January 2, 2010

• Drunk Story: Chapter Two

  DrunkStory: Chapter Two. Here is part two of another of my many “serialized novels and reminsicences.” In part one of my “history of inebriation”, you read about my very first drink. Here is the story of my second, and third, and fourth, etc..which took place at a friend’s party a few months after I began college. My friend threw the party because he just received his notification for a physical examination to determine if he was able enough to be drafted into the military, which in those days meant being shipped off to Vietnam. The chapter is edited from my 1977 autobiography, written when I was 25, and is written in the third person. This is the story of a party, so let the party begin. MFN/ppf

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  Chapter One: Sure, I Buy the Stuff All The Time.
  Chapter Two: Party House

  Living by a schedule isn’t particularly easy. Get up. Go to work or school. Go to the library. Study. Drive home. Go to bed. The work schedule changed every week, sometimes Wednesday and Friday off. Sometimes Monday and Tuesday off. Mike had implored his supervisor to give him today, Friday, and Saturday off this week. The schedule had reflected his wishes. As he sat on the lawn of the USC library, Mike thought about the upcoming party at Stewart Klein’s house. In high school, the only parties he’d attended could not really be classified as such. They were more or less social gatherings. And nobody drank liquor.

  Tonight would be different. Mike really looked forward to the party at Stew’s.

  The schedule dictated only one more class and that was Drama. Mike truly enjoyed the class. He leaned back on the grass, placed his briefcase under his head as a pillow, and looked up at the branches above him, moving animatedly in the soft breeze.

  About five hours later and three blocks from Stewart Klein’s house, Mike decided to buy some beer. He knew he didn’t have to. Stewart’s older sister would probably make beer runs later, but Mike wanted the satisfaction of getting away with the purchase. Since he really didn’t feel nervous at the prospect, and since his mother had recently allowed him to keep his moustache, which made him look older, he drove into the parking lot with bravura, and easily picked up and bought a six pack of Michelob, if for no other reason than this was the brand he had shared with his workmates a few weeks earlier when he tasted the forbidden nectar for the first time.

  Stew expressed surprise as Mike opened his refrigerator door and stuffed the bottles in with dozens of other brews. “Oh, I do this all the time”, he lied, then asked for a bottle opener. Stew threw one to him, which he caught easily. As he pried off the bottle cap, he was introduced to those in the kitchen he did not know. Some of the guys worked at the rental yard where Stew worked, and Mike already knew most of them. The rest had attended Arroyo High School and were strangers. About eight people crowded the kitchen.

  “Are you gettin’ drafted, too?” an ex-high schooler asked.
  “Not now, thank God.” Mike downed a slug of the cold, soapy tasting liquid. “I got a three month deferment!”
  “Well, congratulations,” the boy said sarcastically. “I’m goin’ in.”
  “Really?”
  “You didn’t tell me that!” Stew remarked soberly as he poured wine cooler for some girls who suddenly appeared in the kitchen.
  “I just found out today. You know, they begin the good news with ‘Greetings’.”
  “Well, hell, Tom. This party’s as much for you then. Guys, raise your beers. To Tom!”
  “To Tom!”

  Mike sauntered into the living room and spotted an old friend sitting between two girls conversing. He stopped mid-sentence after noticing Mike. “Hey, Franklin, old man.”
  “Hey, Cummings.”
  “Girls, this is MIke Franklin. We used to call him ‘Mouse’ in the seventh grade.”
  “Hi girls. We used to call Dave ‘Nose’ in the eighth grade.”

  The girls giggled. “Mike, this is Marsha Lipcomb, ex-cheerleader. And this is Bunny.”
  “Bunny, what an interesting name.”
  “My real name is Maggie Babcock.”

  Mike plopped down in an oversized chair and gulped some more of his beer. “Well, how did you earn the name Bunny? By hopping around?”
  “No, Mike, she…”
  “Don’t tell him.” Bunny blushed a deep shade of crimson.
  “Yeah, tell me. I think this is going to be good.”
  “Oh, I see you met the infamous Bunny.” Stew approached Mike, handing him another beer.
  “This IS going to be good.”
  “Oh, come on fellas.” The girl smiled. She might have been slightly overweight, but her movements were graceful. She wore a peasant blouse and pastel blue shorts. Her hair, a soft black, was short and very curly. Her green eyes smiled along with her mouth, which was full and sensuous.

