One Night In Amsterdam

by Nadia C. Kavanagh

  A Novel by

  Nadia C. Kavanagh

  ONE NIGHT IN AMSTERDAM

  Copyright © 2014 Nadia C. Kavanagh

  Cover Design by Jesus Cordero

  Cover Amsterdam Photograph by S. Borisov

  ISBN-13: 978-0692333358

  ISBN-10: 0692333355

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical or real events, people or places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places and events used in this book are products of author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places or people is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or by any other information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author.

  The following story is intended for adult readers only.

  Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud.

  Maya Angelou

  Amsterdam in 1662

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  REFERENCED ART

  CHAPTER 1

  EMMA

  I glanced at the unusual sign our tour guide was pointing at for a second. The eccentric and kinky name ‘Condomerie’ etched in crooked capital letters was visible even far away. The triangle shaped, yellow sign hanging above the door swayed back and forth with the light breeze but I managed to read the words ‘Het Gulden Vries’ written underneath it. It was referring to the ‘Golden Fleece of a winged Ram’ in Greek mythology. Why in the world a condom store would reference Greek mythology on its sign, I had no idea but I didn’t dare to ask.

  Strangely, ‘Condomerie’ didn’t look much different than other shops located in the highly touristic area of the city. In place of the succulent confectionaries embellishing the displays of a patisserie or mouthwatering truffles in a chocolaterie, the display behind the tall windows of ‘Condomerie’ were colorful condoms. They were all blown up like balloons in different sizes, strung out in multiple rows, and hung down with clothespins.

  Sydney pulled my arm impatiently to cross the narrow, stone-paved street to check out the various designs up close. She was giggling and teasing me incessantly as I stood stubbornly. I threw a furious, disapproving look at Sydney and wondered again what I was doing in the most impudent area of the sin capital of the world, ‘Amsterdam’ with a group of brazen college kids.

  “You need to check this out,” Sydney uttered too enthusiastically.

  ‘No!” I said and shook my head, glaring at her.

  “Come on Ems… you promised. We were going to do this together,” she tried to cajole me this time.

  “Hell, no, Syd! I am not interested in a condom shop. That’s not what I agreed.” I said but she didn’t care for my demur.

  “Not just a condom shop Emma, it is Condomerie! Where else can you get customized condoms with different designs of the world?” she said, and crossed the street without waiting for me. “We are in Amsterdam. Loosen up a little, Miss Uptight!” She hollered across the street.

  I ignored her and our loud group, hoping that they would stop bothering me as I checked my emails and messages. However, only a minute later, Sydney yelled again. “You’ve got to see this Emma. There is a condom shaped like the Eiffel Tower, and another like the Statue of Liberty,” she chuckled. “Oh my God, these are so hilarious.”

  To be honest, she made me curious when she mentioned the Statue of Liberty design. I wondered how the symbol of my city became a condom design but I wasn’t going to let my curiosity surpass my rationality. I was soon to be a doctor. A year away from getting my residency. All I wanted was a relaxing vacation for a couple of days. Wandering around the Red Light District with Sydney and checking out condom designs did not fall under my definition of relaxation.

  I was still mad at her for making me come to Amsterdam. I regretted telling her about my need for a vacation- it was supposed to be a short getaway to relax and recoup before my summer internship started at the clinic. My plan to go to Europe was meant for Bruges - the medieval picturesque city with pretty canals and houses that made the city look like a fairytale town. I wanted to visit the cathedrals and museums and of course indulge in most delicious chocolates and truffles in the world. As soon as I shared my plan, Sydney protested immediately, “Bruges… are you kidding me? How old are you? Fifty!” She said disapprovingly.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Because, Bruges is a boring, old town. Only old people go there.”

  “I disagree. I’ve been to Bruges before. It happens to be a beautiful, quiet town, not boring at all.”

  “You said it… it is a quiet town! Again, it is for old people.”

  “Syd! I like quiet towns. They are relaxing and soothing. I also enjoy the canals and the architecture there.”

  “Well, if you want to see canals, great architecture and museums, I have another city in mind which is not so boring. I am sure you will love it there too.”

  A week after our short, instantaneous discussion, all thanks to my crazy cousin and best friend ‘Sydney’ and her fast planning, I found myself in Amsterdam. Shortly after our arrival, she convinced me to take a tour given by our eccentric, purple-haired tour guide.

  We met in front of the national monument at Dam Square at noon with a group of college kids and since then Sydney was eagerly following our guide, while I was constantly falling behind. My lack of enthusiasm was palpable. Sydney, on the other hand, was having a blast. I could hear her boisterous laughs every time the purple-haired girl cracked another sex joke. According to our somewhat lunatic tour guide, we were getting the PG-13 version of the tour. She saved her unabridged, rated R version for the evening tour. Still, her brazen jokes were making me uncomfortable. I wanted to go back to my hotel and read the papers for the upcoming seminar. However, I knew there was no way to sneak out without getting noticed by Sydney. I decided to suck it up for a bit longer.

