We walked to the living room with mimosas and cupcakes, plopping on the couch for some TV and cuddling while covering ourselves with a throw we found on the loveseat. I’d just turned on the cable to order a show when Teeko came running and jumped up on my lap, a dirty napkin of some sort in his mouth. I tried to grab it but he growled at me and ran off, playing a little game of hide-and-seek with Adam and me. I sipped my champagne and watched Teeko toss the paper high up then catch it in the air while Adam, much to my annoyance, seemed rather amused.
“Where did he get that long napkin from?” Adam mused.
I shrugged my shoulders and set my drink down, walking up to Teeko and managing to snatch a piece of it from him. Only what I held in my hand a second later wasn’t a napkin at all.
“Come here, little animal,” I said sweetly while my pounding heart raced a mile a minute as everything came back to me. I went back to the kitchen “for some water” and once behind the counter felt between my legs only to find no consolation whatsoever. The toilet paper I’d used the night before must have fallen out at some point and Teeko picked it up. I grabbed a real napkin and placed it securely you-know-where to stop any bleeding when I heard Adam in the background trying to play fetch with the dog. I quickly returned to the living room with a smile. Maybe my hyperactive imagination was playing tricks on me but when I sat back down on the couch, the dog was looking at me like this:
“There,” Adam startled me from my mental showdown with Teeko. “I got it.”
I sat there, paralyzed in a state of fear and disgust for two seconds as I saw him holding the toilet paper stained with my blood in his hand.
“I’ll throw it away!” I shrieked, quickly snatching away the paper and holding back the imminent urge to vomit. “You should probably go wash your hands,” I suggested, hoping to distract him from my manic behavior by saying something that made sense. “God knows where he got that thing from.”
“It had some red stuff on it,” Adam mused and gave me an odd look, which I would later interpret as This bitch is crazy when he never called me again.
“Probably ketchup or hot sauce from those hot dogs Phillip was eating,” I nervously replied.
He nodded and got up to wash his hands in the bathroom. I finished my mimosa in two gulps and didn’t even bother to put on pants as I grabbed my purse from Vera’s room and high-tailed it to my car before he came back out. I sent Adam a text explaining my parents needed me urgently for a New Year’s brunch and I’d call him that night. Later on I realized you can’t really have brunch with your parents when they’re in another country, a fact I’m sure didn’t escape him, not only classifying me as possibly bipolar, but a compulsive liar as well. It was then I discovered that taking out one nail with another only works when you feel exactly the same about both nails (totally and completely indifferent). Forgetting about someone you love is a bit messier, even bloody sometimes.
That night I resumed my secure position on the couch after that bloody incident with the only being I knew wouldn’t judge me. Partly because he was old and ridden with Alzheimer’s. Partly because he ate his own poop and sometimes fell asleep standing up. Mostly, because he only had one eye and it was ridden with glaucoma, so even if I did do something horrific, he’d be completely oblivious to it.
And that is the meaning of true love, boys and girls: complete and utter oblivion.
Azucar
I woke up that morning to vague recollections of Olivia going with Jonah back to his hotel after we’d left La Kapital sometime after seven. I’d waved them off at the entrance to the Westin Palace clutching my purse in one hand and my heart in the other. There was no discernible reason for the sinking feeling in my stomach and inability to move, except I knew in just a matter of hours that meeting Jonah had shifted something from within that could never be reversed. I recall having ordered room service comprised of toast and fresh juice but when I woke to soft footsteps and whispering down the hall of our room, I looked to my left to find it all on a tray, untouched.
“I feel really awkward about this,” I heard a male voice tentatively say. “I kind of get this feeling I’m not her favorite person, so you should probably ask her.”
“Annah’s cool,” Olivia replied dismissively to whomever had spoken. “I already told you she won’t care.”
I brushed my hair out of my face and covered my naked body with sheets as I pretended to be asleep and steps neared my bed. Olivia shook me softly and I did my best to feign exhaustion. When I opened my eyes, she was sitting next to me while Jonah stood in a corner looking uneasy, a bag in his hand.
