The Hangover: Part III

14 HOURS LATER (SATURDAY)

In the master bedroom of the Royal Plaza Suite, the late morning sun was filtering in through the windows without any inhibition due to the curtains being wide open. As the sun moved across the sky, it found a way to shine at an angle into the bedroom in such a way that a hefty stream of light fell upon Phil's face as he lay on his back on the floor. His head was propped up by the bedside table, which looked incredibly uncomfortable. As he stirred awake, he frowned, his eyes closed. Slowly a throbbing sensation began to pound in his head bringing him closer to full consciousness. What did the trick, however, was someone's hand hitting him in the face.

"Whatthefuck," he mumbled, blinking a few times to adjust to the light in his eyes.

He brought his own hand up to push away whoever's was in his face. When he focued on the fingers of said hand, he noticed they were thin and delicate, and manicured with pink nail polish on them. Raising an eyebrow, Phil sat up a little to get a better view at just who was in his bed while wondering why he was on the floor. Reaching out, he touched the hand again but this time it jerked away back onto the bed and the movement was followed by a feminine groan.

While trying to remember where he was, Phil peered closer at the woman in the bed and noticed tufts of auburn locks covering her face. A yawn escaping his lips and his head really starting to pound, he brought his hand to the woman's hair and pushed some strands aside, already assuming who it was. "Sam?" he called her name.

Slowly, as if far away, the sound of Phil's voice found its way into her eardrums. Sam's tired green eyes warily opened as she found herself staring across at Phil whose head was peeking over the edge of the bed at her. Her eyes immediately widened as she groaned again, in pain from her own increasing headache, while rolling onto her back.

"Ugh, it feels like a death metal concert in my head," she commented, bringing her right hand to her forehead and holding it there.

"Ditto," came Phil's reply, leaning against the bedside table. "What are you doing in my hotel room?" He had finally recognized where he was, but not why he was on the floor or why Sam was in the bed.

"I don't know. Sleeping?"

Off her smartass remark, he added, "Well, that much is obvious."

At that moment, Sam reached her right arm out to stretch at her side when she hit something hard and soft at the same time. The sound of Alan's voice exclaiming, "Ow!" registered in both Phil and Sam's ears. Phil immediately stood up and Sam sat up, looking to her right at the sight of Alan under the covers on the bed beside her. As far as they both could tell, only his shirt was missing.

Phil looked down at Sam, noticing she was wearing his pale blue dress shirt from the night before. He was about to say something when Alan awoke in a bit of a fog; possibly not even realizing anyone else was there.

"Whoa, Alan...your beard," Phil chuckled, pointing.

Alan sat up slowly and touched his hands to his chin, which was void of any facial hair. All that remained was his mustache. Frowning in confusion, he casually pushed the covers off him and hopped out of bed, sauntering sleepily over toward the walk-in closet which led through to the bathroom. Completely butt naked.

Sam let out a small yelp and turned away, ready to throw up as Phil shielded his eyes from the sight. "Omigod," Sam whined.

"Alan, man...put some pants on for the love of God."

Alan turned back to look at Sam and Phil as if still in a dream, then down at himself. "Oh, am I naked?" He then continued onward into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Sam looked down at herself under the sheets at that moment and grimaced.

"What's wrong?" Phil asked.

Hesitating, she replied with, "My underwear is missing."

After only a few seconds, Phil immediately started to laugh. "Wow. I think you might've fucked Alan last night," he teased. "I find that hysterical and disturbing at the same time. But I'm also confused because that's my shirt you're wearing."

Sam picked at the shirt, considering the predicament she was in. She sat up against the pillows and headboard behind her, making sure the sheets and blanket didn't slip off her lower half.

"I've got a cut and some stitches across my chest," came Alan's voice as he reentered the bedroom, still naked. He was holding his hand to the wound that appeared to have in the center of his chest.

