Wrong Place Wrong Time

by David P Perlmutter

  We strolled along the limestone pavement weaving our way through the groups of tourists who had filled the Marina and passed a whole host of bistros, restaurants and champagne bars — each one looking more inviting than the last. When we reached the end of the strip, there, standing outside the glitzy bar where her party was being held, was Claire, smoking a cigarette.

  "Wow, you look amazing", Rosa told the birthday girl as she kissed her on both cheeks. And she did. Claire was slim, blonde, and had the most amazing wide blue eyes. She looked every part the millionaire's mistress in her striking red suit, and had Rosa not told me before that Claire was single and worked as a holiday receptionist, it wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest had one of the yachts belonged to her lover.

  "Claire, this is Dave, the guy I told you about."

  She's mentioned me?

  Claire reached out and touched my arm." So you're Dave!" she purred. "I've heard so much about you!"

  "All good, I hope," I said, kissing her cheek.

  "I'll tell you all about it when Rosa's not around!"

  All three of us laughed and it broke the ice.

  "So, how many years young are you?" I asked rather cheekily.

  "Dave," Rosa interrupted, nudging me with her elbow. "You never ask a woman their age!"

  I flinched — my ribs still not fully recovered from their kicking — and the smile left Rosa's face almost immediately.

  "I'm sorry, babe," she said, reaching out to stroke my side.

  I had no idea how much Claire knew about my recent shenanigans, but she didn't let on.

  "Well, if you really want to know, I'm a quarter of a century old. Yep, I'll be twenty five in…" she glanced down at her watch and arched an eyebrow as if trying to work it out "… umm, in about fifty minutes time."

  "You don't look a day over twenty-one!" I said with a wink, holding the bar door open for the girls.

  The atmosphere inside was relaxed but it was getting busier by the minute. There was such an interesting mix of people and nationalities there that even The Son of Elvis wouldn't have been out of place had he arrived showered, without his dog. On the opposite end of the spectrum were the pijos who, Rosa explained, were the Spanish equivalent of a yuppy. And then there were all the people in-between, Rosa and I included.

  Claire beckoned to the waiter and he arrived promptly with a silver tray balanced perfectly on the tips of his fingers.

  "Here! Have some champagne!" Claire took two flutes from the tray and handed them to us as the waiter stood by, waiting to be dismissed. She thanked him and he weaved his way back through the crowds.

  "Thanks!" Rosa said, raising her glass. "I have a feeling this is going to be a very good night!"

  "Happy Birthday!" I said, clinking glasses with Claire. I had to agree with Rosa — we were all set to have a fantastic time.

  We chatted over the music — soft, rhythmic Jazz being played by a smart three piece band that looked every bit the part in their pristine tuxedos. Two young, handsome barmen were busy showing off their skills, tossing cocktail mixers and glasses behind their backs with one hand and catching them with the other, whilst a bunch of pretty girls were admiring them and giggling to each other. The men were playing up to it, thrusting their hips and flirting outrageously.

  "Who the hell do they think they are?" I whispered to Rosa. "Tom Cruise?"

  She laughed and kissed me on the cheek. I have to admit though, they were pretty damn impressive.

  Half an hour later the place was rammed. The guys behind the long glass top bar were in full flow — taking orders, flinging glasses and mixing an array of amazing looking cocktails. People were lounging in the corners, relaxing and chatting, while others stood and mingled, their bodies swaying to the beat of the music. Others had poured out onto the street and couples were dancing on the pavement outside, backlit by the marina lights. I watched them for a while through the huge feature window at the front of the bar and spotted a guy who I'd met once when I was with Kelvin. He was perched on a bench in a world of his own with an unlit cigarette stuck to his lips. I contemplated going to say hello, but thought better of it. This was my time with Rosa, but more importantly, I had no reason to get involved in that scene again. It had been a mistake from the start.

  "Hey guys, I'm starving. Shall we eat?" Claire piped up.

  "Good idea!" I said.

