by Kitty Parker
As I snuck past a large grandfather clock, I noticed Eden sitting casually on the arm of one of the couches and waved her over.
"What?" she asked as she approached me.
I quickly swept the room with my eyes. "Where is he?"
"Who?"
I gave her a significant look.
She returned it with her own highly confused look.
"Kurt!" I hissed.
Eden's eyes lit up with realization. "Oh. I haven't seen him."
I sighed with relief. "He needs a codename."
"A codename?" she asked, looking at me as though I'd sprouted a second head.
"You know, so you'll know who I'm talking about, but he won't."
She stared at me. "Don't you think you're taking this avoidance thing a little too seriously?"
Ignoring that comment, I began to brainstorm possible codenames for Kurt. "No…Satan's too obvious…" I muttered. "Dickhead…nah, too reminiscent of last night…"
"Mr. Wiggles?" suggested Eden.
"NO MORE PENIS EUPHEMISMS!" I shouted, attracting some odd looks from my fellow choir members. Ignoring them, I went back to brainstorming.
"I've got it!" I finally exclaimed, making sure to keep my voice low. "Blattella."
Eden gave me a look that simply screamed "what the hell."
"It's the biological name for the genus of cockroaches. Kurt, like the cockroach, is an annoying pest. Therefore, his codename should beBlattella."
She continued to stare at me.
I threw my hands up into the air. "What?"
"That was possibly the nerdiest thing I have ever heard," she stated. "I'm going to pretend you never said that."
I pouted. "Fine. You come up with something better."
Eden pursed her lips in thought. "Alright…how about the Tsar?"
"Why the Tsar?"
She shrugged. "Just sounds cool."
I rolled my eyes. "Fine. He can be the Tsar."
Speaking of the devil, the "Tsar" suddenly stepped out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby. I nervously pulled at my dress.
"Eden!" I hissed. "Tsar at three o'clock."
"Your three o'clock or mine?" she whispered.
"Mine!" I jerked my head to the right.
As Kurt surveyed the lobby, I was fully prepared to dive behind the nearest potted plant. I was saved, however, when he made his way over to Adam on the other side of the room.
"Hey guys!" said Jane loudly, coming up behind me and making me jump. "Whoa, what's up with you, Lotte?"
"What makes you think that something's up?" I asked, glancing nervously back at Kurt to make sure he hadn't noticed my presence.
"You're all antsy. You practically jumped out of your skin when I said hi." She gave me a suspicious look. "Did that lady at the café put too much sugar in your coffee again?"
As I attempted to come up with a creative excuse, Matt rescued me from my predicament by joining our little group with an enthusiastic "Hey!"
We all returned his greeting and I snuck a glance at Eden. She was beaming at her prospective boyfriend. He beamed back at her. I resisted the urge to coo.
"Is everyone here yet?" asked Mr. Faulkner, who had just walked in through the large revolving door.
No one replied.
Frustrated, he jumped up onto the nearest couch to make himself more visible, completely startling the occupants of said piece of furniture in the process.
"Hello!" he shouted, waving his arms about like a windmill. This time, he succeeded in gaining the attention of the group. "Are you all here?"
A mumble of assent made its way through the crowd.
"Alright then. I've got a wonderful surprise for you all! The reason I asked you to dress nicely tonight is…" He paused for dramatic emphasis. "…we're going to the opera!"
Well, that statement was met with quite a mixed reaction.
Now, since our group was comprised of singers and instrumentalists, it was safe to say that all of us were reasonably fond of music. However, not all of us were opera-enthusiasts. Bryce, for instance, found going to the opera immensely dull. While he sang our oratorio (which really wasn't that far off from an opera) with gusto, he'd always begged me to shut up whenever I began to absently sing a bit of Gilbert and Sullivan or something along those lines. At Mr. Faulkner's announcement, I distinctly heard him groan.
Eden, on the other hand, couldn't have been more pleased. She'd always loved any sort of cultural enrichment. She'd even dragged me to an interpretive dance performance in Boston once. Now that was an experience I wouldn't soon forget.
I heard a little squeal of delight coming from my right. Eden excitedly grabbed my hand and squeezed. "This is going to be great!"