"Alan, clothes." Phil turned his head, as did Sam, neither wanting to see Alan's nethers swinging in the breeze.

"I don't know where they are. I can't even find my jockstrap."

Sam caught Phil's eye, mentally asking him why Alan would have a jockstrap.

"Wrap a towel around your waist then," Phil spoke, not ready to look in the other man's direction. He focused more toward Sam as Alan disappeared back into the bathroom. He looked down at himself, noting he was only in his boxer briefs. Finding his pants on the floor near the end of the bed, he picked them up and tossed them over to Sam. "Here. Until you can find your clothes."

Sam took them with an appreciative smile. "Thanks." She pulled them under the covers and then covertly pulled them on.

Phil walked over to a mirror and looked at his reflection, seeing a large bruise around his left eye. He touched it gingerly, wincing at how sensitive it felt. "What the fuck happened last night?" he wondered aloud, watching as Sam, wearing both his dress shirt and pants, slid out of the bed and wandered over toward the mirror as well.

She ran both hands through her tossled hair and just held them on either side of her head for a moment before letting out a yawn and staring at his reflection. "Oh god, did someone punch you?"

Looking at her, he pointed at her reflection. "Probably whoever punched you."

She studied her face, finally noticing the purplish bruise that was on the left side of her jaw. "What the hell?"

Alan walked back out into the room with a large towel wrapped around his body, covering the his lower half and even his nipples like a woman would when coming out of the shower. He looked considerably perplexed. "Where are my clothes? I can't find my suitcase either," he muttered, walking out of the bedroom and into one of the foyers.

Phil and Sam looked at each other and followed after the portly man. "We should find the guys," Phil remarked. "I'm having trouble remembering anything that happened last night."

"Same here."

As they walked from foyer to foyer, they rounded a corner to the left and were met by a humorous sight in the dining room: Stu asleep on the table, with his ass in the air and wearing only white briefs and a pair of white socks that had seen better days. There was an ample amount of drool underneath his jaw as he snored lightly away. Alan had already migrated into the living room, looking around the couches and chairs.

When Phil took in the sight of the suite, his eyes went wide and he brought a hand to his mouth. "Fuck me."

The entire place looked like a bomb had gone off, only to be followed by a tornado. Three of the twelve dining room chairs were smashed to bits, the flatscreen TV in the living room was hanging off the wall and cracked, liquor bottles and beer cans were strewn all over the floor and pieces of furniture. There were a few dozen dildos somehow stuck to the wall near the grand piano, a pyramid of cards still intact on the coffee table, a large stuffed bear missing its head, which was in the dining room, underneath the table and covered in red paint. The cushions to one of the couches was ripped to shreads and this was all just the obvious stuff, and not the smaller details, in just those two rooms. They could only imagine what the rest of the place looked like.

"Hey, look. My jockstrap." Phil and Sam turned their gazes toward Alan who got up on the coffee table, thereby knocking down all the cards, in order to pull his jockstrap off the chandelier above his head. The second he was down off the table, the chandelier creaked and swayed. It was hanging by the fixture's wires, probably not long away from falling should the wires decide to snap.

Sam made a face and turned her face downward at other couch that wasn't ripped to shreads, but was instead covered in what looked to be smudged streaks of ketchup and mustard. She made another face and walked back over toward the dining room where Phil was walking up to a sleeping Stu, slapping the man on the shoulder.

"Stu, man, wake up. We have a problem."

The sudden slap to his arm caused Stu to jolt awake. His head lifted a little and began to roll to his side only to slip and fall off the table with a heavy thud. "Ungh!" he grunted in pain. "Where am I?" He lifted his head while struggling to pull himself up off the floor and let out a quick yelp when he saw the large teddy bear head doused in red paint, thinking it to be blood for a moment. He touched his hand to the paint to feel it. It was tacky, and clearly not blood. "What the fuck happened last night, Phil?"

