullivan’s you’ll stay here ogling Dan, and what if Nick doesn’t show up there? Or what if the barman who knows him isn’t working tonight?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be there. And I told you I’d turn up.” Suzy sounds petulant now.

  Hayley, who has followed you over, mumbles something under her breath, and Suzy spins around to face her.

  “You say something?”

  “Just that I’d forgotten how selfish you can be.”

  There is a decidedly pregnant pause.

  “Oh yeah?” replies Suzy.

  “Ooh, good comeback,” sneers Hayley.

  “Since when did you get to be such a complete bitch? Let me guess, since you realized that the guy you’re going out with has been fucking other people for the last six months?”

  Hayley turns pale. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “If you say so.” Suzy shrugs.

  “Do you know about this?” Hayley asks you.

  “No, I’ve no idea what she’s talking about,” you say truthfully. “Suzy, you’re drunk and you’re talking through your ass. Let it drop.”

  But there’s no stopping Suzy now. “You’re so naive, Hayley. Everyone knows Cole’s a jerk. Why do you think he gets so edgy when you go out without him? It’s not because he’s possessive of you—he just doesn’t want you to meet someone who’ll tell you what he’s up to when you’re not around. I’m telling you this for your own good. Half the women in this bar have slept with him, for chrissake.”

  “Including you, I’ll bet.”

  To your amazement, Suzy turns bright red, even as she’s replying, “Me? I’m not that desperate.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Hayley shakes her head. “You lying little bitch. You slept with him, didn’t you? What’s the problem … can’t sustain a relationship so you have to fuck up everybody else’s? I had no idea you were so pathetic. And now you’re hitting on some brain-dead, narcissistic bartender who’d never touch you in a million years, not while there are dogs in the street, honey. But if you want to sit here shoving your puny tits in his face in hopes that he’ll eventually feel sorry for you and let you suck his dick, go ahead. I’m leaving.”

  With that, Hay
ley picks up a half-full glass of beer that someone’s left behind, and throws it in Suzy’s face. While Suzy’s still spluttering in shock and looking around for something to retaliate with, Hayley turns to you and says, “Sorry to be so Melrose Place. But you, babe, had better watch your back where this little slut is concerned. I’m serious. You coming with me?”

  If you go with Hayley, read on here.

  If you stay with Suzy, read on here.

  Lisa takes your hand and leads you into the crowd, pushing past people without so much as an “Excuse me” the whole way. She stops at center stage, about two lines of people back from the stage. You suddenly notice that she’s five-feet-two and you’re not. Somebody else notices, too.

  “Hey, asshole.”

  He can’t be talking to you. Please, let him not be talking to you.

  “Hey, asshole.”

  If you ignore him, he’ll go away. Please, let him go away.

  “What is it about assholes like you who think you can show up halfway through the show and push up in front of people who got here early to get a good spot?”

  “Sorry, man,” you say.

  “Sorry, my ass,” he says. “Or better yet, move your sorry ass back to the back of the crowd.”

  You’re about to do just that when Lisa pipes up. “Hey, dickhead,” she says to your intimidator, “why don’t you move your sorry ass to a Sting concert so you can hang out with the rest of the old farts.”

  “Funny, I don’t remember talking to you,” the guy says. Then he says, “Bitch,” barely audibly. That sends Lisa over the edge. She pushes him with her drink-free arm, knocking him over.…

  If you use this as an opportunity to grab Lisa and escape, read on here.

  If you extend a hand to help the guy up and make peace, read on here.

  Ed smiles broadly when you tell him you’ll come with him to the party. “Great, I look forward to having you.”

  “Scuse me?”

  “Having you around, y’know?”

  “Right.”

  “We have to drop the equipment back at my house before going to the party, so why don’t you come, too? It’s not far. We’ll unload the stuff, I can change, and then we’ll take my car back to Lindy’s.”

  Soon you’re sitting in the Daytrippermobile, relatively comfortable in the passenger seat, while the drummer, Crispin, and the bassist, Jerry, jolt along and drink beer in the back, telling bad jokes that rank only one step above fart noises. Ed drops Crispin and Jerry at their apartment, arranging to pick them up in an hour or so and drive on to Lindy’s.

  Round about now is the time it occurs to you that Ed’s intention may not be simply to change his clothes back at his place. There’s not really any other way to interpret the way he shoves his right hand between your legs as he drives along. You remove the offending paw and drop it back in his lap.

  “Something wrong?” he says, feigning surprise.

  “Not yet. Are we almost there?”

  “Yup, this is it,” and he pulls into the curb.

  You give a hand unloading the gear and then sit in Ed’s living room watching TV while he changes clothes. It’s a pretty big place he’s got here, especially for one person. Maybe he’s got a roommate. Now that you have time to think quietly, you start to wonder if going to the party with Ed is such a good idea. True, he’s cute, but he also seems a little sleazy, and maybe it’s not worth jeopardizing your chances with Mark by showing up with him.

  Ed wanders out into the living room wearing only an undershirt … well, an undershirt and an alarming amount of body hair. Amazing how many human beings look better with clothes on. This really was a bad idea. Ed sits beside you on the couch and again makes an unsubtle pass, and the lurching sensation in your stomach tells you this is definitely not a love connection. You scramble to get up, but he tries pinning you down on the couch, and you’re toying with the idea of delivering a swift kick to the balls when the sound of a key in the front door stops him from getting any further ideas. You have to get out of here.