I shrugged. "Sure." Although I wasn't as big a fan of opera as Eden, I did appreciate it for its musical quality.
"People, please," Mr. Faulkner chastised in response to a couple of groans. "This is going to be a wonderful experience. Not many people can say that they've seen The Magic Flute at the Teatro Real. Now if you could all get on the bus, please, we need to get out of here."
We began to make our way out onto the street, some dejectedly and others in a vague state of euphoria. I got onto the bus and made my way as far back as possible, Eden trailing behind me.
"Why are we sitting so far back?" she asked as we sat down in the fourth row from the rear.
Giving her a significant look, I jerked my head toward the front of the bus, where Kurt had just appeared. "I don't want him to see me."
"Kurt!" shouted Elliot from a seat two rows behind me. "Back here, man!"
As I made a mental note to neuter Elliot in the most painful way possible, Kurt gave him a nod of acknowledgement and started down the aisle. I hastily grabbed a newspaper from the floor of the bus and hid behind it, pretending to be engrossed in the latest news in Madrid, even though I didn't speak a word of Spanish.
I waited a minute or two until I was sure that Kurt had reached his seat, then cautiously peered over the top of the slightly crumpled newspaper. I bit back a squeak of alarm when my gaze met that of a pair of rather fabulous hazel eyes.
Kurt was smirking at me again. "You might want to try holding the paper right-side up."
I glanced at the newspaper in my hands and nearly died of embarrassment when I realized I'd been holding it upside-down the entire time. Hastily, I flipped it over.
Kurt's smirk widened. "You also might want to learn Spanish." With that, he continued on his merry way.
What I wouldn't have given to simply evaporate.
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Now let me tell you something. It sure as hell isn't easy to pay attention to, much less enjoy an opera when you can almost feel a pair of intense hazel eyes burning into the back of your skull the entire time. I honestly could have killed Mr. Faulkner for the way the assigned seating turned out, even though I knew it wasn't his fault.
As the Queen of the Night began to sing her famous aria (Der Hölle Rache Kocht in Meinem Herzen, you know, the one with all those high-pitched notes that opera singers always perform to show off) I couldn't take it any more. I snapped my head around and caught Kurt, as I had suspected, staring avidly at me.
"Kurt, I know I'm breathtakingly gorgeous and all," I began sardonically. "But could you please stop staring at me? It's really distracting."
Realizing that he'd been caught red-handed, Kurt blushed - yes, he actually blushed - and turned his attention back to the stage.
Satisfied, I also redirected my gaze to the performance. That was one good thing about the awkwardness resulting from Kurt's erection, I decided: he was easily embarrassed and therefore wouldn't argue with me for telling him off.
Honestly, though, I couldn't get over this awkward feeling that had lodged itself in the pit of my stomach. Why had Kurt been staring at me? Was he trying to work up the nerve to apologize for the erratic behavior of his family jewels, something he had absolutely no control over? I wasn't expecting an apology for that - hell
, I didn't even want one. If he apologized, I'd have to come up with something to say in return. And seriously, how do you reply to "I'm sorry that you gave me a hard-on the other night," or really anything along those lines?
"Screw it," I thought. "I'm just going to watch the damn opera and stop thinking about this."
Just as I was finally getting back into the plot of The Magic Flute, an odd smacking noise from the seat next to me, which was occupied by Jane, caught my attention. Although I already had a sneaking suspicion about the origin of that noise, I stole a glance anyway.
Jane and Luke (who had somehow procured the seat next to her) were completely ignoring the shrill soprano prancing about the stage and happily making out, much to the shock and annoyance of a proper-looking elderly couple next to them, who kept shooting the young lovers disapproving glares.
I slouched a little in my seat, not particularly wishing to be seen. "So this is what seventeenth-century third-wheels must have gone through," I thought to myself. "Dealing with their horny friends making out at the opera instead of the movies, like they do nowadays. How awkward."
"Do you want me to make them stop?" Kurt whispered in my ear, making me shiver.
"Could you, please?" I replied, turning around to look at him.