“Babe,” she said to me and grabbed my hand. “Jonah’s going to stay with us for the remainder of the trip, okay?”
“Why?” I asked to her surprised face and I heard him sigh loudly.
“Because I want him to,” she pinched my arm so I wouldn’t say another word in protest. “It’s only two days anyway, and it’ll be more fun that way.”
I inhaled deeply and mentally convinced myself I could handle the situation in spite of my gut telling me otherwise. “Welcome, Jonah,” I said to him as warmly as I could muster with a smile, but when he nodded in my direction and remained silent, my heart told me I’d made a huge mistake by agreeing.
The next 12 hours were a whirlwind of tapas and museums held together by copious amounts of wine that killed all awkwardness between us, bringing three strangers closer than best friends at fat camp during summer. As promised, I pushed past my feelings for Jonah and resolved to enjoy my time left in the eternal city of sunshine and discovery that is Madrid. Between the art and food and perfect weather, I was intoxicated with happiness by the time we reached our hotel that balmy night. It was evident we’d never see each other again once we parted ways, and that was a fact that brought some sense of peace to my otherwise conflicted soul. Youth was the only thing that clung to us, and everything else slipped away quickly in dismissive bursts one only possesses when they’re on hiatus from reality. I’d just returned to our room from the spa when I saw a note on the bed that read, “At the rooftop bar with Jonah. Get ready and meet us there.”
I must have fallen asleep while in the bathtub because the next thing I remember was the piercing sound of the old rotary phone in our room resuscitating me back to life.
“Hello,” I answered while dripping water and soap on the plush rug.
“Where the fuck are you?” Olivia hissed frantically. “We’ve been waiting for 45 minutes.”
“I completely dozed off,” I admitted. “Be there in 20.”
The slamming of the phone marked the beginning of my race to look beautiful in just 1200 seconds. I chose a fuchsia pleated dress that tied around the neck as my outfit, which contrasted beautifully with my brunette locks. I paired it with silver heels that boosted me up to six feet and accessorized with rhinestone earrings and a matching bracelet. When the whole look came together and I looked in the mirror, a proud woman in the making stared back at me. I finished the champagne I’d been sipping in the tub, stuffed all my belongings in a sparkly clutch, and was just about ready to go when the phone rang again.
“I’m coming, God damn it,” I answered as soon I picked up.
“Um, hello?” Someone cleared their throat on the other end.
“Hello,” I retracted in embarrassment. “Who is this?”
There was hesitation before the male voice finally spoke, “This is Gabriel. Is Annah available, please?”
I pondered for a moment if I could pretend to be someone else and then change my voice, but figured that entailed too much work and a level of sobriety I likely didn’t possess at the moment. Gabriel was a Spanish guy I’d met the night before at La Kapital while attempting to get a drink and stepping on his foot by mistake. We’d danced for most of the night while Olivia clung to Jonah. I’d given him my room number as an attempt to be courteous, not thinking he’d actually use it to locate me. Apparently we’d made plans to meet that night at a Spanish club that played salsa
music, and he was calling to ensure plans hadn’t changed.
“Of course we’re still on,” I said enthusiastically, even though I’d completely forgotten about my handsome Spanish stranger. “I’ll see you at Azucar in a couple of hours.”
“Estupendo,” he beamed. “Kisses.”
When I arrived at the lounge, the hostess directed me to another space separate from the restaurant. The Asia Gallery bar is one of those places that looks like a cigar room straight out of the Titanic. The décor is what I like to call old school rich, with leather chairs surrounding mahogany tables and a fake fireplace off to the side. The lighting is low and sexy, transporting its patrons back to a time when people actually took pride in the way they looked, men wearing suits and women in dresses that weren’t made of raggedy cotton. I caught sight of Olivia and Jonah sitting at one of the round tables by the fireplace and walked over to them with measured breaths. When Jonah spotted me, he immediately sat straight. I was expecting another one of his glares but instead received a smile as he motioned to an empty chair at the table.
“What are you drinking?” he asked as I took my seat.
“Vodka tonic, please.”