  “We christened her ‘Bunny’ …” Dave began.
  “Because she dressed up as a Playboy bunny last Halowe’en.”
  “She REALLY looked sexy.”
  “The costume made everybody at the party want to rape her.”
  “Oh, stop it Stew.”

  Mike smiled at her and opened his second beer with an opener from the coffee table. “It’s a cute story, and I’ll bet you did look sexy.”
  “How come no one’s talking about me?” Marsha questioned. “How come Bunny gets all the attention?”
  “Oh, sorry,” said Dave, nuzzling her shoulder. “Forgot to give you your 50 percent.”
  “How did you happen to get mixed up with these nuts? Or are you a nut too, Bunny?” Mike asked, leaning forward in the chair.
  “I guess I’m just crazy too! I used to go to school at Arroyo High. Now I go to P.C.C. Where’d you go?”
  “Rosemead. Now I go to USC.”

  As they engaged in small talk, the party began to swell to about twenty raucous kids. Mike noticed Stew introducing his new girlfriend, Paula, to the crowd. He’d met her once before, and liked her immediately. She exuded warmth and personality.

  Suddenly, Mike felt dizzy. He excused himself and rose in order to got out to the kitchen for another beer. He liked the feeling, as if he were walking on a cushion of air. Everything seemed to become a bit more clearer, and even though usually gregarious, he was opening himself up much earlier to these kids, most of whom were strangers to him.

  In the kitchen, some boys held a chug a lug contest. They polished off bottles and cans of beers every few seconds. A few guys were passing around a bottle of Seagram’s Seven whiskey. Stew entered the room and poured another wine cooler for Paula, then grabbed a beer. “Mike, enjoying yourself? I noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Bunny, you sly fox.”
  “Oh, am I ever enjoying myself. You host a great party!”
  “Well, drink up. When we polish off all of this, we’ll just get some more!” He disappeared into the crowd. Mike finished his next beer in the kitchen, exchanging college stories with some of the guys. Suddenly a large blonde boy wearing a football jersey stumbled over to the refrigerator carrying four six packs of Budweiser.

  “Who’s that?” Mike asked.
  “That’s Moose. A party just isn’t a party without him. He drinks two sixers before he even shows up, and then he nearly tears the house down. Last summer, he got so drunk he had to look at his Driver’s License to remember his name, then after he passed out, six of us had to lug him out to his car.”
  “Sounds ominous.”
  “Oh, no. He’s a sweet guy. Just don’t ever cross him.”
  “Oh, I won’t.” The giant youth put his meaty arm around a much smaller boy.
  “Hey, buddy. If I get too smashed, make sure I get out to my car okay. Okay?”
  “Sure, Moose.”

  Mike returned to the living room. Bunny had moved and now stood talking to some other girls over by the hall closet. He surveyed the room as he sipped his beer; even though he didn’t know a lot of the people, he felt right at home, and everybody proved to be friendly. Marsha Lipcomb, the cheerleader whom he’d met earlier, still sat on the same sofa, however now she had a drink in her hand and talked wildly with a boy seated next to her. She had her right hand on his knee. He cuddled her shoulder. Stew’s girlfriend Paula, by now noticibly drunk, had three conversations going on at the same time. Dave Cummings strolled over to where Mike stood downing his beer.

  “What happened to Bunny, old buddy?”
  “She’s over there. You shouldn’t have left. Stick with her. She’s a nice gal.”
  “Yeah, thanks Dave. I’ll take that advice.” He noticed Dave was beginning to slur his words, and he was moving a bit unsteadily. Mike felt fine himself. How many beers had he consumed? He couldn’t remember. Dave left his side and almost immediately Stew appeared in his place, handing over yet another open bottle of beer.
  “Mike, old friend. Let’s chug!”

