The Hangover: Part III

Trepidatious notes resonated from the grand piano of the living room as Stu sat on its bench, his fingers plucking at the black and white keys. The melody he we starting to build to was faintly familiar to the other three, but he wasn't there yet. He was staring ahead at the corner where the two walls on either side of him met, dazed as if trying to think of something. Sam, was standing beside him with a wet cloth from one of the bathrooms in her hands as she dabbed the side of his head where the macaw had pecked mercilessly at him till he bled. He winced when she dabbed a little too hard at one point.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pulling the cloth away.

Behind both their backs, Phil and Alan were wandering around from room to room, turning over every object or piece of furniture, looking for the ring seemingly to no avail. Phil was actually doing the brunt of the searching. Alan was more just acting like Phil's shadow, mimicking every move and gesture and repeating the same thing Phil said, though a more watered down version as Phil dropped a lot of F-bombs along the way.

As Sam began to wrap an ace bandage around Stu's head, the melody he was playing became more pronounced. He tilted his head back slightly and Sam altered the way she went about tightening the tan gauze, holding it in place with a small metal clasp.

"It's happened again..." Stu began to sing. "We lost our friend...and my hygienist's sis," he looked at Sam out the corner of his eye, "in New York, New York."

Sam smirked, stepping back to take a seat at one of the chairs between the destroyed sofas.

"We took LSD...apparently," Stu continued, "because Phil's a douche! Not just in New York." This garnered a glowering look from Phil who stopped where he was in the archway between the second foyer and the living room, hands on his hips. Stu didn't see this and went about his song. "I wanna wake up in a city, without a blackout...or get attacked by a bum...or a macaw."

This time he threw a look over his shoulder to Sam who just gave a nod of agreement. He turned back around.

"I'm tired of this shit," he sang with an exasperated sigh in his voice. "Getting beat, getting hit. I need to stop going away with friends...on lost weekends." Phil moved closer into the living room to listen to the song. "What's wrong with Alan and Phil? Why do they slip us drugs and pills? Next time I'm staying home...back in LA..."

Stu ended the song abruptly after a few extra notes. He then slouched forward and turned around on the bench. Sam smirked and brought her hands up to clap for him. "Bravisima!" she cheered like some Italian patron of the arts.

Stu just smiled in return and pointed to his bandage. "Thanks."

"Welcome," Sam replied as Alan came running into the living room, slipping on the floor's smooth surface with his socks and almost falling forward but catching himself in time. He was waving a Polaroid in his hand and a huge grin was plastered on his face. "What is that?" Sam asked.

"A picture," Alan replied, handing it over to her.

Sam's eyes immediately widened with disbelief and delighted awe. "Holy shitballs," she exclaimed to which Stu threw her a questioning though amused gaze at her choice of expletive. "Alan, this is you and Billy fucking Joel!" She held the photo up, the back of the Polaroid facing her so that Phil could see as he moved closer to get a better look. She then turned it slightly so Stu could see as well.

"Wow, you're right," Stu commented. "When did we meet Billy Joel?"

"It was here," Phil said as he peered with narrowed eyes, pointing at something in the photo. "That's the piano behind them."

"Are you sure?" Stu asked, giving it a second look.

Phil nodded. "Yeah. See the dildos on the wall."

"Oh yeah."

"So, we partied with Billy Joel last night? How cool is that?" Sam was grinning now.

"I wish I could remember it," Alan remarked. "He's my favorite musician."

"I thought the Jonas Brothers were your favorite, Alan?" Stu questioned with a chuckle.

Alan's face became quite serious. "They're my favorite band," he corrected. "Billy Joel is my favorite solo musician."

"He does have the large poster of 'Glass Houses' on his bedroom wall," Phil contributed.

Stu turned and stared up at Phil. "How is it you can remember that but you couldn't remember supplying us with LSD? Selective memory or something?"

Sam interrupted. "Well, I guess this solves the mystery of who Billy from the message is. Must be his macaw we have." She handed the Polaroid back to Alan, who took it happily, holding it against his chest like a toddler does with its teddy bear. "How we wrangle it up and get it back to its master is beyond me, though."

"Yeah, we don't exactly have Billy Joel on speed dial, do we?" Stu put forth as his expression quickly changed. "Or do we?" The other three looked at him. "Phil, Alan...check your cell phones. Maybe he gave you his number last night."

Alan and Phil took their cell phones out of their pockets and began to scroll through the address books. Phil shook his head after a few moments.

"I got nothing," he replied, repocketing his phone. "Al?"

With the hand still holding onto the Polaroid, Alan held up his index finger at Phil. "Hold on." On further inspection, he began to smile, turning his eyes upward to meet the awaiting gazes from Stu, Phil and Sam.



