Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I just like to play with them.
A/N: Takes place between Act One and Act Two of Art Attack.
Details of Your Bachelor Party....
They met at the designated location, the country club, at the designated time, 8 p.m. - a dozen young men, including the guest of honor, Bennett, his two brothers, Logan, and assorted frat brothers and friends - the night before the wedding. They were all well-dressed, rolling in cash, and determined to have a good time.
Logan, arguably the most sensible of them, was the designated driver and picked up Bennett and his brothers at the family mansion outside of Seattle. He arrived at 7:30, pulling into the curved driveway in front of the Georgian-style house. Knowing his Uncle Jonas all too well, and not wanting to meet up with him, Logan stayed in the car and blew the horn. Bennett and his brothers, JJ and James, ran down the steps toward the car, pulling on their overcoats. The February evening was cold, and damp.
"Hey, Logan!" Bennett said, as he got into the Aztek next to Logan. "How are yah?"
"Okay. It looks like you're all ready to party."
"Well, it's my last night as a free man, so, yeah, I'm ready to party. Right, guys?"
The Country Club
It was a short drive to the country club of which the Cales were members. Declining the valet service, Logan parked in one of the handicapped spaces in front of the building, taking advantage of the hangtag on his mirror for a change.
"Well, Logan, this has gotta be a first," Bennett commented. "I've not known you to use one of those things, even when you could."
"It's not for me, Bennett," Logan explained. "Let's just say that if you get totally sloshed, it will be a lot easier to shovel you into the car if it's parked here. Shorter distance to carry you." He grinned.
"Good idea, Logan. I knew there was a reason we wanted you to drive," JJ said.
Everyone met in the lobby, smiling, glad-handing Bennett, and making rude jokes. They had a table reserved for them and they were anticipating a delicious, well-cooked and served dinner, lots of champagne, imported beer, and a huge bar tab.
Logan hadn't been to the country club in several years, but the maitre d' recognized him nonetheless. The old man's eyebrows rose into his hairline when he saw the wheelchair, but he said nothing. Taking an armful of menus, he indicated to the party that they should follow him. When they reached the long table, the group distributed themselves around the groom, laughing and joking.
Once everyone was seated, the young, pretty waitress came over to take drink orders. This was a martini crowd and knowledgeable about excellent gin. They pored over the menus, sipping the drinks and ordering another round. Dinner ordered, they drank yet another round.
When dinner arrived, JJ ordered a couple of bottles of the best pre-Pulse French champagne available. The guys settled down to eat, making small talk and quizzing Bennett about his immediate plans.
"So, where ya going on the honeymoon?" Dick, one of Bennett's frat brothers from college asked.
"As if I'd tell you!" Bennett retorted with a snort.
"Hey, no problem," James Cale said. "We can always get Cousin Logan to hack into the airline reservations and find out."
"Yeah, right," Logan said. "Like I'd do that to Bennett. I still haven't forgotten what you did to me the night before my wedding!"
"Sorry. I thought it was funny!" JJ said.
"You would! Valerie damn near killed me. You'll never know how much trouble I had getting back to Seattle in time for the wedding!"
James smiled wickedly at the thought, then regaled the rest of the party with the tale of how they got Logan very drunk at his bachelor party and poured him onto a plane to Dayton, Ohio with a one-way ticket and a dollar in his pocket.
"As long as no one is planning to do that to me!" Bennett lamented.
"Wouldn't think of it, dear brother," James replied.
They ordered another bottle of champagne and went back to inhaling salmon and Dungeness crab. Dinner was delicious, of course, and they ordered dessert, along with glasses of port.
Allen, another frat brother of Bennett's, looked around surreptitiously. Not seeing any 'No Smoking' signs, he pulled an expensive cigar out of his jacket pocket, snipped the end, and lit it. After deeply exhaling, he offered Bennett one.
Bennett, a non-smoker, reluctantly accepted, feeling that he might as well do the port-and-cigar thing at least once in his life. He took a drag on the cigar and doubled over, choking and coughing. His eyes watered and his face turned red.
"Damn, I hate a man who can't hold his cigars!" Allen declared, laughing at Bennett's predicament.
They sat and drank port, some smoking cigars, some not. They got louder and louder, the longer they drank. Logan looked on with amusement, his reporter's sensibilities still turned on. He'd been nursing a couple of drinks the whole time, so he was in better shape than the rest of them. He knew they were in trouble when Dick leaned over and played grabby-ass with the waitress as she bent over to place another drink in front of Bennett.
"Hey!" she yelped, startled.
In a flash, the maitre d' was at the table, discreetly but firmly telling them they would have to leave. He tallied their considerable bill and presented it to them. JJ hauled out an array of credit cards and handed one to the dignified old man, who took it away to process. The young men threw down a large amount of cash for tips and left the dining room a bit worse for wear. They collected their overcoats and left the building. Logan lingered behind and gave his apologies for the group to the outraged waitress and the maitre d'.
"Sorry. My cousin's getting married tomorrow and they're a bit rowdy tonight," he explained. "That was uncalled for, though."
"I understand, Mr. Cale. I hope some one reprimands that young man tomorrow when he's sober."
"I'll make sure they do. I hope the tip will help to make up for the insult."
Logan spun the chair around to head for the coatroom.
A few minutes later, he joined the others outside. They were loudly discussing where to go next, a bar crawl being the agenda of the evening, and how to get there. Two of the party had taken taxis to the country club, so needed transportation.
"Well, I've got myself, Bennett, JJ and James, so I can put one more in the back seat - and one in the hatch if nobody minds."
"Hey, strap me to the roof like a piece of furniture, I don't care," Marianne's brother, Mark, said.
"So, where we heading?" James queried.
"Dunno. Suggestions?" Allen said.
"How about the bar on Eighth Avenue. We haven't been there in a long time," Bennett suggested. He was only slightly tipsy, in between happy and feeling no pain.
"Sounds like a good place to start. It's centrally located."
They piled into two cars, six of them stuffed into Allen's vintage Lincoln Continental, and the others into Logan's Aztek. Mark scrambled into the hatch. Logan got into the car, popped the wheels off the chair, folded it up, and stuffed it into the back behind his seat. Dick had to pull his knees up a bit to accommodate himself and the chair, but he found a comfortable position and didn't even seem to mind the wheels lying across his feet.