  We placed our empty glasses on the waiter's tray, took another full one each and made our way to the back of the bar towards the buffet. The tables looked incredible; they were bursting with food — all typically Spanish — and we piled our plates with the delicious snacks, appetizers and portions of specially made dishes which were there for the taking. With our plates full, we headed upstairs to the terrace which overlooked the bay and we ate in silence, taking in the spectacular view of the moonlight stretching across the water. Again, I looked at Rosa who was mesmerised by the twinkling lights of the yachts moored in the bay. As I sat there eating and watching her, I felt a shift inside of me. Admittedly, I was relieved that I had someone on my side and that my days of sleeping on the beach were perhaps over. But it was more than that. I really liked her. There was a connection, an understanding, and I knew she felt it too. It wasn't just about the physical attraction; we'd spent a lot of time talking and it felt like we were actually going somewhere. I looked at the people dancing and singing on the yachts in the bay, having the time of their lives, and I smiled to myself. Right at that moment, I felt luckier than them.

  "Where's the birthday girl?" yelled the party guests downstairs. Claire glanced at her watch and shrieked.

  "It's quarter past eleven!" she said. "It's my birthday!" She hurriedly put her plate on the floor grabbing a skewered olive for the journey, and made her way back down the stairs and into the bar. We followed her, and as if by magic the band came to life with their Jazz-infused version of Happy Birthday — saxophone and all. Claire's friends sang and danced around her and she blushed as a waiter brought out a beautiful cake with twenty five candles, each flame flickering in the air. She pushed her hair behind each ears, lowered her head and blew out the candles to a chorus of hip, hip hooray!

  "Speech! Speech!" the guests cried.

  Claire looked at us nervously but Rosa winked at her.

  "Go on…you'll be fine!" she said, pushing her towards the stage.

  Claire took the mic and looked out at her throng of guests.

  "Okay, umm…" she stuttered, "I'd just like to say thanks for coming tonight. I hope you're all enjoying yourselves and…ummm…" She scanned the room, lost for words, and then screamed: "LET'S PARTY!"

  Her audience clapped and cheered as Claire left the stage and right on cue the resident DJ started his gig with Happy Birthday by Stevie Wonder. Claire was swept onto the dance floor by her friends and within seconds it was completely full. I couldn't help but feel happy for her — it was her night and she was loving it.

  Perhaps an hour or so later, engrossed in a conversation with another couple, a tap on the shoulder was enough to make Rosa jump. It was a rather red faced and sweaty Claire, who had been on the dance floor for the entire time.

  "Hey guys," she said. "I don't want to worry you, but guess who's just walked in?" She nodded in the direction of the bar.

  It was Peter, the friend Rosa had been with on the first night I'd met her.

  "Oh God," Rosa said. "Who invited him?"

  "Not me," Claire told her, shaking her head.

  Claire knew all about Peter and his incessant attempts at turning his friendship with Rosa into something more. Having him at the party was the last thing Claire wanted and she looked worried.

  "It'll be fine," Rosa said. "We'll deal with it. Go and enjoy yourself."

  As Claire made her way back onto the dance floor, Peter moved away from the bar and headed towards us.

  "Shit, look at him," I said. "He's completely pissed."

  Peter staggered through the crowds, bumped into a couple on the dance floor and mana
ged to spill half of his drink over himself. He'd obviously dressed to impress with his shirt buttons undone to the waist, but he looked like an idiot with a wet patch the size of a dinner plate down his front.

  "Rosa! The beautiful Rosa," he said, with his arms outstretched and his drink sloshing precariously in his glass. "How are you, my baby?"

  He was obviously expecting a hug but Rosa didn't reciprocate. Then he noticed me.

  "Oh. I didn't see YOU there," he slurred. "Tell me, what was your name again?" He rubbed his chin, as if thinking about it. "Oh yeah…the black eyed boy!"

  "Peter, do yourself a favour and leave okay?" I said, shaking my head, as Rosa stood up and made her way to my side of the table. "Look at the state of you."

  Rosa slid into the chair next to mine and the couple we had been talking to stood up and left.

  "Do ME a favour," Peter said, "and fuck off. I'm not leaving. It's a free country and I can do what the fuck I want." He laughed, swaying on his feet and looked around the room. "Nice party," he went on. "Where's the birthday girl?"

