Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  My hand had spent the last minute clenching around that same partition railing and I asked who, if anyone, was dating who and Samuel explained that for his sins, he was in a relationship with Karla, the tattooed Canadian whilst Luuk, a light-skinned black guy whose dreadlocks came down to his jawline, had started seeing Floor when they’d met in Berlin.

  “So, you’re seeing that girl?” I asked Luuk, for no particular reason, as my eyes directed him to the tiara completely absorbed with Arwen.

  He nodded, “yeah, kinda sort of.” Whatever the fuck that meant.

  Karla took her shot and apologised to Samuel for missing an easy yellow. “We’re about to head off to a club but if we run into each other tomorrow then perhaps we can arrange to go for drinks.”

  “We discovered a really cool bar with a terrace overlooking one of the squares, great music and food too,” Samuel added as he surveyed the mess his girlfriend had made of their game. “I’m not sure this is salvageable.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “We can discuss the usual travel bollocks, where we’ve been and where we’re going,” Luuk said with a playful smirk, “then we can all add each other on Facebook and part ways, never to hear from each other again.”

  “Awe, don’t say that.’ Arwen overheard as she pottered back to the larger group with the other girl tagging on close behind.

  The tiara and I made eye contact, evidently disarmed and then some, and no longer perceiving either of us as a threat to her coupling with Luuk, held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Floor.”

  I stretched out to shake it, “Freya, and I’ll try not to tread on you.”

  She exposed her teeth again, though this time it was more subtle and Arwen snorted as everything, including the music, fell silent and I wanted to crawl under the pool table.

  Arwen gestured to Samuel and Karla, “I know you’re all heading out but we have time for a game, don’t we?” How had she known they were heading out? Had Floor invited her to a club?

  “Yeah, guys, we can make time, I’m sure.” Floor interjected on Arwen’s behalf. She was taller than both Arwen and me, slim, with a feminine body and attractive face, sharp features, piercing eyes and big black hair held in place by a combination of elaborate bun techniques and the tiara. It looked good and suited her face and style but that kind of do was far too much effort. The group were already dressed and primped, Samuel’s squashed hair excepted, and I had to admit that Floor would be turning heads tonight, wearing a sort of elegant black poncho over exceptionally tight fitting jeans.

  Luuk smashed the black home. “We can now.”

  And the table was cleared, Luuk set up the balls, Samuel ordered over some shots, Floor annoyingly jabbered with Arwen at the far side of the table whilst Karla spoke to me about geocaching, whatever that was, and then the teams were divvied thus; Samuel, Karla, myself - Luuk, Floor, Arwen.

  An hour, three games and many shots later, we declared a tie because, during the final play, we’d simply lost interest as the whole thing descended into one large drinking game.

  “Right!” Samuel declared, slamming his cue upon the table and donning his fisherman’s hat, “we really must go. Food first and then a club. Ladies, we’ll be seeing you around.”

  We all hugged it out, Floor and Arwen doing that European kissing on the cheek thing and I watched, exhilarated as they filed out the hostel.

  Arwen grabbed my hand and pulled me around to face her. “What did I say? You were remarkable. They loved you.”

  I was shaking and felt the need to sit. “I couldn’t have done it without you, I mean, the way you dealt with that particularly difficult one, Arwen, you were awesome.”

  She waved it away but playfully propped a hand on her hip, breathing in the praise. “What, me? No, darling, it was all you. You just befriended a large group of strangers and Dutch ones at that, so you can chalk that bitch off the list.” She beamed and rubbed my arm as a warm feeling of elation flowed through my bloodstream and then my bag started ringing from the chair.

  I gasped, “it’ll be Gabe,” and dashing for my clutch, I fumbled with the zip to yank out the phone. It was him. “Gabe? Where are you?”

  “Frey, I’m in a fucking cell.” He said immediately, no greeting, and sounding panicked.

  My belly lurched. “What?”

  “We both are, in an area of the city called Sant Marti.”