Half an hour later, Logan reversed the process, assembling the chair and transferring into it. They had parked a short distance from the bar, so they waited for the others, who parked farther away. Logan searched in vain for a cut in the sidewalk, so he popped a wheelie up the low curb and continued into the bar.
The Pub
This was Logan's favorite bar, a cozy pub with a large selection of imported beers and dartboards along the wall. The British atmosphere reminded him of one of his favorite haunts in New Haven, back in the day when Yale was the center of his universe. He knew the proprietor personally and always felt comfortable here, even after he'd landed in the wheelchair. The place was accessible for him, and he appreciated the English pub ambience. This was where he and Bennett had met over brews the day his cousin had announced his engagement and had asked Logan to be best man.
Once inside, they found several vacant tables and took them over. By now, they had all undone their neckties; their shirt collars had been unbuttoned. Some of them blearily looked over the impressive beer menu and loudly debated the virtues of Belgian wheats over English ales. They decided to work their way through the entire selection.
Several of the guys lined up half a dozen bottles each and had a chugging contest. Logan and Bennett played darts, while Bennett's brothers, dollar bills in hand, sauntered over to the antique juke box and began to feed money into it and select the worst songs they could find. Logan cringed the third time they played the Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun." They were making up their own, raunchy words to the tune, and bellowing them at the top of their lungs, off-key.
"I need another beer!" Logan declared.
"Yeah, me too. They sound like cats in heat," Bennett said. "Maybe earplugs would help."
"Nah, I think the only thing that would help is shooting them," Logan replied, signaling for another round.
"That too. At least they wouldn't be able to put me on a plane to Dayton!"
Logan and Bennett sucked down another couple of beers and their dart game got more erratic. By now, JJ and James had found another horrible song to play over and over again and make up words to. This time it was "Feelings." They were joined in their off-key yowling by Dick, Allen, Mark, and two more of Bennett's frat brothers, Tom and Craig.
"Come on, Bennett, ya gotta sing along!" Craig slurred, waving a bottle of Stella Artois wildly.
"No way! You're doing enough for all of us," Bennett replied.
"Wuss. Logan, how about you? Wanna join us?"
"Nah, I don't think so."
"Come on!" James insisted. "I know you can sing! You used to sing in the choir in church!"
Logan spun around. "Yeah, and this ain't church. Besides, I hate that song!" He turned the chair back around to the dartboard.
"Party pooper," James muttered, searching for another awful song to play. They had managed to chase off much of the clientele, and were now leaning on the old jukebox, peering at the song list.
Bennett handed Logan another beer and they went back to their game. By this time, they were missing more shots than they were hitting, but they didn't care. JJ called to Bennett, who turned to reply. At the same time, he let loose the dart in his hand.
"Ow! Hey!" Craig cried out as the dart found its mark in his butt. He stood up abruptly.
"You're cut off, kid!" James said.
"You can't do that! It's his party, after all!" Allen retorted.
Luckily, closing time came soon after that, so they didn't have time to get thrown out of another establishment. They paid their considerable tab and staggered out into the chill February air.
"Where to next? Need to find an after-hours club." JJ was determined to keep the party going.
"Dunno, but it better be close by," Logan said.
"Yeah, why is that?" One of the frat boys - which one was it, Ron, Tony, Jerry? They were pretty much interchangeable - asked Logan.
"Coz I don't think I can drive," Logan replied. "Too many beers."
"Well, maybe you need to get rid of a few," Mark suggested, indicating one of the frat boys peeing against a nearby wall.
"Sorry, not an option for me any more," Logan replied wistfully. "Thanks all the same."
"I'm okay. I can drive," Allen said. "Toss me your keys.
Logan did so and they made their way back to where the cars were parked. Allen unlocked the Aztek and got into the driver's seat. He looked at Logan's hand controls and muttered, "What the -?"
Logan giggled drunkenly.
"How do these work?"
"Can't explain. Catch me when I'm sober and I'll give you a demonstration," he enunciated carefully.
"Well, I guess we hoof it - or wheel it, as the case may be," Bennett said. "Lotsa places around here still open. I haven't passed out yet."
"Oh, well, God forbid. We need to do something about that," James said.
"I know a place," Craig said. "Not very far."
"Lead on!" Bennett ordered.
They headed down the street, toward a jumble of neon-lit sleazy bars in Sector Nine. Thinking he'd be helpful, Mark decided to assist Logan by pushing him. But he couldn't find any handles on the back of Logan's chair, so he pushed the chairback. It worked pretty well, or at least Logan seemed oblivious to the effort, until Mark missed the back of the chair and pushed Logan's back instead. Startled, Logan didn't have the sober quickness of mind to grab the sides of the chair to prevent a spill, and over he went. He sprawled on his face on the sidewalk.
He lay there, giggling, unable to muster the wherewithal to pull himself up and back into the chair. The others stopped and turned around, horrified.
"Geez! I'm sorry, Logan! Are you all right?" Mark was mortified and almost shocked into sobriety.
"'S okay," Logan said from the sidewalk. "Occupational hazard."
"Do you need any help?" Mark asked, visibly relaxing when he heard Logan giggle..
"Dunno. Never tried this plastered before. I'll let you know. Just bring the chair over here." He indicated a spot in front of him. Mark wheeled the chair to where Logan indicated and watched as Logan reached up and locked the brakes. Then Logan slowly and deliberately transferred into the chair, carefully balancing his body and arranging himself with drunken carefulness and precision on the seat. He unlocked the brakes and wheeled himself forward to catch up with the others. "Disaster avoided," he said.
They staggered a few more blocks and found themselves at the Steel Pole Saloon. They had passed Crash and had considered going in, but Logan had lied and told them the beer was flat. The last thing he wanted was for Max to see him drunk on his ass like this. He'd scored a personal victory getting her to accompany him to Bennett's wedding in the first place and he didn't want to jeopardize that by having her see him as a drunken idiot.
The Steel Pole Saloon
If the Steel Pole Saloon wasn't the sleaziest bar in town, it was certainly vying for the title. It featured female cage fights seven nights a week; its clientele were almost all male, almost all tattooed, almost all drunk, and almost all rowdy. Its only saving graces were cheap beer and a pool table. Who knew what tunes the jukebox featured; it was so loud that no music could be heard anyway.
