Insane City

by Dave Barry

  “I don’t even know if they have pants,” said Seth. “Shit.” He slumped to the ground directly in front of the hotel entrance. The doorman approached, apparently intending to tell Seth he couldn’t sit there, but quickly retreated when Duane and Blossom turned to eyeball him.

  “What am I gonna do?” said Seth. “I’m the groom.”

  “Tell you what,” said Duane. “You go check in, lie down. I’ll go find your friends and your suitcase, bring ’em back here.”

  “You would do that?” said Seth. The guilty thought occurred to him that if the situation were reversed, he probably wouldn’t do the same for Duane.

  “Sure,” said Duane.

  “Lemme give you some money for the cab,” said Seth, getting unsteadily to his feet. He opened his wallet and handed two fifties to Duane. He noticed he had very little cash left. He’d scraped together $1,200 in carry-around money for his big wedding weekend and he’d managed to blow through almost all of it before he checked in.

  Duane headed toward the wary doorman to see about a taxi. Seth, walking on legs he felt only a vague connection with, wobbled toward the hotel.

  6

  I have to drown my children.

  The unthinkable thought seized Laurette’s mind as the little boat, now too full of water to ride over the waves, was nearly flipped over by one. Laurette grabbed the side of the steeply tipping boat with one hand while she tried to cling to Stephane and the baby with the other. The next wave would almost surely throw them all into the water, and then there would be nothing for her to hold on to.

  She made her mind up. When the time came, she would hold her children underwater and end this horror for them. She would not run the risk that she would lose them or be taken first and leave them alone in the cruel, indifferent sea. She would give her children the only comfort she could give them now, the comfort of death.

  The boat leveled off in a trough between waves. She could see the next one coming, bigger than the last. She felt the boat lifting, then tilting wildly. She heard Stephane cry out to her as they tumbled into the sea. She clung to him, clung to the baby, determined to carry out her merciful plan.

  But she could not. For years her reason for existing had been to protect her babies, and she could not overpower that instinct now. She grabbed each child with one hand and thrust them upward, trying to keep her head above water by kicking her feet. It was all she could do. She knew, as she felt the next wave coming, that it would not be enough.

  7

  Seth wobbled over to the hotel reception desk, behind which stood a clean-cut man whose name tag read ROBERT. He shot a concerned glance at Seth’s oozing forehead but recovered quickly and welcomed Seth to the Ritz-Carlton with an expression conveying sincerely feigned warmth.

  “I’m checking in,” said Seth. “To the hotel.”

  “Excellent!” exclaimed Robert, smiling to show how delighted he was by this turn of events. “May I have a name, please?”

  “You already have one,” said Seth, pointing a wobbly finger at Robert’s name tag. This struck him as a hilarious witticism, and as he laughed he attempted to pound the counter in mirth, missing by a good six inches.

  Seth heard a giggle behind him and turned to see Cyndi.

  “You’re here,” he said.

  “Just making sure you get checked in OK,” she said, hastily adding, “It was Duane’s idea. Once you’re set, I’ll wait outside for him to come back.”

  “OK,” said Seth.

  “So,” said Robert, getting back to business. “May I have your name, please?”

  “I think you’re better off with yours,” said Seth, “seeing as how you already have the tag.” This drew another giggle from Cyndi, and Seth was pleased that this time he was able to successfully hit the counter with his fist-pound of mirth.

  Robert produced a polite nanosmile, then said, “But seriously, may I have the name on your reservation?”

  “Weinstein,” said Seth. “Seth Weinstein. I’m here for the Weinstein–Clark wedding, of which I am the groom.”

  “Congratulations,” said Robert, shooting a glance at Cyndi.

  “Oh no,” said Cyndi. “I’m not her. I’m just here as a friend.”

  “She has another friend,” added Seth. “Wayne.”

  “Duane,” said Cyndi.

  “Right, Duane,” said Seth. “What’s the snake’s name again?”

  “Blossom,” said Cyndi.

  “Right, Blossom,” Seth told Robert. “She’s Duane’s snake.”