  Before long, our tour guide, now holding a yellow umbrella in her hand, instructed our group to move along for the next stop. Of course, Sydney used the perfect opportunity to make me stop in front of the infamous store, and took a picture of me with the condoms in the background instantly.

  “Say cheese!” she said with a priggish smile.

  “Whatever, Sydney! You are acting like a ten year old.” I grimaced, hoping the Red Light District part of the tour would soon be over but unfortunately, we had just started and had three more hours to go. Wishing the rest would be less embarrassing, I realized sadly that it was getting worse because our next stop was a BDSM store.

  “Come on, Emma.” She pulled me again to check out the store. “Ease up a little bit and let go. What’s wrong with enjoying life a little?” She smiled mischievously, trying to soften me up. “You should try it, at least while we are in Amsterdam,” she winked. It was her usual advice: Enjoy yourself! Get drunk! Have some fun with a hot guy! Have a one-night-stand! Oh, no! I didn’t want to consider the possibility of that in a city like Amsterdam.

  “I agreed to join you, didn’t I? I am still by your side in the infamous ‘De Wallen’, and I have to say, I have not s
een anything I’ve enjoyed so far, just so you know!”

  I wanted to remind her about our agreement earlier before she got more out of control. I still wanted to visit Anne Frank’s house and a few museums. Instead of enjoying famous masterpieces by Van Gogh or Rembrandt, I was in the Red Light District, passing in front of glass doors where sexy ladies dressed in provocative lingerie waved and blew kisses.

  After a couple more blocks, our group stopped at an 800 year old church ‘Oude Kerk’, standing tall and impressive, and I was utterly surprised. Usually in normal cities, religious places are not located next to brothels or cannabis coffee shops, but apparently Amsterdam wasn’t a city like any other. Brothels and churches are located side by side in this unique city. Our tour guide explained how the church and clergy conveniently got rich, thanks to the sinners who felt bad for visiting brothels after returning from their long overseas journeys. I understood that everything in Amsterdam was about money, even religion. Back in the day, feeling guilty for their sins, sailors hoped that their generous contributions to the church and paid confessionals would grant them forgiveness. I felt sorry for those poor souls with guilty consciences, robbed of their money! Sex! Sin! Religion! It was certainly a lucrative business in Amsterdam.

  Our tour guide continued to talk enthusiastically as we passed more glass doors rented by prostitutes who were considered independent business owners and paid a good amount of taxes. How great, I thought! The city of Amsterdam found a way to legalize everything people did anyway and made good money. Dutch people were awkward but definitely smart.

  Next, at an open area surrounded by glass doors, our purple-haired guide started to explain the basic services the prostitutes provided and the base rate for a private fifteen minutes behind the doors, as if she was talking about a fifteen minute pedicure service. Thanks to her detailed explanations, I learned more about the sex trade in Amsterdam than I ever wanted to know. As she started talking about kinky details, I decided that I could not stand it anymore. I left the group and walked towards the church’s courtyard to sit by a tree and wait for Sydney.

  I was sitting idly and getting bored. I noticed multiple rooms with closed curtains and lit red lights. It meant the girls were busy performing the oldest profession in the world. I didn’t want to think about the things going on behind those curtains but a part of me was curious – our guide told us that some of these girls made 30,000 Euros a month, averaging up to 300 Euros an hour. I was staring blankly at the window and calculating how many hours she had to work to make that kind of money in my mind when a tall guy with stylish jet black hair, broad shoulders and well-built physique came out of the door. He was ruggedly handsome, dressed in complete black: trousers, shirt, and shoes. He looked like he was in his twenties, however the Armani logo on his shirt told me he wasn’t a college student backpacking across Europe. He was different. He oozed confidence, money and something else that I didn’t want to think about.

  When he caught me staring at him, he took his Raybans off, narrowed his sky blue eyes and studied me for a long minute. His eyes pulled me in for some unknown reason. I was having hard time breaking eye contact with him. He walked slowly towards the church and suddenly stopped. His gaze was unfettered and feral. His eyes trailed down my body and up again to my face. He approached me further and then abruptly sat next to me.

  “Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just come out of a brothel. He moved my backpack aside and scooted over. He crossed his arms and looked deeply into my eyes. The contours of his muscles and a part of his tattoo were visible underneath his shirt.

  I felt compelled under his gaze and couldn’t utter a word. My face was on fire. I blushed inevitably and felt frustrated about his effect on me. “I don’t think I know or want to know anyone coming out of that door,” I said harshly, pointing at the now open glass door and the blonde girl waving in her next customer. I wanted him to go away and leave me alone so I could go back to feeling normal again.

  He followed my gaze slowly and smiled warmly, showing no intentions of leaving. “You don’t mince words, do you? Are you always this frank?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.