Most of the clientele turned around and stared at the dozen guys in suits who entered the premises. Even though their shirttails were hanging out, shirt collars were unbuttoned, and loosened ties were hung limply around their necks, these were still rich kids in suits, and therefore legitimate objects of derision, especially the one in the wheelchair.
The guys ordered a round of beers. Anything else available would probably be undrinkable. Bottles in hand, they turned their attention to the metal cage where two women of indeterminate age were wailing away at one another with fists, feet, and teeth. Obviously, it was a no-holds-barred fight that would end only when one party couldn't get back up. As fighters, they were pretty lame, all aggression, no technique, but the spectators didn't care. They shouted out bets and yelled oaths of encouragement and derision.
Bennett watched, fascinated. He was weaving a bit, but still mostly coherent.
"Damn! Never seen females fight like that before," he declared. "Nothing quite like a cat fight, dontcha think?"
"Hell, I know a girl who could kick their asses with one hand tied behind her and not have a hair out of place," Logan said, thickly, as if his tongue weren't quite working. The words were slurred.
"Yeah?" James said, snorting. "I'll bet."
"Yeah. I'm bringin' her to the wedding."
"What's she look like? Godzilla?"
"Nah, she's gorgeous," Logan replied, except it came out more like "sheesh."
"Riiight," James said, drawing out the syllable in disbelief.
"You'll shee."
The fight continued, accompanied by yelling, loud cursing, and beer spilling. Finally, the redhead landed a roundhouse punch on the blonde and the fight was over. There was a break as a couple of bouncers carried off the blonde and the redhead staggered out of the cage, demanding her money. The patrons of the establishment dispersed, most heading to the bar for refills. A pool table became available, and Bennett headed for it, bottle in hand.
"Anyone wanna play?" he shouted over the din to no one in particular. Heavy metal music played on the jukebox, distinguished from any other noise in the place only by the rhythm of the bass and drumbeat, which was all anyone could hear.
"Sure, I'll play," Logan said, spinning the chair around and heading for the pool table.
"Figured you'd bite," Bennett said. "Any other suckers out there?"
"I'm in!" Ron said, staggering over and grabbing a cue off the table.
"Me too," from Tony.
"Hundred bucks a game?" Bennett said with a gleam in his eye. He racked the balls.
"What the hell, why not?"
"Can I break?" Logan asked, picking up the cue.
"Sure, go ahead," the others agreed.
"What was that about breaking balls?" JJ said, coming into the conversation late.
"Brother, rack your own balls," Bennett replied.
Usually, when sober, Logan was deadly at pool, but he hadn't played since before he'd been shot. He had no idea what his game would be like now, from a different angle, like eye level. Still, he broke and found an easy array. As he sank one ball after another, a crowd gathered. Distracted by the noise, he missed a shot at last, and Bennett swaggered up to the table.
"All right, let a pro show you what's what," he bragged.
"Ha! Bite me, Bennett!" Logan said, backing up to let Bennett get close to the table.
Bennett was as good as Logan, but he had consumed a lot more beer. He got in a couple of good shots, but missed a bank shot and had to yield to his cousin. Logan gleefully put him down, sinking the last ball and demanding that Bennett pay up. Bennett got out his wallet, extracted a hundred-dollar bill, and slapped it into Logan's upturned palm.
"Next victim," Logan said, expecting Ron or Tony to step forward.
A burly biker with more tattoos than teeth, stepped up, menacingly. Bennett and the others took a step back away from the pool table. The biker reached in his pocket and pulled out a greasy hundred-dollar bill. He smacked it down on the corner of the table and picked up a cue.
"Okay, crip, let's see what you're made of," he spat. "I'll break."
"Be my guest," Logan said nonchalantly, looking up at him, and knocking back another brew. He motioned for one of his cousins to bring him a refill.
The biker broke and proceeded to sink ball after ball. He leaned over the table to make a particularly difficult shot. Just as he brought the cue back, Craig tripped and spilled his beer on the guy's boots. Irate, the biker interrupted his shot and yelled at Craig.
"Hey, asshole, watch where you're going!"
"Sorry. No harm done, I hope," Craig said meekly to the biker who was twice his size.
"Ruined my fuckin' shot," the biker muttered and repositioned himself, leaning over the table again. He scratched, and glared at Craig.
Logan, pool cue across his lap, wheeled around to the other side of the table. Carefully, he lined up the shot, eyeing the ball deliberately. He shot, and the ball jumped over the biker's striped one next to it and hit the desired mark, sending the targeted ball into the side pocket. Logan smirked at the biker, and wheeled himself to the corner of the table. He sank the rest of his shots and sent the 8- ball into the corner pocket, ending the game. With a smile on his face, he picked up the hundred-dollar bill and looked up at the astounded biker.
"And don't call me 'crip' again."
Bennett handed him a beer and they watched Ron and Tony play. The cage fights resumed and the patrons went back to ogling the half-naked women and forgot about the bunch of wasted, disheveled preppy-looking guys in the corner. The aura of cigarette and other smoke became overwhelming after a while, so the guys decided to check out another place or two.
As they exited the saloon, they took deep breaths of what purported to be fresh air in that sector.
"Where to next?" Bennett asked. "I still haven't had my lap dance." He grinned drunkenly.
"Quitcher whining, Bennett. I know a place where you can get one," Tony suggested.
"You would!" James retorted.
"It's only a couple of blocks away from here. Always have lots or girls dancing. And they're not ugly, either. Decent drinks too."
"Can't forget about the drinkies," James said.
"And hopefully, no pool tables so my cousin can't show off," Bennett said, slapping Logan playfully on the back. "And no bikers to break bad on."
"Aww, you're just sore coz I beat you!" Logan said. "I can always beat you, even in this chair."
"Yeah, well I demand a rematch,"
"Any time, cousin."
The Blowfish Tavern
They could hear the music emanating from the Blowfish Tavern a block before they reached the building itself. The neon sign flickered in the darkness as the party, in various stages of inebriation, slowly made their way to the front door. They paid the paltry cover charge and headed for the bar. The frat brothers checked out the dancers, looking them up and down, trying to decide whose services to purchase for both themselves and Bennett. One or two of the dancers looked to be under thirty, and several seemed to be able to actually dance.
Mark spotted an empty table on the far side of the room, so he headed for it, followed by the Cale brothers. A path cleared for Logan as he followed them, praying that the bottle of beer he held between his knees wouldn't slosh over. Eventually, the whole group found their way to the table and settled in for a good time.
