Wrong Place Wrong Time

by David P Perlmutter

  Kelvin, Anthony and I developed a bit of a routine: we would meet for breakfast, then go to the beach and spend the day deciding on the order of songs he would sing. We'd arrange for the equipment to be delivered and set up by a certain time, and then we'd meet at the bar to ensure everything was in order. Kelvin would sing and Anthony and I would deal with the music. Then, once Kelvin completed his set, we would arrange the Karaoke and let the customers have their turn with the microphone. Every night there was plenty to drink and plenty of women. I loved it.

  There was one night in particular that didn't go to plan. Kelvin and Anthony were both up on the stage while Anja and I were at the bar, enjoying the music. We'd all had a fair bit to drink, the atmosphere was pumping and I guess Anja was being a little friendlier with me than usual. She was a beautiful girl, I was flattered by her attention, and although I did nothing to provoke it, I guess I didn't do enough to stop it either. I was completely aware that she was Kelvin's girl — the guy who had given me an opportunity on my very first night — and I completely respected that. At one point Kelvin's eyes met mine and I could tell he wasn't happy, but he was in the middle of a song and there was little he could do. Knowing that Kelvin had a jealous streak and a very short fuse, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

  The guys finished their set, left the stage and joined us at the bar. I could tell straight away that Kelvin still had a problem and wasn't prepared to let it go. I have to admit that I'd found him to be rather intimidating, right from the first moment he'd told me about his army life in Northern Ireland.

  "Oi, Dave, stop fucking with me," Kelvin said, rather aggressively.

  "Sorry?" I replied.

  "You know what I mean. I've seen you chatting up Anja."

  "Kelvin, don't be stupid mate. I'd never do that."

  "I've seen you, you cunt," he went on, getting up from his stool.

  He was the same height as me but had a more muscular physique. My instincts kicked in. I tried to defend myself in a calm and reasonable way, protesting at how ridiculous the accusations were. But he wasn't the type to appreciate civilized communication.

  "Calm down, mate, you've got this all wrong." I stood up, backing off.

  "I am not your fucking mate," he spat.

  Anja tried to intervene. "You're being pathetic Kelvin, "she said. He's done nothing wrong!" But this just made matters worse.

  "Yes he has," Anthony piped up. "I've seen him trying it on with her, Kel."

  Well that's just fucking great, I thought. Now his dimwit of a sidekick was in on the act: defending his brother, accusing me, pointing at me, shouting in my face and pushing me. The situation was getting seriously out of hand.

  Before I even had time to plot my next move, Kelvin took a swing at me. His left fist connected with my chin, his right with my eye. He caught the bridge of my nose and splatters of blood landed on my shirt. I heard Anja pleading with Kelvin to stop, but Anthony was alongside him, encouraging him to finish me off. There wasn't any way I was going to let that happen. Grasping my blood-stained face in my hands and wincing with pain, I turned away from him, and without saying another word, I headed for the door. Thankfully, it wasn't as busy as it had been earlier, and I was able to get out without any crowds standing in my way.

  As I stumbled out into the street I took a few seconds to get my bearings and then proceeded to stagger back to the hostel, checking over my shoulder constantly to make sure I wasn't being followed. I assumed Kelvin had been restrained by Anja, or perhaps the bar staff, as there was no one in sight.

  Back at the room I went straight into the bathroom to inspect the damage to my face. He'd left me with a bruised chin, a bloody nose and a black eye, but I thought myself lucky. Kelvin had told me many stories of his army days and I knew what he was capable of. I'd got off lightly.

  I cleaned myself up and fell onto my bed, exhausted and confused. My mind was somersaulting as I tried to unravel the events that had led to such an ugly scene, but somewhere, in the midst of it all, I thought of Emma. She was enough distraction for me that tiredness eventually overtook me, and I slept.

