I turned around and the reason for her secrecy presented itself. Angie was back from the bathroom and was standing beside me with a freshly lit cigarette in her hand. It was a given that Angie wouldn’t be invited to the shower. The two were oil and vinegar ever since Angie had appropriated Natasha’s boyfriend in the ancient days of senior year. They had come to an uneasy truce over the years and only tolerated each other because neither wanted to leave the group.
‘Rushing home to Mr Dietrich, no doubt,’ said Angie caustically. ‘Though why anyone would rush home to an ignor-anus like Arthur Dietrich is beyond me. I don’t care how much money he has.’
‘You mean ignoramus,’ I corrected.
‘No, I mean ignor-anus. He’s one of the biggest assholes I’ve ever met.’ She smiled a nasty but engaging smile, her white teeth gleaming against her Mediterranean features. I watched jealously as she took a drag from the cigarette and released a steady stream of smoke. Angie had been smoking almost compulsively since she had arrived, despite, and in spite of, raising the ire of the reformed smokers. She had also been consuming alcohol at a healthy pace. I suppressed a sudden urge to grab her cigarette and take a drag off it, to savor the unhealthy acrid smoke, to feel the lift as the nicotine violated my lungs. The longing had never completely gone away since quitting smoking after college. I also had been tempted to follow her on one of her many forays into the bathroom where I suspected one would find the source of her fidgety behavior. My hunch was she was doing cocaine, an occasional indulgence of my college years, and yet another vice that was but a dim memory.
A damp breeze blew in the open doorway, and a wave of melancholy swept me, partly inspired by days gone by, partly by the enormity of the step I was taking. The bachelorette party was my final goodbye to my youth and wilder times, and I didn’t want the rite of passage to end. There was no reason for me to go home early. Flynn was in New York with his Dartmouth buddies for his own bachelor party, and I really wanted to let loose one last time. As if we were on the same wavelength, Angie verbalized my thoughts.
‘Hey, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not ready to call it a night. Let’s head down to Rush Street and leave our mark.’
‘C’mon! My last night out,’ I sang in a voice amplified by wine.
‘Not for me,’ said Kelly forcing a weak smile, her narrow freckled face fixed in a mild but firm expression. There was a restrained sadness lurking behind her transparent blue eyes. ‘Tables to wait in the morning. Need a steady hand.’ Then she added the answer we’d really expected. ‘Besides, it’s still too hard for me to be in bars. You all have a good time. I’m outta here.’
We watched her go down the walk in her tired jeans and T-shirt and climb into a battered red Honda with grey duct tape holding one of the headlights in place. The car died on the first start, then caught on her second try. A minute later her taillights receded into the night.
‘God, I hope she makes it home in one piece,’ Carol Anne worried. ‘That thing barely looks roadworthy.’
‘No kidding. I hope she’s been to confession recently,’ Angie quipped. Then she turned on Carol Anne like an attorney with closing arguments. ‘What about you, Mom? Can we drag your sorry ass out of the burbs for the night? You can stay at my place.’
Carol Anne shook her head emphatically, sending the dark tendrils quivering. ‘Sorry, girls. Michael promised to quit his card game early, and we’re going to take advantage of the kids being at his mother’s. It’s been a long time since we’ve been alone in the house.’
‘Wow! After all these years you still have the jones for each other? That’s almost enough to renew my faith in the institution of marriage,’ Angie spewed. Her voice softened as she added, ‘Almost.’ Then she pounced on her last victim, Suzanne. ‘So I guess it’s just you, Maggie and me.’
‘Well, I don’t know. I’ve got to go into the office tomorrow,’ Suzanne hemmed. Angie wasn’t having any of it. She was on Suzanne like a frat rat on a case of Heineken.
‘Eat shit and die. We’ve barely seen you since you started your job. You’re coming with. You can count your money with a hangover.’
Suzanne’s eyes traveled from Angie to me, weighing the options. We were her oldest, dearest friends. Friends who held her head over the toilet when she’d had too much to drink. Friends who sat with her as she cried out the loss of a boyfriend. Friends who held her together after her brother’s death.