He got up and went to the bar, leaving me and Olivia to gossip excitedly.
“Oh my God, he’s so hot I don’t know what to do with myself,” Olivia gushed as soon as he was out of earshot.
“He’s cute,” I said half-heartedly, and Olivia handed me a strange look.
Jonah came back with my vodka tonic and another drink for himself. He sat down next to Olivia and slid my cocktail across the table. I’d never felt a gravitational pull as powerful as the proximity to his presence, and in spite of his obvious beauty, it was evident my interest extended to something far beyond the physical. I wanted to ask a million questions in a matter of seconds. How old was he? Where was he originally from? Did he like children and how many did he want to have? Did he prefer the missionary position or girl on top? I chuckled lightly at my foolish thoughts as Olivia and Jonah looked at me, puzzled expressions on both their faces.
“Are you drunk already?” Olivia teased me across the table.
“No,” I giggled. “I was simply remembering something. So Jonah,” I turned to him and changed the subject, “tell us about yourself.”
“What is it that you want to know?” he looked at me, a flirtatious stare that made my heart bounce to the moon and back.
“You know, the usual stuff. Where are you from, what do you do, yada yada yada,” I said casually, hoping he didn’t realize how incredibly intrigued I was.
“Well,” he began, “my name is Jonah Hunter. I am 25 and a Libra. I like long walks on the beach and candle lit dinners . . .”
“Fine,” I frowned at him and pretended to examine my nails. “Mock me all you want.”
“Alright, seriously. I’m 25 and from Texas, born and raised. I have two brothers and a sister. Uh,” he searched for other things to say. “I don’t like watching sports, but I like to play ‘em. I’ve been here for almost a month now, doing the whole Europe thing for the first time. I earn a living on the family business, but that’s boring and I don’t want to talk about it. Asides from that, nothing else to say, really. Just a good ol’ country boy.” He flashed me a boyish smile and at that moment, I knew.
“So who do you live with over there?” I asked.
“I use to live with my girlfriend, but we broke up a year ago, so now it’s just me and my dog, Rex,” he replied and seemed wistful for a moment. “What about you, Miss Know-It-All. What’s your story?”
Being that I was unemployed and single, I didn’t have much to contribute in the way of conversation, yet Jonah kept firing questions at me as Olivia looked on, a reflective look in her eyes. I was sure they’d already gotten to know each other during the day, yet I still felt uncomfortable being in the hot seat. The questions came one after the other: Where did I live and with whom? Did I have any siblings or pets? What did I want to do now that I had lost my job? How come I gave up on the idea of a master’s degree? I didn’t really understand why he cared as he hung on to my every word, laughing at my jokes and idiotic answers. After about five minutes of that I felt self-conscious, while Olivia tapped her heel impatiently on the marble floor.
“We should go,” I offered, getting up from my chair. “I’ll get the tab.”
“It’s already paid for,” said Jonah, and we all got up to head for the first floor. After about five minutes of frantically waving our arms at passing taxis, we finally caught one.
“Azucar,” I told the driver as I sat in the front seat. He nodded and drove off in silence.
“What does that mean?” Jonah asked.
“Sugar,” I turned around and winked at him as Olivia held on to his hand tightly.
One hour later, we were all leaning against the bar at Azucar sipping mojitos and immersing ourselves in the rhythm of the beats bouncing off the speakers. For a moment, I forgot the electricity I felt from Jonah standing next to me, and I allowed my eyes to follow the flawless salsa dancing happening on the floor. I felt ashamed of calling myself a Cuban and not being able to dance half as well as Europeans. A guy came up to us and stretched out his arm to me, grabbing my free hand and gently pulling me toward the moving bodies. I felt Jonah tense up to my right and shook my head no. I then turned to Jonah and playfully tugged on his ear, making funny faces at him as he laughed good naturedly and took out a cigarette. Just then I realized Olivia wasn’t around and inquired where she’d gone.
“She’s at the bathroom,” he looked at me and I felt myself melting slowly to a puddle of lust. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he paused and leaned closer so I could hear over the music. “Why is it that a girl like you has a huge tattoo of a naked chick on her arm? You don’t exactly strike me as the trailer park trash type,” he said as he looked at the tattoo in disapproval.
