Swimming with the Sharks in Rio

Swimming with the Sharks in Rio

I was down in Rio on business and since our last meeting was on a Friday afternoon, my colleague Richard and I decided to extend our trip to stay for the weekend.  At our last meeting with some brokers, we asked them about Rio’s nightlife.  They told us about some trendy restaurants and then strongly recommended a particular nightclub.  The club was close to our hotel and was the “best in the city”.  We were also told “there is always a line to get in, but just walk to the front and ask if you can go in.  If you speak English, they won’t make you wait.” 

Richard and I went to dinner and walked over to the club at around 10:15pm.  The place was already bursting and we could hear the music thumping all the way out on the street.  There was a good size line of beautiful people standing in front of the place, so we did what the broker told us and walked up to the front and spoke with one of the bouncers.

“Hey, how you doing?  Is it ok if we go into the club?”  I said to the main guy.

He looked us over.  “Of course you can go in, but you have to wait in line.”  He answered and motioned to the line as if we didn’t see it.

“Oh, ok, thanks.”  We walked to the back of the queue and took our place. 

Two girls immediately joined the line after us.  They were young, good looking ladies in their early-to-mid twenties.  One of them was a thin girl with braces and the other was a dyed blond with a curvaceous Brazilian physique.  The latter was the looker of the two and also the one that was staring at me as they came up.  It was clear that they had seen us get rejected by the bouncer.  After a moment, she said, “they usually let people into the club ahead of the line if they are couples.  If you would like, we can all go up together.”

“Oh, really.  That sounds good, let’s try it.”  I replied and looked at Richard.  He shrugged his shoulders and we all walked back up to the bouncer.

“Hey man, we met our friends.  Is it ok to go in now?”  I said.

“As I told you- it’s ok, but you have to wait your turn just like everyone else.”  He was clearly annoyed now.  We humbly retreated back to the end of the line.     

The club was already at capacity, so they were only letting people in as people left so the queue was moving like molasses.  After ten minutes of waiting we only moved up a couple spots.  It wasn’t so bad though, as we now had these young Brazilian ladies talking to us.  The conversation seemed to be going somewhere and the girls were laughing and smiling a lot.  Richard, an overweight, pale New Yorker with gold-rimmed glasses and a proclivity for perspiration was loving it.  I soon noticed that there was a bar next to the club that was mostly empty.

“Hey, why don’t we go into that bar for a little while, grab some drinks and then come back once the line dies down?”  I said to the group.  The girls immediately agreed and we went into the bar.

Once there, Richard and I pulled out all the stops.  We were buying rounds of cocktails, B52 shots and telling all kinds of stories one after the other.  We were doing our best to hook these girls and they kept laughing at our tales and jokes.  That being said, Richard kept saying “Hi Five!  Hi Five!” and putting his fat sweaty palm up to the girls after every joke or one-liner that was thrown out.  He must’ve done it at least ten times over the first hour and it was driving me nuts.  I could only think to myself that the guy was such a douchebag- a real schmuck, but he worked in the same company and I knew I was stuck with him.

Despite my wingman, we kept drinking and entertaining our young beauties with gusto.  It was going so well that we ended up losing track of time.  By the time I realized that it was going on 2am and the bar would be closing soon, we were totally soused.  As Richard was in the middle of a story to his girl, I quietly asked mine if she would like to come back to the hotel with me to have a nightcap from my mini-bar.  She smiled coquettishly and agreed.  

I was riding high on all the booze and the fact that I managed to pick up a beautiful Brazilian my first night out on the town.  We did another round of shots, finished our cocktails and got the bill.  It was obscenely expensive.  The place was clearly ripping us off.  The bill had something like 31 shots on it, which didn’t seem realistic or even possible, but the girls were happy and we didn’t want to make a scene, so we paid it.  As we walked out, I told Richard that I was going to try to get my girl to come back with me and he should do the same.  I then put my arm around my girl and we started walking toward my hotel.  Richard and his girl started talking and were soon falling behind us.

Once some space opened up between us and the others, my girl looked at me with her big brown eyes and said, “Michael, you know I really like you, but if I am going to hotel with you, I need a, a gift.”

“A gift?  What?  What’re talking about?” 

“You understand, a gift.  Money.  Dollars.”