  “I see,” said Robert. “Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

  “Yes!” said Seth.

  “Fine,” said Robert. “Where is it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Where is it? That’s what I need assistance with,” said Seth.

  “You need assistance locating your luggage?”

  “Right. I don’t know where it is.”

  “Ah,” said Robert. “I’m afraid I don’t, either.”

  “Shit,” said Seth.

  “All right, then,” Robert said briskly, tapping on his computer. “I see we have a nice suite reserved for you, all expenses taken care of by Mr. Clark.”

  “I’m supposed to call him Mike, but I always forget,” said Seth.

  “I see.”

  “He has two helicopters, you believe that?”

  “Huh,” said Robert. “Here’s your room key, Mr. Weinstein. I certainly hope you enjoy your stay.” He handed Seth a folder containing the key card. Seth regarded it the way a dog might examine a quadratic equation.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” said Cyndi, taking the card. “Which way to the elevators?”

  “That way,” said Robert, pointing and giving Cyndi a look that pissed her off. She took Seth’s arm and led him to the elevators. They entered one; the doors closed. The ascent began in awkward silence.

  “I’m really sorry about your head,” said Cyndi.

  “My head?” said Seth.

  “Kicking it,” said Cyndi.

  “Oh, that’s OK,” said Seth, patting her arm, his hand touching her bare skin, a sensation they were both suddenly very aware of. He dropped his hand, and they moved a half step farther apart.

  The doors opened. Cyndi led the way, checking the door numbers, Seth weaving behind. “Here we are,” she said, handing the key card to Seth. He fumbled with it, trying to get it the right way into the door slot. She took the card back, their hands touching again just for a second. She unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  “Wow,” she said.

  Seth stepped past her into the room. “Wow,” he agreed.

  They were in the foyer of a huge suite. To the right was a bar, with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of melting ice. Ahead was a darkened living room with sofas arrayed in front of a big-screen TV, which was showing an episode of House Hunters on the Home and Garden channel. In the distance was a dining area with table and chairs. To the left was a hallway leading to a bedroom.

  “This is awesome,” said Cyndi.

  “Yeah,” said Seth. “Tina told me they got me the Groom Suite, but I didn’t know it was gonna be, like, a house.”

  Several seconds passed, then Cyndi said, “I guess I should go down and wait for Duane.”

  “You can wait here,” said Seth. “I mean, it’s huge.”

  “You think that . . . I mean, I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

  “Nah,” said Seth, waving away her concern, “I don’t think I can get in any more trouble tonight.”

  Suddenly the suite filled with the harsh blatting sound of an extended high-decibel fart, which erupted from the direction of the sofas. Seth and Cyndi turned to look. A head appeared over the back of the center sofa.

  “’Scuse me,” said a deep-pitched woman’s voice. “I fell asleep.”

  The woman rose, rubbing her eyes. She was African-American, light-skinned, pretty, quite large, wearing a tentlike garment. She yawned, looked at Seth
and said, “You the groom?”

  “Yeah,” said Seth. “Who’re you?”

  “LaDawne,” she said. “With an e.”

  “Um, how’d you get in here?”

  “Oh, I know people here,” she said. “They let me in.”

  “OK, but . . . why are you in my room?”

  LaDawne, with a dramatic gesture, flung off her garment. Beneath it, she was wearing a fake-jewel-encrusted bikini, which was straining to hold in her massive, curve-a-licious womanliness.

  “Honey,” she said, “I’m the stripper.”

  “Wow,” said Cyndi.

  Seth sat on the floor, put his face in his hands. “No,” he said.

  “What?” said LaDawne.

  Seth looked up. “I told Marty, no stripper.”

  “Well,” said LaDawne, “that’s not what Marty told me. He told me be here at nine and I was here at nine. So I been here a lotta hours, and I am going to get paid my money.”

  Seth pressed his face back into his hands. “How much?” he said through his fingers.

  “Two hundred dollars,” said LaDawne. “Plus usually I get a tip, because, honey, if you saw me dance, you would want to give me a tip.”

