Chelsea felt about the same as I did about meat. She was an ex-vegetarian as well. Neither of us particularly cared for it, but we would be polite and eat what we could.
Lamb, beef, ribs, rabbit, and duck all awaited us. They were all, lined up in perfect grilling formation on the back patio BBQ area, baking under the Nevada sun, evaporating their pain away. Chelsea gulped and looked at me as my uncle led us to say our greetings to his dear friend. An escape plan needed to be hatched and fast. Too late. Armando was all ready to pounce, and Chelsea was his latest victim. He stealthily eyed her up and down while hovering over the meat, the smoke proudly billowing into his face.
His gums flashed her as his tongue, foaming-with-saliva, slithered across them. We needed to be courteous enough to not embarrass my uncle, but curt enough to get back upstairs to hunt for the ring. She approached the beast with aplomb, pushing me out of the way.
I stepped back and watched with horror as she made her way over to his drooling mouth. Never had I seen anyone that close to it before. Her body language spoke clearly: ‘touch me and get kneed in the balls’. Her face said the opposite and brought itself close to his hairy ears.
She whispered something while he stroked her face. She was unable to hide the shudder that erupted from the tips of her toes up into her clenched fists. He nodded once she had finished speaking, taking his hand away from her face militantly. She turned, and made her way back over to me, passed by me and inside to the marble tiled kitchen. I waved to him, and mumbled a brief hello before I scurried in after her.
“What did you say to him?” I queried eagerly once I heard the backdoor shut firmly.
“I thanked him for preparing the dinner, called him an Italian Stallion and said that you and I had some urgent business to take care of upstairs, but would be down as soon as we were called.”
“That’s what you said?!” My jaw dropped open.
“I also said you would happily eat his meat anytime.” I gasped. I couldn’t help it.
“You did not!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, which part did you and which part didn’t you?”
“Everything but the part about you. I finished by saying you and I appreciate his stares, and are flattered by them, but don’t think they are appropriate in front of Uncle Daly, not to mention unbecoming from an older distinguished man like him.”
“You are so full of shit,” I said, laughing. But when she said nothing back, I could tell she was serious. I was beginning to realize that my best friend certainly had changed over the last few months of not talking to her. “You are one crazy chica bonita. Damn. Do you think he’ll leave us alone?”
“Oh I don’t know or care. Let’s just find my fucking ring,” she said. She lunged towards the stairs, away from the ogre, and I pillaged a bottle of wine and two glasses to take upstairs with us. If we did find it, we’d need the wine to celebrate and if we didn’t, we’d need it to drown our sorrows.
***
We didn’t find it. Again, we searched the entire room, the bathroom, our bags, the house, even the car. Nothing. This was getting dire. The most expensive thing I owned was my car, which wasn’t saying much, and no one got down on their hands and knees professing their eternal love for me when I got it. I couldn’t imagine what she must be going through – regardless of how their marriage may fair. This was not pleasant.
Uncle Daly called out our names. I told her I would meet her downstairs as she pulled herself together and finished her glass of wine.
Back down the stairs I treaded.
There were no real surprises with the meal. The meat was just as delicious as Uncle Daly said it would be, the wine even better, and the conversation just as awkward as we had planned on it being - with Armando doing most of the talking. He was excruciating to listen to. He was like one of those men that had no clue how annoying he actually was because in his mind he was a Don Juan, a Casanova swooping in to pick up the ladies who were falling mercilessly at his feet. I only hoped that what Chelsea had said to him had sunk in, and there would be no more substantial flirtations. Poor Chelsea had had enough.
“You know ladies, the best way to slaughter a baby lamb is to slit it’s throat first,” he said nonchalantly, as he dangled his piece of meat over his plate. I kicked Chelsea under the table. She looked back at me through slitted eyes as she tried to listen politely. “After that, they don’t feel a thing. Trust me. It’s just being humane. I should know, because I…”
“Is that so? Have you ever killed a baby lamb yourself Armando? I heard that only true men do it with their bare hands. Surely in Italy, they would have taught you that,” Chelsea goaded him on. After all, if we were to sit here and listen to him, we may as well make it interesting. “In fact, my husband once slaughtered a cow in Colombia. Or so he says. After all, a man also likes to brag and exaggerate, isn’t that so, Armando?”
