“Thank god, a town,” Greg sighed. “If I had to hear one more Beatles song I was gonna hurl.”

“I thought you liked the Beatles,” Gina scorned.

“Not when they’re sung by you lot,” he said, smiling in spite of himself.

“Welcome to Wagga Wagga,” Brad mused, glancing up from the map to look around the town. It looked big enough to sustain their needs, and they all felt a bit more secure knowing that they were in a pleasantly populated, well lit city. There were probably a few more good driving hours left in the day, but it had been decided that getting home a little later would be worth staying in a comfortable hotel instead of another dumpy pub.

Fenny pulled up to a charming little hotel, the nicest accommodations they had had since leaving Adelaide, and, after climbing out of the car, basked in the clean air-conditioned lobby for a moment.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked, looking up from the paperwork scattered across her desk. She froze and her jaw dropped open for a moment. The five travelers glanced at each other—they’d forgotten how ragged they looked, especially since their clothes were a bit stiff and their hair a bit frazzled from their salt water excursion earlier in the day.

“We’d like some rooms,” Greg announced as he limped over to the desk. “I want a single, and those two are gonna need a double,” he said, jerking his thumb towards Fenny and Brad, who were working to adjust Brad’s sling. “And then,” Greg continued, “probably a double for them.”

Gina’s eyes bugged at him in surprise, but she nodded at the receptionist. A few minutes later they were checked in and handed keys. “Where’s your luggage?” the receptionist asked.

“We don’t have any, actually,” Fenny said nonchalantly.

“None?” she gasped.

“No.”

The receptionist looked horrified.

“Lost it to the sheep,” Fenny said with a smile and skipped away towards the elevators, the receptionist watching her go, unsure whether to laugh or call for medical help.

“Sorry,” Gina smirked as they wandered past the desk, “she’ll be okay once she gets some sleep.”

“Which won’t be for a while if I have anything to do with it,” Brad giggled.

“You strange, horny little man,” Greg sighed, shaking his head.

“I’ll have you know I’m not so little,” Brad countered.

Paul paused to fix the cuff off his pants, which he’d tried to roll up but had had little success with thus far. “So what really happened to your luggage?” the receptionist asked quietly.

“Oh, don’t worry, there were no sheep,” he assured her as he righted himself and headed off. “It was the wallabies that took off with it. If you see one of the little fucks wandering around in red boxer shorts, would you tell him Fenny’s looking for him?”

The receptionist looked as if she was about to cry when Paul backed into the elevator and waved at her as the door closed. “I’d forgotten what fun it is to screw with strangers,” he mused.

“I vote we go to our rooms, rinse off the salt, and go have dinner,” Greg announced.

“We can have a little engagement party,” Brad chimed.

“I vote we have a bachelor party,” Paul said, getting excited at the idea. “And you girls can do whatever it is you do.”

“Bachelor party?” Brad echoed. “Isn’t that supposed to come later?”

“I think Paul’s right,” Gina declared. “I mean, we get in to Sydney tomorrow, and you just know that Fen and Brad are gonna be joined at the…let’s say hip…for the rest of time. I think Fenny needs a girls’ night out. Besides, you three are gonna get shit faced, I can tell, and that’s one of those things I’d rather not be around to see.”

“Now there is a brilliant idea,” Greg nodded.

Brad seemed to be debating the idea. “I’ll get her home in time for a good root before bedtime,” Gina perked.

“Deal!” Brad cried as Fenny rubbed her forehead.

“I associate with you people why?” she groaned.

“Admit it Fen,” Greg grinned as the elevator doors opened, “you love us all and wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if we weren’t around.”

“For once in your life, you’re right,” Fenny said, patting his back as they stepped out into the hallway.

“So, we’ll meet in the bar?” Paul asked hopefully, grabbing Gina’s hand.

“Absolutely,” Greg agreed.

“And no more sneaky attempts at shower sex,” Gina warned, “don’t need you hurting yourselves again.”

Brad shot a startled glance at Fenny as he opened the door to their room. “I swear I didn’t tell her anything,” she said, trying not to laugh. “I promise!”

“So, what do we do?” Fenny asked as Gina opened her door.

“Room service,” Gina said, grinning impishly.

“Have I mentioned recently that you’re a genius?” Fenny asked as she flopped on the bed.

“No, and I’ve been expecting it. I’m thinking a couple big chicken dinners, some nice chocolate something for desert, and some artery-clogging junk food to munch on during the movie.”

“Movie?” Fenny asked hopefully.

“Yeah, we’ve got televisions that actually work!” Gina cheered, grabbing the remote and flipping through a dozen channels or so before tiring and returning to the room service menu. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to just sprawl out on the bed and chill for a while.”

“Vegetating, that’s a great plan.”

“Well, look who’s here,” Paul gasped. “I didn’t expect you for another twenty minutes, thought we’d have to come up with a hose and spray you down.”