  "She's outside having a cigarette" Rosa said bluntly.

  Peter turned to me, his face contorted in anger. "So, you wanker," he spat. "What are you doing here?" His bloodshot eyes looked straight into mine with an intensity that burned right through me. For a second I thought he was going to lurch at me but when he lifted his glass and realised it was empty, he turned his attention to the waiter. He was clicking his fingers with one hand — trying to summon him over — and haphazardly wiping down his shirt with the other.

  "Look mate, don't you think you've have enough?"

  He raised his voice." I'm NOT your bloody mate. Don't you dare tell me what I can or can't have. You're fucking lucky I haven't come over there and blacked your other eye, you bastard."

  "Hey," Rosa said. "Don't talk to Dave like that. He's done nothing wrong." She spoke to him calmly and politely with far more restraint than I could have mustered.

  "I can talk however I like, Rosa. This has nothing to do with you." He was trying to stand up but only managed to embarrass himself further by falling back down onto the sofa. "I love you Rosa," he went on, "and everything was great, and then HE came along and took you away from me."

  "Peter," Rosa said, "we were never together. Never. You know that. We're good friends but nothing else. Please," she pleaded, "let's keep it that way."

  Peter stared into his lap with his shoulders hunched over and his head bobbing from side to side. I wasn't sure if he'd admitted defeat or was working on his next line. I leant over to whisper in Rosa's ear.

  "Look, I'm gonna go for a walk okay? He's drunk and I don't want any trouble. I'll be back in an hour or so."

  "You don't have to leave because of him, Dave," she said.

  "I know, sweetheart. But he'll be fine once I've gone. You can chat to him, you know, let him cool off, okay?" I finished the last of my drink.

  She sighed and leaned in to kiss me.

  "I won't be long," I told her, "I promise. And when I get back we can go to your place."

  Rosa nodded her head and gave me a half smile.

  "Don't be long, baby," she said, and kissed me again.

  Out on the Marina, Claire was getting some air and finishing a cigarette.

  "Where are you going?" she said. "Is everything alright?"

  "Everything's fine," I told her. "I'm just taking a breather, letting things calm down in there. Keep an eye on Rosa for me, will you?"

  "Sure," she said, and took a final drag before crushing the cigarette in the ashtray on the table. "But don't be long, eh?"

  I smiled and headed up the street with two large bottles of San Miguel for company. It was just after two and the Marina was still full of people, chatting, drinking and having fun. Smoke filled the pocket of air immediately in front of me and I lifted my head and breathed in. Ah, that sweet smell of Marijuana. I glanced to the yacht on my left and saw a group of people sitting in a circle on the deck, rolling and passing joints. Waiters to my right were busy clearing tables as the last of their diners were preparing to leave. The bars were still packed, and people were spilling out onto the streets dancing and laughing. For them, the night was far from over; they'd be partying till sunrise.

  I strolled along the pavement and out of the Marina, and then turned left onto the main road. It was a clear, humid night and the stars were twinkling brightly with the full moon shining down on me. It was nice to get away from the noise and bustle of the crowds, and before long, all I could hear was the relaxing sound of chirping crickets coming from the bushes adjacent to the road. Every step I took was accompanied by a swig of beer, each one calming me down and giving me some perspective. As much as Peter was an annoying bastard, I knew he was just drunk and that in the morning he'd probably be regretting being such an asshole. I carried on walking, lost in my thoughts, until the soothing sound of the crickets was shattered by the distinctive sound of sirens in the distance. Curiously, I looked around, and in amongst the trees and hotel rooftops, I saw smoke billowing into the sky. With one last sip, I finished my beer, threw the empty bottle into a rubbish bin and unscrewed my second bottle. I took a mouthful and without any hesitation, I made my way to investigate where it was coming from.

  In a couple of hours or so it would become a move that turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.

