"OUT! OUT! OUT! I will not have such…such…shenanigans taking place within this establishment! OUT!" The Bohemians glanced up from whatever they were doing to see a short, bald, sweaty little fat man hurrying towards them, waving his arms. A tag on his lapel read "MANAGER". His face was red and slick with sweat. His words seemed to be directed towards them
"Leave! NOW! OUT!" His cries seemed almost pathetic, like a child pleading a bully to leave him alone. Angel, who was drinking a beer in Collins's lap, stuck out her tongue at him. Collins laughed, and so did Mimi and Roger, who were sitting on the table next to Collins's chair, swaying slightly from the many, many beers they had consumed that night. Maureen was discussing something with Mark, whose eyes had glazed over, due to the fact that her words had started to blur into one long stream of sound. Joanne was typing madly on her PDA, which she had recently bought. Her thumbs had already started to blister from overuse, but she found it physically impossibly to stop. The rest of them had started to worry about her.
"What the fuck are we doing wrong?" Maureen asked the manager, pausing in her endless one-sided conversation with Mark, who was slowly coming out of his daze. The manager took out a handkerchief and mopped his shining face, panting from exertion.
"Aside from your vulgar language, I have complaints of such things as drunken ranting, using the tables as dance platforms, deliberately destroying restaurant property, terrorizing customers and…" his face looked as though he had just swallowed one of Angel's cookies: horrified, pained, and about to throw up. He took a breath and said, as if he was saying a dirty word, "particularly disturbing public displays of affection."
"Oh, like this?" Angel asked from down the table, doing something to Collins that made the manager gasp, turn bright red, and nearly faint. When he had recovered, he said anxiously, "I must order you from the premises. If you do not leave, I will be forced to call the police."
Maureen groaned, stood up, and shouted, "Let's move it, the fuckers are kicking us out." A groan rose from the group, but they obliged, carelessly throwing back chairs as they moved out of the Life Café. More than a few sighs of relief were heard as they exited.
Outside, the group clustered together, trying to decide what to do next. Maureen, dramatic as ever, wanted to sneak back inside and do something that was severely illegal in forty-two states to the manager. Mark, noticing how drunk Roger and Mimi were, was all for going to the loft, where they could do minimal damage. Collins and Angel didn't much care, and Joanne was unavailable for comment, due to the fact that she was slowly wearing her fingerprints off on the buttons of her PDA. No one really wanted to go separate ways yet, so it was decided that they would all head to the loft. Collins suggested that, since there was nothing worth consuming, namely beer, in the loft, he and Angel should go and get something before meeting the rest of them back at the loft. Everyone else, especially Roger and Mimi, thought this idea was a work of genius. So Collins and Angel headed towards a drugstore, waving at their huddled group of friends.
Collins felt like he was floating. Two beers were already churning around in his system, and there were more to come. He was slightly high, having found some forgotten "stuff' in his pocket earlier that night. And he was holding the hand of the most gorgeous, energetic, amazing, generally perfect person in the world. He squeezed Angel's hand affectionately, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile and a kiss on the cheek. Something about her face told him that the kiss was a small preview of the night's events.
So wrapped up in his thoughts was Collins that he failed to notice the dark, sinister group of people standing near the door to the liquor store. It was only when a burning cigarette flew two inches past his nose that he turned and saw the five or so teenagers standing close together on the sidewalk. They were dressed in heavy army coats and ragged jeans, and something about them just oozed trouble. One of them glared at him, eyes flickering like torches in the light coming from store window. Shivering slightly, Collis hurried inside, almost dragging Angel behind him.
"Something wrong, baby?" asked Angel, glancing concernedly at her lover. He looked up from the stacks of wine bottles he was perusing and tried to look like he didn't know what she was talking about.
"Uh, no why?"
"You're trying to strangle your coat." Collins looked down and saw that his coat, which he hadn't been wearing due to the warm night air, had been twisted so tightly that the fabric was threatening to rip. Even more surprisingly, he found that his hands were purple from corkscrewing the coat. Embarrassed, he let it fall out, wrinkled and lined. Angel, sure that something was wrong, decided to pay and get out before Collin accidentally smashed a bottle or something.
