The Midnight Tour

How am I ever going to get rid of her? he wondered.

He felt trapped, crushed.

No matter what, tonight’s ruined. She’ll make sure of that.

Owen sipped his drink, nodded and smiled at some of the other Midnight Tourists as he made his way toward the barbeque grills. There were three grills. On one, hamburgers sizzled.

Dana was manning it with her loverboy. Sirloin steaks were being prepared on the second grill by the chubby, shy guide named Rhonda. The third grill held a combination of hot dogs and Polish sausages. Behind it, turning the food with tongs, was a young brunette who didn’t look familiar to Owen.

“Over here,” Monica said, and headed for the third grill.

“I thought I’d have a hamburger.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know how much you love Polish sausage.”

“I like hamburgers, too.”

“You just want to flirt with your slut. Besides, look at her. She already has a boyfriend, and he’s a lot more handsome than you. She won’t give you the time of day. Now, come on. You know you’d rather eat Polish sausage.”

I’ll get a burger later, Owen told himself.

He followed Monica to the third grill.

“May I help you please?” the worker asked. Like the others, she wore the tan uniform of a Beast House guide. Owen guessed she was no older than twenty. She had short brown hair and large, nervous eyes. Her nameplate read, WINDY.

“We’ll have two Polish sausages with the works,” Monica told her.

“Are you a guide?” Owen asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I work at the snack stand,” she said, smiling a little.

“I thought be did,” Owen said, and nodded toward loverboy.

“Warren? He owns it. I help out part time at the windows. I served your lunch yesterday.”

“Really?”

“You and your friend.”

Holy shit!

“Ah,” Owen said. He smiled and nodded as if nothing had gone wrong. “That’s right. I remember you now.”

Windy turned away to finish preparing the sandwiches.

“What friend?” Monica asked.

“Just some guy I met.”

“Guy. I’m sure.”

Windy came back with two paper plates. On each was a Polish sausage in a long roll. They were gloppy with yellow mustard, onions and peppers. Steam rose off the grilled sausages as she handed the plates to Monica and Owen.

“Enjoy them,” she said, smiling pleasantly.

“Thank you, Windy,” Owen said.

“You’re an absolute treasure,” Monica said.

Windy’s smile slipped crooked.

Owen cringed.

As he hurried away, Monica kept pace beside him and said, “So, Owie, tell me more about your mysterious friend.”

“It was a guy.”

“Mmm. I’m sure.”

“If you don’t believe me, go back and ask Windy.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I believe you. If you say your friend was a guy, your friend was a guy.”

He hurried to the nearest picnic table. A few people were already there, but one of the side benches had room for two. “Mind if we join you?” he asked.

“Sit, dude,”

“You, too, dudette.”

They climbed over the bench, placed their plates and glasses on the table cloth, and sat down.

“Hi,” Owen said. “I’m Owen and this is Monica.”

“Dude. I’m Dennis.”

“I’m Arnold.”

“We’re A.A. and D.D.”

“Nice to meet you, guys.”

Monica, ignoring them, took a drink of wine.

“Dr. Clive Bixby, here!” proclaimed Jungle Jim. He waved from the other end of the table, then bit into a hamburger.

Ignoring it all, Monica set down her glass. She turned her head toward Owen, smiled with mocking sweetness, and said, “So, what was your friend’s name?”

“John.”

“What an unusual name.”

“It is?”

“For a girl. And how was she in bed?”

“John was a guy.”

“So you say.”

He stared into Monica’s eyes. In them, he saw cold, amused contempt.

He picked up his icy glass in one hand, his Polish sausage sandwich in the other, stood up and climbed off the bench. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Where’re you going now?”

“Just stay here.”

He rushed away. After a few seconds, he glanced back.

Monica was twisted around on the bench, watching him but still seated.

Fucking bitch, ruins everything!

She was still on the bench when he reached the corner of Beast House.

He hurried to the rear patio area and entered the men’s restroom.

It was well lighted, clean-smelling, and it seemed to be deserted. It had five stalls. He entered the one in the middle. The toilet seat looked clean. He locked the stall door, then sat down.

And drank his drink.

And ate his Polish sausage sandwich.

And struggled to keep from crying.

After a while, Owen began to feel better. The vodka tonic had warmed him up inside, calmed him down—and the sausage had tasted awfully good.

He looked at his wristwatch.

8:40

The movie wouldn’t be starting for another hour and twenty minutes.

I oughta just wait here, he thought. Let Monica enjoy her own company till ten, see how she likes it.

But I’ll miss the whole picnic.

I want another drank. I want a cheeseburger. I want to be where I can at least look at Dana every once in a while.

He suddenly imagined John Cromwell chuckling, shaking his head and saying “What’s the matter with you, buddy? Hiding in the john ‘cause you’re scared of that smirky twat? Fuck it, man. Go out and have a good