  I squeezed the phone harder. “What happened?” Arwen, hearing my alarm, pressed her head against mine.

  “Fucking gypsy is what happened … tried nicking my wallet at the cash machine, or rather, the little shit did nick my wallet but Dan clobbered him and then another four came out from nowhere. There was a big fight and now we’re here in a police cell with a couple of Russian guys who pitched in on our side.”

  “Oh gosh,” I squeaked, “are you going to prison?”

  “No, no, no, Dan says we’ll be let out in the morning after we’ve sobered up and cooled down.” He laughed, “they even have an English wing down here, there’s quite a few of us and Dan says it’s just like old times. I got my wallet back at least, minus fifty Euros, but I think I broke that gypsy kid’s fingers … definitely felt something snap anyway, so it was probably worth it in the end.” He sounded slightly slurred but definitely alive.

  My head swirled and I rubbed a thumb against my temple. “Gabe, this is a lot to take in right now. You’re both definitely not hurt?”

  “We’re both alive if that’s what you mean.” Oh, Christ. “Look, don’t worry about us. I’m sorry I couldn’t speak to you before now but they kind of confiscated our stuff, this counts as my phone call but we won’t be back tonight so don’t wait about for Dan and me to get back. Enjoy Barcelona and I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. Don’t worry and I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I said as the line cut off and I held the phone close. “Arwen? I don’t know what to do.”

  “Come here.” She opened out her arms and I stumbled into them, burying my head in the crook of her neck. “Don’t worry, Frey, he said so himself, they’re fine and this experience will turn out to be a good thing. He’ll learn not to be so blasé at the cash point in future.” As always, she was just so reassuring and I was so happy she was here, especially at a moment like this.

  “He should have already known that.” It was common sense. I inhaled her peachy scent with a sweet mixture of coconut from the suntan lotion and wanted to stay like this for as long as it didn’t feel weird. “This has ruined your evening.”

  She laughed and I felt her hands stroking my back, strangely comforting. “This has not ruined my evening or anything else. I’ve been having a great time and it’s just an experience, like any other. When he returns, he’ll be a wiser man and will bore us to death with his stories and I promise you, there’ll not be a thing he’d take back.”

  I nuzzled against her flesh. “When you put it like that…”

  She brought me to arms’ length and her blue eyes held that familiar mischievous hue. “And there’s nothing stopping us from going out.”

  * * *

  I was first out the shower, a necessity considering my body was still covered in sweat and sun lotion, I was sticky and could feel sand all over myself. Arwen took to the bathroom after me whilst I changed and applied my makeup in the peace of our dorm.

  I hadn’t brought that many outfits from home and only a couple of going out options, knowing it wasn’t my usual thing and could easily buy new clothes on the continent at a slight discount thanks to the exchange rate. I was wearing an all-black outfit, one of those skirt short things, which I believe were called skorts. Above I wore a black shirt with a choker design and had the top two buttons unfastened but after studying my reflection, I released a third, exposing the smallest peep of the inner portions of my breasts. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows, stepped back and surveyed what I saw, shiny red hair plush against black and big eyes that, despite Gabe’s incarceration, held a happy shade of green. In fact, I d
are say, I looked pretty damned elegant for a girl raised by the wolves.

  I opened my makeup bag and went for the mascara just as the door flung open, startling me and I whipped around as Arwen entered, clipping the floor with a pair of black high heels.

  “Oh, holy fuck.” It was a natural reaction to being both scared senseless and witnessing the wonder that was even now striding into the room.

  “Oh, thanks, Honey,” she joked, flicking a wave of blonde from one shoulder to the other. “Do I look that good?” She briefly caught my eye, made a small but noticeable misstep as her gaze flowed down from my face to my breasts before correcting herself and continuing towards the bed, glancing once over her shoulder as she did.

  I made a strange nervous laughing sound, “no, I didn’t mean…” the peach drifted through my sinuses and for whatever reason, I found myself unable to complete any sentence I might have been trying to say.

