Pappa's Got a Brand New Stag (Part Two)

‘Waiter!’

Steve shouted over the half empty bar.

‘Waiter!’

Again.

‘Waiter!’

‘Steve, that’s a man.’ Alex said.

‘Shut up! Waiteress!’

‘That’s not a word.’ Alex’s cousin Jim said.

‘Shut up! Man…’

Steve finally got the attention of the waiter, gargling his way through the order. The order was six bottles of beer. Simple. It took him about four minutes.

‘Steve, maybe you should calm it down a bit.’ Duncan added.

‘Naa, you know…’

Steve mumbled, balancing himself by clamping both hands down on the table as he stood over us.

‘You are right; I need to let my hair down a bit. Mary can get a taxi home…she’s fine. She’ll be fine…’

Around 9pm the bar started getting a bit more crowded. With it’s dimmed lights and modern art on the walls; a small three-piece jazz band started tuning up in the corner. The stage was a small raised square beside the toilets, marking itself out with a neon blue strip across the edge. This was a really nice place; more apt for a bank manager’s New Years Eve drinks do than a supermarket stag event. As the double bass and light snare beat started up, Steve locked onto his pray, narrowing his tired eyes towards the stage and holding back a burp.

‘Sweet child of mine!’ He squawked.

‘Steve, they don’t want requests.

‘What? They’re a band, aren’t they?’

‘Dylan, I think you need to take outside for a bit.’ Jake suggested.

‘Yeah, come on, Steve. Let’s get some fresh air.’

I manuvoured Steve towards the exit and angled him through the glass doors. My phone buzzed as he leant onto the wall outside.

‘Hello?’

‘Dylan, how’s it going?’

It was Allison.

‘Oh, hey! Good. Good. It’s going good.’

Allison asked me another question, finishing her sentence with her high inflection. I couldn’t hear most of it as Steve was singing. Well, shouting.

‘Is that Sweet Child Of Mine I can hear?’

‘Yeah.’ I said, one finger in my ear. ‘Steve is enjoying the night.’

‘Oh, good. When are you at the museum next?’

Why does she keep bringing that up? I. Am. On. A. Stag. Do. Surely that means I can forget everything for one night. I haven’t been to the museum for ages. I didn’t want to tell her that. Why? Because… I. Am On. A. Stag. Do.

‘In a few days, I think.’

‘Oh, so your rota isn’t sorted?’

I tried to think of another answer but as I turned back towards the door I realised Steve was missing.

‘Shit. Allison, I going to have to ring you back.’

‘OK, well…’

I bleeped my phone off as she spoke and ran inside the club.

‘Where’s Steve?’ I asked them all.

‘What? He was with you.’ Alex said. ‘You took him outside.’

‘Oh shit, he must have wandered off down the street. Come on…’ I ushered them.

‘Wait.’ Jim piped up. ‘You know Steve is like forty odd, don’t you? I’m sure he can handle himself.’

‘Was he still singing Sweet Child of Mine?’ Alex asked.

‘Yeah.’ I bit my lip.

‘OK, let’s go guys.’ Alex stood and necked the last of his beer. ‘If some of the lads out there hear him, he’s not going to wake up in the morning.’

The five of us stepped out into the fresh spring evening. Distant music and nattering filled the air as we turned the corner. It was there that the glare from the first club hit us. A tall white building with black and white banners draping the sides, the word LOUD covered each one. And Loud, it surely was. Not just a bit loud, like the loud you get when your alarm goes off in the morning. The kind of loud that makes your face squeeze up and your ears cringe.

‘This must be where he is.’ Jake pointed to it. ‘The lights, the sound. It must have lured him in.’

A few girls trickled in as with made our way the entrance. The large glass doors were open and inviting, but the man inside the glass box just outside it wasn’t. It looked like he had been forced into the box, his black bomber jacket touching each side.

‘Ten to get in, guys.’ He said commandingly.

At first we all thought he meant 10pm. Wasn’t it 10pm already? It felt a lot later.

‘It’s ten past.’ Duncan said.

‘No, ten. Ten pounds.’

‘Ten pounds?’ Jake held his head back. ‘To get in?’

‘Correct.’ He answered coolly.

Ten pounds to get into a nightclub. Surely you should get more for your money than just an entrance. Like a toy or free sex or something.

‘Hang on.’ I said, stopped the lads from diving into their wallets. ‘We’re looking for a friend.’

‘Aren’t we all.’ He said, looking down at his desk.

‘No, not like that. We lost him in a bar and we think he’s wandered in here.’

The man stared at me through suspicious eyes, with one eyebrow slightly raised. After a few moments I thought he was going to sort this out for us, maybe call one of his boys to go and look for him inside.

‘Tenner to get in lads.’ He sniffed.

‘Listen…’ Jim pushed himself to the front. ‘He’s about forty odd. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a picture of a dragon on it.’

‘Oh, yeah. The guy who was singing…’

‘Sweet child of mine.’ We all said together.

‘Yes.’ Alex confirmed.

‘Yeah, yeah he’s in here.’ The man smiled.

‘He must be out of it.’ I said. ‘He’d never pay a tenner to go in here.’

‘He didn’t. He paid twenty.’

Ten minutes later we were in the club. Fifty quid down and ready to find Steve. The club was massive. Absolutely massive, so finding him was negligible. We all agreed that I’d go and get a round of drinks in, with what money I had left and the rest went to find a place to stand. The bar stretched the width of the room on one side, with lads with trendy hair flipped and spun bottles about and moving to the music. I found the bar with my hand and moved towards it, taking out a fresh, crisp twenty pound note and trying to get the attention of the tenders.

A few moments later a lad stood next to me, looking around every so often and checking his phone. One of the bar tenders, a tall lad with brown spiky hair, raised his eyebrows to the man, silently asking him for his order. Instead of handing it over to me he just ordered without a flinch. Normally I let it go, but I’d had a few drinks already and my mind was more occupied with finding Steve.

‘Excuse me, I was first.’

They both looked at me.

‘Naa…’ The lad said.

‘No, I was. It was my turn.’

‘Turn? There are no turns.’ He cackled.

‘Yes there is. There are turns and it’s mine. It’s my turn.’

‘Fuck off.’ He scrunched up his face.

The bartender sorted out his drink, a little shy and awkward, putting down the glasses carefully and looking over at me every so often.

‘Dick.’ I muttered, looking towards the dance floor.

‘What?’ He squared up to me.

I hadn’t planned on that. Normally I say things quietly, cleverly masking my anger. But it was loud, living up to it’s name, so I just bellowed it out, forgetting for a second that he was right beside me.

‘Do you want to say that again?’ He stared down at me.

Of course I didn’t. Before I could think of what to do the lad was down on the floor. I felt the room turn towards me, glaring at me and my enemy who was now on the floor and whining. I found Steve.

‘Steve! There you are.’ I said, shaking. ‘What a shot.’ I said, moving him away from the bar.
'It must have been my Iron Maiden ring...' He slurred, peering down at his clenched fist. 'It's put a few down in my time...'

The rest of the lads rushed over to us, ushering us out of the building. We got in a taxi and everyone got dropped off at their respective homes. The next morning I got a text from Steve.

‘Why do I have no money, 43 missed calls from Mary and a sore hand?’

There was one answer. Stag do.