As if she could read Suzanne’s mind, Angie added, ‘Friendship comes with obligations.’
‘All right, I’m in,’ Suzanne acquiesced, less than enthusiastically. ‘But I need to make a call.’
‘Use the phone in Michael’s office,’ said Carol Anne.
‘It’s gotta be business, cuz all her friends are here,’ Angie said wryly, stepping onto the front porch to grind out her cigarette. Suzanne disappeared down the paneled hall, blond and tall and slim in her tailored black suit. She was back a few minutes later.
‘All set,’ she said.
‘What was that all about?’ Angie asked.
‘Had to change some business.’
‘Told ya,’ Angie directed at me.
After one last attempt to get Carol Anne to join us, Suzanne, Angie and I took leave of her beautiful old mansion with its shutters and trellises and climbing vines. Carol Anne appeared to be watching us from the doorway, but I had a sense she was really looking beyond us. She gave us a final wave and closed herself behind the thick wooden doors.
Standing in the driveway, the night sky was overwhelming, millions of pinpricks of light stretching in all directions, each star clear and distinct. I’d forgotten how much closer the stars were in the suburbs, and I was overcome with a sense of tininess, of being insignificant amid their vastness. Their beauty was nearly eclipsed by a low-hanging moon, full and fat, a golden orb hanging just beyond reach. The three of us stood as if in a trance, listening to the rustling of small animals in the woods and enjoying the fragrance of newly growing things, sounds and smells rare in the concrete city. The sensory overload transported me back to the sultry summer nights of my teenage years living in the sheltering cocoon of suburbia, to a time with no ties and a whole future ahead.
‘Well, let’s get going,’ said Angie, bringing us abruptly back to this world. The spell was broken. ‘Maggie, you ride into the city with me. Suzanne already got to catch up with you on the way here.’
I looked to Suzanne for approval. Being the sort to dance with them that brung you, I didn’t want to jilt Suzanne after she had gone out of her way to pick me up after work. But Suzanne didn’t seem to mind making the drive alone. ‘Fine with me. I need to drop my car off at home anyway.’
‘OK,’ I yelled louder than I needed to, as if volume would insure Suzanne was going to join us. ‘We’ll see you at The Overhang, right? You’re not going to wimp out on us?’
‘I will see you at The Overhang,’ she replied with conviction. She climbed into her BMW and a minute later the smooth hum of the German engine faded into silence. Angie retrieved her keys from her unwieldy purse, and we screeched out of the driveway and fishtailed onto the road. All right, so back then we weren’t quite as vigilant about drinking and driving as current day, but that night, even I questioned the wisdom of allowing Angie behind the wheel.
‘Are you sure you’re fine to drive?’
‘Of course I’m fine to drive. Most drunken driving accidents are by people falling asleep and I’m wide awake,’ she said, and then as if trying to reassure me, she reached into the pocket of her slacks and pulled out a little glass vial. ‘Feel like a bump?’
My suspicions were confirmed. She was doing coke. I was going to decline the offer when that renegade ember flared within me again. For one last time, I wanted to act outside of the day-to-day conformity that ruled my life. I took the vial from her, filled a tiny spoon with white powder and sniffed. ‘Whoa. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any of this,’ I said, already infinitely alert and capable of great thing
s. ‘Flynn’s not big on drugs.’
‘I only do it on special occasions,’ said Angie, her eyes fixed on the road as she merged onto the expressway. I had a feeling much of Angie’s life was a special occasion these days. ‘So how’d you like the party?’
‘Great to see everyone, of course. But I wish Natasha would talk about something besides kids and babies. You know. Breast pumps. Potty training. Enough already.’
‘Yep. I had to laugh though when she told how that cretin Arthur fainted in the delivery room. Harvey always swore he would never set foot in one.’
‘Was he squeamish?’
‘Hell, no. But he always said the last thing on earth he wanted to see was a little bald head popping out of his favorite place.’
‘That sounds like Harvey,’ I said. ‘How are things with him anyhow? Any communication between you two?’
