by Weber, Carl
Nadja
10
I shimmied into a tight-fitting chartreuse number that was much more revealing than what I usually wore. After the past few days of submitting to my mother’s demands that I dress conservatively, almost covered from head to toe, I needed to assert my independence at least when it came to my wardrobe choices. Home was my own personal version of stepping into the Twilight Zone. Thankfully the worst was over and I had returned to my life. And the reinforcements were always right on time. Simone and Gabriella had been my roommates first at Phillips Exeter Academy boarding school in New Hampshire, then at Stanford, where we all applied to get far away from the Northeast weather. Simone was born and raised in France to real aristocracy and Gabby to ridiculous amounts of Spanish money.
As international students away from our families we three immediately bonded and formed our own version of family. Even though I was the oldest by three months, they treated me as the youngest because I refused to relinquish my virginity as if it were a prize to be given to the horniest guy. And there were plenty. Simone was a total romantic that fell madly in love with whoever she dated, while Gabby enjoyed having power over the opposite sex and changed men as often as it occurred to her. Lucky for me that after all these years they were always willing to jump on a plane to restore me to sanity at a moment’s notice.
“Yay!” Gabby laughed as I entered the VIP area of the club.
“Let’s drink to freedom,” Simone screamed out as we clinked glasses.
“Was it really that bad?” Gabby rubbed my shoulder, always quick to comfort me.
“Worse,” I said as I took another necessary gulp of my drink. “Imagine being dragged kicking and screaming back into the dark ages.” This was met with screaming laughter. As thoroughly westernized women they couldn’t imagine that women were still subjected to second-class citizenship.
“Wouldn’t it be sooo awesome if you could have a harem?” Gabby was always looking for a way to expand her male fan base.
“I was forced to sit there covered up to my neck.”
“What, no burqa?” Simone pretended to be horrified.
“Oh, don’t joke. My mother would have been ecstatic to get me into one of those. And the men?”
“Were they like Ahmad?” We all locked eyes at the mention of that name.
“Worse!” I swore, which had them doubled over in pain.
“He was so dull. You would have died a slow death just listening to him talk,” Gabby added.
“‘Nadja, men are born to be the controller of women. You must submit your will to us.’” Simone parodied his monotone way of speaking.
“Oh, my God, he was the worst.” We all laughed.
“And him?” Gabby used her soothing voice. We’d all decided to never refer to the great love of my life by name. It made it too real. Too painful.
“I just want him,” I cried out.
“Where the fuck is the waitress? We need more alcohol!” Simone huffed. Gabby hugged me close to her.
“Why is this so hard for me?”
“Because good dick is much more difficult to let go of,” Gabby offered. “Especially first time good dick.”
“You can really say that? Out loud?” Simone challenged her.
“Yes, and I should know. I’ve slept with enough men to be able to judge the effects of good sex versus lame, everyday dick.”
“That’s not true.” Simone held her ground.
“Yes, it is. You get attached if someone tells you you’re beautiful,” Gabby teased. “Face it, you have no perspective.”
“Fine. How can we be sure it was good? He’s the only man she’s ever let enter the great sacred place,” Simone kidded me. They teased me using the name they called my vagina in high school.
“How good was it?”
“Seven orgasms good,” I whispered.
“Seven?” Gabby screamed out loud. “Hell, I would have fallen in love with him too. I was way in the double digits before I even had my first big O. I’m jealous!”
“That’s hella rare for the first time. Maybe I should take this stallion out for a test drive, see if it was beginner’s luck,” Gabby joked.
“And I will kill you,” I warned, aware of the edge creeping into my voice.
“Whoa, backup. Joke. Just a joke.” Gabby stared at me until I calmed down.
“I’m sorry but I can’t even kid about him.”
“You got it bad!” Simone grabbed me into a hug.
“Seven orgasms, who wouldn’t.” Gabby sighed as the waitress brought a second round of drinks. She raised her drink in a toast.
