Wrong Place Wrong Time

by David P Perlmutter

  "Hey" I said. "I'm gonna get going now. Perhaps I'll see you around? And thanks for the smoke and everything. It was good to meet you." I got up from the blanket rather unsteadily. "See ya, Hound Dog" I whispered, patting her head.

  "Sure, cool man, see ya soon." His eyes were closed and he was singing to himself. All I made out as I walked away was that it was an Elvis song.

  Considering I'd slept on the beach I felt pretty good, but I needed to clear my head. I looked around and as there was no one in sight I stripped off and ran into the sea. "Jesus!" I shouted as the water washed over me. Although it was freezing, it was invigorating.

  I spent most of the day walking around the town looking for work, but who was going to offer a job to a homeless man with an unkempt appearance? I watched with envy people eating in cafés, drinking in bars, laughing and having fun. The day slowly passed into night and the streets became lit by the colourful neon signs of the restaurants. As I walked the pavements I became fascinated with the people. Tourists were studying outdoor menus and being heckled by waiters to come inside. "Nice food! Good value! Much drink!" was their pitch. In some cases it worked, but mostly the waiters were ignored and people moved on to study another menu close by.

  At around midnight, with families and the older couples long since departed, the restaurants closed and the streets were taken over by pretty young girls wearing shorts and miniskirts. I watched them giggling with the promoters, accepting the vouchers for their free drinks. "Come here! Great bar! It's ladies night! Buy one get one free!" It was the same old bullshit, and for a moment I wondered why I'd even taken the brothers up on their offer of work doing exactly the same thing.

  I moved away from the crowds. It had been a long, hot day and I hadn't eaten since early morning. My walking had slowed to a gentle pace some hours before, but the tiredness suddenly hit me with a vengeance. I contemplated the beach again and perhaps tracking down the Son of Elvis, but common sense won through. Even if I had found him, I wasn't sure I could cope with another night on the sand and a belly full of drugs.

  As I turned a corner, I came across a brightly lit and rather swish hotel. It reminded me of the one I'd stayed at on my very first night and I wanted nothing more than to turn the clock back and start again. That first night in Marbella was amazing; the room and balcony, the power shower, the crisp and clean bed sheets. And how could I ever forget Emma, straddling me and making love to me. I was so glad she couldn't see me then.

  Without thinking too clearly and to get away from the busy streets, I wandered into the hotel lobby. To my surprise I found it empty — there wasn't a soul to be seen. Even the reception desk was deserted. A bit further in, to the left, I spotted a black leather sofa and I headed towards it. My initial intention had been to sit for a while, away from the noise on the streets, and rest my feet. But it wasn't long before I lowered my tired body onto the soft leather. I stretched out, glancing around at the artwork adorning the walls and then curled up on my side. My eyes were heavy, dragging themselves closed, and within seconds I drifted into a very deep sleep.

  A RUDE AWAKENING

  Semi-conscious and disorientated, I sensed a presence, someone standing over me. But rubbing my eyes, all I could see was a blur of multi-coloured geometric shapes all interlocked and swirling around. Even before I had time to register what was going on, I felt my body being held down against my will. There was a tight, heavy feeling in my throat, I struggled to breathe and I couldn't move. Was I dreaming? Was I having a moment of sleep paralysis?

  Was I fuck!

  As soon as I opened my eyes I realised that I'd been temporarily blinded by the early morning sun that was glaring through the leaded windows across the foyer, but more alarmingly, I made out the huge pair of hands that had grabbed hold of my shirt collar. In a panic I tried to get away, but I was suddenly lifted from the sofa and dragged the entire length of the foyer with my feet barely touching the white marbled floor. I managed to lift my head to glance around for any signs of help, but the place was deserted. The man holding me hastened his step and it felt like I was on a train, with the pictures on the walls flashing past me at an incredible speed. When he started yelling in my face, I jerked my head away to escape his rancid breath. He smelt of alcohol and cigarettes and appeared to be quite intoxicated as he grumbled through his nicotine-stained handlebar moustache.