‘Not since he found another favorite place,’ she said morosely, stepping on the gas.
The Overhang was as tightly packed as a womb. Friday nights on Rush Street were always a madhouse. But after finishing off the last of Angie’s coke in the self-park a few blocks away, we were both up for the challenge. We worked our way inside the club and secured seats at the bar just as a couple was vacating them. We moved up the potency level from wine to vodka and savored the icy-cold alcohol as it saturated our already frozen throats.
The clientele was predominately young, recent entries to the post-twenty-one demographic. The women were carefully dressed to look as though they hadn’t thought about it, wearing multi-layered T-shirts or Madonna-style tops that at one time would have been considered underwear. The men wore jeans or baggy pants cinched tightly at the waist and loose fitting shirts buttoned to the neck. Standing out were the nine-to-fivers, those left standing from Happy Hour that is, the men in traditional suits, the women in the work suit of the era with matching skirts and jackets and grosgrain ribbons tied into bows at the necks of their blouses. Never much one for fashion, I felt unexceptional in plain beige slacks and a silk blouse and wished I’d thought to wear something more exciting for a change. Angie was a standout in her spiked red heels and tight-fitting slacks, a Gucci scarf draped across her low-cut blouse.
‘She Drives Me Crazy’ by the Fine Young Cannibals was playing, and the mating dance was in full swing, males and females checking each other out with a critical eye, any thought of safe sex a subject to be broached later on. For now, life was carefree and the only imminent danger was not coming up with a viable partner for the night.
Angie nudged me and nodded at a couple of men across the room. The far side of the median age, they had dark, slicked-back hair with sideburns creeping down their faces and wore twin black Members Only jackets. The top buttons of their shirts were opened, revealing heavy chest hair and even heavier gold chains.
‘Look. A couple of extras from Saturday Night Fever,’ Angie quipped. They caught us staring at them and, taking it as an invitation, started working their way in our direction. ‘Oh, shit,’ said Angie, looking down into her drink. ‘Don’t acknowledge them and maybe they’ll go away.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I giggled, watching them swagger towards us. ‘What’s wrong? You don’t want to meet a couple of your soul brothers?’
‘Maggie, I’m serious. Don’t encourage them. Once they come over here, we’ll never get rid of them. I know the animal. Macho West Suburban Italians who think you’ll be impressed because they know Jimmy the Juice or Louis the Hooch. These kinds make my skin crawl.’
‘Too late now,’ I said, as the two men made contact.
‘Excuse me, ladies, do you mind if we reach over youse here to order a drink?’ asked the taller of the two in a voice thick with the nasal twang of urban Chicago. Angie ignored him and I shrugged as if to say, ‘It’s a free country.’ He leaned in and extended a gold Rolexed wrist toward the bartender. His accomplice turned his attention to me.
‘We couldn’t help but notice youse ladies sitting here. Nice too see someone in this joint whoose been out of diapers for more than a couple a years.’ Angie groaned audibly at his lame compliment. He talked with his hands in stereo, pointing first at himself, then his amigo, and then back at himself, his gold bracelet dangling over his own Rolex, his pinky ring facing the floor. ‘I’m Sal, and this here is Joey. What are youse girls names?’
Regrettably, my mother raised me never to be rude, leaving me no choice other than to oblige him. ‘I’m Maggie,’ I said, trying to avoid Angie’s evil eye.
‘Jesus H. Christ,’ she spouted under her breath. ‘Now we’ll never get rid of them.’ Clearly oblivious to Angie’s hostility, Sal asked her name again.
‘Isabel Sanchez,’ she punted.
‘Isabel. Now that’s an unusual name.’
‘Unusual for her too,’ I said, unable to resist. Angie shot me another nasty glance.
Joey procured a couple of drinks and handed one to Sal who cupped it in his gold-laden hand. ‘Would either of youse ladies like to dance? Isabel?’
‘No thanks,’ Angie replied. ‘I make it a policy to never dance with someone wearing more jewelry than me.’