“What do you take me for?” Brad said, pulling up a chair to join him and Greg at the table in the dimly lit bar. “I have a certain amount of self-restraint.”

“ ‘Certain amount’ in Sherwoodese,” Greg said, holding his thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart.

“Haven’t consummated the engagement then?” Paul asked, taking a sip of something.

“Could we get off my sex life maybe?” Brad said, peering into the shot glass that was seemingly waiting for him.

“Tequila,” Greg smiled, and downed his. “Good for ya,” he hissed as he slammed the empty glass back on the table.

Brad shrugged and knocked back the shot.

“Watch it, young Bradley,” Paul began sagely, “I wouldn’t advise trying to keep up with Proops and myself. We’re old hands at this drinking yourself into a stupor thing.”

“I’ve done my fair share of shots,” Brad nodded.

“So, married, huh?” Greg sighed. “Wait till the guys at work find out about this.”

“Why?” Brad asked.

“Well, last time they saw any of us, we were ready to kill each other, Fen hated you, and you were resigned to your fate with Ritz. Hey!” Greg suddenly perked up. “Drew’s gonna be pleased Ritza and Rona are in jail!”

“Hadn’t thought of that. He should give us a raise,” Brad grinned as he flagged down a waitress.

“Why does hotel food always taste so much better in your room?” Fenny asked.

“One of the great mysteries of life,” Gina mused.

“So, when’s this movie of yours on?” Fenny asked as she folded up her napkin and dropped it on her plate.

“Mm, four minutes,” Gina answered. “I could live off chocolate,” she sighed contentedly.

“I don’t doubt it,” Fenny laughed. They flumped on the bed and Gina retrieved the remote to find the proper movie. “What’s it called?”

“The Secret Menace,” Gina replied.

“Sounds highly dramatic yet somehow cheap.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is. Brainless entertainment, that’s what we’re here for.”

“I can totally dig that,” Fenny chirped.

“Ooh, here it comes,” Gina said, leaning back and grabbing a pillow as Fenny spread out on her stomach.

Paul sauntered over to the pool table. “Excuse me,” he said to the significantly younger man who was lining up a shot. “You don’t think we could use the table for a while, do you?”

“Nope,” he said, and took the shot. The cue gently knocked a solid ball into a pocket and banked off the rail, and he smiled at the woman who was leaning on a cue stick across the table.

“It’s just that, you’ve been using it for a while…”

“And we’ll be using it a while longer. Get lost.”

Paul squinted at the young man and puffed himself up. “Look, do you know who I am?” he demanded.

The youth looked him over. “No,” he shrugged and headed across the table to make another shot.

“You don’t? Well—”

“Look dude,” Greg said, not wanting Paul’s alcohol-soaked pride to get wounded. “It’s just that this is a kinda bachelor party, our pal Brad just got engaged, we’re trying to show him a good time and get him drunk.”

“Bachelor party?” the young man chirped. “Well sure!” He sauntered over towards Brad who was slipping off his sling. “If they try ‘n’ talk you out of it, you listen to ‘em,” he laughed, clapping Brad on the back.

“You stop that,” the woman demanded, poking him in the back of the head with her cue before handing it to Brad. “Congratulations,” she smiled, then continued to berate her husband as they left the bar.

“Rack em,” Greg demanded.

“Me?” Paul asked, wondering where his drink had gone.

“Yes you. I got us the table and it’s Brad’s party. You wanna break?” he asked Brad.

“Sure,” he smiled, emptying his glass and waiting for Paul to finish. After testing out how much he could move his injured arm, he chalked his cue, positioned the cue ball off to the left, carefully pulled back, and there was a resounding clatter of balls and the distinct thump of a ball going into a pocket.

“Pretty good for an injured guy,” Greg said.

“Holds his liquor better than I thought he would,” Paul mused.

You two, up against the wall. Now.

“Why are we watching this?” Fenny asked.

“Because it’s so bad. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to watch an action movie again without having to pick it apart.”

Don’t hurt her. It’s me you’ve got the argument against, leave the poor girl be.

“Oh come on!” Gina yelled at the television. “You could’ve grabbed the gun from him right there! He’s not paying any attention, he’s ogling your girlfriend!”

“For the bad guys it’s all about sex, isn’t it?” Fenny laughed.

“Come on girl, kick him in the balls!”

“You know, if she did that, the good guys would win and it’d be a short movie…only been on 45 minutes. They’ve got another hour yet.”

First you imprison my sister, now this!

“I’ve never heard such lame dialogue,” Fenny mused. “Like the writers never listened to a real conversation in their life.”

Eungh! Oof! Faa!