“It’s actually a naked Betty Boop,” I corrected him and chuckled, enjoying his closeness more than I should have. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got all night,” he smiled coyly and leaned in closer.
“Well, it’s a fake,” I said, taking a step back. “I got it at a fair with a friend right before coming to Spain. I’ve been meaning to get a real one, but my parents would have a coronary. I actually find tattoos beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he countered, taking my breath away. “You don’t need any of that.”
A quiet despair brewed inside me as he smiled, his face proof that God existed and heaven on earth was possible, even if only for a moment. If I stood there transfixed for another second, I would not be held accountable for my actions. I painfully tore my gaze away from his and looked toward the entrance, spotting Gabriel walking through the door at that very moment. He looked dashing in slacks, a button down shirt, and sports jacket. I smiled and waved my hands in the air so he could see us. Jonah’s eyes followed my gaze and his smile immediately faded.
“What is he doing here?” he snapped, obviously annoyed.
“What do you mean? He’s my date. I can’t be all alone while you and Olivia are honeymooning for the next two nights, buddy,” I playfully teased him.
“I thought he was just a one night thing,” he took a drag from his cigarette and looked at me expectantly.
“A one night thing?” I smirked. “There was no thing, Jonah. We just danced.” Relief shone brightly in his eyes as he stood there, the smug look in his face infuriating me to levels I didn’t think were possible. “But I can assure you there’ll be more than dancing tonight,” I added defiantly as I left him fuming at the bar and walked over to greet my date.
Hands & Annah Make a Porno
I’m fairly certain I’ll lose a few readers after this, but what is a memoir without a generous helping of honesty that’s bound to make people sick? Nothing, I tell you.
Before a strange period in my life I’d rather not address where I worked for the Church of Jesus Christ, I found myself unemployed under th
e sunniest of circumstances. Finally getting fired by BMW Complex, I took six months off to read books and travel and mostly do nothing with my 23-year-old existence, while those lovely unemployment checks came in the mail every two weeks. (Fuck yeah, America!)
Staying true to my hobo lifestyle at the time, I decided office work was a ridicule I didn’t want any part of, so instead, I looked for various methods of obtaining cash through the beast that is craigslist.com. My multiple sources of income mostly stemmed from amateur work as a “promotional model,” which is a sweet and false terminology used for a girl who stands at conventions selling dentures or handing out pens with the words Prozac or Cialis on them. Sometimes, other odd gigs would pop up as I searched, and even though some were scams, others were legitimate work offers that paid in cash, like serving wine at a wedding or handing out gum at the mall.
One of these jobs particularly stands out in my memory as the weirdest thing I’ve ever done for money. The ad on craigslist read like this:
FAST TYPIST NEEDED FOR TELEVISION GIG
When I called, a chirpy girl I could only imagine to be named Heather answered and asked me three simple questions:
Heather: How fast do you type? How old are you? And does pornography make you uncomfortable?
Me: 88 words per minute, 23, and nope, not really. *shrugging on the other end of the line*
Heather: Alright. This gig lasts a week and we pay in cash. Twenty bucks an hour.
Me: Awesome.
Heather: Great! You’ll have to sign a disclaimer when you arrive.
With that, she gave me the address and hung up. Two days later, I was ready to tackle my first time working as a reality show typist.
I made it to the run-down warehouse 10 minutes early and the sign on the door that read, “All Actors For Stretch Come Inside” confirmed I was at the right location. I figured 12 crack heads were lurking in the back and mentally kicked myself for not telling my mom I had taken up this “job,” as I was certain I’d possibly joined a prostitution ring whose most coveted product was slightly chubby girls with unusually fast hands. As soon as I stepped in, Heather ushered me to a small office with a desk, two lawn chairs, and a creepy-looking orange cat just hanging out in a corner. She pulled out the “disclaimer” and gave me the job description.
Heartbreak for Dinner: It's Kind of a Long Story Page 6