  “You weren’t expecting me out the bathroom so soon? I never take long to get ready.” She glanced again over her shoulder and then turned sharply back when I caught her.

  I swallowed and tried not to gawk too obviously. “Yeah, that was pretty fast.”

  In a matter of minutes, she’d managed to shower, dress and apply what little makeup she thought necessary. A low-maintenance hippy girl. She was wearing an all black two-piece outfit; a tight fitting skirt that cut off just above the knees and emphasised her best feature, those broad dancers hips whilst showcasing her incredible legs that seemed to glow from whatever she’d rubbed over them. It was the first time I’d seen her in heels and the enforced plantar flexion at the ankle joint made her calves pop most scintillatingly. Above she wore a bandage top with crisscross halter straps, exposing her arms and only the smallest glimmer of cleavage whilst below the breasts, the crossover design revealed the faint line between her abdominals where they met her belly button, which now possessed a green jewel dangling from a short chain. Her hair was stacked high, exposing her slender neck and the yin and yang tattoo at her nape with a single red braid flowing loose to rest against her sternum, making her look similar to how she had during our first proper encounter in the bathroom back in Bordeaux. Back then I’d barely paid her heed, not so now.

  She was leaning over her bag and I’d been gazing at the curvature of her arse for, well I’m not sure for how long, but I swallowed and then realised I was still holding the mascara, so I tore myself away to apply myself fully to that task. There was the sound of Arwen smacking her lips together, like she’d applied lip balm and when I turned around, job done, I caught her eye again and she smiled before looking away.

  I actually giggled on the inside because it was not like her to be cowed by anything, especially not me.

  “Ready?”

  * * *

  The line outside Opium stretched a long way from the entrance and we walked with arms linked towards the end, wherever that was. It was one of those moments you lived in slow motion because so many people were watching us, or rather Arwen, as we passed that my senses were elevated to some higher level of clarity. Don’t trip up, don’t trip up. Indeed, it was hard not to feel the pressure of such scrutinisation from both the men and women in the queue. I was sort of used to being ogled, I mean, it happened from time to time but never to this extent and it was obvious why.

  The line, and it was long, hadn’t moved a single inch as we continued making our way toward the back, wherever that was, and it was almost enough to prompt me to suggest going elsewhere but then we heard the patter of footsteps from behind and suddenly, standing in front of us, was a short, slender man with a goatee, one of those beanie hats and a stack of flyers in his hand.

  “Ladies, are you coming to Opium tonight?” He backtracked a few steps as we continued walking.

  Arwen applied pressure to my arm so I stopped. “We were but the queue’s way too long. We aren’t standing around for an hour when there’re other clubs.”

  He held up his hands and spoke quick, evidently fearful we were about to continue on our way. “How about if I can get you straight in?” He spoke with a London Cockney accent and it only took a second to realise he was one of those people who stand close to bars and clubs, handing out leaflets offering free drinks to get you inside. Though this club hardly needed the advertising.

  I shook my head, suddenly appalled. “She wasn’t hinting at any favours.” I gestured to all the poor disgruntled people who’d probably already been standing around for ages. “I don’t think they’d take too well to having us push in front of them.” And why? Just because Arwen had an ass like that?

  He laughed and waved it away, “that’s a good one, bird, it’s called a guest list, you never heard of one?” I wasn’t sure I’d detected an eye roll as he turned to my friend. “Listen, you just walked past the director slash owner who was happening to be loitering at the entrance, like he has every right to do. It’s his patch of pavement, ain’t it. He’s the fat twat in the God-awful whistle and flute, and he told me to get you inside, do whatever it takes or you’re sacked and so here I am, humbling myself before you, willing to prostrate myself if necessary but you have to come in. Ladies, what’ll it take? Now, the usual thing would be to start low and haggle but the thing is, and this is strictly between the three of us, I could certainly stand to see the twat lose a few quid from the off, plus it increases your perceived value in his eyes. Your free entrance is a given. I can sort you out with a VIP pass and bottle of pink Champagne on ice and when I say Champagne, I’m not talking sparkling wine here, but something what actually came from Champagne which, as I’ve been reliably told, is a region somewhere in France.”