The good time came over shortly, in the form of a pair of raven-haired dancers, who looked like sisters. They flirted with all the guys, obviously trolling for customers.
"H - how much? JJ stammered.
"Well, for you, fifty bucks, sport," the dancer with the longer hair said.
"Yeah, and seventy-five for both of us. Kind of a package deal."
JJ peeled some bills off a roll. "Here, doll," he said. "For the guy next to me. He's getting married tomorrow - oops, later today!"
Bennett grinned like an idiot. "Come on, Logan, you should get one too. We've got these fine ladies here. Should take advantage of them."
"Nah," Logan said sadly. "You have one for me." He smiled, then, rubbing his thigh, he turned away from Bennett.
Bennett hesitated, then said, "Sorry, Logan. If it makes you uncomfortable."
"It's okay, Bennett. Enjoy yourself."
JJ paid the girls, both of whom straddled Bennett. The music pounded as they did their thing. In a few minutes, Bennett had a goofy grin on his face. Another dancer came over, then another. The brothers bought lap dances from themselves, then another for Bennett. The two sisters worked the whole crew of guys, stuffing bills down their cleavage. Logan watched for a few minutes, then wheeled away to the bar for a refill.
He surveyed the party from afar, in rueful amusement as one after another of Bennett's friends and brothers got off on the lap dances. He'd never admit to Bennett that he'd never had a lap dance before, and now he probably never would have one. It just wouldn't do him any good.
The Blowfish Tavern being cash-only, the guys soon went through their rolls of bills. By now, most of them could barely walk, for one reason or another, and were almost eager to leave. Logan, still having cash to spare, had managed to catch up with the others in the drinks department while they were distracted with the dancers. He'd almost stopped feeling sorry for himself.
Bennett, dragged along by his brothers, met Logan at the bar.
"Well, cuz, I guessh I'm ready to get married now," he hiccoughed.
"Glad to hear it," Logan replied sardonically. "Ready to blow this pop stand?"
"Yesh, I guessh so."
Logan, a little wobbly on the wheels, led the way out the door of the Blowfish. He gasped as the chill night air hit him, and one by one, all the others did too.
"What next?" Mark said, peering down the darkened street. "Still too early to go home." He looked at his watch, but seemed to have trouble focusing. "'S only four-fifteen."
"Dunno. Let's find the carssh," Bennett said.
They headed back the way they had come several hours before. They staggered and wove all over the sidewalk, which indicated that it had been a successful evening. As they crossed a street in the middle of the block, Logan popped a wheelie to get over the curb, overcompensated, and fell over backwards. He lay there in the street, laughing uproariously. Bennett's brothers, slightly the better for wear than the others, grabbed hold of him and the chair, and righted both. Logan caught his breath, still laughing raggedly.
"Good thing - Max didn't - see me!" he said between gasps for air.
"Who's Max?" JJ asked.
"Girl I'm bringing to the wedding," Logan explained briefly. "Beautiful, smart.."
"Then what does she see in you?" JJ said.
"Beats th' hell outta me."
By the time they got back to the cars, they were beginning to feel frisky again, revived by the cold night air, and unwilling to go home, but all the bars, even the after-hours places, were closed.
"Man, I don' wanna go home! It's not even light out yet!" Allen complained, leaning again the Aztek.
"Yeah, what are we gonna do next?" one of the frat brothers said.
"Dunno." "Beats me." Others answered.
"I've got an idea," Logan said, a sly grin on his face. "How about a friendly game of basketball?"
"Um, love to, Logan, but there's no court - and no ball," Craig reminded him.
"There's a court where I play a couple of blocks from here - "
"You play?" Craig said, a look of surprise on his face.
"Yeah, I play. Wheelchair basketball team. I'm pretty good."
"Figures," James said. "You wouldn't give up basketball even if you were dead."
"We still need a ball - "
"Got one in the car. I was shooting hoops today - well, yesterday, I guess." Logan smiled at the memory of his basketball triumph the day before, and his personal one in getting Max to go to Bennett's wedding with him.
"Sure, why not? Should be fun," Craig said.
Basketball
Logan got the ball out of the back of the car and led the way to the park where the basketball court was located. It was slightly shabby and rundown, as if no one had tended it lately, but in post-Pulse Seattle, it was a wonderful luxury.
Once on the court, they shed their topcoats and quickly chose teams. Logan and his cousins, along with Allen and Craig were on one team; Bennett's frat brothers and Mark comprised the other. In the chilly air, they were all beginning to sober up a bit. They all took a few tentative shots, then began the game in earnest.
Logan had enough presence of mind to use his necktie to strap down his legs. He played aggressively, grazing a few ankles as he wove in and out of the other players. Mark quickly realized that no compensation could be given for the fact that Logan was in a wheelchair, after he got his toes run over several times. James and Logan got in synch, dribbling and passing back and forth to one another, as if they had been playing together for years. But without the stripped-down sports chair, Logan felt that he was too slow, and he remembered the advantage of anti-tippers soon after the game began when he leaned back to catch the ball and fell over backwards in a tangle of wheels and cousins. They all laughed so hard they couldn't get back up for several minutes.
Logan was enjoying being just one of the guys playing basketball. It was all good. He had to untie his legs and right the chair, then climb back into it, but he was used to that. He wasn't hurt; neither were Bennett and JJ, on whom he had fallen. They all dusted themselves off and continued the game, minus a bit of skin.
They played until the sun came up and they were nearly sober. When they decided to end the game, some of the frat brothers collapsed on a couple of benches and vowed that they weren't moving until they had to change and go to the wedding. Logan and the others left them on the edge of the basketball court and hoped the sector police wouldn't hassle them.
They headed back to the cars, tired and hung over, but happy, and wondered why it was always uphill going home. The rising sun shone pink on the waters of Elliott Bay as the Cales piled into the Aztek to begin the journey back to the family mansion. The bachelor party had been a success, but there was one more piece of business to attend to.
Once they got back to the Cale mansion, JJ and James carried a passed-out Bennett to the front gate. They gently held him upright, and with their neckties, they lashed him to the ornamental iron bars of the gate. Then they pulled his trousers down around his ankles and left him there for Jonas to find in a few hours when he went out to retrieve the newspaper. They then hurried into the house, creeping along like a couple of burglars.
Logan, witnessing this from the road, laughed wickedly and drove away.