  He dragged me towards the hotel exit, contorting one of my arms into a completely unnatural position behind my back. I yelled: "let go of me, you bastard!" but he ignored me. I tried to manoeuvre my way out of his grip but it was impossible; he was over six feet tall and built like a tank. His shaven head, intense bloodshot eyes and thick solid neck loomed ominously out of his short sleeved uniformed shirt. He continued his verbal assault towards me, every syllable of his tirade teeming with rage, and even though I couldn't understand what he was saying I knew that he wasn't inviting me for breakfast. My head pounded from the shock and his voice vibrated right through to my bones. Then in one motion, and still shouting ferociously, he kicked opened the double glass panelled doors and physically threw me out of the building.

  I fell awkwardly onto the hard concrete ground and it knocked the breath from my lungs, winding me. Just a few feet away from my painful landing were the well-trimmed, soft lush gardens of the hotel. Why the hell couldn't I have landed there? With his thick tattooed arms flailing, he started shooing me away like a stray dog, and just in case I hadn't got the message, he planted one of his boots into my rib-cage. I reeled in pain as I crawled away, snatching back my passport which had fallen from my pocket. He approached me again, but when a young Spanish couple who had been sitting on a nearby bench stood up and walked towards me, he backed off and disappeared inside. With their help, I managed to pull myself up, clutching my side where the bastard had kicked me. I thanked them, assuring them that I was ok and staggered away, passing restaurants and bars and holding onto their railings and menu stands for support. The flashing neon light displays of the previous night were now just a lifeless traffic of florescent tubes entwined with wires and cables. There was no sign of life anywhere; the place was like a ghost town.

  Slowly, I made my way to the beach. It was deserted apart from a handful of joggers out for an early morning run and a few old-timers enjoying the quiet time before the onslaught of tourists would emerge. The sand was soft, but felt damp and uninviting from the morning dew. I slumped onto it, pulling my legs towards my chest, my ribs throbbing with every move and jolt. Looking around, I spotted Chico's in the distance, the bar where I'd met Kelvin and his brother on my second day. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Back then I'd felt young and free, looking at the world through expectant eyes, but right then I felt as old as the trees. I scanned the beach, looking for The Son of Elvis, my American friend. A friendly face, a shoulder to lean on and a much needed hit of a strong joint to sooth the pain would have been wonderful, but I couldn't see him or Hound Dog anywhere.

  I sat staring out to sea and felt the soft ocean breeze drift towards me. The sea was a beautiful colour but I couldn't identify it. Was it aquamarine? I counted the waves, each one becoming stronger, and watched the seventh one crash against the shore. The golden rays of sun burned through the last remaining white cloud in the sky and it was such a welcome feeling that I uncurled myself and stretched out on the sand. My ribs throbbed but I lay there waiting for the sun to work its magic and heal me. A little while later, and somewhat soothed, I shed my clothes, placed them on the sand and bathed in the sea for as long as I could manage.

  I emerged feeling cleansed and sunk into the warmth and softness of the sand. Closing my eyes, my thoughts turned to my family, and a tear trickled from the corner of my eye. I was lonely, tired and in pain and would have given anything to magic myself back home — to have Mum fussing around me, making me tea and toast. I had neither money nor food, my belongings were out of reach and I had no return ticket to the UK. In fact my only possessions were my passport and the clothes on my back.<
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  I must have fallen asleep for some time because when I awoke, it was to the gentle hum of conversation, and I found myself surrounded by holiday makers unpacking their bags, stripping off their clothes and laying their towels on the sand. The muted hues of the desolate beach a few hours earlier had transformed into a blur of colour and I lay there for a while, my eyes picking out the greens, oranges and pinks of swimwear. There was a blonde nearby rubbing oil into her skin and I watched her, mesmerised, as she rubbed and massaged it up and down the length of her legs. She was amazingly toned and had I been a photographer, I'd have positioned her in the exact spot she was standing in — with the sun to her side, highlighting the small dragon tattoo on her inner left thigh. When she removed her bikini top and produced a pair of beautiful, natural breasts that bounced every time she moved, I couldn't help but feel aroused. I shifted on to my side to make it a little less obvious, but I carried on watching her. Being discreet had never been one of my strong points, and when she started to oil up her breasts, it was obvious that she was doing it for her audience. She seductively rubbed them — her left, then her right — and then, as if to rub it in even more, she tweaked her nipples. For a moment I actually believed I was in with a chance — and that just intensified the stirring in my boxer shorts — but it was short-lived. Her equally beautiful boyfriend appeared, took hold of the oil and began massaging it into her back. I turned away at that point, thinking about what a lucky bastard he was, and as my erection subsided I wondered if I'd get the opportunity to meet someone of my own. As much as I tried to put her out of my mind, I couldn't help but think of Rosa.