  I awoke a few hours later with a headache from hell and a very sore face. My black eye would hardly open and it was hard to focus with the bright sunlight seeping through the window. It was going to be another beautiful day, but one I didn't plan on being a part of. Venturing out could have meant bumping into Kelvin, and the thought of feeling his fists again on my already tortured face was enough to keep my inside. I did go out momentarily to the little shop around the corner to get some supplies, but I was back within minutes with some bread, ham, cheese and wine; just enough to see me through the day.

  Much of my time was spent in bed. I ventured out onto the balcony occasionally, wanting to feel the heat of the sun on my body, but my eye — completely swollen now — wasn't appreciating it.

  It wouldn't have taken a genius to work out that my job with the brothers was officially over. And as the minutes turned to hours and the afternoon sun turned into a clear and humid evening, I couldn't help but wonder if the previous night's events had been completely my fault, or whether I'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Again.

  CHAMPAGNE AND ROSA

  A few days had passed since that painful night with Kelvin and his side- kick of an arsehole brother, and I hadn't seen them since. I often replayed the events through my mind and wondered how Kelvin felt about me now the dust had settled. A few times I even pondered asking him for my job back, but I soon laughed it off. There wasn't any way in hell that was going to happen. I'd worked out that I had enough money left to enjoy Marbella for another week or so at the most, but being the eternal optimist, I figured I'd have no problem finding further work. After all, it had only taken me a day to hook up with the brothers so I was sure I could do it again. I decided not to worry about my financial situation and continued to party hard.

  The brothers were popular, and even though I'd fallen out of favour with them, it didn't damage my reputation as much as I'd expected. I was still meeting people with ease, even with the last remaining evidence of a black eye. My new friends all thought that Kelvin had completely overreacted so they didn't hold any hatred towards me at all. As I wandered around the streets of Marbella or even sunbathed on the beach, people came up to me and asked how I was.

  The champagne flowed and most of the time I didn't even have to pay for it. I obviously couldn't afford it, but in the bars I frequented it was generously pushed upon me by my new friends, the rich socialites flaunting their wealth and competing with their counterparts. Who was I to say no? It wasn't just the champagne that came in abundance; there were drugs everywhere. I didn't use drugs every day but I did partake on a number of occasions.

  I would spend all day on the beach working on a great tan then go back to my room, crash till around ten in the evening, shower, change and go out and party until sunrise, mingling with people I would never have met back in London. The majority of people I mixed with were from a completely different background. As well as the rich circle, many people I met were criminals on the run from the UK, and it did occur to me on a number of occasions that there was a much darker, seedier side to the apparent carefree lifestyle most seemed to enjoy. To be honest, I was starting to enjoy this different way of life — this darker, hedonistic side.

  One particular night, with only enough money left for a couple of drinks, I decided to venture out. It was around ten that I decided to go and find a bar in a different location. I came across a quiet place; a small, typically Spanish tapas bar. It was just what I was looking for — somewhere hidden away from the main tourist areas and not too busy. There were just a handful of people dotted around, which was great. I really wasn't in the mood for conversation.

  Half way through my second beer and contemplating how I was going to go about finding a job the following day, a couple came up to the bar and stood alongside me.

  "Anyone sitting here?" the guy asked in a strong, Yorkshire ac
cent, nodding his head at two empty stools.

  "Nope, go ahead," I said. Please don't talk to me… please.

  "Cheers mate." He picked up the cocktail menu. "I'm Peter. This is Rosa."

  She was beautiful. Tall, slim, dark shoulder length hair, dark brown eyes — a classic Latin beauty. She looked around my age, in her late twenties.

  "I'm Dave," I replied, staring back into my glass.

  "How long have you been in Marbella?" he asked, as he tried to get the barman's attention. "Where are you staying?"

  Just go away, I thought. Why all the questions? I laughed to myself, suddenly realising how the bar owner must have felt on my very first night.

  "I've been here for a week or so," I said. I counted the days in my head; it seemed like so much longer than that.

  "Having a good time?" He turned to look at me and before I could answer him he said: "What the hell happened to your face?"

  More bloody questions.