“To Mr. Seven. May he submit to the great sacred place again and again.” We all clinked glasses but I knew the chances of it happening were growing slimmer every day.
Rio
11
We were standing in front of this club suggested by the concierge after I slipped him a few Benjamins. They liked their guests to stay close to home, but for those of us willing to take chances and looking for trouble he informed me that there was a whole ’nother side to Valencia. I got dressed, threw on some smell good, and of course I had to wait for my sis to finish her fashion takeover. Girl took her style seriously and you bet to believe she made sure all of those looking at her were schooled to her fabulousness.
The line to Klub Impulso began where the cab had dropped us off. Yeah. We were in the right kind of spot. Mixed in with weed and alcohol in the night air, I could smell the money. This was bound to be my kind of ish. The long line snaking around the corner didn’t faze either of us. We were OGs at getting into clubs.
“Just follow my lead,” I said as we approached the chiseled, bald brother impeccably dressed in black who was in charge of keeping people from reaching the Promised Land just beyond those doors. The key was to not make eye contact and to ignore anyone trying to stop you. The brother took one look at us and opened the rope to let us pass.
Once inside the doors, my vision had to adjust to the blackness broken up every few seconds by crazy, pulsing flashes of light to the beat. Another member of the club’s security staff, a bearded Spaniard with a stoic face, was waiting for us. Without saying a word, which would be hard to hear anyway over the noise, he slapped two special wristbands on us and motioned for us to follow him.
Two large railed ramps running parallel along both sides of the warehouse separated the VIP from the overwhelming crowds below. We were led up one of the ramps beyond what passed for European royalty these days: footballers, racecar drivers, whack-ass comedians, pop stars, and spoiled scions of nobility. Paris had a way of letting you know she was straight-up special and belonged with the elite even though she had way more fun among the hood rats. We ordered some drinks and sat back, studying our surroundings.
“That one or that one?” She nodded to two metrosexual dark Spaniards who looked related. They caught her eye and smiled hopeful.
“One with the gold chain on. He’s spending more time at the gym.” I noticed the muscles and tight abs and agreed. “What about a little girl on girl?” I asked, motioning to these three women seated to the right of us. Paris burst out laughing.
“For a gay you are so predictably male. You just looking at those big fake Euro titties. Sorry, your sister is strictly dickly but I would wear the hell out of that dress.” She motioned toward the olive-complexioned one in a killer chartreuse body-hugging number.
“Sis, you’d look so much hotter.”
“Right. Who wore it better? Me!” Paris chuckled. We got our drink on strong. Paris made nice with the two Spaniards who were hospitable enough to share a joint. It was obvious they were feenin’ for baby sis but they were shit out of luck. The new Bruno Mars hit the table and Paris grabbed my hand and jumped up to dance. Didn’t take a moment for the whack-ass DJ to cross it with some Gaga, which sounded like heavy beats and shrieking. It sent us back to our seats in a funk.
“What the hell is wrong with this club?”
“First off, the music is
whack. Who the hell wants back-to-back Justin Bieber? And those techno eighties flashing lights? It’s like a gay club without the gays.”
“You need to go on up and school these fools.” My sister got all head-rolling and hands-on-hip attitudy. We were hardcore when it came to partying so our standards were extremely high. I looked down over the railing. People were just milling around like they were waiting for somebody to take the stage or some shit. Yeah, this was not happening, and the room could have been bumping. I didn’t fly halfway around the world to listen to bullshit badly mixed beats. I hit up the waitress when she brought our next round of drinks.
“Who’s in charge?” I asked, ’cause the level of lameness was getting worse with every song. I left Paris sandwiched between the two brothers vying for her attention and went in search of the owner.
“You want me to fire the DJ?” Eduardo Becerra, the owner of the club, stared at me, no doubt awed by my audacity.
“If you actually want this place to work. ’Cause it ain’t working.”