“Well, er, yes, some men…especially those South Americans…they…”
“My father once told me he was in Spain,” I chimed in. “They made him jump in the bull ring with the bull…just like that. No experience. Nada. He went in with the red cape: the entire town was watching. He dodged and stabbed that bull so many times that the bull went crazy. It went so crazy that it charged towards my father and the entire crowd gasped in fear,” I inhaled sharply, mocking the crowd. “But my father was too quick.” I lifted my arms up as if there were a cape in them. “And the final blow put the poor bull out of its misery, and he died. They ate him that night for supper. How courageous is that?” I paused for effect, letting it sink in with my arms still raised. Chelsea was smirking next to me.
“Do Cuban men tend to exaggerate you think, Armando?” I asked. I threw my hands back down for effect, toppling my wine glass and splashing the red wine all over the rest of my meat, the table cloth, the floor, and dramatically, all over my pants. My intention was not clear even to myself when I began my tirade, but by the end, I knew this was exactly the outcome I was looking for: An excuse to leave the table. That didn’t stop Armando from trying to keep us there.
“If your father said that’s what happened, then I’m sure…” Armando tried to answer as I bumbled around with my napkin. “Listen, let me get the paper towels. Did I tell you about that time I was living in Roma and this tiny dark haired waitress went to serve me a bottle of Chianti?” He began his story as he limped to the other side of the granite island countertop.
“Oh, I’m in such pain right now. Ouch. Oh, my back,” he said. He leaned over, but no one moved to help him. My uncle continued to eat his dinner in silence and Chelsea and I tried to blot what we could of the wine.
Armando looked up for a moment and then he shooed us away anyway. He was used to people ignoring his pain. “Oh, don’t mind me. Never mind. Anyway, this poor darling young waitress reached over. I must have been in my twenties. Probably around your age. You know, before all the hospital visits and the morphine and surgeries. Thank God for your uncle because otherwise…”
“Armando. Let Del go upstairs to get changed,” my uncle finally interjected. I wanted to kiss him.
“Oh. Right. Of course love. Adele, go ahead, I’ll clean up,” Armando hobbled back to the table. As irritating and longwinded as that man was, I couldn’t fault him for not having a big heart. He was definitely a manipulator, but in a way that he probably didn’t even understand himself. He was simply a lonely old man who enjoyed the company of young ladies. It didn’t stop me though from wanting to leave that house while we had the chance.
Although we had been dead set on staying in that night, when we felt the firm, suffocating grasp of Armando’s tales of woe, we recognized the need to quickly exit my uncle’s abode. The bar was calling us just one last time. One drink, and hopefully Armando would get the picture and head back to wherever he might actually be from.
Chelsea followed me back up the stairs, and as I put on my last pair of clean jeans, we gave each other a look.
“Where do y
ou want to go?” she asked.
“Well, neither of us has been to the Palms, and since we’d only be going for a drink until Armando leaves and that hotel is away from the strip, it makes sense to pop in there. What do you think?”
“Let’s do it,” she smiled. “Besides, I need something to cheer me up after our day.” We didn’t bother with touching up our makeup apart from applying the necessary red lipstick. We grabbed our bags. Chels threw on a chunky black necklace to refresh her red dress: I picked up my favorite big hoop earrings to give a touch of glam to my jeans and black top and a long beige sweater to keep me warm, then we headed back downstairs. We needed to do a bit of buttering up before we could leave.
“Armando, this food was the most delicious food I’ve had in such a long time. You truly outdid yourself,” Chelsea put her hand on his shoulder. So daring.
“Well, for such beautiful ladies, it was my pleasure.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his belly, grabbed Chelsea’s arm, and gave her a wink. It was working.
“Oh, you’re giving me a toothache,” Chelsea leaked out one of her infamous one-liners.