  "I'm having a great time," I told him. "The eye's fine. You should have seen the other bloke."

  He laughed as I finished my beer.

  "Another one?" he asked, gesturing towards my empty glass.

  "Yeah sure!" I said. "A San Miguel. Cheers."

  He ordered two cocktails and my beer, and I sat there hoping he wasn't expecting me to get the next round because there was no chance of that happening. The barman put the drinks on the bar with a fresh bowl of peanuts and Peter excused himself, heading off to the toilet.

  "So, what really happened, Dave?" Rosa said. She had a very sexy Spanish accent but her English pronunciation was perfect.

  I took a sip of my beer and looked at her. She was stunning. "I was doing a bit of work for someone when I arrived," I told her. "He thought I was trying to chat up his girlfriend so he walloped me a couple of times."

  "And were you?"

  "No. He was good to me. He gave me a break when I got here, so the last thing I wanted to do was to screw things up. She was a beautiful girl. Really nice, too. But she was a bit flirty that night and he got pissed off about it."

  "Have you got a girlfriend?" she said, seductively playing with the cocktail straw in her mouth.

  "Nope, not here anyway. I'm on my own".

  "Oh right, good!" she said, smiling at me.

  Peter returned from the gents. "So, what have I missed?" he asked, picking up his cocktail.

  "Not much," I told him. I really didn't want any more trouble.

  Peter slipped his arm around Rosa's waist, but she pulled away from him. I wondered what the score was between them but as I didn't have enough money to buy any more drinks, I knew I wouldn't find out. I finished my beer and stood up.

  "Right I'm off," I said. "I was only coming out for a couple."

  "Oh Dave, come on stay!" Rosa pleaded.

  "I can't. I left my wallet in my room. I'm sorry!"

  "It's on us. You can buy next time," she went on.

  "Yeah, come on mate," Peter said. "It's fine."

  "Well, as long as you're sure?" I said, sitting back down.

  With another round of Champagne cocktails, we clinked glasses and moved away from the bar onto the L shaped sofas that surrounded the dance floor. Rosa sandwiched herself between Peter and myself. The bar was getting busier by the hour and the music was getting louder.

  "So what's the story with you two?" I asked boldly. The alcohol was taking effect and I was beginning to lose my inhibitions.

  "Just friends, aren't we?" Rosa said, looking straight at Peter.

  "Yes. Just friends," he said, staring down at the terracotta tiled floor. It was obvious he wasn't happy about it.

  There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence which Rosa finally broke.

  "Peter…go and get some more cocktails. These are going down too quickly! Same again Dave?"

  Before I could even answer her, Peter was out of his seat and heading back to the bar. As much as I was attracted to Rosa and as much as I fancied another drink, I felt bad. Back in London I'd have never been in this situation; I always paid my way. I glanced over at Peter, waiting to be served. The poor guy was besotted with her and it seemed he was willing to do anything to win her affection. As I chatted with Rosa, I watched him from the corner of my eye. At least three times he looked over his shoulder to see what we were doing.

  Even though Rosa was Spanish, she'd lived in London for many years, working in P.R. She'd met Peter at a party a year before and he'd been infatuated with her ever since. Nothing had gone on between them, she told me, not even a kiss. They were friends, but that's as far as it went.

  Peter returned with a different selection of cocktails this time, and they were good. Damned good. I thanked him and we clinked glasses again. I felt sorry for him and wanted to give him some of my time.

  "So Peter," I said. "I detect a slight accent. Where are you from?"

  "Leeds."

  "A Leeds fan then?"

  "Yep. Had a season ticket for twenty years. But I've been here for three now, so there's not much point in having one now. I watch them on the telly when I can."

  "They've had a great year," I said. As a football fan, I knew they'd just won the league.

  "Yep! I'm proud to be a Yorkshire man." He smiled for the first time in ages.

  Rosa's leg was brushing against mine and I shifted in my seat. "Bet you miss watching them play," I went on, trying to ignore her.