The End
A/N: Takes place between Act One and Act Two of Art Attack.
Details of Your Bachelor Party....
They met at the designated location, the country club, at the designated time, 8 p.m. - a dozen young men, including the guest of honor, Bennett, his two brothers, Logan, and assorted frat brothers and friends - the night before the wedding. They were all well-dressed, rolling in cash, and determined to have a good time.
Logan, arguably the most sensible of them, was the designated driver and picked up Bennett and his brothers at the family mansion outside of Seattle. He arrived at 7:30, pulling into the curved driveway in front of the Georgian-style house. Knowing his Uncle Jonas all too well, and not wanting to meet up with him, Logan stayed in the car and blew the horn. Bennett and his brothers, JJ and James, ran down the steps toward the car, pulling on their overcoats. The February evening was cold, and damp.
"Hey, Logan!" Bennett said, as he got into the Aztek next to Logan. "How are yah?"
"Okay. It looks like you're all ready to party."
"Well, it's my last night as a free man, so, yeah, I'm ready to party. Right, guys?"
The Country Club
It was a short drive to the country club of which the Cales were members. Declining the valet service, Logan parked in one of the handicapped spaces in front of the building, taking advantage of the hangtag on his mirror for a change.
"Well, Logan, this has gotta be a first," Bennett commented. "I've not known you to use one of those things, even when you could."
"It's not for me, Bennett," Logan explained. "Let's just say that if you get totally sloshed, it will be a lot easier to shovel you into the car if it's parked here. Shorter distance to carry you." He grinned.
"Good idea, Logan. I knew there was a reason we wanted you to drive," JJ said.
Everyone met in the lobby, smiling, glad-handing Bennett, and making rude jokes. They had a table reserved for them and they were anticipating a delicious, well-cooked and served dinner, lots of champagne, imported beer, and a huge bar tab.
Logan hadn't been to the country club in several years, but the maitre d' recognized him nonetheless. The old man's eyebrows rose into his hairline when he saw the wheelchair, but he said nothing. Taking an armful of menus, he indicated to the party that they should follow him. When they reached the long table, the group distributed themselves around the groom, laughing and joking.
Once everyone was seated, the young, pretty waitress came over to take drink orders. This was a martini crowd and knowledgeable about excellent gin. They pored over the menus, sipping the drinks and ordering another round. Dinner ordered, they drank yet another round.
When dinner arrived, JJ ordered a couple of bottles of the best pre-Pulse French champagne available. The guys settled down to eat, making small talk and quizzing Bennett about his immediate plans.
"So, where ya going on the honeymoon?" Dick, one of Bennett's frat brothers from college asked.
"As if I'd tell you!" Bennett retorted with a snort.
"Hey, no problem," James Cale said. "We can always get Cousin Logan to hack into the airline reservations and find out."
"Yeah, right," Logan said. "Like I'd do that to Bennett. I still haven't forgotten what you did to me the night before my wedding!"
"Sorry. I thought it was funny!" JJ said.
"You would! Valerie damn near killed me. You'll never know how much trouble I had getting back to Seattle in time for the wedding!"
James smiled wickedly at the thought, then regaled the rest of the party with the tale of how they got Logan very drunk at his bachelor party and poured him onto a plane to Dayton, Ohio with a one-way ticket and a dollar in his pocket.
"As long as no one is planning to do that to me!" Bennett lamented.
"Wouldn't think of it, dear brother," James replied.
They ordered another bottle of champagne and went back to inhaling salmon and Dungeness crab. Dinner was delicious, of course, and they ordered dessert, along with glasses of port.
Allen, another frat brother of Bennett's, looked around surreptitiously. Not seeing any 'No Smoking' signs, he pulled an expensive cigar out of his jacket pocket, snipped the end, and lit it. After deeply exhaling, he offered Bennett one.
Bennett, a non-smoker, reluctantly accepted, feeling that he might as well do the port-and-cigar thing at least once in his life. He took a drag on the cigar and doubled over, choking and coughing. His eyes watered and his face turned red.
"Damn, I hate a man who can't hold his cigars!" Allen declared, laughing at Bennett's predicament.
They sat and drank port, some smoking cigars, some not. They got louder and louder, the longer they drank. Logan looked on with amusement, his reporter's sensibilities still turned on. He'd been nursing a couple of drinks the whole time, so he was in better shape than the rest of them. He knew they were in trouble when Dick leaned over and played grabby-ass with the waitress as she bent over to place another drink in front of Bennett.
"Hey!" she yelped, startled.
In a flash, the maitre d' was at the table, discreetly but firmly telling them they would have to leave. He tallied their considerable bill and presented it to them. JJ hauled out an array of credit cards and handed one to the dignified old man, who took it away to process. The young men threw down a large amount of cash for tips and left the dining room a bit worse for wear. They collected their overcoats and left the building. Logan lingered behind and gave his apologies for the group to the outraged waitress and the maitre d'.
"Sorry. My cousin's getting married tomorrow and they're a bit rowdy tonight," he explained. "That was uncalled for, though."
"I understand, Mr. Cale. I hope some one reprimands that young man tomorrow when he's sober."
"I'll make sure they do. I hope the tip will help to make up for the insult."
Logan spun the chair around to head for the coatroom.
A few minutes later, he joined the others outside. They were loudly discussing where to go next, a bar crawl being the agenda of the evening, and how to get there. Two of the party had taken taxis to the country club, so needed transportation.
"Well, I've got myself, Bennett, JJ and James, so I can put one more in the back seat - and one in the hatch if nobody minds."
"Hey, strap me to the roof like a piece of furniture, I don't care," Marianne's brother, Mark, said.
"So, where we heading?" James queried.
"Dunno. Suggestions?" Allen said.
"How about the bar on Eighth Avenue. We haven't been there in a long time," Bennett suggested. He was only slightly tipsy, in between happy and feeling no pain.
"Sounds like a good place to start. It's centrally located."
They piled into two cars, six of them stuffed into Allen's vintage Lincoln Continental, and the others into Logan's Aztek. Mark scrambled into the hatch. Logan got into the car, popped the wheels off the chair, folded it up, and stuffed it into the back behind his seat. Dick had to pull his knees up a bit to accommodate himself and the chair, but he found a comfortable position and didn't even seem to mind the wheels lying across his feet.