Five minutes later, several dollars poorer but two six packs and a bottle of Stoli richer, the couple moved out onto the street. Collins nervously searched for the gang of kids, but they had disappeared. Sighing in relief, he kissed Angel lightly. She giggled and wormed her hand into his. Anticipating a fun, relaxing night, they made their way down the street.
Collins heard it before he felt it. The swish of something heavy flying through the air, and then there was a thump and, half a second later, a searing pain in the back of his head. His knees gave away and he sank to the ground, vaguely hearing Angel's cry of horror. As Collins struggled to stay conscious through the massive ache in his skull, he dimly heard harsh, thuggish voices from behind him. Then Angel's voice, strong and indignant. He tried to rise to his feet, but the movement caused him to black out. Light swirled away as he collapsed onto the cold, hard pavement.
Collins awoke to the feel of a soft, warm hand stroking his forehead. He opened his eyes and saw Angel's face, pumped full of worry, looming over him. The streetlight cast a halo of white brightness over her, and for a moment he could swear she really was an Angel. Then he heard her voice, calling him gently.
"Collins, honey, are you awake? Can you speak?"
"Angel…what happened?" His own voice sounded horse and distant.
"Those…" she struggled for a good word, found nothing, and skipped over it, "hit you with a bottle. They wanted the money and the beer."
"Did they hurt you?"
"Heck no. I told them to get lost and kicked one of them in the balls. That boy squeals better than me, I'll admit it." Collins smiled. "The rest of them ran away right after that." Angel held up one of the six packs. "Even saved this stuff."
"Angel, you really know how to kick ass," Collins murmured. She smiled. "Y'know, this is twice that you've saved my life. And me with no way to repay you."
Angel leaned over and kissed him. "I think we can come up with something." They smiled into each other's eyes for a moment. Then Angel said, "I don't know about you, but sitting on the sidewalk isn't my first choice for a nighttime activity. So come on. Let's get you to the loft."
Mark looked anxiously out the window, biting his lower lip. "It's been half an hour. Where the hell are they?"
"Probably making out against some pole of something. Don't worry, Angel knows how to take care of both of them," Maureen called from her perch on one of the hard metal tables. Joanne was still frantically typing on her PDA, and Roger and Mimi were sitting on the couch together, slowly and painfully becoming sober.
Mark was just about to turn back to the window when the door banged open and Angel burst in, supporting a bedraggled Collins. One of her hands held him up and, miraculously, her other hand held on tightly to both six packs. The Stoli was tucked into Collins's pocket.
"Ang, I'm fine, really."
"You fell down twice and almost passed out again. You are not fine. Now go and sit." She firmly directed him to the sofa, which he grudgingly sank onto. Roger and Mimi moved over, mouths slightly agape. After a few moments, Collins noticed that everyone was staring at him. "What?"
"Collins, you couldn't even stand without Angel holding you up, you both come in here after what was three times longer than what you should have been gone for, and oh yeah, you have a bump the size of a hot air balloon coming out of your head. Do tell, if we may ask, what the hell happened to you two." Maureen finished her little speech, still staring at the gigantic lump in the back of his head.
"It was nothing, you guys, just a little—"
"Collins got semi-mugged again," said Angel conversationally, pulling a beer out of the plastic loop and pushing it at her lover.
"WHAT! Again! Collins, can't you take a self-defense class or something?" Mark pleaded, smacking a hand into his forehead. Mimi patted Collins's arm sympathetically, and Maureen's eyes got huge. Joanne even briefly put down her PDA, before raising the little screen back towards her face again.
"No big deal, man, I'm fine," snapped Collins. This illusion that he was "fine", however, was ruined by the way he flinched and almost squealed when his head touched the back of the sofa as he chugged the beer.
"Wait, what do you mean, semi-mugged?" asked Roger, looking confused. Angel, holding two beers that she shoved at Mimi and Roger, shrugged.
"They hit him, but didn't get anything. Pounded him on the head with a bottle, but didn't get any money or stuff. Poor baby, that was quite a whack." Angel slid down next to Collins on the crowded couch and very gently put a wrapped ice cube from the empty fridge against the lump on his head. He flinched, but after a few seconds the ice started to feel good, and he relaxed.