“What?!?  Oh my god- are you a prostitute?!?”  I said, as she recoiled back at my statement. 

“Please don’t say such a word.  That is a very bad word here.  I am not!”  She protested, before adding, “I just need a nice gift if I am going to come with you.”

“I’m sorry about the word, but you’re asking for money to come back with me.  We don’t have to use that word, but it’s the same thing, no?  You’re working now?”

She quietly agreed that she was indeed working.

I couldn’t believe it.  I was flabbergasted at the hours and hours of deception.  “You know, I wish you’d said something earlier,” I told her heavy with disappointment.  “We wasted the whole night in that crappy bar and spent so much money on drinks.”  We just stood there for a moment as I digested my Rio world falling apart around me.  I then added, “You know, it’s just bad business.  We could have avoided all that wasted time and money if you just let me know the situation up front.”  I had to accept that it was now too late to do anything else.  I had squandered my first Brazilian night on the town wooing a pro with all the charm, attention and effort I could muster.  I had thought I was crushing it and having the pick-up of a lifetime, but all the while, I was just an ignorant Yank swimming with the sharks in Rio, like pretty much every other putz visiting from the States.  High Five!

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What to read about another bad move I made?  Check out The Pitfalls of Doing Laundry at a Dinner Party:

https://libertinereflections.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-pitfalls-of-doing-laundry-at-dinner.html

Thanks!

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Forbidden Love

Forbidden Love

As Father John entered his small office, he was out of breath from walking up the winding stairway.  He loved the space though, as it provided him with much needed solitude between sermons, a place to be alone with his thoughts.  He had about an hour until the noon service was set to begin.    

The room was warm from all the sunlight streaming in, so he instinctively walked over to the main window and opened it.  The wind blew in cool and fresh, but the weather was not on his mind.  He was thinking about that damn girl again.  Ever since their last meeting, she had maintained a prominent place in the hierarchy of his thoughts. 

What was he to do?  Did he, of all people, finally find the repressed capacity to love?  He knew it was wrong and tried to convince himself to move on, forget about her, but it was no use.  Her feel, her smell, the way her eyes would look into his mind and soul, it was too much for him.  When he recalled his actions, he felt embarrassed and shy.  They went against all Church doctrine and if the affair ever came out, his career, his life would be over.  But, he loved her and no matter how many times he told himself to let it go, that he was being led astray, thoughts of her kept him devoted to this new path.    

He went to his desk and sat down.  Writing had always been an outlet to steady his mind and give him focus, which he needed now more than anything.  He decided to write a letter to the girl that had somehow undermined everything by opening his heart to real love for the first time in his life.  

My dear, sweet darling Patricia,

It is with a struggling heart that I write you.  My entire world has changed since we spent our last time together and I am being torn in two between all these new emotions and feelings that have been unleashed and what Canon Law and my role in the Church dictates I should do.  As I sit here, thinking about all the beautiful things we did together, I find myself missing you something terrible.  I have never known heartache like this and I truly wish it was something that would have remained in the dark, out of sight and far away from my feelings, but no matter how hard I try, thoughts of you will not let go.  I am ashamed that even though my mind tells me the right path forward, my heart will not let me take it. 

I wonder how things could have ended up this way.  Why is it that when I see you, even just in my mind’s eye, my heart opens and yearns for you to such an extent that I feel something heavy in my stomach?  This happens every time I think of you, which seems to be all the time now.  

He stopped writing and thought about his words.  He had never written anything like this before and could only assume that he was somehow under a spell and he was frightened by it, as he was frightened by the devil in his youth.  He took a deep breath, wiped his brow and returned to the letter. 

You should know that I completely adore you and have adored you from the very first moment I met you.  You are the most beautiful, kind and intriguing creature that the good Lord has ever put on this earth.  I truly feel that our souls connect in a unique and natural way.  You are that rare songbird who can inspire and lift all those around her, but whose song can only reach certain ears.  I can hear your song as clearly as I feel these thoughts, and I long to hear it again. 

I miss being in your embrace, but I also cannot find an acceptable path for us to move forward on together.  After dedicating my life to the Church, I know that I would be lost without it, but I also know that without you, my life wouldn’t have meaning.  What can we do my love?  I wish I had the answer.    

