We entered the bar around 8PM. It was nothing special. It was your typical 1980's bar with cheap round Formica table tops and metal bar stools. We sat down and a waitress came over immediately. We each ordered a shot and a beer. She came back with two shots and two beers, each. The place was busy for a Sunday night. Many of the people we saw at the Lakes were most likely here as the women all appeared to be attractive. Maybe they were just attractive because of the two for one drinks. We struck up a few conversations with folks around us, but were mostly content to drink and soak in the scenery. The "Madonna" look hadn't made its way out here to the Midwest, yet so most of the girl were clad in longish skirts and poofy blouses or designer jeans and Izod Lacoste Tennis shirts. On the guys were jeans, predominantly black Levis and pastel colored Oxfords. We watched the mingling as it flowed in synch with the musical genius of Duran Duran, Culture Club and Simple Minds. Tom and I were not in uniform. I was wearing a pair of beat up Calvin Klien jeans with a tan sweater pushed up to the elbows. Tom had on a beat up pair of faded blue Levis with a black t-shirt with a faded "Rush" on the front.
Tom was not comfortable in this situation. He hated the music. He wasn't half as horny as me; the girls didn't have any effect. The the two for one drinks buoyed his psyche just enough to make the place bearable. After a few rounds he was almost having fun. I watched Tom watching the scene. I still had no idea what made this guy tick. He was 25 years old. He looked like a cross between Crispan Glover and Christopher Reeves as Clark Kent in "Superman". Underneath his easy going, laid back demeanor was one hard nosed, intense dude. One Saturday morning at Camp Howe we had a pick up tackle football game. Even though Tom was 5 years older than most of us and built rather solidly, he was picked last. We all assumed that he was a geek and not athletic or tough. After the game all the guys could talk about is what an animal he was. I had been the recipient of a few of his tackles and was shocked at how little mercy he showed in a pick up game between friends. It was comforting to know that if the shit hit the fan, Tom would have my back or at least he had it in him.
Around midnight we were absolutely shitfaced. The novelty of having the waitress bring massive amounts of booze to us for little money wore off after the first few rounds, but the damage was done. I was sipping on a Coors Light when I noticed Tom on the way back from the bathroom talking to some guy. When he returned to the table he said that the guy offered to let us party at his place after hours. Tom said the guy had some great weed.
When the place closed we followed him to his apartment. When we got out of the car he introduced himself as Greg and shook my hand. We followed him into his place. It was very clean and organized. He invited us to sit on the couch while he made us drinks and packed a bowl. We sipped our drinks and waited for Greg to emerge from his bedroom. Greg sat next to Tom and sparked up. He passed it to Tom who took a massive hit who then passed it to me. I took a small hit knowing that I was already too wasted and I was probably going to have to drive us back to Jerry's being that Tom was done. I passed it back to Greg who then got up and put on some music. Tom passed out completely and Greg sat next to me. He asked about our trip and other inane bits of small talk. I got up to use the bathroom. When I returned the lights seemed lower than when I left. I sat back down on the couch. I felt uneasy. I felt something on my leg. It was Greg's hand. "What the fuck are you doing?" I jumped up. "Its OK, your friend is asleep", he tried to reassure me. I went over to Tom, "Tom wake up!", I slapped him in the face. He was out cold. "Its OK, relax, relax, stop flipping out", Greg said with more urgency. I felt really queasy, as if I was fighting to stay conscious. Greg had sidled up next to me and grabbed one of my hands. He tried to lead me back to the couch. I suddenly felt some semblance of lucidity and punched him square in the nose. It exploded like a tomato. He fell back on the couch and pushed a blanket against his nose stop the blood. I grabbed Tom by the arms and pulled him forward. He hit the floor hard, which was enough to bring him temporarily out of his stupor. I put my arms around him and dragged him toward the door with him helping as well as he could. Greg got up from the couch and tried to block the door, but the blood started flowing all over his pink Oxford shirt again, uncontrollably. He relented either because his foyer started to look like a murder scene or because he knew if he didn't move, it would be a murder scene. I got Tom back to the VW and poured him into the passenger seat. With time I found my way back to Jerry's. I left Tom in the car and went to our guestroom. I passed out on my bed fully clothed with my sneakers still on.