Hmmm … Ali Fisher says her sister went to a place for her bachelorette party called Marquee that was actually kind of amazing in the daytime. Also just fun to hang out in the casinos? How is it? How’s the Willie stuff? I started to write back when she started to write more. Wait—is there something called the Beach Club in your hotel? I said yes. Ali Bell’s boyfriend Lorenzo says he can get you guys in today and that it’s AMAZING.
I ran it by the group. It turned out that all of us had been secretly intrigued by the excessively but effectively seductive signage for the Beach Club but had assumed it was the kind of place that wouldn’t let guys like us in, at least not without a hassle or long wait or being shoved in some miserable general population holding area for an interminable length of time first.
“Sure, if we’re really on the list,” said Dave.
We really were. And the Beach Club was, as Sarah’s friend Ali had promised, amazing. The DJ was great—one of those DJs that surprises you that there have been so many hit songs in your lifetime. There was a lot of bright skin in bright colors, the sun was intense and even, the mixed drinks were the perfect mixture of whatever ingredients had been mixed. I had the actual, literal thought that I was lucky to be alive. I even caught myself wondering whether we’d be on good enough terms with Willie the next day that we could come back here: if we all ordered non-alcoholic drinks, it might still be fun, maybe? The alcohol, it seemed to me, was actually the least important aspect of this experience, maybe? But then again, maybe that was just the alcohol talking?
How are you holding up?
Willie had texted me while I had zoned out. It took me a second to remember what he was referring to.
Okay, I responded. Thanks so much for caring. I’ll be okay.
Have you decided what to do? How you feel? What you want?
No, trying not to think for now. Just zoning out. It’ll be okay.
It will. See you guys in a few hours!!
At around ten past four, it occurred to all of us independently that the afternoon had peaked. “I might want to actually take a nap,” said Josh, and we all quickly and enthusiastically agreed. We headed back to the rooms to rest up and made plans to meet back at Party Central at eight and run through the plan once before Willie arrived.
I wasn’t used to drinking in the afternoons, and the drinks, probably like all great mixed drinks, turned out to have been much stronger than they felt at the time. I didn’t fall asleep until 7:15, and when my phone finally went off at 7:45, I had an unbearable, excruciating headache.
I splashed water on my face and arrived at the room a couple of minutes past eight. I found everyone else in the same state or worse—thudding headaches, eyelids sticking and stinging from leaving their contact lenses in, all from that sun and those drinks that were chased by those awful, worst-idea naps.
“Is there any Advil? Tylenol?”
There wasn’t. They had already looked.
Josh turned to me. “Hey. You gotta lead this. I can’t do it.”
I was in no state to lead this thing.
“You have to lead this,” he repeated. “You have to lead this.”
I had always heard about the “hair of the dog” cure but had never tried it—officially because it sounded irresponsible, but really because it sounded disgusting. Whenever I was hungover, I thought I never wanted to drink again, let alone right then. But now, with Willie’s life potentially at stake, I pulled a beer from the minibar and cracked it open with the hard plastic opener we all had on our key chains.
“What are you doing?”
“Hair of the dog.”
“You want Willie to smell alcohol on your breath while—”
“No, I’m going to down it fast, then have some gum.”
“You have gum?” said Dave. “Who has gum? I asked if anyone had gum. Who has gum?”
“I’ll brush my teeth then.”
I swigged the beer and immediately coughed it all up onto the rug, exactly like a baby would if you gave a baby a beer.
“The fuck! Now the place smells like alcohol!”
“We were pretending we partied last night. Remember?!”
“They would have cleaned the room. This is a high-end hotel, you fucking morons!”
Josh reached for two bottles of club soda from the minibar and started spilling them all over the floor on top of the beer with overdiligent evenness.
“That smells worse!!”
“That smells like a gin and tonic!”
“Fuck!!!” said Josh. “This is tonic, not soda!”
“Fuck!!! Where’s the soda?”
I couldn’t take all this with my headache.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“Gift shop,” I said. “I’m going to get Tylenol. For everyone!”
“Get Advil.”
“Get Tylenol.”
“Get Advil Extra Strength.”
“Get Tylenol Extra Strength!”
“I’ll get both.”
“Just get the Tylenol! Regular Tylenol!”
“Why the fuck would a person not get Extra Strength?!”
“Just hurry back!”
“I will. You make the room look like it’s been cleaned.”
“Too late for that! That ship has fucking sailed!”
“Our best chance is to make it look like we’ve been partying all day.” Josh started emptying vodka minibottles onto the floor.
“What the fuck!?” screamed Dave. “Do you realize how expensive that is?!”
“There is a life at stake here!” screamed Josh.