“This is the hottest club in Valencia,” he challenged me.
“Anyplace can be hot for five minutes. Look around. Do these people seem like they’re enjoying themselves?” He followed my gaze around the dance floor. His customers did not look like they were particularly happy. “Clubs are all about word of mouth. People talking, tweeting, texting about this is not going to be good for business,” I warned him.
“And you are?”
“The one person who can turn this shit around for you.”
“You’re kind of young to run a club.”
“Oh, I don’t usually run clubs. I party. I am a professional partier and if there is one thing I know how to do it’s to have a good time. You need a great space, which you got, pretty people, you got, but the music and the mood are killing you.”
“And you think you can fix this?”
“Yeah, I know I can.”
“Well, we have a group coming from Amsterdam. They like to party!”
By the time I made it back to the VIP section I was grinning so hard li’l sis thought I’d had a little party of my own.
“Nope. I got a job.”
“Blow job?” she had to scream over the bad sounds.
“No. A gig. Work. Real work.”
“Fuck you talking about, Rio?” I could tell that I shocked the hell out of her.
“You’re looking at the new assistant manager of Klub Impulso,” I raved.
“What you know about running a club?” Paris didn’t hide her surprise.
“I know how to party. Ask yourself: who is better at partying than me?”
Her silence was the only answer I needed. This wasn’t law school but maybe it was something I could actually be good at. The one thing I knew for sure was that I wasn’t going back to New York and the way it had always been. And whether my family could accept it or not, that life was over for me.
Niles
12
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Benton, the bouncer at the door, asked as he opened the rope to let me in.
“It’s going,” I responded as we exchanged a knuckle bump.
“Try not to take all the women; leave some for me.” He laughed as I entered the club.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text: Here. I stepped up to the bar and took a quick surveillance of the spot. There were lots of pretty people in expensive finery milling around. Definitely not jumping off like the clubs I grew up partying in when I was a teenager. I looked up at the VIP section and spotted the sexy American. Unfortunately two guys I knew were vying for her attention. Something told me that she was smart enough to see through their lameness. We locked eyes for a minute until one of them diverted her attention away.
“Checking out your options?” the person I had come to meet said, following the direction I had been watching. She frowned. “I need you to keep your mind on business. You’re here for a reason and it’s not to wave your manhood around like a magic wand.”
“Magic wand? I like that imagery,” I joked until I saw that my humor was not appreciated.
“Did you schedule the meeting?”
“Of course. I’m nothing if not professional.”
She slipped me a car key. “Black Mercedes SLR. Two blocks east. You’ll find it in the trunk.”
“Be back,” I said and quickly made my way out of the club.
“You leaving?” Benton asked.
“Nah, I gotta make a call.” I grabbed my phone and pretended to dial someone as I strolled up the street.
Forty minutes later I was back in the club. When I entered the VIP section I saw that the sexy American was now talking to her friend from the restaurant. Just like I thought, she had gotten away from the two idiots I’d spotted her with earlier. I started to approach until I noticed they were having a rather intense conversation. Actually, she was the one doing all the talking while the guy kept shaking his head at her. Her hand movements were getting more expressive. Whatever they were arguing about I knew I didn’t ever want to be on the other end of a disagreement with that one. Clearly she wasn’t the type to calmly end an argument unless she had won it.
“Everything go all right?”
“It’s handled,” I assured my associate as I slid her the key.
“You wanna join me and my friends? A little celebratory drink?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I saw the sexy American checking us out. She turned her head as soon as she noticed me staring back.
My associate didn’t miss a thing. She never did. “Way too high maintenance for you!” She laughed as she stepped back to join her party.
She was probably right, but hot was hot and this little bird was sizzling. Still I had to say something. Just as I stepped to her my associate’s two friends flanked me.
“Sorry, we have plans for him,” one of them hissed at the stunned American as they hustled me down to the dance floor.