“Oh. I certainly didn’t mean to do that,” he furrowed his brow in real concern. “Was the marinade too sweet?” He clearly did not get her sense of humor.
“No, I meant…oh, never mind,” Chelsea resigned. She got a chuckle out of Uncle Daly however. He clearly understood her joke.
“Right, well, we’d better head out. It’s our last night in town, and neither of us has ever been to the Palms. Can you believe that Armando?” I invoked as much enthusiasm into that sentence as I could; Uncle Daly seemed to buy it. “You and Uncle Daly have a great night, and thank you so much for the food. Do you need any help with the clean up?” I added, crossing my fingers behind my back and hoping I hadn’t pushed it one step too far.
“No, no. You ladies have fun. You deserve it. We’ll do the clearing up,” Uncle Daly pitched in. He was such a sport.
“Oh thank you. Alright, we’ll just pop out and see you later then,” I said as we edged our way towards the front door.
“Don’t forget our kiss,” Armando squeaked. Without a pause, after his last word, we quickly and efficiently popped a kiss on each of the men’s cheeks and were gone.
Off we went with the eight-pound baby lamb in our bellies, the little bit of makeup that we slapped on, and the hangover that, when combined with the drama and epiphanies from the previous night, made us even more lethargic. We knew it was a risk, leaving the house without pampering, but it was a risk we were willing to take if it meant reducing the risk of bumping into the Italian again.
We slid into the car. A glimmer caught my eye as I reached into the cup holder for my trusty Wrigley’s spearmint gum, and it wasn’t a wrapper. I slid it between my two fingers before revealing it to her.
“Chelsea?”
“Yeah?” she responded, between applying chapstick.
“Will you fucking love me forever and promise to NEVER LEAVE ME?” I screamed, my voice getting louder and higher pitched, unable to contain my delight, the ring dangling in my fingers as I took her hand in mine. I never have been good at keeping myself under control for even the smallest of jokes, let alone a massive one like this. Her jaw dropped as she grabbed my hand tightly, looked at the ring and back at me,.
“Ahhhhhhh!! Oh my God! Where did you find it?!!” she screamed, in hysterics.
“Right here! It was in the cup holder the entire time!” I couldn’t overemphasize enough.
“How could we have missed that?!” She handled the ring as if it were her own child, dazzled by its presence.
“I don’t know!” We both let out the biggest scream/belly laugh/bellow we had ever let out in our lives. Our voices echoed in the car. I looked back at the house to make sure no one was coming out. We were safe. “Guess I was wrong about Leo. Sorry about that.”
“Are you kidding? I should never have talked to him in the first place. I got what I deserved.” We were both quiet for a few moments. I wondered how she must feel.
“Wow,” she said. “The amount of things that ran through my mind today. What I was going to say to Victor. What this meant for us. How I was supposed to explain the fact that it wasn’t on my finger for an entire night. And not once did I truly feel bad about it, or even think how I was going to replace it. I guess I assumed that this was a weird sign that he and I were over. God, I can’t believe I just said that. That sounds so bad. And now that it’s back on my hand…I mean, my initial feeling was one of happiness. Of course I’m happy you found it. But, now… now, I’m confused as hell. Now, I’m not sure I want it on my finger at all,” she starts crying even harder than before.
“One step at a time, right? You found the ring. Let’s just take it from there, and see what happens, yeah?” I comfort her because that’s all I can do right now.
“Yeah. Do you think this whole thing was a sign? I mean, of the two years we’ve been married, I’ve never even mislaid it.”
“One-”
“Step at a time. Yeah.”
Friday, 4 July, 2008
Hello Del,
Happy Independence Day!
On the net in Jordan, organising stuff, Chi-town included. Snuggling on the couch is something I fully intend on doing – that is, of course, if you allow me to squeeze you and hug you. Can’t think about this too much, the anticipation kills me. And now that there’s a possibility it might not happen – you’re right, don’t want to think about that at all. Travelling has been amazing, but you’ve always been that light at the end of the tunnel. Can’t explain it.