No matter what happens, don’t blame yourself or think that my inability to commit to you and love you the way you should be loved is your fault.  You deserve to be loved wholly and honestly by someone who is unencumbered and free, and I know you will be.  

It is all ridiculous; I know that.  This letter is even ridiculous, but I needed to say this to you, and to myself.

 I love you and will always love you- with all my heart, John

He reread the letter and was happy with it.  It would soon be noon and he could hear his congregation arriving below for Mass.  There was no more time to think about this any longer.  He folded the letter twice and put it into his bible at Mathew 7:1, a verse that had stayed with him over recent days.  He went and looked out the window for a moment.  It was truly a brilliant day.  He heard the laughter of children in the distance and birds singing in the trees nearby.  He could not rationalize his next step, as the entire situation was irrational, but he wrote what he needed to and maybe, hopefully, made his peace by doing it.  He still marveled at the thought that a man of the cloth could fall so deeply in love with such a young girl.  In a moment of capitulation, he happily gave into the emotion.  When his body hit the pavement below, right in front of Dan and Dorothy Miller, who were arriving for the noon service with their 11-year-old daughter Patricia, it had a smile on its face.

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Booper-

Booper-

I met Booper quite randomly, which I have found is usually the best way to meet a woman.  I was at a going away party at a little wine bar in Greenwich Village and despite the fact that I was nursing a heavy hangover, I rallied to make a brief appearance.  I arrived, said my goodbyes to the leaving couple and told them that I unfortunately couldn’t stay very long.

I grabbed a beer and was just standing around planning my departure when I saw Booper for the first time.  She was a total knockout- the most fashionable girl in the entire bar with eyes that sparkled like candy.  She was wearing some 70s flashback dress that looked straight out of a vintage Studio 54 photo which was short and highlighted her sticks nicely.  She was talking to an Asian guy I had met a couple times before.  I gave her a good look, but she didn’t notice.  I figured she was with the guy and moved on.  I was about to sneak out when Betty, the girl who was leaving town, came up and said she had someone who wanted to meet me.  Then, like a scene out of a movie, she took me to the corner and introduced me to the elegant woman in the vintage dress who was as stunning in looks as she was outgoing in personality.  Betty then left us to talk on our own.

“So, Betty says you’re a writer.  Who are some of your favorite writers?”  She started with after we introduced ourselves.

“Salinger’s my guy, but Bukowski is a real close second.”

“Oh, Salinger’s great.  One of my all time favorite stories is Teddy- I love the opening, “And I’ll exquisite day you if you don’t get down off my Gladstone this minute!””  She said quoting the opening line of the story with those bedazzling eyes that attracted me from the start.  

“I’ll exquisite day you buddy” I said, emphasizing the colloquial term that Salinger used in the opening sentence that she had left out.  “That’s amazing- I really love that story- it’s also one of my favorites!”  I was shocked- a random babe quoting Salinger to me at a bar?  When would this ever happen?  I couldn’t believe it.  “Did Betty put you up to this?  I cannot believe someone would quote that story to me.”

“Nope.  Betty didn’t say anything.  I just really love that story.  Teddy’s sister is named Booper, right?”

“Wow, now you’re really impressing me!  Yeah, that’s her.  Great name.”  This conversation felt fantastical, surreal, “I’m sorry, but I’m just amazed to meet someone who knows this stuff.  You know, when I first read that story, I copied it and brought it to my office and made my entire staff read it.  I love the mixing of life, fate and religion…anyway, tell me about yourself.  Who are you?  What do you do for a living?”

“I work in fashion, but I also write sometimes.  I really love music too.  I’ve been living in New York for a few years now, but I’m thinking about moving to California.  What do you write?”

“I’m focusing on short stories now and short-shorts- you know, entire stories around 500 characters or less.  I’m hoping to start a novel later in the year, but first want to practice the craft a bit, hence the short stories.”

“That sounds interesting.  I’d love to read something of yours.  I also write short-shorts.”

And from here the conversation slipped into gear.  It was mesmerizing.  One of life’s ironies is that we often cannot find the things we are looking for until we give up searching for them.  I had basically given up on finding someone and then, out of the blue, I meet the most engaging intellectual beauty I’d come across in years.  Fate works in weird ways. 