  Bored with the beach, I decided to leave the beautiful couple to it and take a walk into the main town of Marbella. The streets were busy with tourists searching for gifts to take back to loved ones and the cafés were full of people having a late breakfast or an early lunch. As the smell of fried bacon and freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, I tried to ignore my hunger and wandered aimlessly around the town wondering where my next meal would come from and where I'd be sleeping that night.

  It was some time later, turning the corner from a side road onto the main street, that I was unexpectedly distracted and a familiar face caught my eye. I'm not a religious man but at that very moment I did wonder if God was on my side. It was Rosa, looking as gorgeous as ever in a pair of black shorts and a white shirt. I'd only been thinking of her a few hours before and I couldn't believe my luck. She saw me and waved, and I waved back — undoubtedly grinning like an idiot. As she made her way towards me with the mid-morning sunlight dappling her skin, she looked so fresh faced and beautiful, and for a split second I wanted to run towards her, take her in my arms and plant a kiss on her lips. But catching a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window, I stopped abruptly. Shit, I looked a mess. My face was haggard and unshaven, my eyes were weary and my once white shirt — now with a ripped collar — was badly in need of a wash. As Rosa got closer, I quickly brushed my fingers through my hair, my grin diminishing to a half smile, and then suddenly she was in front of me, leaning in to kiss my cheek. She smelt beautiful and I cringed and blushed, knowing how I looked.

  "Dave! How are you? It's so good to see you!"

  "Hey, Rosa!" I said, dying on the inside. "I'm good thanks, how are you?" It wouldn't have taken a genius to see that I was on my knees and I wondered if she was just being polite by completely ignoring my appearance.

  "I'm great!" She raised her head towards the sky, her state of the art sunglasses protecting her eyes from the strong glare of the sun. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

  We chatted a little awkwardly at first, mostly due to my embarrassment, but after a few minutes our conversation became more relaxed and to my complete surprise she actually started to flirt with me. The innuendoes were flying back and forth and for a while I actually forgot the state I was in.

  "It's my best friend's birthday today," she told me. "There's a party tonight, on the Marina. I'd love you to come! There'll be plenty of food and drink!"

  And then it was back: reality hitting me full in the face. I shook my head, convinced she was inviting me out of pity. As much as I longed to spend some time with her and get some food in my stomach, my pride was still intact and that was pretty much all I had left.

  "Oh come on Dave," she pleaded, "it'll be fun! Look, come back to my apartment, have a siesta and a shower and then we can go to the party together. Deal?"

  As stupid as it sounds, I did actually consider refusing, but when she untied her ponytail, tossed her hair across her shoulders and gave me the most beautiful smile, it didn't take long for me to change my mind. Maybe there is a God? I thought to myself.

  My confidence grew with every step as we strolled hand in hand through the streets of Marbella to her apartment. Rosa didn't once mention how I looked, but when we arrived, I immediately took up her offer of a much needed shower. The sea had been refreshing, but there was no substitute for hot water and soap and I stayed there for as long as I thought I could get away with. Rosa stepped into the shower after me and I lay on her bed, listening to the trickle of the water, waiting for her to join me. I must have nodded off briefly, because the next minute she was kneeling on the bed wrapped in nothing but a towel and softly kissing my lips. I sleepily kissed her back, pulling her towards me, and when she let the towel fall from her body, I tossed it onto the floor. I was aroused instantly and within seconds I was inside her, moaning against her lips. We made love, fast and frenzied, with Rosa's wet hair falling across my face and her nails digging into my back with each thrust of my body. I fucked her until I knew she was close, and when she threw her head back and opened her mouth wide in a silent scream, I came too, feeling a week's worth of tension leave me.