  “Shit, my roommate’s home.” He sits up hurriedly.

  “Okay, this is my cue to go … I’m calling a taxi.”

  “I thought we were going to go to Lindy’s party together?” he whines.

  “Did I hear someone mention Lindy’s party?” comes a voice from the doorway. “Could you give me a ride … I told her I’d try and be there early.” Your stomach lurches, again, and you look up to face the unbelievable truth.

  “I guess so,” mutters Ed. “Oh hey”—he turns to you—“this is my roommate, Ma…”

  “Mark,” you finish. “Hello, Mark.”

  “Hey.” Mark nods. “Didn’t know you knew Ed.”

  “Didn’t know you lived with him.” You grimace. This is disaster. Could things get any worse?

  “Erm, your shirt’s open,” says Mark quietly.

  Well, that answers that question.

  You close the buttons and grab your coat.

  “Maybe we can see each other again sometime?” Ed calls as you head for the door.

  You don’t bother to answer.

  The End

  You quickly find Dave and introduce him to Lisa. He decides he doesn’t care much about seeing his friend’s band one way or another. You ask him if he wants to come with you to Spinners. He does. The three of you get a cab.

  About halfway to Spinners, however, in a neighborhood you don’t know well at all and don’t care to, the cab begins to move in fits and starts and to spew steam or smoke from under the hood. Before long, it dies. Right smack in the middle of nowhere, on a street full of warehouses and shuttered doorways. The driver opens the hood, more fog steams out, and he throws his hands up, helpless.

  “Great,” says Lisa, as you all get out of the car. “Now what?”

  Dave steps out into the street, foolishly optimistic. “We just get another cab.” He assesses the complete lack of traffic. “Or we walk?”

  “Walk? Are you kidding me? I’m wearing new shoes.”

  “Ohhhh, poor baby. You want me to carry you?”

  Ten minutes pass and there’s still no sign of another taxi.

  Lisa turns to the two of you accusingly. “Does either of you know what general direction Spinners is in so at least if we’re walking to get a cab we’re walking the right way?”

  Simultaneously, you and Dave say “Thataway.” But you’re pointing in different directions.

  “Great,” Lisa huffs. “This is just fucking great. Well, I’m going this way. You coming?”

  You and Dave shrug and follow. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Dave starts singing: “… and when the car broke down they started walking. Where were they going without ever knowing the way?…”

  Just as you turn to tell him to shut up, Lisa says, “Hey, you’ve got a really good voice.”

  Dave takes this as encouragement and continues more confidently, adding a little melodrama and vibrato to his voice, the happy melody gaining resonance. “Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold; it’s always summer, they’ll never get cold. They’ll never get hungry, never get old and gray…” You think you hear Lisa harmonizing to the catchy tune and suddenly everything seems somehow cheerier.

  Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a man jumps out at Lisa. “Spare a quarter?”

  If you empty the change in your pocket, read on here.

  If you mutter, “No, sorry,” along with Dave and Lisa and quicken your pace, read on here.

  Ed comes over to the bar as you’re standing there pondering your options. “You coming back over?” He smiles brightly.

  “No. Thanks, but I have to go find my friend.”

  “You don’t want to go to the party?”

  “I really do need to find Suzy. Sorry.” If you show up with Ed, you ruin your chances of landing Mark, and if it comes down to a simple question of whom you want more, you have to admit that Mark wins, hands down. Pants down, too, with a little luck. Of course, it might be awkward if y
ou manage to get to the party with Suzy and Ed is there.

  “I’m not sure I really want to go either, now,” Ed says. Thank god for that. This is getting too confusing to think about after so many drinks. “But can I give you my card? Maybe we could get together sometime.”

  “Sure, great.”

  Next thing to do, after seeing Ed safely out the door, is check to see if Suzy called you. You stop by the bar to order another drink on your way to the pay phone.

  There are two messages, one saved, one new.

  The new message is from Suzy. She just checked her own messages and—hallelujah—there was one from Nick. Suzy says that Nick’s going to be in McCormick’s, and so she’s going to meet him there around midnight. Then you can all go on to the party together.

  The saved message is from Peter, one of your best friends. There’s a little more to it than just friendship, on your side at least. Sometimes you wish that Peter would consider turning his platonic-pal status into something a little juicier, but so far he’s never shown an interest and you’ve kept your feelings to yourself.

  “Hi sweetie. I figured you’d be out, but maybe you’ll get this message in time. One of the bands playing at Busters tonight fired its rhythm guitarist because of musical differences—basically he was always playing a different rhythm than the rest of the band—and they called and asked me to fill in … we go on at ten-fifteen. I know it’s short notice, but it’d mean a lot if you could get your ass down there and lend little Pierre some moral support. I’ll even let you buy me a drink afterward. Hope to see you later.”

  Checking your watch, you calculate that you can get to Busters in time to hear him and then go to McCormick’s to meet Suzy and Nick.

  Read on here.

  “Diane Keaton!” squeals Suzy, as she scrambles inelegantly onto the stage, skirt hiked up her thighs.

  “Nice try, but no.…” The guitarist grins. “Though I wish I could give you some sort of prize just for the view I got when you climbed up here.”