  THIRTY FEET

  Wailing sirens echoed down the street. Almost instantly, a procession of ambulances and police cars sped past me, their whirring lights bouncing off the hedgerows. A thick, black plume of smoke engulfed half of the sky, and with every stride I took it swallowed even more of it. Closer to the horizon, the reds, oranges and yellows of the blaze illuminated the rooftops as flames snaked towards them. Without even thinking, I finished my beer, tossed the empty bottle into the hedge and started to run. My ribs throbbed as each foot hit the pavement and when I turned a corner in the road, a sharp pain shot straight across my chest. I stumbled and fell, grazing my knees, but that was the least of my worries. "Shit!" I said out loud, clutching my side and trying to breathe. I pulled myself up, leant against the hedge and tried to supress the agony. When I looked up, my mouth fell open as I took in the sight ahead of me. A cold shiver passed over my skin and ran right through to my bones as the hairs on the back of my neck stood tall.

  The fire in the building was rampant, with billowing smoke bulging from the windows. Pockets of flames swept through the ground floor as more smoke belched into the night. Firemen were on their knees, frantically trying to contain the flames that were spreading along the interior walls and bursting through the upper windows of the hotel. The police were struggling to hold back the crowds of locals, tourists, journalists and TV reporters who were pushing forward in disbelief, some of them crying hysterically and trying to reach their loved ones. More fire-fighters, fully equipped with gas masks and oxygen tanks, made their way to the entrance, passing guests lying on the grass in their bed clothes. Some emerged distraught — crying and screaming. Others were covered in blood and gasping for air.

  I stared, completely aghast, at the chaos before me, and when the flames suddenly swept across the entire ground floor of the building, I stepped back, making my way to the side of the hotel. I was in a daze, not able to take it all in, and the wailing of the sirens along with the desperate screams of people panicking filled my head. Up until then I was under the illusion that fire merely crackled, but I couldn't have been more wrong. The sounds of cracking wood, melting metal and the shattering of windows as the flames consumed whatever was in its path, was unbearable. I rambled further away from the noise, away from the devastation, and slumped against a tree. Amidst the screams from the crowd were the faint cries of people who were still in the building, begging to be helped. My stomach turned and I started to retch, the surging bile doubling me over.

  "Help me!"

  Desperate to block it out, I stumbled further away, but the voice just intensified. It was a woman — I could hear her now
— and she was frantic.

  "Please somebody help me!"

  I turned to my left, then to my right, squinting my eyes to see through the dark. Then there it was again, her voice bellowing through the night.

  "HELP ME!"

  I looked up, seeing nothing at first, but then spotted the silhouette of a woman leaning over the railings of her balcony, trying to escape the smoke that was curling towards her. I held my hand above my eyes to focus.

  "MY ROOM'S ON FIRE! HELP ME, PLEASE!" she screamed at the top of her voice.

  She was alone, and nobody — fucking nobody — seemed to be heading in her direction or was even aware of her. The fact that I'd been drinking champagne and cocktails all night didn't even cross my mind. Nor did the fact that I was about to risk my life. The only thing that entered my head was getting her out of there. It was that simple.

  I clasped my hands around my mouth and shouted up at her.

  "Hold on! I'm coming to get you! Just stay calm okay?"

  A seven foot wall which wrapped around the perimeter of the hotel stood between us, and I jumped, managing to grip the top of it with my left hand. Struggling painfully, I inched and heaved myself upwards, digging my feet into crevices in the brickwork. I stretched my other arm onto the top, hauled myself over and dropped to the ground on the other side. There was a black drainpipe running the entire height of the hotel wall alongside her balcony and I managed to pull myself onto it, gripping the rough, rusty metal as firmly as I could. I could feel the intensity of the fire on the other side, and as I climbed, my hands began to sweat. Smoke rolled from most of the rooms around me but I carried on, my eyes watering and my mouth getting dryer by the second. About two-thirds of the way up my left hand slipped, but I managed to hold on with my right, wrapping my feet tightly around the drainpipe.

  "Hurry, please!" she pleaded.

  "I am, I am!" I told her. "Just hold on." I may have sounded calm, but underneath I was petrified. As I pulled myself level with her, she reached out as far as she could, but we were still about two feet apart. Thick smoke was gushing through the doors from the room behind her and I knew I had to act fast. The fact that I was thirty feet off the ground and clinging on to a drainpipe didn't even occur to me and I swung my body, feet first, towards the ledge of the balcony floor.