  “I don’t have two hundred dollars,” said Seth.

  “Seriously?” said LaDawne. “Groom in a fancy suite, ain’t got two hundred dollars? You sure you don’t have the money and just promised it to this little girl here?”

  “Hey,” said Cyndi. “I’m not—”

  “Honey, I don’t care what you are,” said LaDawne. “All I care about is, I want my money.”

  Seth pulled out his wallet. “I have, like, fifty. That’s it. You can have that. I’m sorry.”

  LaDawne shook her head, setting off a wave of flesh movement that flowed down her body like a seismic event. “Unh-unh. I had an agreement with Marty and I showed up, and I want my money. So if you ain’t got it, I suggest you get Marty over here right now with my money or I’m going to have to call Wesley.”

  “Wesley?” said Seth.

  “My manager-slash-boyfriend,” said LaDawne. “Believe me, you do not want me to call Wesley.”

  “No,” agreed Seth. He shook his head. “Marty. Jesus.”

  “Maybe you could try calling him again,” suggested Cyndi.

  “Yeah,” said Seth, getting the phone out of his pocket. He hit the speed dial for Marty, fearing he would again get voice mail. To his great relief, the phone was answered after a few rings.

  By a woman.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Is Marty there?” said Seth.

  “He is busy,” said the woman. She had an accent, not Spanish. Maybe Russian.

  “Listen,” said Seth. “This is important. I’m his best man. I mean, he’s my best man. I’m the groom.”

  “The who?”

  “Groom. I’m the groom. Just tell Marty I need to talk to him right now, OK? This is really, really important.”

  After a pause, the woman said, “OK, I ask.”

  Seth heard the phone being clunked down. LaDawne moved her massiveness over to the bar and pointed at the champagne. “You gonna drink this?”

  Seth shook his head.

  “You mind?” said LaDawne.

  Seth made a Be my guest gesture. LaDawne lifted the bottle out of the melting ice. Seth heard somebody pick up the phone.

  “Hello?” said Marty.

  “Marty, this is Seth. Where the—”

  “Seth! Where the fuck are you?”

  “I’m at the—”

  “We looked all over for you, man. You shouldn’t just wander off like that.”

  “I didn’t. I was under the—”

  “Anyway, you gotta come to this place, man. This is incredible.”

  “What place?”

  “It’s a private club. We met these women at Meat Patrol—Seth, you would not believe these women. They make Tina look like Rosie O’Donnell, no offense. They invited us to a private party with them, so here we are.”

  “But where?”

  “The something Hotel. Sea Monkey.”

  “The Sea Monkey Hotel?” said Seth.

  “Yeah,” said Marty.

  “Uh-oh,” said LaDawne.

  Seth looked at LaDawne. “Uh-oh what?” he said.

  “Your friends at the Sea Monkey?”

  Seth nodded.

  “With some girls speaking with a Russian accent?”

  Seth nodded again.

  “Who been giving them cocktails?”

  “Marty,” said Seth into the phone, “are they giving you cocktails?”

  “Oh yes,” said Marty. “Yum. Also they’re serving paella.”

  Seth nodded at LaDawne.

  LaDawne shook her head. “Your friends making a big mistake.”

  “Marty,” said Seth into the phone. “You need to get out of there, OK? Right now. Marty? Marty?”

  “He is busy,” said a woman’s voice.

  “Hey!” said Seth. “Put Marty back on! Hello? Hello?”

  Nothing.

  “Shit,” said Seth. “What’s going to happen to them?”

  “If they lucky,” said LaDawne, “they wind up with a big bill on they credit card. I mean, real big. If they lucky, that’s all.”

  “What if they’re not lucky?” said Seth.

  “You better hope they lucky,” said LaDawne, pouring herself some more champagne. “Also you better find some other way to get me my two hundred dollars real soon. Wesley ain’t gonna wait for me all night. He gonna come looking. You don’t want that.”

  “Oh God,” said Seth. “What am I gonna do?”

