There’s one blonde guy who looks identical to another. My friend and I look at each other. And then back at them. Without a word we leave the black and silver glittery ballroom. Tom Collins cocktails still in hand, we find ourselves in a hotel room twelve floors up in a matter of minutes. Has anyone even spoken a word? Been formally introduced? The digital clock reads 11:46. How did we end up at a hotel party? Why is there a mirror on the air conditioning unit? Am I forgetting something downstairs? I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My borrowed little black dress is amazing. My hair is extra blonde. I smile.
“Oh, hi there twinsie,” I say when I notice the reflection of one of the lookalikes sitting on the bed next to me. My friend coughs lightly as a brightly colored blown glass object is passed around.
“It’s so nice to meet you too Laura.---How do I know Steve? …Who’s Steve? Oh right. Steve.” Laura looks at me oddly. Her brown hair is long, wavy, shiny and she looks judgmental. The clock reads 11:52 and the nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something grows stronger.
Dick Clark appears on the TV. My friend tugs at my arm. “It’s 11:55. We have to get back downstairs.” I look blankly at her. “NOW!”
“It’s almost midnight,” says one of the twins. “They want to go back to the party.” My friend gives me a knowing look but I don’t know what it means. Piled into the elevator there is feverish chatter. There are stops at every floor and more and more people pile on. Tension grows and the time is apparently 11:58. One of the twins kisses me and tastes like a mixture of brown liquor and smoke.
The doors finally open as the number seven is being shouted. A sudden panic sets in as I remember what I’ve forgotten. People scatter from the elevator and I yank my hand from the twins as my friend and I dash to the dance floor and into the appropriate location as the clock strikes midnight.