Half an hour later, Logan reversed the process, assembling the chair and transferring into it. They had parked a short distance from the bar, so they waited for the others, who parked farther away. Logan searched in vain for a cut in the sidewalk, so he popped a wheelie up the low curb and continued into the bar.
The Pub
This was Logan's favorite bar, a cozy pub with a large selection of imported beers and dartboards along the wall. The British atmosphere reminded him of one of his favorite haunts in New Haven, back in the day when Yale was the center of his universe. He knew the proprietor personally and always felt comfortable here, even after he'd landed in the wheelchair. The place was accessible for him, and he appreciated the English pub ambience. This was where he and Bennett had met over brews the day his cousin had announced his engagement and had asked Logan to be best man.
Once inside, they found several vacant tables and took them over. By now, they had all undone their neckties; their shirt collars had been unbuttoned. Some of them blearily looked over the impressive beer menu and loudly debated the virtues of Belgian wheats over English ales. They decided to work their way through the entire selection.
Several of the guys lined up half a dozen bottles each and had a chugging contest. Logan and Bennett played darts, while Bennett's brothers, dollar bills in hand, sauntered over to the antique juke box and began to feed money into it and select the worst songs they could find. Logan cringed the third time they played the Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun." They were making up their own, raunchy words to the tune, and bellowing them at the top of their lungs, off-key.
"I need another beer!" Logan declared.
"Yeah, me too. They sound like cats in heat," Bennett said. "Maybe earplugs would help."
"Nah, I think the only thing that would help is shooting them," Logan replied, signaling for another round.
"That too. At least they wouldn't be able to put me on a plane to Dayton!"
Logan and Bennett sucked down another couple of beers and their dart game got more erratic. By now, JJ and James had found another horrible song to play over and over again and make up words to. This time it was "Feelings." They were joined in their off-key yowling by Dick, Allen, Mark, and two more of Bennett's frat brothers, Tom and Craig.
"Come on, Bennett, ya gotta sing along!" Craig slurred, waving a bottle of Stella Artois wildly.
"No way! You're doing enough for all of us," Bennett replied.
"Wuss. Logan, how about you? Wanna join us?"
"Nah, I don't think so."
"Come on!" James insisted. "I know you can sing! You used to sing in the choir in church!"
Logan spun around. "Yeah, and this ain't church. Besides, I hate that song!" He turned the chair back around to the dartboard.
"Party pooper," James muttered, searching for another awful song to play. They had managed to chase off much of the clientele, and were now leaning on the old jukebox, peering at the song list.
Bennett handed Logan another beer and they went back to their game. By this time, they were missing more shots than they were hitting, but they didn't care. JJ called to Bennett, who turned to reply. At the same time, he let loose the dart in his hand.
"Ow! Hey!" Craig cried out as the dart found its mark in his butt. He stood up abruptly.
"You're cut off, kid!" James said.
"You can't do that! It's his party, after all!" Allen retorted.
Luckily, closing time came soon after that, so they didn't have time to get thrown out of another establishment. They paid their considerable tab and staggered out into the chill February air.
"Where to next? Need to find an after-hours club." JJ was determined to keep the party going.
"Dunno, but it better be close by," Logan said.
"Yeah, why is that?" One of the frat boys - which one was it, Ron, Tony, Jerry? They were pretty much interchangeable - asked Logan.
"Coz I don't think I can drive," Logan replied. "Too many beers."
"Well, maybe you need to get rid of a few," Mark suggested, indicating one of the frat boys peeing against a nearby wall.
"Sorry, not an option for me any more," Logan replied wistfully. "Thanks all the same."
"I'm okay. I can drive," Allen said. "Toss me your keys.
Logan did so and they made their way back to where the cars were parked. Allen unlocked the Aztek and got into the driver's seat. He looked at Logan's hand controls and muttered, "What the -?"
Logan giggled drunkenly.
"How do these work?"
"Can't explain. Catch me when I'm sober and I'll give you a demonstration," he enunciated carefully.
"Well, I guess we hoof it - or wheel it, as the case may be," Bennett said. "Lotsa places around here still open. I haven't passed out yet."
"Oh, well, God forbid. We need to do something about that," James said.
"I know a place," Craig said. "Not very far."
"Lead on!" Bennett ordered.
They headed down the street, toward a jumble of neon-lit sleazy bars in Sector Nine. Thinking he'd be helpful, Mark decided to assist Logan by pushing him. But he couldn't find any handles on the back of Logan's chair, so he pushed the chairback. It worked pretty well, or at least Logan seemed oblivious to the effort, until Mark missed the back of the chair and pushed Logan's back instead. Startled, Logan didn't have the sober quickness of mind to grab the sides of the chair to prevent a spill, and over he went. He sprawled on his face on the sidewalk.
He lay there, giggling, unable to muster the wherewithal to pull himself up and back into the chair. The others stopped and turned around, horrified.
"Geez! I'm sorry, Logan! Are you all right?" Mark was mortified and almost shocked into sobriety.
"'S okay," Logan said from the sidewalk. "Occupational hazard."
"Do you need any help?" Mark asked, visibly relaxing when he heard Logan giggle..
"Dunno. Never tried this plastered before. I'll let you know. Just bring the chair over here." He indicated a spot in front of him. Mark wheeled the chair to where Logan indicated and watched as Logan reached up and locked the brakes. Then Logan slowly and deliberately transferred into the chair, carefully balancing his body and arranging himself with drunken carefulness and precision on the seat. He unlocked the brakes and wheeled himself forward to catch up with the others. "Disaster avoided," he said.
They staggered a few more blocks and found themselves at the Steel Pole Saloon. They had passed Crash and had considered going in, but Logan had lied and told them the beer was flat. The last thing he wanted was for Max to see him drunk on his ass like this. He'd scored a personal victory getting her to accompany him to Bennett's wedding in the first place and he didn't want to jeopardize that by having her see him as a drunken idiot.
The Steel Pole Saloon
If the Steel Pole Saloon wasn't the sleaziest bar in town, it was certainly vying for the title. It featured female cage fights seven nights a week; its clientele were almost all male, almost all tattooed, almost all drunk, and almost all rowdy. Its only saving graces were cheap beer and a pool table. Who knew what tunes the jukebox featured; it was so loud that no music could be heard anyway.