  At this point, Mike felt he could do anything. “Sure, pal. Say when.” He brought the bottle to his lips. A few others gathered round the two friends, including Bunny.
  “WHEN” Mike swallowed the beer in four gulps, hardly having any time to taste the cold liquid as it sloshed down his throat. To his surprise, he put the bottle down hard on the coffee table before Stew had even finished. “Hey, pretty good.” Stew exhaled, “You win – another beer!” The small circle of boys and girls laughed. Mike reached out for the beer. He was swaying slightly and laughed. Stew moved over to Paula, who was sitting on an end table, laughing uncontrollably.

  “She’s really drunk.” somebody said.

  Mike walked through the front door and closed the screen door behind him, not really drowning out the noise of the party, and sat down hard on the porch steps. If he was drunk, he liked the feeling. By now, he could tell the effects of the alcohol. A haze seemed to attach itself to whatever he looked at. The dizzyness had increased so much that he sometimes had a difficult time keeping upright, and the bushes and trees in the yard were starting to move horizontally across his field of vision, even though he knew they were solidly rooted in the ground. Any cares or thoughts of the schedule of his life were seemingly gone. He felt as if he could “will” something to happen and it would.

  Suddenly the screen door burst open and Moose crashed out onto the porch, causing Mike to turn and stand, as the giant attempted to steady himself between the corner post and Mike’s shoulder. “Hey, little buddy.” Moose threw a beer can out to the middle of the lawn and in the same motion popped another.

  “Hi, there. You’re Moose, aren’t you?”
  “Yep, and who are you?”
  “My name is Mike. Glad to meet ya.” Their handshake was clumsy but tightly grasped.
  “Are YOU drunk???” Moose glared seriously into Mike’s glazed eyes.
  “Yeah, wanna make something out of it?”
  “No.”
  “Are you?”
  “Am I what?”
  “Drunk.”
  “Hell, no. I never touch the stuff.” He whirled around in order to step on the grass but lost his balance and fell. He laughed as did Mike. “Hey, little buddy. Help your old pal Moose up.” He stretched his hand. Mike tried to pull him up, but both ended up tumbling back onto the moist grass.
  “You are too drunk.” Mike said.
  “I guess I am.” Eventually they got to their feet, Moose, draping his arm around Mike’s small shoulders, said “Look at the sky. Ain’t it bee yoo ti ful?”
  “Yes it is. Beautiful.”

  “Bee yoo ti ful” Both of them laughed. After a few more blissful moments of contemplation of the sky, MIke returned to the house. He soon drifted into conversation with a couple of movie buffs. As he downed each fresh beer, he felt better and better. He didn’t tell anybody that this was really his first time being drunk. He felt supremely invulnerable and wonderful.

  Paula didn’t feel as wonderful. After she vomited twice and was put to rest in Stew’s bed, he explained that this was the first time she’d ever been this drunk. MIke laughed along with everybody else. He’d lost track of time. He felt he could go on like this forever. He’d made many new friends, even if he probably wouldn’t remember their names or faces at this point.

  As the night quickly passed, guests soon started to leave. Mike felt as if he could read everyone as if they were an open book. He had pushed himself over to Marsha Lipcolm and started to grab her, saying, “I really like you,” but she had successfully avoided his advances, muttering that it was time she went home, and he should too.

  The party had begun at 7:00 p.m. By 2:00 a.m. the last guests had left and the party was over. Mike helped Stew clean up the liviing room. Still drunk, he knocked over a couple of empty glasses, but nothing broke. Six or seven people were still hanging around. As predicted, Moose had been carried to his car where he still lay reclined on the front seat, passed out cold.

  “That was one helluva party, Stew!” Mike exclaimed, tossing some crumpled and crushed beer cans into a paper sack. “I hope you don’t get drafted so you can have some more of these.”
  “Yeah, it was fun, wasn’t it? Boy, you sure did get drunk.”
  “You weren’t all that sober, either, buddy.”
  “You know, Mike. This is by far the drunkest I’ve ever been. I think.”
  “Same here,” Mike replied, somewhat ironically.