"Okay, so we just gotta get this bird into...something...and take it to Billy Joel's house in Sag Harbor. He gave Alan his address and it's two, two and a half hours away by car?" Phil questioned, reiterating the beginnings of their plan of attack. He looked at Sam for confirmation about the time it would take to get there. She was the native Long Islander, not them.

"Sounds about right," she nodded.

They were all sitting around the dining room table, looking from one to the other. "It's..." Phil looked at his watch, continuing. "It's a little after midnight. If we leave now, we'll get there between two thirty and three," he sighed.

"And we still haven't found the ring yet," Sam mentioned, subconsciously touching her left ring finger. She wished she knew what it looked like. It would make searching for it a hell of a lot easier.

"And," Stu added, "we have to be to the top of the Empire State Building with it by nine on the dot or Doug gets killed."

Phil leaned forward on the table, head in hands. He let out a slight groan of frustration, ran his fingers down his face and looked back up. "Okay, we gotta figure something out," he spoke. "Say, we get to Billy Joel's house by three at the latest, we're there maybe a half hour at most...we leave as soon as possible and get back here by five, five-thirty, six? That gives us three hours to look for the ring, turn this place over even more, top to bottom." He looked around the table at the other three, waiting for agreement on this plan.

"What do we use to transport the macaw?" Sam asked, the only one of the four to refer to it by its technical name.

"A suitcase?" Alan suggested.

Phil looked at the pudgy man. "That's not a bad idea."

"Won't the bird suffocate?" Stu questioned, a little unsure.

"Considering it pecked the fuck out of your head, not once but twice, and drew blood, I wouldn't think you'd care either way."

"I care about pissing off Billy Joel and him suing us for avicide."

"We can cut holes into the suitcase then," Sam offered. She looked between the three men. "Who's willing to cut holes into their suitcase?"

"Not it," Phil quickly said, holding his hands up and leaning back in his chair. Sam shot him a withering look which he shrugged at.

"Well, my things are at my parent's house on Long Island as I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place," Sam continued, taking her gaze away from Phil for the moment.

"I still can't find mine," Alan commented.

They all turned their attention to Stu who began to protest almost immediately when he realized they were looking at him. "Wait...uh, no. I am not going to cut up my suitcase for some bird! No way."

"But it's not just any bird, Stu," Phil smirked teasingly. "It's Billy Joel's, the fucking piano man. And you said it yourself, you don't want him to sue us for killing his bird if it suffocates in the suitcase."

"Why don't we use yours then?"

"Mine's not big enough. I packed light. You packed like you were going away on vacation for two weeks. The bird will have more room in yours. And it only needs a few holes. Small ones. Enough for air to pass through."

Stu pursed his lips, angry that he was being subjected to sacrificing up his belongings for the sake of a devil bird. "How am I supposed to pack my things to go home?"

"We'll get you a new suitcase before we leave," Phil assured, giving his friend a slap to the arm.

"But my suitcase matches the rest of my luggage at home. It's part of a set."

"Dude," Phil made a face. "Don't be gay."

Looking from Phil to Sam, Sam to Alan, then back to Phil, Stu eventually let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine!" he caved, throwing his hands up in the air, pushing his chair back and standing up. "But I'm not going to catch that damn devil bird. One of you three can."



After forty minutes of chasing the scarlet macaw around the suite or trying to call to it soothingly, Phil, Alan and Sam were able to coax it down from on top of one of the window treatments in the extra bedroom furthest away from the living room. Sam winced as she held her arm out and called to it. They lucked out that the macaw had decided to calm down and trust her again as it flapped its wings and flew to her, perching on her wrist. Phil and Alan had since dumped all of Stu's clothing out of his suitcase, took a butcher knife from the pantry and cut wide gashes into it. With the macaw on Sam's wrist, Phil and Alan carefully came up from behind her with the suitcase open. Sam took a few steps back to meet them halfway. Quickly, Alan reached out a hand and shoved the bird into the suitcase. The macaw began to go wild again but Phil was just as quick to close the suitcase and zip it up. The suitcase shook in his grip as the macaw flapped around inside, squawking in fright and anger.

Shortly thereafter, the quartet made it down to the lobby of the Plaza with the suitcase. The macaw seemed to have calmed down a bit, with only the occasional squawk as they moved. They headed outside and hailed a cab with help from the doorman. Sam slid into the backseat while Alan once again took to sitting up front with the driver. Phil asked the driver to pop the trunk for the suitcase, to which Stu just looked at Phil.

"You're going to put it in the trunk?"

"You want to explain to the driver why your suitcase is making noises if we keep it in the backseat with us?"