“Bitch, you can have him.” She snapped her fingers and turned her head.
I heard the guy calming her down. “Shhhh! Chill up in my spot.”
I turned to see her raising her middle finger at me. I couldn’t help smiling at her feistiness. She was the opposite of the women I’d come in contact with since landing in these parts and I wanted to get to know her better. At least once.
Paris
13
“Heeey! Sexy American! You made it! We were about to leave,” Ramon screamed as he saw me hustling down the dock. They had a decent-sized crowd already aboard the yacht, which I considered on the smaller end of the scale as far as yachts go. Still, it seemed like a good party vibe. Attractive fashionistas drinking fancy drinks.
“Told you I was coming,” I growled as Antonio took my hand and guided me onto the stern of the vessel.
“So your brother didn’t want to join us?” Ramon looked way too thrilled that there was no threat of cock blocking. They’d hit me up at the club a couple of nights before and sweated me about this boat ride. I planned on ignoring their invitation but when Rio morphed into Mr. Responsibility with his new job I wasn’t in the position to turn down a good party. It beat staying holed up in that hotel hoping I fell across a good dick.
“He had to work so I’m flying solo,” I pouted. “Now let’s get this party started.”
“It’s going to be an even better party now that you’re here. We’re waiting on a few more people before we cast off,” Antonio said as he kissed me on both cheeks. His nice arms gave me something else to focus on besides his bad breath. Smelled like he had hummus for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“And there they are!” Ramon yelled as if he were greeting royalty. Did he ever speak at a normal volume? Dang.
As I cleared the stern, I turned to see exactly who was worth that much excitement.
“Yes! More beautiful people. Our party will be the talk of the festival season,” Antonio cheered as I glanced at the four long-legged models strolling toward us.
And the way-too-confident moth
erfucker from the hotel dressed in a pair of beach shorts and muscle shirt was escorting them. I couldn’t get away from his ass.
“You do have something to drink on this boat, right?” I asked them.
Aboard the yacht, I changed into my swimsuit, checking myself out in the mirror. It was a stunning designer original courtesy of the little shopping spree Orlando had generously paid for back in the city where I got my name. I couldn’t believe Rio came all this way only to land a job instead of in the trouble I had planned for us. Damn, I was gonna have to find someone to keep me busy, and the best-looking piece of dick always had a rotation of groupies swirling around him.
Cocky as hell, he was leaning against a railing, looking like a young Rick Fox as I exited the dressing room. He held out a flute of champagne for me to take. From behind my Linda Farrow Luxe sunglasses, I ignored both it and his trick ass. I kept it movin’ like I do. He followed me, took a few extra steps to get ahead of me, and put one of the drinks down.
“Niles Boateng.” He extended his hand, playing the perfect gentleman. No matter how polite he was I knew he was one more hard dick tryin’a get it. Well, he had another think coming if he thought I was the type to join his rotation of women.
I knocked Niles’s hand away, causing some of the champagne to spill onto the deck. “Nigga, please,” I said with an added hiss at the end. Putting my hands up with the rest of the party people, I left Niles and sought my own glass of champagne from the yacht’s crew. Now armed with a full glass in hand, I took a strawberry off of a passing fruit tray and chewed it succulently as I sashayed through the crowd, nodding my head to the beat.
The yacht party was like all the rest I’d attended. Plenty of booze, sexy bodies, and decent enough music. Other than the rough waters, the Mediterranean weather couldn’t have been any better either. Would’ve been close to perfect if I weren’t alone. I truly hated this anonymous shit. Back home, I would’ve had Jasinia and my girls to wreck shop with. And folks would have got in line ’cause I was Paris Duncan and not some no-name trick.
Didn’t know why that guy had me so riled up anyway. Niles was obviously not a one-woman man. He’d wasted no time moving on from my dismissal. As I interacted with folk, a little game spontaneously developed between the two of us over stolen glances through the crowd.