but I
kept on dancing anyway.
Sometime around 1:00 a.m., my friend Penelope joined us, taking
it upon herself to give Olivia shots of vodka, which were actually chilled water.
I vaguely recall walking around the huge nightclub and bumping into a tall guy.
He grabbed my hand and asked me my name. I think it took me a full minute before
I responded, “Annah?”
“Annah,” he said almost to himself. “I’m Paolo. What happened to your
face?”
“I was in a bar brawl last night.”
He laughed at this. “So you’re a fighter, eh?”
“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “I fight walls.”
Paolo immediately gave me a strange look but grabbed my hand anyway
and led me to a table, where he drank vodka and I sipped water as I tried sobering
up to no avail. One hour later, I was on my way to attempt my very first (and last)
one night stand with Paolo, wine connoisseur and really cute Brazilian with honest
gray eyes. I don’t remember much except Penelope taking Paolo’s wallet and telling
him she’d give it back after he returned me to her the following morning. The rest
is a little fuzzy but I’m assured I didn’t say or do anything stupid. On the way
to his place, I dozed off in his car (a BMW, ironically) and woke up to a partially
dressed Paolo sleeping beside me the next morning.
On a positive note, Paolo lived in a beautiful apartment fit
for a man, no rumpled underwear on the floor or dirty dishes anywhere, thank-you-very-much.
On a negative one, I didn’t remember much of my walk on the wild side. The multiple
Trojan wrappers told me we’d been responsible adults, but the rest is a bit of a
mystery to this very day. I quietly grabbed my shoes after dressing and tip-toed
out the door, leaving a sleeping Paolo along with my shame behind forever. Olivia
and Penelope picked me up a half hour later as I sat on a sidewalk bench, looking
like a beat up prostitute in my dress and deformed face as their car pulled up.
“I’ll give you two dollars for your services,” Olivia yelled from
the car.
“Does that include brunch?” I laughed and grabbed my purse.
“Yes it does,” she whistled, “and a couple of mimosas too if you behave,
hooker.”
Update: People sometimes request proof of my face on the night
I lost my dignity along with some of my innocence. It seems these are the only pictures
that remain undeleted from that awful night and this makes me very happy. I zoomed
in as much as possible but you can’t really see my wounds that well, which of course
is a testament to the power of great foundation.
Good job, Estee Lauder. Good job.
Love at First Fight
We’d just entered La Kapital in its massive entirety and I caught myself wondering if they had Taco Bell in Spain, the hopes of inhaling
a burrito somewhere around six in the morning clearly alive in the depths of my
tired brain. Olivia was furiously asking a bouncer something in Spanish as I looked
around and dejectedly surveyed the space. From what I could tell, asking the concierge
of an expensive hotel for nightlife suggestions in Madrid was like asking a Russian
to make you a margarita on Cinco de Mayo.
“Come,” Olivia grabbed my hand and led me toward the elevators. A
few people were already gathered there waiting impatiently, three girls to my left
laughing wildly about some pour soul I assumed wasn’t around.
“Holy-shit-look-at-this-kid-in-front-of-us,” Olivia gushed. “He is
sexy with a capital S.”
I looked up to find James Dean three feet from me to my right and
almost fainted. No doubt he was good looking in a rugged sort of way, his body up
against the wall and a brooding expression darkening his features as he stood there
facing up with his hands in his pockets. Something about the way he waited, so indifferent
to his surroundings it almost erred on boredom, made me feel like we’d known each
other from another life. “Sure,” I shrugged my bare shoulders and gave Olivia a
half smile. “He is sexy. But maybe a
kept on dancing anyway.
Sometime around 1:00 a.m., my friend Penelope joined us, taking
it upon herself to give Olivia shots of vodka, which were actually chilled water.
I vaguely recall walking around the huge nightclub and bumping into a tall guy.
He grabbed my hand and asked me my name. I think it took me a full minute before
I responded, “Annah?”
“Annah,” he said almost to himself. “I’m Paolo. What happened to your
face?”
“I was in a bar brawl last night.”
He laughed at this. “So you’re a fighter, eh?”
“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “I fight walls.”
Paolo immediately gave me a strange look but grabbed my hand anyway
and led me to a table, where he drank vodka and I sipped water as I tried sobering
up to no avail. One hour later, I was on my way to attempt my very first (and last)
one night stand with Paolo, wine connoisseur and really cute Brazilian with honest
gray eyes. I don’t remember much except Penelope taking Paolo’s wallet and telling
him she’d give it back after he returned me to her the following morning. The rest
is a little fuzzy but I’m assured I didn’t say or do anything stupid. On the way
to his place, I dozed off in his car (a BMW, ironically) and woke up to a partially
dressed Paolo sleeping beside me the next morning.
On a positive note, Paolo lived in a beautiful apartment fit
for a man, no rumpled underwear on the floor or dirty dishes anywhere, thank-you-very-much.
On a negative one, I didn’t remember much of my walk on the wild side. The multiple
Trojan wrappers told me we’d been responsible adults, but the rest is a bit of a
mystery to this very day. I quietly grabbed my shoes after dressing and tip-toed
out the door, leaving a sleeping Paolo along with my shame behind forever. Olivia
and Penelope picked me up a half hour later as I sat on a sidewalk bench, looking
like a beat up prostitute in my dress and deformed face as their car pulled up.
“I’ll give you two dollars for your services,” Olivia yelled from
the car.
“Does that include brunch?” I laughed and grabbed my purse.
“Yes it does,” she whistled, “and a couple of mimosas too if you behave,
hooker.”
Update: People sometimes request proof of my face on the night
I lost my dignity along with some of my innocence. It seems these are the only pictures
that remain undeleted from that awful night and this makes me very happy. I zoomed
in as much as possible but you can’t really see my wounds that well, which of course
is a testament to the power of great foundation.
Good job, Estee Lauder. Good job.
Love at First Fight
We’d just entered La Kapital in its massive entirety and I caught myself wondering if they had Taco Bell in Spain, the hopes of inhaling
a burrito somewhere around six in the morning clearly alive in the depths of my
tired brain. Olivia was furiously asking a bouncer something in Spanish as I looked
around and dejectedly surveyed the space. From what I could tell, asking the concierge
of an expensive hotel for nightlife suggestions in Madrid was like asking a Russian
to make you a margarita on Cinco de Mayo.
“Come,” Olivia grabbed my hand and led me toward the elevators. A
few people were already gathered there waiting impatiently, three girls to my left
laughing wildly about some pour soul I assumed wasn’t around.
“Holy-shit-look-at-this-kid-in-front-of-us,” Olivia gushed. “He is
sexy with a capital S.”
I looked up to find James Dean three feet from me to my right and
almost fainted. No doubt he was good looking in a rugged sort of way, his body up
against the wall and a brooding expression darkening his features as he stood there
facing up with his hands in his pockets. Something about the way he waited, so indifferent
to his surroundings it almost erred on boredom, made me feel like we’d known each
other from another life. “Sure,” I shrugged my bare shoulders and gave Olivia a
half smile. “He is sexy. But maybe a
Similar Books