  “Maybe there’s an ATM machine,” said Cyndi.

  “Here?” said Seth, looking around the suite.

  “No, like, in the lobby somewhere.”

  “Oh, right. OK, could you stay here? In case Duane comes back with my suitcase?”

  “OK,” said Cyndi.

  Seth left the suite, weaved his way down the corridor, found the elevator, found—with some effort—the L button and finally returned to the lobby, occupied at that very late hour only by Robert, still manning the front desk. His eyes were wary as Seth approached, but his smile remained professional grade.

  “May I help you, Mr. Weinstein?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Seth.

  This was followed by a thirty-second pause, during which Seth tried to remember why he had come to the lobby.

  Finally Robert, not giving up on the smile despite the fact that he was working a double shift and had been on duty for nearly ten hours battling a case of Irritable Bowel Syndrome that would bring down a water buffalo, said, “How, specifically, may I help you?”

  “She’s in my room,” said Seth. “Whashername.”

  “The young lady?” said Robert.

  “No,” said Seth. “Another one.”

  “I see,” said Robert.

  “I didn’t . . . I mean, she didn’t,” explained Seth. “At all. But Wesley will not be happy.”

  “And so . . .” said Robert.

  “And so what?”

  Robert sighed a sigh that was not one hundred percent professional. “And so how may I help you?”

  “Oh yeah! Do you have an ATM machine? Here?”

  “Yes, we do,” said Robert. “You go down this corridor, then turn left, and it’s in an alcove on your right just before the restaurant.”

  “Great,” said Seth. He weaved his way into the corridor, trying to focus on the directions. Something about a restaurant. He made a left and there it was ahead, the restaurant, which was closed. There was an alcove to the right and a door to the left. Seth frowned, trying to remember the directions, then turned left, pushing the door open. He realized he was now outdoors. Had Robert said something about going outdoors?

  “Hello, Seth.”

  Seth whirled, almost falling, searching for the source of the voice.

  “Over here.”

  He saw her then, sitting on a bench alongside a walkway. Seth s
melled the sweet aroma of weed.

  “Hey, Meghan,” he said.

  “What’s up?” she said.

  “I’m looking for a cash machine.”

  “There’s none out here that I know of,” she said. She held out a glowing joint. “Have some.”

  Seth shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m already messed up. Plus . . .” He hesitated.

  “Plus what?”

  “There’s a stripper in my room.”

  “I know. I met her.”

  “No, not her. Another one.”

  “Wow. Two strippers. You dog.”

  “No, they’re not . . . I mean, OK, one is, but she didn’t. But I have to pay her two hundred dollars. Which I don’t have. Or Wesley will come.”

  “Wesley?”

  “Her boyfriend. I don’t want to meet Wesley.”

  Meghan took a hit, held it, eased it out, then said, “You want me to tell Mike?”

  “What?”

  “Daddy has these guys, for security. Believe me, however much you don’t want to meet Wesley, Wesley doesn’t want to meet Daddy’s security guys even more.”

  Seth shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t want your dad to know about this.” He rubbed his hair with both hands. “I just want the stripper to go away and whashisname to come back with my suitcase and Marty and Kevin and Steve to not be killed by the Russian women and please God just let this fucking night be over.”

  Meghan took another hit. “Sounds like somebody’s not having the bachelor party of his dreams.”

  “No,” said Seth.

  “Sure you don’t want some?” she said, holding the joint out again. “It’ll calm you down.”

  “You think?”

  Meghan nodded, exhaling.

  “Maybe one hit,” said Seth, taking the joint. He hadn’t smoked weed for a couple of years; his recollection was that it made him fall asleep. He took a hit, held it. On the exhale, he said, “Is Tina asleep?”

  “Not when I left. She was talking with Mother about the dinner. Something about forks.”

  “Forks,” said Seth. He took another hit.

  “I think it was the dessert forks,” said Meghan.

  “Ah,” said Seth. “Got to have those. For the dessert.”

  Meghan smiled. “I bet you’ll be glad when this is all over with.”