It was clear from the start that we had many things in common and the discussion flowed with enthusiasm, but after about a half hour, the Asian guy came back, muscled in and cock blocked me something awful.  I played it cool, grabbed a round of drinks and waited for another opening.  After about an hour, the Asian guy went to the bathroom and I asked her for her phone number.  She gave it me and then asked me to call her to make sure I got it right.  I did and her phone started ringing.  We said goodnight, I called her “Booper” instead of her real name and left.

When I got home I dug up my copy of Salinger’s Nine Stories and read Teddy again.  It was still as great as I remembered it.  The next morning, “Booper” was still pinned to my thoughts, so I decided to call her after lunch to see if we could set something up.  Just as I was thinking about her, my phone rang.  It was her.  She would be leaving town for a few days and wanted to see if we could meet before she left.  We agreed on dinner at a little Italian place she liked in the Bowery.  

Ahead of dinner, I sent her one of my short-shorts and then she sent me one of hers (it was good).  She seemed genuine.  It was very exciting to start a relationship where neither person was playing games.  It was mature and frankly, easy.  Things just seem to work between us. 

We met for dinner and the conversation picked up as effortlessly as the night before.  We talked nonstop about our lives, hopes, dreams.  She said that she had been in a long term relationship that went ugly a few months earlier and after that, she decided to take a break from dating, but when she saw me at the bar, something clicked and now here she was.  Her past was a bit dark.  Her ex-boyfriend was extremely jealous and was always questioning and controlling her until one night, everything broke down.  She got home late and they started screaming at each other and then he got violent.  It ended with the police arriving, Booper going to the hospital and her boyfriend going to jail.  She told me that there was now a temporary restraining order against him so that they could not talk or see each other.  She was still quite traumatized over it and my heart felt for her.  It was strange how fast I felt connected to this woman, but I chalked it up to her being a kindred spirit.  A similarly unique soul.  We ended up going back to my place after dinner to continue the conversation over wine.  Everything felt comfortable and right.  When we were going to bed she casually said something along the lines of, “Oh, I think I could fall in love with you.”  I was thinking the same thing about her.

She went to work the next morning and I had a strong writing day in my apartment.  This woman was like a muse…she inspired words to rise up and spill out onto the page.  She then left for her trip.  We texted when she was away and our familiarity (and my fascination) grew with each passing day.

When she returned to New York, we started seeing each other.  As I learned more about her, it seemed that she, like myself, always wound up with the wrong people.  Rare or unique souls not finding good matches is not so surprising, but sticking in bad relationships was where we differed.  I usually cut and ran, she seemed to fall victim to her deep capacity to love.  Her past meant nothing to me.  She inspired and intrigued me.  After only a couple weeks of seeing her, I wrote this short-short one morning after we went out the night before:

As he awoke and his mind cleared the fog of sleep from his consciousness, his thoughts immediately turned to her.  It was so strange.  He barely knew this woman and yet, he could not get her out of his mind.  He had given up on finding love many years ago, but since their first meeting, he had started imaging things-impossible and foreign things.  Happy thoughts and the most unlikely of outcomes crept into his mind and he was wary and afraid to follow where they might lead.  He had gotten so comfortable with his cynicism; he wasn't sure if this new passion would heal him or be the catalyst to his final demise.  He turned over, closed his eyes and pulled the covers up over his head.  He couldn’t believe what was happening, but he knew that he was already lost to it.

We dated for about a month before things went unexpectedly cold one day.  Booper stopped texting and then, after a few calls and texts from my side, she wrote me that her ex-boyfriend’s restraining order expired and that she needed time to digest everything.  I tried in vain to tell her not to allow him back into her life.  I pleaded with her about how living in the ruins of a failed relationship with a violent man could only end in another tragedy.  I said he lost the right to be with her once he hit her.  It was no use.  I got a late night text a couple days later that read:

        

         Please do not call me anymore.  I’m with my boyfriend again-

That was it.  I was dumped by text for a man who had previously beaten her.  I tried calling a few more times, but she wouldn’t answer.  I was kicked to the curb, heartbroken and confused.  Honestly, I’m still confused.  

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Up for another story about failed romance?  Check out this tale from the archive:  Plov Love Story:  https://libertinereflections.blogspot.com/2017/12/plov-love-story.html

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