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten that everyone knows kung fu,” Gina nodded. “Y’know, if this was real people, it’d be the chick that saves the day. Of course, any chick would’ve realized already if her boyfriend had a love child with her sister, and she’d have dropped his skinny little arse already instead of cowering behind the guy. Don’t you just hate how they make women in the movies—Fen?”

Run baby, fast!

Fenny pushed up her glasses and rubbed her nose.

“What’s wrong?” Gina asked. “You’ve gone kinda pale.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Fenny snapped.

Gina regarded Fenny skeptically. “Come on, you know you can’t hide things from me. You’ve spent more time with me upset than you have happy, I know what it looks like.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just me being stupid, that’s all.”

“If it’s nothing, then you can tell me.”

“How much credence do you give Freud?” Fenny asked.

“What? Why?” Gina asked.

“It’s just, these dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“I keep dreaming that Brad and I are getting married, but first Ritza was there, now it’s been these little kids.”

“What do you mean kids?”

“Brad’s kids. They look like him. And they’re sure as hell not mine.”

“Oh Fenny,” Gina chided, “stop being so paranoid! You’re not still worried about Ritza’s kid, are you? It’s not his.”

“I don’t know, I just can’t shake this feeling that maybe he’s maybe hiding something, I don’t know,” she sighed and pulled her fingers through her hair nervously. “I’m being stupid again, aren’t I?”

“Yes you are,” Gina said firmly. “You’ve gotta get Ritza out of your system. Forget about her. Stop worrying yourself. You’re allowed to be happy now.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, smiling weakly. “Gotta tell myself there’s no little Brads running around.”

“Which is probably a very good thing,” Gina chuckled. Fenny gave her a thwack with her pillow.

“You lose again!” Paul cried and threw back another shot. “Time for your ceremonial lap!”

“Fuck,” Greg grumbled and undid his fly. The crowd of the bar, which had been so enthusiastic his first four losses as well as Paul’s two, had given up caring that men were dropping their pants and running around the table in what Paul described as “that beautiful old Aussie tradition.” They hadn’t even taken notice of Brad’s most recent loss, and he was a bit hurt by that. No one clapped or hooted when he raced around the table in his fancy, beloved shorts.

There was the now-familiar flash of repulsive lime green briefs and Greg was hobbling around the table, partly because of his still destroyed ankle, partly because of the copious amount of alcohol which had joined his bloodstream. He rounded the last corner precariously and reached for his pants, missed, and fell to the floor.

“I hate Australia,” he grumbled weakly from the ground.

“Get up,” Brad demanded. “No one wants to look at your ass.”

“They don’t?” Greg asked dejectedly as he sat up and grabbed his pants from the table and pulled them on carefully.

“No. Now get up off the floor and I’ll buy you another drink.”

“No, I’ll buy you a drink,” Greg said as he flumped into the chair next to him at their table. “Your party, your last night without being attached to Fen.”

“Fen’s a good girl,” Paul nodded. “I’ll buy her a drink.”

“She doesn’t drink,” Brad sighed.

“Poor girl,” Greg sighed. “I’ll drink it for her.”

“She’s my girlfriend, I’ll drink it,” Brad demanded.

“She’s your fiancée!” Paul chimed. “Poor sap. I’ll buy you a drink.”

The waitress wandered by and shook her head. It was so sad to see drunken tourists.

“Thanks guys,” Brad said suddenly, throwing an arm over each of his friend’s shoulders. “You’re the greatest, helping me save Fen from that bitch. You’re—the greatest.”

“You’re the greatest,” Paul murmured.

“You—I love you guys,” Greg sighed. “Really, I do.”

“I love you guys too,” Brad said.

“I love you, Greg. In a strictly platonic way. Brad, I love you. But I won’t tell you how,” Paul grinned lazily. “But don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll tell Gina,” Brad laughed. “She’ll be jealous.”

“No, Gina, no, she’s a great gal,” Paul sighed. “She’ll understand about us.”

“I’m sorry I fucked your wife,” Greg gasped. “I really am.”

“Oh, that’s ok, I fucked her too,” Paul laughed.

“I didn’t,” Brad announced.

“Aw, we still love you,” Paul assured him. “Don’t we Proops?”

“Yeah.” He playfully punched Brad’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I fucked Fen.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t,” Paul said.

“That’s ok,” Brad nodded. “I’m sorry I fucked Ritza.”

“Me too,” Greg and Paul said simultaneously, and giggled.

“I don’t love her,” Brad declared.

“But that’s okay, ‘cause you love us,” Paul chimed.

“Yes, I do,” Brad agreed.

“So do I,” Greg said.

“I’m glad you all love each other,” the waitress said suddenly, “but time to move the love fest up to your rooms, the bar’s closing.

“Oh, but I love booze more than anything,” Greg whined.

“Yeah, too bad, you can’t drink it here. Now go on.”

“I don’t love you,” Brad declared.

“I do,” Paul grinned as Greg grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the lobby.