  "Yeah, sometimes, but you can't beat being here. Sun, sea and…well, you know the other one!" He looked at Rosa, his face full of expectation, but she looked away, placing her hand in the tiny space between us to discreetly stroke my thigh.

  The drinks were being consumed pretty quickly and Rosa caught the barman's attention and motioned another round. The barman brought them over and as we clinked glasses again, I couldn't help but think of how stunning she looked in her tight jeans, with her white shirt a perfect contrast to her tan. The top few buttons were undone and it was hard not to notice her cleavage.

  A little while later, another tray of cocktails arrived. I was losing count now. They were either on the house or I'd missed something. The alcohol was definitely taking effect.

  "So Peter," I said, with a slight hint of a drunken slur, "what d'ya do here? For work, I mean." I was hoping he'd be able to help me out, point me in the right direction.

  "Em…"

  Whether he'd have given me an honest answer, I'll never know, because Rosa stood up, grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor.

  She was one hot mover, her lean body moving perfectly with the beat of the music. One song led to another and we danced the night away, completely oblivious to our surroundings. Peter disappeared without us even noticing and I had a slight twinge of guilt, but it was soon forgotten. This girl wasn't taken and I'd done nothing wrong.

  The hours passed by in a blur of heady, intoxicating lust. It must have been early in the morning when we eventually left because, as we were heading back to her apartment, there was a most beautiful sunrise.

  It was the following afternoon when we emerged from under the sheets of her bed. She was a beautiful, sexy, passionate woman and I'd had an amazing time. I watched her, spellbound, as she plucked her silky robe from the floor, put it on and headed towards the kitchen to make us a bite to eat. She reappeared — an absolute vision — with an appetizing platter of bread, cheese and fruits, along with an iced jug of sangria to wash it down. Out on the balcony we ate, drank, talked and laughed. Peering out across the town to the ocean below, with the sun beating down on us, I felt so happy, and as I soaked in the surroundings and saw the smile on Rosa's face, I didn't have a care in the world.

  CHICKEN BONES

  It seemed like a far and distant memory when Rosa, wearing a sexy white bikini, had blown me a kiss from her terrace as I'd left her apartment a few days before. Since our magical time together, my financial situation had deteriorated dramatically; in fact I didn't have a cent to my name. My confidence faltered and it hit me hard. Without
having a clue what to do or which way to turn, my usual state of optimism quickly turned to pessimism and I plummeted to a darkness that I had never been to before. I had no job, no prospect of one and therefore no money to pay the rent, which was mounting up into a serious debt. Unable to face anyone or anything, I didn't leave my room for days. I didn't even move from my bed. To shower and shave was such an effort for me so my personal hygiene was being neglected. The rent I owed was increasing daily and I was starving, having not eaten in days. Just like back in London I'd become a recluse, but this time I didn't have the benefit of being at my parents' house with a fridge full of food and their company and support. I was in a foreign country, broke, and totally alone.

  Hunger got the better of me as I rummaged through the bin next to my bed and found the unpleasant remains of some chicken pieces which had been fresh a few days before. I devoured what was left of them, even eating the insides of the bones. Swallowing my last disgusting mouthful and realising what I'd just done, I loathed myself. How the hell did I get into this fucking mess? My thoughts turned to my family and what my Mum would have thought had she known what a state I was in and how I was living. "Don't worry Mum, I'll be fine", were my last words to her as I'd left them at the airport. But I was far from fine. I thought about my night out in London and how things could have been so different had I chosen to stay at home that night. I felt sorry for myself but there was no one else to blame; the drinking, the drugs, the partying and living beyond my means had got me into this state and it was entirely my fault. I buried my face into the pillow, my head spinning with thoughts of my next move. Where was I going to go? What was I going to do? I had to focus; I needed to sort out the mess I was in. With a sudden urge to call my Mum and hear a friendly voice, I crept into the hallway of the hostel and used the public phone. Shamefully, I reversed the charges. The operator asked for the number and I held on as she put me through.