"A BOTTLE? Oh God, what next, a sledgehammer?" Mark put is face in his hands, and Collins glared at him. Roger, who by now had been pushed up to the top of the couch, winced as he took another look at the bump rising from Collins's head. Mimi rested her head against Roger's leg and sipped her beer. Maureen, who had helped herself, took a big gulp and unexpectedly belched. Everyone laughed, and the strange, almost tangible tension in the air dissipated. The seven friends laughed and began to methodically drown themselves in alcohol.
The first person to wake up the next morning was Angel. Having had the least beers the night before and being an early riser, she found herself only very lightly hung over. Looking around the loft, she realized that they must have all dozed off together. Mark had slumped back against the side of the couch, his head glued to the armrest. Roger's had lolled back, resting on the top of the couch, Mimi was sprawled across the sofa, her head in Roger's lap. Maureen had curled up on Joanne, who had gone to sleep cross-legged. Maureen's head and torso rested on her legs, and Joanne's hands, still clutching her PDA, had drifted slowly down to rest on Maureen's left ear. Collins was also sitting on the couch, one of the few pillows beneath his bruised head. Mimi's feet were pushing against his knee, and he was scrunched against the other armrest.
Angel surveyed them all fondly for a moment. Then she walked to the sink and picked up two cellophane cups, which she filled with water. Carrying them over to the sleepers on the table and couch, she positioned herself, one hand poised above Roger, Mimi, and Mark's heads, and the other hand hovering over Maureen and Joanne's.
"Good morning, all," she sing-songed, at the same time tilting the cups over and letting water dribble down onto the sleeping friends.
"Pblth—SHIT, Angel!" Roger cursed as he sputtered wetly. Mimi gave a little shriek and thrashed, banging against Roger and waking Collins with a kick on the knee. Water ran off Roger's sleeve into Mark's ear, and his eyes snapped open wildly. Swatting at his head with one hand, he yelped and jerked upright.
"YAAH!" screamed Maureen as a cascade of cold water splashed onto her face. She sat up and shook herself, flinging water all over the already wet Joanne.
"Baby! Baby, are you ok!" Joanne cried frantically.
"Yeah, Pookie, I think I'm all ri—"
"Not you," Joanne snapped, staring, horrified, at her sopping PDA. "C'mon, Baby, speak to me, please!" She desperately jiggled buttons and switches, cursing loudly. Casting her a fearful and somewhat ugly look, Maureen slid off the table and stretched, squeezing water from her halter top.
"Angel, I swear I'm going to murder you," growled Roger as he and Mimi separated and shook themselves off. Collins, the only one who hadn't been drenched, was roaring with laughter. Mark banged his head repeatedly, finally dislodging the water in his ear. He yawned, glared at Angel, then suddenly groaned as the banging and the hangover combined and battered at his head like an angry landlord. All around him, the others were slowly merging from water-shock to hangover-pain. Mimi lowered her head back into Roger's lap, clutching her skull. Roger massaged his own temples, muttering various profanities. Maureen decided to simply collapse on the floor, moaning. She had the worst hangover, probably to due to the fact that she had won the beer-drinking race the night before. Joanne, who had surprisingly come in a close second, leaned her head against one of the square pillars in the loft, her face pale. Collins, feeling a strange combination of head injury and massive headache, stopped laughing and rested his head on his pillow again, trying not to throw up or cry out. Angel, ignoring the minor throbbing in her own head, smiled cheerfully.
"Rise and shine, sleepyheads. No need to sleep away the da—" she was cut off as Roger, taking surprisingly good aim, threw the other couch pillow at her, scoring a direct hit in her face. A muffled scream sounded from behind the pillow, and Angel stumbled backwards. "Roger!" she scolded, tearing the pillow away from her face.
"Angel, after what you just did, be glad he didn't throw a bottle," Mark announced wearily. Collins groaned. "Please, not bottle references." A small laugh came from the group. Angel smiled, shrugged, and vaulted over the back of the couch, landing with a thump next to Collins. She patted Mimi's hip, rewarded with an "uuhhhhh" from the bedraggled Hispanic woman. Laughing, Angel leaned against Collins and satisfactorily surveyed her handiwork. Seriously, what would they do without her?