The mouthful of vodka that spiked up my nasal passages would have been painful had I been able to feel my nose. Both the men chose to ignore Angie’s sarcasm. They were probably used to passive aggressive rejections. They continued trying to make small talk until I, too, wearied of their presence and was relieved when Angie said, ‘Look, guys, my friend here is getting married in a couple of weeks, and we really want to talk, so do us a favor and get the fuck lost.’ That was all Angie. She was never one to mince words. Or worry over their appropriateness.
Sal’s face turned so red, I feared what might come out of his mouth. But before he could say anything a young blonde bursting out of a black leather dress appeared from nowhere and worked her way in beside us. ‘Well, look whose here,’ Sal said to his buddy, his eyes glued to the cleavage pushing out from her low-cut neckline. Her broad hips hiked the dress up above the knee, exposing her fleshy thigh. Her long hair was cut in layers, frozen into place by what must have been at least a can of hair spray. ‘How about a dance, baby?’ he asked.
‘I’m not interrupting anything?’ she asked, tilting her lacquered head in our direction.
‘Nah,’ Sal answered for us. ‘These two old gals want to be alone. They’re celebrating an upcoming wedding.’
The girl sized Angie and me up like we were a couple of relics from the Middle Ages before smiling a broad wide-toothed smile at Sal. ‘Let’s dance,’ she said, and the two of them merged onto the crowded dance floor.
‘Now that’s a babe,’ said Joey, as if we had any interest in his opinion of the girl or anything else he had to say for that matter.
‘Yeah,’ said Angie. ‘Snappy dresser.’
‘What d’jou say?’
‘I said nice dress. The only problem is it needs to be a couple sizes bigger.’
‘You know, honey. I don’t think I like your sense of humor. And I don’t think I like you. There’s a word for you that starts with a C, but I’m too much a gentleman to use it. And let me tell you something else. That little girl’s father could buy and sell a piece of trash like you, so she sure don’t need your approval.’ He drained his drink and slammed it down on the bar. Then he turned and walked away, nearly smacking into Suzanne who was standing behind us. The bemused look on her face told me she had been taking in the scenario for some time.
‘See why I don’t like bars,’ she said, edging in closer to us. ‘Who were those horrible men, anyhow?’
‘A couple of guys looking to buy on the Gold Coast,’ Angie replied. ‘I recommended your building.’
It was a rare occasion to be in a bar with Suzanne. Her attitude towards financial success left little space for wasted time, a trait she had displayed as far back as high school. She had set very high goals for herself early on, and her tunnel vision left her little time for leisure activity. But if possessions were the measure of success, she was
right on the mark. Draped in designer clothes, wearing diamond earrings and a Cartier watch, I figured there was about $20,000 worth of her perched on the barstool next to me. She drove a BMW and owned a penthouse condominium. Lord knows how many fur coats she laid claim to. But the impressive thing about Suzanne wasn’t what she had, but that she had done it on her own. Most of us who had careers weren’t making anywhere near enough to budget for what she owned. The only women we knew with that sort of booty got it through marriage.
With all distraction gone, we turned towards our drinks and for the time being we were three old friends out on the town. Suzanne wasn’t a workaholic, Angie wasn’t going through a messy divorce, and I wasn’t under the stress of planning my mother’s idea of a perfect wedding. We ordered one round of drinks and then another and the talk flowed like the booze. I complained about my job at the Chicagoan while Angie complained about hers at Bloomingdale’s. Suzanne remained silent on the job front. Then Angie complained about her lack of sex life, and I weighed in on mine.
‘Flynn and I have a pact. His idea. No sex for the month before the wedding. He wants the honeymoon night to be special.’ I took a sip of my drink and heard myself confess, ‘To tell the truth I don’t really miss it, our sex life isn’t all that exciting anyway.’
‘What the …’ Angie’s eyes went wide. ‘And you’re not even married yet? The one thing I could say about Harvey is our sex life was the best. He was, like, the horniest guy on the planet. It got so if I wasn’t in the mood I had to change in the bathroom, cuz the second I got naked he was all over me. Until …’ Her voice drifted off before she added, ‘It may have been hell in the end, but it sure was great for a while.’
The Last Night Out Page 4