  Once we managed to force ourselves away from the bedroom, we lounged on the terrace and indulged in a delicious tray of tapas. Rosa had prepared a jug of iced Sangria too, and I feasted on it all, trying not to appear too greedy. The scene was perfect — so romantic — and besides Rosa looking astonishingly beautiful, the sky was as colourful as a rainbow as the sun slowly receded into the ocean. The conversation between us flowed so easily and with each passing moment I liked her even more. What had started off as an unexpected encounter was rapidly turning into something more and I couldn't wait to spend the evening with her, laughing and partying the night away, before slipping back into bed.

  When the sun had said its farewell and the breeze had reached us from the ocean, we headed back inside. Rosa had kindly washed my clothes and I dressed quickly before perching on the end of the bed to watch her get ready. Seeing her put her clothes on was just as erotic as seeing her take them off, and I fought the desire to make love to her all over again.

  In hindsight, I wish I had. In fact in hindsight, I should never have stepped out the door.

  THE PARTY

  The elevator came to a halt on the ground floor and the doors slid open. As we passed the reception desk in the hallway, the old man sitting behind it looked over the glasses perched on the end of his nose and acknowledged Rosa with a kindly smile. She waved at him, smiling back, and for a split second I remembered the bastard who still had my belongings. The two men couldn't have been more different if they'd tried, but strangely, I didn't feel angry. There was something about being with Rosa that paled everything else into insignificance.

  We made our way out of the building and strolled hand in hand down the narrow, cobble-stoned lane, chatting as we went, but when we turned left onto the main street Rosa stopped in her tracks.

  "What is it?" I said, watching her. Her face was lit up and she looked almost angelic, staring out into the night.

  "I've always loved the Marina," she said, "ever since I was a little girl. It's just so sparkly and pretty."

  I smiled, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her close, and we stood quietly for a while, watching the flickering lights from the yachts reflecting in the water. Rosa looked beautiful that night, her stunning black dress accentuating ever
y curve of her body. Her hair was loose, flowing freely around her shoulders, and when a cool breeze caught it and blew it across her face, I softly swept it away.

  "Baby, I feel like the luckiest man in the world to be with you," I said, cupping her face in my hands, and I meant every word. I leaned in to kiss her and she responded, closing her eyes. I lost myself in the moment, my hands caressing her body through the silky material of her dress, and she pushed herself gently against me, her hand grasping the back of my hair. When our lips finally parted and I looked into her eyes, they were damp with tears.

  "What's wrong, baby?"

  "Nothing," she said, blinking them back. "It was just such a beautiful thing to say."

  I kissed Rosa again, lightly on her lips, but she pulled away, giggling. Following her gaze and glancing over my shoulder, I saw that we'd gathered quite an audience! I took hold of her hand.

  "C'mon, let's go," I said. "Claire will be waiting."

  The Marina was only a short distance away. We turned left along the promenade and left again, and Rosa pointed out that the steps to Alameda Park.

  "We must go there," she said, squeezing my fingers in her hand. "It's beautiful. There are some sculptures in the gardens. Salvador Dali. Do you know him?"

  I'd had many a Dali poster adorning my walls as a teenager. "Yes, I do," I told her. "I'd love to visit."

  "Then perhaps we should do that tomorrow," she said, smiling.

  Tomorrow, I thought. She's planning for tomorrow. My heart swelled.

  Chrome covered yachts of all sizes filled the harbour, rocking simultaneously side by side to the lapping of the waves. Muscle-bound men and gold skinned girls danced on the decks without a care in the world, and the music — a variety of rock, pop and soul — pounded out from each boat along the bay as we passed them. It was easy to see why it was labelled the playground for princes; the money in the air was evident.