  His proximity made me feel edgy, my breathing got faster. I sipped my water and took a deep breath. “Yes, generally I am!” I replied without looking at his piercing blue eyes.

  “If these rooms bother you that much, what are you doing in the Red Light District?”

  “I didn’t say they bother me.”

  “You have a look on your face tells me that they do.”

  “I think you are saying that because you got caught.”

  “I don’t care if I got caught. But I think you do. Why else would you be all red and upset?”

  “Because, it is so damn hot.” I replied tersely. I wasn’t upset. I didn’t like being around brothels, but that wasn’t the reason of my disquietude. His closeness and boldness bothered me more than anything else, but of course I wasn’t going to admit that to him. “I don’t like the sex trade.”

  “Well, I don’t like it either.”

  “Then, what the hell were you doing in there?” I asked. I was curious now.

  He smiled beguilingly, “You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you.”

  “Why don’t you give it a try?” I asked sarcastically.

  “It looks … you know how it looks, but I wasn’t in there doing what you think.” He paused, waiting to see my reaction.

  “Go ahead! Share, by all means!”

  “Okay. Well… you see that guy standing there, quite handsome...”

  The guy he was pointing at was nothing compared to him. Yes, he would be considered good-looking by Sydney’s standard: tall, blonde, well-built but he wasn’t my type. To me, the handsome and charming one was him, staring intently at me and obviously, he knew it too.

  “Yes, I see him.” I said coyly, and agreed to play his game. At least for now.

  “He is my best friend. We’ve known each other for ever and we do everything together. Unfortunately, sometimes he can be a bit too much. He parties like crazy and forces me to join him. Anyway, yesterday, he came back to the hotel and talked all night about this one girl behind that door. He insisted that I should meet her and experience her magic too.”

  “Uh-huh … stop now! What makes you think I’ll listen to your sexual fantasies?” I got up slowly and moved towards our group.

  “No, no wait. It’s not like that,” he objected and followed me.

  “Not like what …”

  “Well, yes, I admit I went in there to do you know what. Max convinced me to try it. We’re in Amsterdam. You know… nothing is off limits. I got inside and everything looked so disgusting. I thought about all the other men in there before me, and suddenly I got grossed out. So, I didn’t do it.”

  “How honorable of you!” I taunted him, fake clapping my hands. “What did you do in there for ten minutes then?” I asked.

  “How do you know I was in there for ten minutes?” he smirked. “Were you watching me?”

  I sighed deeply. I should have known this would be coming before I asked. He was too presumptuous. His conceit was not earning him any points with me. But then why did I bother talking to this guy?

  “Of course not! Don’t flatter yourself,” I replied. “I didn’t even notice you until you came over and sat next to me.”

  “Oh, then you weren’t staring at me. You were looking at ...” He glanced around to find something interesting. He pointed at an old building, now turned into a cannabis coffee shop with ‘Hi-life Coffee House’ sign. “At that?”

  “You know what…you are an arrogant son of a bitch! You are too presumptuous. Too full of yourself.” I chided him. “I was bored and just looking around. I noticed that those doors were closed for a while. I assumed it was ten minutes, maybe it was less.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I was just teasing. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he responded with a modest grin. He sounded sincere. “I paid the girl up
front, then I thought that if I am not getting what she offered, it wouldn’t hurt to sit down and talk until my time is up.”

  “Really! You stayed because you didn’t want your money to go to waste,” I shook my head showing my obvious disbelief. “Then, what did you talk about?” I asked brusquely, glaring into his eyes and waiting for another smart-ass answer. He fidgeted as if he was uncomfortable. Or somehow my snide remarks were finally getting to him.

  “We talked about life in general. She has a son. She is doing what she is doing to make a living, like many others here. There is no need to be contemptuous or condescending towards them.”

  “I am not being condescending. There are other ways to make a living, but, anyways! So, what else did she tell you?” I questioned him further, then, I wondered inwardly… Why was I still asking him questions? Did I not want this conversation to end?

  “She told me how much she made in general and what she did with her money. I work in investment business. I asked if she was investing her money wisely, so she could quit working before she got old.”

  “I could have told you that. Thanks to our tour guide over there, I learned more about Amsterdam’s sex trade than I ever wanted to know.”

  “Ah-ha, is that why you are here? Taking a tour of the famous ‘De Wallen’?” He asked. “I wondered what a girl like you was doing in the Red Light District.” There was a hint of bewilderment in his voice.

  “My crazy friend, who also happens to be my cousin, forced me to come to Amsterdam and take this tour with her. I couldn’t say no.”

  “Actually it’s great that you are here. Amsterdam is a beautiful city. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. You don’t know Sydney. God knows what other crazy things she’s planned for us.”

  “I’d like to meet her.” He said abruptly.

  “Sydney? “Why?” I asked.