  Bunny appeared from Stew’s bedroom as Stew marched back into the kitchen with an armload of dirty dishes. Mike stopped her and sat down on the coffee table. “How’s Paula?”
  “She’s still pretty sick.” She sat down on the sofa and leaned over to Mike, whispering, “Stew shouldn’t have gotten her drunk. She can’t hold it.”
  “You don’t think it was all his fault? Did you see the way she was downing those wine coolers?”
  “Yeah, but he got her to do it.”
  “Oh, Bunny. If she didn’t want to get drunk, she wouldn’t have gotten drunk. She had a lot of fun up until…” his voice trailed off.
  “Well,” Bunny smiled. “I’ll bet she doesn’t do this again for a while at least. She sure will get a lot of ribbing at school.”
  “That’s for sure.”

  “Oh, hi Bun. Is Paula okay?” Stew entered.
  “All right, I guess. But she’s still heaving occasionally.”
  “God, did she get drunk. I didn’t know what was happening for a while there.”
  “Stew, I think it was the dancing.”
  “I didn’t see that!” Mike exclaimed.
  “Oh, wow.” Bunny related the incident as Stew walked back to his bedroom to check up on his girlfriend.”Stew put on an oldies record and Paula went crazy. She must have done every old dance there was. It was just after that that she threw up.”
  “Oh, really,” Mike maneuvered himself from the table to the sofa beside Bunny. “I’m starting to get dizzy. I have to lie down.”
  “Really.”
  “Yeah, you can be my pillow.” He lay his head in her lap and looked up. He thought she was incredibly cute. She wiped his forehead and smiled down at him.

  “You got pretty drunk yourself, Mike.”
  “I know. I still am. I feel great.” He hesitated, “and I’m glad I met you.”
  “You’re sweet.” she grasped his hand.
  “No, I mean it. You were the best looking girl here.”
  “Oh, come on.”
  “No, I MEAN it. I wouldn’t lie to you.” He brought her hand up to his mouth and lightly kissed it.
  “Then why did you make a play for Marsha Lipcomb?” she asked devilishly.
  “Did you see that?” Mike’s face, already pretty red,  turned two shades redder.
  “I saw every thing.” She laughed.
  Mike cuddled her a bit closer. “I can stay here for the rest of my life”
  “Oh, you are sweet.”
  “I hope I see you again.”
  “Oh, don’t worry. You will.”
  “Can I be sure?”
  “Of course.”

  Stew entered the room again. “Whoa. Break it up. You get drunk and get romantic. Mouse, you sure are growing up quick.”
  “Oh, shut up.”
  “Don’t mess with Bunny, though, she’s a black belt. She’d as soon kill you as look at you.”
  “Yeah, sure.”
  Bunny stood up, causing Mike to roll off the couch. “No, he means it.” She said, laughing.
  “You should all go home now,” said Stew. “I’m starting to fall asleep and I don’t want any naughty stuff on the floor. Besides, I have to drive Paula home.”
  “Okay, Stewie.” Mike said.
  “Yeah, goodbye, Stewart,” said Bunny, collecting her purse and jacket from the hall closet. At the door, she paused and blew Mike a kiss. “Goodbye you drunken nut.”
  “Goodbye, my soft pillow.”
  As she disappeared into the night, Stew came up to Mike. “You ARE drunk. You didn’t even ask for her number.”
  “Oh, come on Stew. I just met her.”
  “So?”
  “Well, I guess I’m just not as much of a bon vivant as you are.”
  “Yeah, or else you’re just too drunk.”
  “Oh, shut up. I’ll see you next week.”
  “Okay, and I’ll tell Bunny you’re in love with her.”
  “Don’t you dare.” He slammed the screen door and breathed in the cold night air.

  On the way home, Mike noticed that he wasn’t quite able to control his car very well, and figured it must be all that beer, even though it was a couple of hours after he’d had the last one. As he drove, his mind summoned up a picture of Bunny, so different from other girls he’d known. So open and bright. Does she like me? He couldn’t answer that question so didn’t even try. He thought about girls at school, and about Kathy, his unattainable first love. He just avoided hitting a parked car, and realized he should be concentrating on his driving, and not beer soaked thoughts of love. He’d have to practice driving while drunk until he got used to it. His parents wouldn’t appreciate it if he brought home a traffic ticket, or if he got thown in jail, or worse yet, if he were hurt or killed in an accident. He stopped his reverie, slowed down a bit, and began to concentrate on the road ahead.

  Next time:

  Chapter Three: Strawberry Hill Forever

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