But look, I don’t want to affect your decision. You need to make this for yourself. But, if you are interested in my opinion at all, well, here it is: it does seem like you’ve been questioning acting. So, I see it going one of two ways - you could take the play to make sure 100% that this is what you want, OR (which obviously I prefer), you could turn it down to try something you’ve admitted to never really having before…me. I’ll make it to LA either way.
Assuming everything stays as planned, the itinerary looks good, it means we can do lots of stuff. My mate, Sid, lives in a suburb outside downtown, so we can split our time between there and the Mag Mile where we’ll get a hotel… if you’re OK with that. I’ll sort it so we can see the Cubs. Just booked the Cubs tickets for Friday 25th. Will be picking them up from the will call booth once I get into town. Sid can’t be trusted to organise anything. Sorted though, so that’s one thing booked to look forward to.
Haven’t been inside Wrigley Field either and let’s defo pick a few museums to visit because no one ever wants to go when I suggest it. Giordano’s Pizza is a must. Sears I’ve done a million times, but never with you, so we’ll defo do that. It’s quality. And, I’ll take you for dinner and cocktails at the top of the Hancock building too. What a gent I am, hey?
My thoughts were this: first 3-4 days with Sid, then town for 4-5 days, then that leaves the next 2-3 days as whatever (or any combination of this, but definitely Sid’s for first few days as that will give you time to adjust to me with someone else around. Full-on Guy can be hard, I understand). Your call.
I’ve barely been out on this Egypt/Jordan leg. I’ll have a long day tomorrow too, pure travelling back to Egypt via a boat, so not good either. Glad we got to talk a bit last week before I left Egypt. Really helped me out, you have no idea.
Got to be fully rested for your visit, so definitely plan on sleeping on the boat and flight back to London - if I can…I’m usually shit at sleeping on flights. I can’t believe I’ll be back in England in just a few days. Four months have come and gone so quickly. Yet, not quickly enough if you ask me. Twelve more days until I see you.
Jordan has been great by the way. Awesome food, which surprised me. I love a salad and out here, it’s the best I’ve had anywhere.
A few more days and we can speak on the phone from a developed country again. I’ll call you so we can figure out the final details of it all.
1. Know the day I’m going to die or not? Hmmmmm. Tough one. I would like to think that if I knew I would die then I would live my life to the fullest, but then I try to do that anyway. It would be good to know so you could do everything you want in the timescale available, but then there would always be that underlying tone of negativity stemming from why you’re doing everything. Not knowing means that you are just living as you normally would…I’ll go with know, but could be either.
2. Being blind wouldn’t change my opinion of a perfect girlfriend. Personality has always been a massive thing for me, and I could feel if she was a fat bird. OK. Joke that last one, but if I don’t get on with someone that will always be a problem.
3. Aston Martin DB9/new Audi R8 – I’m not afraid. I like what I like. Especially when it comes to cars.
Sweet dreams pretty,
Guy x
THE PALMS
We stamp out our final cigarette of the evening on the windy, moonlit balcony of the Ghost Bar at the Palms, walk through the double glass doors and into the red and purple halo of the lounge, the lights creating the illusion of tanned and toned patrons. I glance back at the gorgeous view overlooking downtown Vegas and the strip and decide I am definitely ready to go.
I have had enough of Vegas and its cheerful attitude. Chelsea and I have had enough realizations about life this weekend to fill an entire episode of Oprah, maybe even two; and we are so full from Armando’s meat-filled Easter meal that I can tell the digestion process will be a slow one. Plus, the 8 a.m. finish from the night before didn’t help. My feet are hurting from the stiletto boots I’m wearing; my eyes are heavy from the oxygen being pumped into the casinos to keep us awake, and my throat is dry from the desert air and alcohol.
We trudge through the oblong bar with a large spacious lounge area stretched out below it, chairs and tables taking up room where the dance floor should be, the bartenders head to toe in black. My eyes keep straight ahead, focusing on the elevator door and the bouncer readying his finger to push the down button. I self-consciously push my straw hair into my face to cover the small zit that’s forming like a third eye between my eyebrows. Chelsea is trailing behind me. I am determined and strutting quickly.
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