Most of the clientele turned around and stared at the dozen guys in suits who entered the premises. Even though their shirttails were hanging out, shirt collars were unbuttoned, and loosened ties were hung limply around their necks, these were still rich kids in suits, and therefore legitimate objects of derision, especially the one in the wheelchair.
The guys ordered a round of beers. Anything else available would probably be undrinkable. Bottles in hand, they turned their attention to the metal cage where two women of indeterminate age were wailing away at one another with fists, feet, and teeth. Obviously, it was a no-holds-barred fight that would end only when one party couldn't get back up. As fighters, they were pretty lame, all aggression, no technique, but the spectators didn't care. They shouted out bets and yelled oaths of encouragement and derision.
Bennett watched, fascinated. He was weaving a bit, but still mostly coherent.
"Damn! Never seen females fight like that before," he declared. "Nothing quite like a cat fight, dontcha think?"
"Hell, I know a girl who could kick their asses with one hand tied behind her and not have a hair out of place," Logan said, thickly, as if his tongue weren't quite working. The words were slurred.
"Yeah?" James said, snorting. "I'll bet."
"Yeah. I'm bringin' her to the wedding."
"What's she look like? Godzilla?"
"Nah, she's gorgeous," Logan replied, except it came out more like "sheesh."
"Riiight," James said, drawing out the syllable in disbelief.
"You'll shee."
The fight continued, accompanied by yelling, loud cursing, and beer spilling. Finally, the redhead landed a roundhouse punch on the blonde and the fight was over. There was a break as a couple of bouncers carried off the blonde and the redhead staggered out of the cage, demanding her money. The patrons of the establishment dispersed, most heading to the bar for refills. A pool table became available, and Bennett headed for it, bottle in hand.
"Anyone wanna play?" he shouted over the din to no one in particular. Heavy metal music played on the jukebox, distinguished from any other noise in the place only by the rhythm of the bass and drumbeat, which was all anyone could hear.
"Sure, I'll play," Logan said, spinning the chair around and heading for the pool table.
"Figured you'd bite," Bennett said. "Any other suckers out there?"
"I'm in!" Ron said, staggering over and grabbing a cue off the table.
"Me too," from Tony.
"Hundred bucks a game?" Bennett said with a gleam in his eye. He racked the balls.
"What the hell, why not?"
"Can I break?" Logan asked, picking up the cue.
"Sure, go ahead," the others agreed.
"What was that about breaking balls?" JJ said, coming into the conversation late.
"Brother, rack your own balls," Bennett replied.
Usually, when sober, Logan was deadly at pool, but he hadn't played since before he'd been shot. He had no idea what his game would be like now, from a different angle, like eye level. Still, he broke and found an easy array. As he sank one ball after another, a crowd gathered. Distracted by the noise, he missed a shot at last, and Bennett swaggered up to the table.
"All right, let a pro show you what's what," he bragged.
"Ha! Bite me, Bennett!" Logan said, backing up to let Bennett get close to the table.
Bennett was as good as Logan, but he had consumed a lot more beer. He got in a couple of good shots, but missed a bank shot and had to yield to his cousin. Logan gleefully put him down, sinking the last ball and demanding that Bennett pay up. Bennett got out his wallet, extracted a hundred-dollar bill, and slapped it into Logan's upturned palm.
"Next victim," Logan said, expecting Ron or Tony to step forward.
A burly biker with more tattoos than teeth, stepped up, menacingly. Bennett and the others took a step back away from the pool table. The biker reached in his pocket and pulled out a greasy hundred-dollar bill. He smacked it down on the corner of the table and picked up a cue.
"Okay, crip, let's see what you're made of," he spat. "I'll break."
"Be my guest," Logan said nonchalantly, looking up at him, and knocking back another brew. He motioned for one of his cousins to bring him a refill.
The biker broke and proceeded to sink ball after ball. He leaned over the table to make a particularly difficult shot. Just as he brought the cue back, Craig tripped and spilled his beer on the guy's boots. Irate, the biker interrupted his shot and yelled at Craig.
"Hey, asshole, watch where you're going!"
"Sorry. No harm done, I hope," Craig said meekly to the biker who was twice his size.
"Ruined my fuckin' shot," the biker muttered and repositioned himself, leaning over the table again. He scratched, and glared at Craig.
Logan, pool cue across his lap, wheeled around to the other side of the table. Carefully, he lined up the shot, eyeing the ball deliberately. He shot, and the ball jumped over the biker's striped one next to it and hit the desired mark, sending the targeted ball into the side pocket. Logan smirked at the biker, and wheeled himself to the corner of the table. He sank the rest of his shots and sent the 8- ball into the corner pocket, ending the game. With a smile on his face, he picked up the hundred-dollar bill and looked up at the astounded biker.
"And don't call me 'crip' again."
Bennett handed him a beer and they watched Ron and Tony play. The cage fights resumed and the patrons went back to ogling the half-naked women and forgot about the bunch of wasted, disheveled preppy-looking guys in the corner. The aura of cigarette and other smoke became overwhelming after a while, so the guys decided to check out another place or two.
As they exited the saloon, they took deep breaths of what purported to be fresh air in that sector.
"Where to next?" Bennett asked. "I still haven't had my lap dance." He grinned drunkenly.
"Quitcher whining, Bennett. I know a place where you can get one," Tony suggested.
"You would!" James retorted.
"It's only a couple of blocks away from here. Always have lots or girls dancing. And they're not ugly, either. Decent drinks too."
"Can't forget about the drinkies," James said.
"And hopefully, no pool tables so my cousin can't show off," Bennett said, slapping Logan playfully on the back. "And no bikers to break bad on."
"Aww, you're just sore coz I beat you!" Logan said. "I can always beat you, even in this chair."
"Yeah, well I demand a rematch,"
"Any time, cousin."
The Blowfish Tavern
They could hear the music emanating from the Blowfish Tavern a block before they reached the building itself. The neon sign flickered in the darkness as the party, in various stages of inebriation, slowly made their way to the front door. They paid the paltry cover charge and headed for the bar. The frat brothers checked out the dancers, looking them up and down, trying to decide whose services to purchase for both themselves and Bennett. One or two of the dancers looked to be under thirty, and several seemed to be able to actually dance.
Mark spotted an empty table on the far side of the room, so he headed for it, followed by the Cale brothers. A path cleared for Logan as he followed them, praying that the bottle of beer he held between his knees wouldn't slosh over. Eventually, the whole group found their way to the table and settled in for a good time.
