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Tim and Billy were barhopping in brand new old downtown. They always drank too much and Tim used buzz to talk to women. Billy usually became quieter. On Saturday night Tim brought young woman back to table and charmed her while Billy tried to say few words. When she went to restroom Tim told Billy he’d drive him to apartment before taking her back to home of parents, who were vacationing in Tahiti. Billy grunted okay. For half hour Tim and woman chatted, ignoring Billy who excused himself to go to restroom. When he returned table was occupied by two couples.
“Did you see guy and girl?” he asked.

“Yeah, they left.”

They didn’t really leave, Billy concluded. They just went outside, and he did too. They weren’t in front of bar or across or down street either. Maybe they were making out in Tim’s car. He didn’t want to disturb but had to check. Tim’s car was gone. Tequila pounded brain and fouled mouth as he vowed to get Tim good for this. He hired taxi and when meter equaled money in hand driver dropped off mile away. Each step he got madder.

Billy’s car sat in driveway but not Tim’s. That didn’t matter. He kicked front door several times but didn’t open so unlatched gate and walked in side entrance of garage offering unlocked door into house. Howling like warrior Billy ran around punching and kicking holes in soft walls and thin doors, breaking two frames. He might have continued for hour but punched stud and hurt hand. He went to sleep on living room sofa where Tim found him next morning.

“What in hell,” Tim said.

“Sorry, but I’d have busted if you’d been here.”

“Parents will be home tomorrow. You fix this. I’m not getting involved.”

Billy drove to apartment and got checkbook. Tim was there packing and said, “I’m moving out.”

Billy didn’t care. He had bad hangover and hated reading yellow pages. It was hard to get carpenter on Sunday. He eventually found one who met him at house, gave frightening estimate, went to hardware store, and patched home pretty well.

“But you didn’t paint door frames,” Billy said.

“Just one of those sweet mysteries,” said carpenter.

Billy returned to apartment parking lot where Tim was loading car.

“Just tell parents you had party.”

“No, tomorrow you tell whatever want, but leave me out.”

Billy was nervous walking to front door, which squeaked when Mrs. Johnston opened and invited Tim in.

“Have you seen Tim?” she said. “Look at house.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnston, but there was party here Saturday night.”

“Outrageous,” she said, as Mr. Johnston watched. “Tim knows he can’t have parties in home.”

“Tim wasn’t here, but I ran off rowdies who did this.”

This entry was posted in Alcohol, Families, Friendship, Sex, Short Pieces - GTC.