"Wow, there is glitter everywhere!" Sam exclaimed, stepping tiptoe across the floor, unsuccessful in trying to not get any glitter on the bottoms of her feet. "I've never seen so much in my life..."

Phil was just in so much shock he had remained silent as he came up beside Sam, subconsciously lifting his hand to pull a curly piece of confetti from her tousled auburn locks. She turned and looked up at him just as Stu got to his feet and stumbled to the left a little from momentarily losing his balance.

"Oh. Oh, god, no! Did it happen again? Am I missing teeth or have a face tattoo?" His hands went to his mouth and the side of his face. Off Phil's shaking head, Stu continued, "This wasn't supposed to happen again! We made promises to our wives we wouldn't get crazy!"

"Well, technically, I never made that promise since I don't have a wife anymore," came Phil's smartass interjection. His face was deadpan as he said it and still a bit distracted by the confusion of another blackout and the destruction of the suite at hand.

"Shut up!" Stu screeched, as he dropped balled up fists to his sides and his body jerked like a child about to throw a hissy fit. His bloodshot eyes, which mirrored everyone else's bloodshot eyes, immediately latched on to Alan who was apprehensively touching one of the dildos stuck to the wall. "Alan, what did you do?"

Alan turned around. "I didn't do anything. I swear on Joe Jonas' immortal soul I didn't do it this time."

Phil reached out to touch Stu's shoulder to chill him out. "Dude, I think Alan's serious. Joe is his favorite Jonas."

"You remembered." Alan looked over at Phil, smiling and clearly touched, as Stu shook Phil's hand off.

"Is Doug up yet?"

"We all just woke up and came out here and found the place like this. Oddly enough my and Alan's room looked in pretty good shape." He then added about Doug, "I haven't seen him yet, but there are two other bedrooms because you were clearly here all night." Phil gestured to the table. "And apparently us three," he gestured to himself, Sam and Alan, "shared the same room."

Stu finally took a moment to realize Sam was standing there. "Oh, hey. What are you doing here?"

Sam shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. "I know about as much as you do."

"Blackout?" Off her nod, "Well, welcome to the club." He said it in a tone as if this was all commonplace. She had remembered him telling her once or twice that he and his friends tended to get a little crazy when they drank, but this was not what she had thought. As he stared at her some more, he narrowed his gaze, pointing to the pale blue shirt she was wearing. "Why are you wearing Phil's clothes?" His brow raised, almost about to chuckle. "Did the two of you have sex?"

"No," Phil shook his head, though even he wasn't one hundred percent sure. "I think she had sex with Alan."

Stu jerked his head back and grimaced. He was possibly fighting the urge to vomit from either his hangover or the visual of Alan having sex with anyone. "Ew."

Sam looked defensively at Phil as he pulled out one of the remaining, nine intact dining chairs to sit down. "We haven't proven that yet."

"You were both in bed; you sans underwear, him sans...well, everything." He made a limp hand gesture over at Alan, who was back to being quite intrigued by why the dildos were on the wall.

"How did I get your shirt on then? Maybe I slept with you," Sam offered up, placing her hands on her hips.

Phil met her gaze and leaning back, shrugging. "Maybe. Or maybe you were naked from fucking Alan and your tits got cold afterward so you found my shirt and put it on."

As the pair exchanged looks, Stu stepped between them and migrated toward the living room. "Oh my god, Alan. The Plaza is going to sue you, your father and probably us for this damage."

"What happens in New York City, stays in New York City," Alan muttered.

"Alan, that only applies to Vegas," Phil commented, running his hands over his face, still trying to wake up.

"We should go wake Doug up, leave this place and check into a different hotel," Stu suggested.

"Why?" Phil looked at his friend. "We have this place till Monday at noon. As long as we don't have any maid service or butler whatever come up here till after we're gone, we'll be okay. We can even clean as much of this up as we can by ourselves. Today we should just recouperate and figure out what crazy shit we did this time."