The good time came over shortly, in the form of a pair of raven-haired dancers, who looked like sisters. They flirted with all the guys, obviously trolling for customers.
"H - how much? JJ stammered.
"Well, for you, fifty bucks, sport," the dancer with the longer hair said.
"Yeah, and seventy-five for both of us. Kind of a package deal."
JJ peeled some bills off a roll. "Here, doll," he said. "For the guy next to me. He's getting married tomorrow - oops, later today!"
Bennett grinned like an idiot. "Come on, Logan, you should get one too. We've got these fine ladies here. Should take advantage of them."
"Nah," Logan said sadly. "You have one for me." He smiled, then, rubbing his thigh, he turned away from Bennett.
Bennett hesitated, then said, "Sorry, Logan. If it makes you uncomfortable."
"It's okay, Bennett. Enjoy yourself."
JJ paid the girls, both of whom straddled Bennett. The music pounded as they did their thing. In a few minutes, Bennett had a goofy grin on his face. Another dancer came over, then another. The brothers bought lap dances from themselves, then another for Bennett. The two sisters worked the whole crew of guys, stuffing bills down their cleavage. Logan watched for a few minutes, then wheeled away to the bar for a refill.
He surveyed the party from afar, in rueful amusement as one after another of Bennett's friends and brothers got off on the lap dances. He'd never admit to Bennett that he'd never had a lap dance before, and now he probably never would have one. It just wouldn't do him any good.
The Blowfish Tavern being cash-only, the guys soon went through their rolls of bills. By now, most of them could barely walk, for one reason or another, and were almost eager to leave. Logan, still having cash to spare, had managed to catch up with the others in the drinks department while they were distracted with the dancers. He'd almost stopped feeling sorry for himself.
Bennett, dragged along by his brothers, met Logan at the bar.
"Well, cuz, I guessh I'm ready to get married now," he hiccoughed.
"Glad to hear it," Logan replied sardonically. "Ready to blow this pop stand?"
"Yesh, I guessh so."
Logan, a little wobbly on the wheels, led the way out the door of the Blowfish. He gasped as the chill night air hit him, and one by one, all the others did too.
"What next?" Mark said, peering down the darkened street. "Still too early to go home." He looked at his watch, but seemed to have trouble focusing. "'S only four-fifteen."
"Dunno. Let's find the carssh," Bennett said.
They headed back the way they had come several hours before. They staggered and wove all over the sidewalk, which indicated that it had been a successful evening. As they crossed a street in the middle of the block, Logan popped a wheelie to get over the curb, overcompensated, and fell over backwards. He lay there in the street, laughing uproariously. Bennett's brothers, slightly the better for wear than the others, grabbed hold of him and the chair, and righted both. Logan caught his breath, still laughing raggedly.
"Good thing - Max didn't - see me!" he said between gasps for air.
"Who's Max?" JJ asked.
"Girl I'm bringing to the wedding," Logan explained briefly. "Beautiful, smart.."
"Then what does she see in you?" JJ said.
"Beats th' hell outta me."
By the time they got back to the cars, they were beginning to feel frisky again, revived by the cold night air, and unwilling to go home, but all the bars, even the after-hours places, were closed.
"Man, I don' wanna go home! It's not even light out yet!" Allen complained, leaning again the Aztek.
"Yeah, what are we gonna do next?" one of the frat brothers said.
"Dunno." "Beats me." Others answered.
"I've got an idea," Logan said, a sly grin on his face. "How about a friendly game of basketball?"
"Um, love to, Logan, but there's no court - and no ball," Craig reminded him.
"There's a court where I play a couple of blocks from here - "
"You play?" Craig said, a look of surprise on his face.
"Yeah, I play. Wheelchair basketball team. I'm pretty good."
"Figures," James said. "You wouldn't give up basketball even if you were dead."
"We still need a ball - "
"Got one in the car. I was shooting hoops today - well, yesterday, I guess." Logan smiled at the memory of his basketball triumph the day before, and his personal one in getting Max to go to Bennett's wedding with him.
"Sure, why not? Should be fun," Craig said.
Basketball
Logan got the ball out of the back of the car and led the way to the park where the basketball court was located. It was slightly shabby and rundown, as if no one had tended it lately, but in post-Pulse Seattle, it was a wonderful luxury.
Once on the court, they shed their topcoats and quickly chose teams. Logan and his cousins, along with Allen and Craig were on one team; Bennett's frat brothers and Mark comprised the other. In the chilly air, they were all beginning to sober up a bit. They all took a few tentative shots, then began the game in earnest.
Logan had enough presence of mind to use his necktie to strap down his legs. He played aggressively, grazing a few ankles as he wove in and out of the other players. Mark quickly realized that no compensation could be given for the fact that Logan was in a wheelchair, after he got his toes run over several times. James and Logan got in synch, dribbling and passing back and forth to one another, as if they had been playing together for years. But without the stripped-down sports chair, Logan felt that he was too slow, and he remembered the advantage of anti-tippers soon after the game began when he leaned back to catch the ball and fell over backwards in a tangle of wheels and cousins. They all laughed so hard they couldn't get back up for several minutes.
Logan was enjoying being just one of the guys playing basketball. It was all good. He had to untie his legs and right the chair, then climb back into it, but he was used to that. He wasn't hurt; neither were Bennett and JJ, on whom he had fallen. They all dusted themselves off and continued the game, minus a bit of skin.
They played until the sun came up and they were nearly sober. When they decided to end the game, some of the frat brothers collapsed on a couple of benches and vowed that they weren't moving until they had to change and go to the wedding. Logan and the others left them on the edge of the basketball court and hoped the sector police wouldn't hassle them.
They headed back to the cars, tired and hung over, but happy, and wondered why it was always uphill going home. The rising sun shone pink on the waters of Elliott Bay as the Cales piled into the Aztek to begin the journey back to the family mansion. The bachelor party had been a success, but there was one more piece of business to attend to.
Once they got back to the Cale mansion, JJ and James carried a passed-out Bennett to the front gate. They gently held him upright, and with their neckties, they lashed him to the ornamental iron bars of the gate. Then they pulled his trousers down around his ankles and left him there for Jonas to find in a few hours when he went out to retrieve the newspaper. They then hurried into the house, creeping along like a couple of burglars.
Logan, witnessing this from the road, laughed wickedly and drove away.
The End