Stu shook his head and gave in. "No."

"Well, then...shut up."

The trunk popped open and Phil dropped the suitcase in, not as gently as he probably could have. The macaw began to squawk again and Stu threw him a look.

"Careful. That's a live animal in there."

"Whatever."

Phil pushed past Stu to slide into the cab and take the spot in the middle next to Sam. Stu hopped in next, closing the door. When the driver asked where to, Alan gave him the address to Billy Joel's house in Sag Harbor on Long Island. The driver made mention to it being quite the drive they had ahead of them, and Phil pressed they needed to get there as quick as possible.

The first half hour they all rode in silence, save for the Bollywood music wafting from the driver's radio. As the first hour was nearing its close, Phil had moved his left arm around Sam's shoulder and subconsciously began to play with the strands of hair laying on her shoulder. Alan was talking to the driver about something or another as Stu just stared out his window, his elbow on the arm rest of the door and his head in his hand. As the second hour rolled along, the three in the backseat had fallen asleep. Stu's head was tilted back, his mouth open as he snored lightly. Sam was leaning into Phil, her head on his shoulder and his head on hers. His left arm was still around her shoulder but his right hand was holding her right hand in his lap.

Eventually, at about three-thirty, the cab came to a stop; the casual lurch from the ceasing of movement jerked Stu, Phil and Sam awake. Alan gave the driver his credit card to pay the fare plus tip. As they all slid out of the cab, the driver popped the trunk for them and Phil grabbed the suitcase out with a yawn. The macaw began to move around inside the suitcase again and only squawked a couple of times. Once the trunk was closed, the cab pulled away, with Stu making mention that they should've asked the cabbie to stay. The foursome looked up at the brown, Shingle style home and made their way, tiredly, toward the front door. Stu stepped in front of the others and rang the doorbell.

As they stood there waiting, eventually they heard the lock on the door being undone and the door swung open, reavealing Billy Joel standing there in a pair of boxers, a T-shirt and a robe. "Took you long enough. Where's Ruby?"

After the initial shock of being greeted by Billy Joel dressed as he was, Phil held up the suitcase which squawked once. "In here."

Billy Joel looked the suitcase over, noticing the gashes and minor holes. "Is she alright?"

"Well, she put up a good fight on several occasions," Stu remarked, gesturing to his bandaged head.

Billy Joel looked up and laughed. "Hah, yeah...she's a bit temperamental." He grabbed the suitcase from Phil's hands and then gestured for the foursome to follow him in. "C'mon in."

Sam was the last inside, so she shut the door, casually taking in the interior. She looked over at Phil and could barely contain her glee. They were in Billy Joel's house! Phil wasn't even thinking about what he did next. It was something he had always done with Stephanie so perhaps it was just force of habit. Casually, his hand slipped into her hand; his fingers curling around her fingers. Sam dropped her gaze down to their hands and for a minute she didn't register anything odd about it. When it finally hit her, she realized it didn't feel odd at all. It felt kind of natural, like they'd been holding hands for years.

The foursome followed Billy Joel into the family room where he sat down on an overstuffed couch and went about unzipping the suitcase. Ruby, the macaw, flew out in an isntant, but as soon as it recognized where it was and saw its master, it flew to him and perched on the cushion beside him. Billy Joel peered into the suitcase and handed it back over to the foursome with a smirk.

"You literally scared the shit out of Ruby." Sure enough, the inside had a few spots of drying bird shit. Stu grimaced as he took the suitcase back. "Sit down," Billy Joel offered, gesturing to the other overstuffed couch and a few chairs.

Stu took a seat in one of the chairs, the suitcase beside him, while Phil stepped aside for Sam to head over to the second overstuffed couch and take a seat. He released her hand from his and then sat down beside her. Alan, on the other hand, got distracted and was walking around the outer perimeter of the room, pointing at a grouping of six Grammy Awards on the mantle above the fireplace.

"Are these real Grammy Awards?" Alan asked.

Billy Joel turned his gaze toward Alan and nodded with a smile. "Yep."

Alan peered closer at one of them. "Best Rock Vocal Performance, Male, 1981. Ooh, for 'Glass Houses.' That's my favorite album."

"Yeah, you told me that last night."

Phil leaned forward, pressing his hands together like he was greeting the Dalai Lama. "About that," he began. "We took LSD last night and can't remember anything we did afterward. We've spent all day trying to piece together what happened and how we lost two of our friends in the process."

"Did you find them?"

Stu shook his head. "Our friend Doug is being held hostage because Phil stole a ring from some bad guy's wife," he interjected.

Billy Joel's eyes widened in amusement. "Seriously?" Off everyone's nod, "Wow. That's fucked up."