"Well, we still need to get Doug up either way."

Sam frowned. "If his head feels as bad as mine does right now, I say let him sleep."

Stu looked at Sam, noticing her bruised jaw but saying nothing. "Still gotta look for him. We tend to misplace him or leave him behind when we blackout." He then took off down the foyer toward the two extra bedrooms.

Sam looked at Phil, nudging his shoulder while trying not to let her eyes wander to his finely toned chest with the perfect amount of hair. A feeling of warmth flooded her face. She looked away the moment he looked up at her; his eyes wandering to her profile. "Let's look for your friend Doug and then I'll find my clothes so I can get out of here. My sister is getting married tomorrow and I have shit I am obligated to be part of as Maid of Honor."

Phil obliged, standing up and following behind her as they made their way toward the oval foyer and beyond it to the personal gym. Stu had darted in an out of the two extra bedrooms by then, checking under the beds, the closets and dressing areas, the bathrooms, to no avail. Doug wasn't asleep in any of the rooms. He came out back toward the dining room, stumped. "Alan, have you seen Doug?" he called.

Alan had taken the opportunity to put his jockstrap on when the others disappeared in search for Doug. He was now holding the towel draped over one arm and a dildo in his other hand. "No," he answered. "I wonder where we got all these fake penises from."

Stu made a face and looked away. He didn't even care to know the why or how.

"He's not in the gym or the powder room. We didn't notice him in our room and I'm sure Alan would've seen Doug in our bathroom the few times he was in there after we woke up," came Phil's voice.

"Did you check the kitchen?" Stu questioned.

"Not yet."

"He wasn't in any of the extra rooms down there," the dentist gestured to his left. "I'll check the kitchen."

As he staggered away, someone's cell phone began to ring from somewhere in the living room. Alan peered down at the tattered couch and dropped his hands between the cushions, pulling out a Blackberry. "Should I answer it?"

"That's my sister's phone," Sam exclaimed, walking over to Alan.

Stu didn't here anything else as he ducked into the kitchen and immediately stuck his foot into a bowl of cereal on the floor; what looked to be soggy Fruit Loops which had turned the milk a shade of pink. He looked down and saw something else in the bowl beside the cereal. Bending down after taking his foot out, he grabbed up the mysterious object, immediately scowling at himself. It was his cell phone and clearly now ruined from sitting in milk for God knows how long. "Fuck," he grumbled, padding further into the kitchen with his sock now soaked with pink milk. Grimacing, he looked around the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary other than the bajillion of empty bottles and beer cans all over the counter, some food sitting out and Cool-Whip all over a few cupboards and on the stove. General post-party destruction.

As he turned to head back out, something flapped from above his head and clamped sharply onto his shoulder and began to bite at his ear. He let out a girly scream and began to turn in circles, trying to swat off whatever was on him. All he saw was the occasional barage of red at the side of his face. "Get it off! Get it off!"

Phil and Sam came running into the kitchen with Alan bringing up the rear with his bare rear.

"Ooh, a birdie!" Alan cooed, smiling in wonderment.

"It's a scarlet macaw," Sam specified. She and Phil were wincing at how the macaw was pecking at Stu's ear. Some blood had been drawn, but only a little.

"I don't care what it is, get it the fuck off me!" Stu shouted.

Sam tried stepping closer to to get in the macaw's line of view while also trying to keep Stu from moving around so much. Sam made a succession of high pitched whistles with puckered lips and almost at once, the bird flew off of Stu's shoulder and over to Sam's arm she was outstretching. The macaw dropped onto her hand and began to step sideways up her arm to perch on her shoulder as if it had known her all its life.

Phil just stood there amazed as Stu slumped to the ground against the fridge, holding his bleeding ear. Stepping around to stand in front of her, Phil looked at the bird and smiled. "How the hell did you do that?"

"I had a military macaw when I was in high school."