  My head was spinning but luckily Arwen had held her wits. “And do we get complementary nibbles?”

  His face lifted at the lifeline. “You should see the menu we have, it’s equal to anything you’ll find in any of the typical three-star establishments in this city.”

  Arwen was already turning around. “In that case, lead the way, good man.”

  He performed some sort of a jig straight out of a bad Oliver Twist ripoff, hopping and dancing in front of us as we followed him back down the long line towards the door and I nudged the girl in the side.

  “You are shameless.” And indeed she was and it was a fact of life that some women could use their looks to get whatever they wanted. Like it or not but Arwen could do that and more without even having to try and why shouldn’t she abuse that privilege if men were stupid enough to allow it.

  She linked my arm again and pulled me close. “And you’re too nice.”

  “But we were coming in here anyway,” I whispered and felt her body convulsing in silent laughter.

  There was an actual red carpet at the entrance but it was the four burly doormen in black suits and earpieces that drew the eye, each one of their gazes burning into us and I felt my arm squeezing around Arwen’s as we followed the cockney beyond the admissions desks. There were three girls sat behind the tills and the stupid thing was that only one of them was working, the others sitting doing nothing and I knew they were intentionally slowing access to build up the line in order to make the place appear popular so more people would be attracted to the club, the scoundrels. Oh, those poor people.

  We passed through a heavy velvet curtain and into a short corridor where couples were chatting in comparative quiet but I could already see how it opened out into a huge venue. “Follow me,” the cockney reinforced because the crowds were appearing now and it was dark with laser beams and huge mirrors stretching from floor to ceiling and the techno music was so loud the floor shook and the vibrations made my ear itch. Two men stepped appreciatively back, eyeing Arwen from hair to arse and a Chinese guy actually filmed her on his phone - This would be a long night. There was probably over a thousand people already here, mostly crammed in on the large dance floor in front of the DJ’s booth, who was jumping around waving his hand. We were walking around the perimeter and the cockney turned around, mouthed something I didn’t catch b
ut he was pointing up, which was easy enough to understand, before swerving and dancing up a flight of stairs adorned with red velvet coverings on the walls. People were lounging on the steps, drinking from bottles, relaxing, texting or else snogging the faces off complete strangers. I glanced back over my shoulder, to the strange modern-day mating ritual I wanted no part of, it wasn’t me.

  Upstairs the music wasn’t as loud and the man turned to us again. “We’re the only club in Barca what has five VIP areas. I’m taking you to the most exclusive. The other night Armin van Buuren was here.” Whoever that was. He danced through another threshold, flashed his pass to a large man stood guarding the room, shimmied around a large fountain which, to my horror actually had live fish swimming around in it, and through another red velvet curtain.

  My eyes widened.

  We were on a rooftop terrace overlooking the Mediterranean and in the last of the twilight I could just make out the waves that gently rolled over the sand. Tranquil lighting provided a pleasant ambience, along with the pianist in white tux who slowly played with his eyes closed. There were several obscenely long sofas that curved around marble busts and three immaculately dressed waiters with chins held up, hands behind their backs awaiting the whims of anyone else who’d managed to catch the eye of their boss as they walked down the street. To my count, we were the eleventh and twelfth people here and although I’d truly enjoy having the chance to sit down and converse alone with Arwen, I wasn’t so sure it was what we had in mind for a night out. Still, we were here and I’d enjoy it.

  Our guide spoke to one of the waiters who then disappeared behind the bar that was staffed by a hunk of manhood pulled straight from a CK commercial. Our cockney guide then returned. “Ladies, your Champagne and nibbles are on the way. It’s been a pleasure.” At that, he jigged his exit and left me wondering just what was in it for them. Well, if some club wanted to grant free access and lavish freebies upon us just because of Arwen’s rear end then they probably deserved to take a financial hit.