"Tell us about it," Alan sang to the tune of Billy Joel's song 'Tell Her About It'. He walked over to sit down on the other side of Sam on the couch.

Stu just threw Alan a look before turning his attention back to the musician. "If we don't find the ring and get to the top of the Empire State Building with it by nine, Doug's dead."

"Did you try the police?" Billy Joel asked.

"We were told no cops, plus we don't even know who has Doug. I doubt the police could help. We just gotta hope like hell we find that ring." Phil dropped his hands between his knees and looked over to Sam. He gestured to her with his thumb. "And her sister's getting married in about twelve hours and we have no idea where she is either. She left the Plaza an hour after we got back there for parts unknown. She left her phone behind, her purse...we think she took Sam's purse and phone by mistake. Their mom has no idea we lost her too. We have no idea where she could be or why she hasn't been able to make contact with us or her family."

"Maybe she took off on purpose," Billy Joel offered, making kissy faces at his macaw. "Cold feet set in early and she doesn't want to be found."

Sam shook her head. "My sister's not like that. She's very responsible, the perfect daughter and she's been looking forward to her wedding day for years. It means a lot to her. She wouldn't intentionally miss it."

"Well, that sucks then. Wish there was something I could do to help all of ya."

They all fell silent, the foursome looking at each other and then back to Billy Joel.

"You might not be able to help us with our other problem but could you maybe tell us how we ended up with your bird? Alan found a Polaroid of you and him in our hotel suite from some time last night. How did we meet you?" Stu was deeply curious.

"We were at the same restaurant. I was leaving around the same time as all of you." He pointed to Stu. "You asked if you could buy me a drink and if I would say hi to your friends. I figured why not. I walked over and joined your table for a few minutes. We got talking and Alan asked if I wanted to come party with the rest of you." Alan snickered happily at the memory he had no memory of. "I said I had to go check on my bird Ruby. My daughter Alexa had been watching her for me. I just got back into town yesterday from a vacation to Jamaica." He looked at Phil. "You said you were all going to buy some beer and liquor first. You said I could show up when I could, to bring Ruby with me if I wanted. It had been a very long time since anyone wanted to party with me, so I decided what the hell."

"So, you partied with us?" Sam asked rhetorically. "Man, I wish I remembered that."

"You were all wild, a lot of fun. Made me miss my more youthful years when I could party like that all night long."

"How come we still had your bird when we woke up this morning?" Phil asked.

"I left after about an hour and a half, just forgot Ruby. I was halfway home when I remembered. By the time I turned back and got to your suite at the Plaza, no one was there. I knocked on the door and rang the bell. It was quiet, no music or noise. I couldn't tell if you all fell asleep or left or what."

Stu nodded and looked to Phil. "That's when we left to get on the subway." He looked back at Billy Joel. "Sorry about that."

Billy Joel shrugged. "Eh, it's alright. I knew Ruby would be fine." He then chuckled and pointed to Stu's head. "I take it she was able to take care of herself."

Stu frowned and touched his hand to his ace bandage. "She's very vicious."

"Well," Phil spoke, standing up. "Thanks for clearing up how we got the bird, and inviting us into your home and, uh...partying with us last night." He smirked. "But we really need to get back to our hotel."

The others slowly got to their feet and Billy Joel followed suit. "Thanks for not killing my bird," he replied offering his hand for Phil to shake. He shook Stu and then Sam's hands next. Alan walked over and hugged him. Billy Joel just patted Alan briefly on the back and then pulled himself away.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," Sam gushed, smiling.

"Likewise." As he walked the foursome to the door, he placed his hand on the doorframe and watched as they all filed out one by one. "Good luck finding that ring and your friends."

They waved goodbye and after Billy Joel shut the door behind them, they all looked at each other. Phil had once again slipped his hand into Sam's and looked back toward the house with an impressed expression on his face.

"I can't believe how nice he was. So personable."

Stu nodded. "I know. I'm really glad we didn't kill his bird now."

"And how great is it that his house isn't so closed off like the typical celebrity homes you'd find in LA? His house sits on the corner of two streets, just like any other house."

Phil agreed with a nod of his own. "Like he's your average suburbanite."

They looked from one to the other again, and then to the right. Bay Street was the street that ran perpindicular with Billy Joel's street. Across Bay Street was a small marina. The waters glistened in the moonlight, lapping at the sides of the boats docked there. There was no traffic at that early in the morning, so the sound of the water coming from Sag Harbor Bay, from that many yards away, was rather easy to hear.

"Okay, well...we should probably call a cab," Sam commented, breaking herself and the other three out of the reverie of just meeting Billy Joel.