"Your bird was in the military? What happened to it?" Alan asked. He was inching closer to the macaw, wanting to touch it but wary as to whether or not it would peck at him like it did to Stu.

Sam just gave Alan a look about his misunderstanding of how she meant military in describing the bird she'd had. "He got sick so we had to put him down."

"Where? On the floor?"

Sam and Phil both looked at Alan. "She means they had to put him to sleep," Phil tried clearing up. Alan really was just dumb sometimes.

"Was he tired?"

Stu had had it. "How stupid are you? Like, seriously? Putting an animal down or putting an animal to sleep means they euthanized it. They killed it."

Alan looked as horrified as someone witnessing the destruction of the world. "You killed your birdie just 'cause he was sick and tired?" He pointed accusingly at Sam. "Omigod, you're a bird murderer."

"I was right, a few years ago in Vegas," Stu looked up at Alan. "You really are too stupid to insult."

"We have bigger problems than Alan's lack of comprehension, Stu," Phil commented, looking down at his friend then gesturing to Sam. "That phone that rang was Sam's sister Amanda's. It was their mom calling, wondering where Amanda was. She didn't come home last night. Sam gave a bullshit story about them crashing here in the city with some friends and were going to brunch together to buy herself some time."

"Time for what?"

"If none of us could find Doug in the suite, my sister isn't here either," Sam answered. "She must've been here last night at some point with us and left her phone behind. If she hasn't contacted my mother by now..."

"Oh, fuck," Stu groaned, leaning his head back against the fridge. "What the fuck happened last night?" he wondered again, burying his face in his hands.

"We could try calling Doug's phone," Alan suggested, finally bringing something useful to the table. "Last time in Bangkok he was fine and at the resort."

Phil pointed at Alan, the gesture garnering a flutter of movement from the macaw. Phil retracted his hand, stared at the bird for a moment, then spoke. "That's a good point. This hotel has a pool somewhere. Maybe he went for a morning swim. Or maybe he ran out with your sister to get some coffee," he added, looking at Sam. "She probably knows the best place to get some decent coffee in the city and this place is in no shape to make any in that coffee maker." Phil pointed toward the sink. Beside it was the kitchen's coffee maker but inside the sink the coffee pot was smashed into many shards of glass.

"Give him a call then," Stu muttered. The macaw flapped its wings briefly and peered down at Stu who flinched.

Instinctively, Phil went to pat down his side to find his phone but he remembered he was only in his boxer briefs. Stepping closer to Sam he moved to stand behind her and put one hand each into the pockets of his pants she was wearing. She shuddered at the gesture, sensing his fingers upon her thighs as he tried to grab for wherever his phone was. She couldn't help herself but feel warmth reach her face again when she felt the tip of his nose touch upon the back of her neck for a brief second. As he slid his cell out of his right pocket, he stepped to the left of her and met her eyes as he dialed Doug's number.

After a few rings, it picked up. "Hey, Doug, where are you, man?"

"Phil?"

The voice wasn't Doug's. Phil frowned. "Tracy? What are you doing with Doug's phone?"

"He forgot it at home yesterday morning. I think the more important question is why are you calling my husband, asking where he is? Shouldn't he be with you?"

Phil grimaced. "Uh..."

"What happened last night?" Her tone toward Phil was that of exasperation.

"Uh, nothing. Doug went out to get coffee for us but he's taking forever," he lied; the king of bullshitters.

"Phil."

"Tracy."

"Phil, if you have lost my husband again, I swear I will drop my child off at my parents' house and I will fly out to New York and rip your balls off. Okay?"

Phil was quiet for a moment, the visual making his stomach churn slightly. "Yup. Gotcha." As he hung up, he held the phone in his hand and looked at Stu, Sam, the macaw and Alan. "I think we fucked up again."

"Third time's a charm," Alan smirked. The others looked at him, almost glaring. His smirked faded and turned into a frown. "Or not."