He grinned and nodded, then reached down toward the floor. I leaned over my seat a bit to get a better look at what he was doing and was surprised to see him fish a cube of ice out of a nearly-finished cup of soda.
"Where'd you get that?" I whispered.
"Intermission," he answered. "I wasn't done when the lights started flickering, so I snuck it back into the theater."
I nodded, wondering where he was going with this. As he began to lean over toward Jane with the ice cube in his hand, his plan became painfully obvious.
"Kurt," I began, concern in my voice. "I don't think that's such a good-"
"AYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
My warning was cut of by a high-pitched scream as Kurt dropped the ice cube down the back of Jane's dress and she jumped onto her feet, knocking a startled Luke into the seat in front of him. Every pair of eyes in the opera house turned to look at her. I practically had to shove my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing hysterically as Pamina, the heroine of the opera, skipped a beat in her aria and even glanced confusedly at Jane before getting back into character.
Needless to say, Mr. Faulkner was not too pleased. We would definitely be getting a lecture about "proper conduct" later on.
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"Okay, just breathe," I whispered to myself, attempting to calm down as I reached for the doorknob. "In, out, in, out…"
My state of anxiety arose not from pre-date jitters, but rather from a pre-apocalyptic sense of doom. I knew that, as soon as I opened the hotel room door that I stood frozen in front of, my evening would only head downhill. I fully expected this so-called "date" to be a complete disaster.
Deciding that putting off the inevitable would do me no good, I twisted the knob and pulled the door open.
My gaze was met by Matt's baby blue eyes, and I immediately felt relief wash over me. This sense of security was short-lived, however. Matt shifted to the right, revealing his hazel-eyed companion, and all the apprehension I had felt came flooding back into me like a tsunami.
"Hey, Lotte," Matt greeted me cheerfully. He looked around the room expectantly, taking in Jane and Brigid, who were in the middle of a rather bizarre conversation about how one might put an orange in orbit around the Earth.
I knew full well who he was looking for. "She's busy panicking in the bathroom. She should be out in a minute."
Matt nodded in understanding.
"You guys can come in and sit down while you're waiting, if you want," I suggested, holding the door open.
Matt gave me a grin that was not without a few hints of nervousness. "Thanks," he said as he stepped over the threshold and sat down on a nearby armchair. Kurt followed, keeping his eyes trained on the red and gold patterned carpet. In spite of his actions at the opera, it seemed as though he was still quite embarrassed about what had happened at the club.
Jane and Brigid paused their conversation and looked up at our guests, the former shooting Kurt a rather nasty glare (she was still slightly peeved about the incident at the opera). He looked up at her and gave her a weak, apologetic smile.
Matt, I could tell, was beginning to get quite anxious. He twisted the hem of his light blue oxford shirt until I was quite sure he would inadvertently tear it.
I voiced my thoughts aloud. "You're going to rip that, you know."
Matt hastily dropped the fabric and began twiddling his thumbs instead.
I looked over at Kurt. He refused to meet my eyes, opting instead to feign interest in a rather mundane painting of a vase of flowers that hung on the wall.
"Fascinating flowers, aren't they?" I asked sarcastically.
"Er, no, not really," Kurt admitted, looking away from the painting and finally meeting my gaze.
I raised an eyebrow at him.
He shrugged.
Just as the silence began to get awkward, Eden stepped out of the bathroom and made her way over to Matt.
"Sorry I kept you all waiting," she apologized sweetly.
Matt beamed at her. "It's not how long you wait, it's who you're waiting for."
"Some Like It Hot," I muttered.
Kurt heard me. "What?" he asked, confused.
"Some Like It Hot," I repeated, louder this time. "That was a direct quote from Some Like It Hot."
Matt chuckled. "Remind me to bring you along if I'm ever playing a movie trivia game for cash."
I gave him a mock salute. "Will do."
"Um, are you all ready to head out?" asked Eden, shifting a bit.
We all muttered our assent.
"Good." She started toward the door, the three of us trailing behind her. Matt, however, did catch up with her to hold the door like the adorable gentleman he was.
"Have a nice time, kids!" Brigid chirped from across the room.
Rolling my eyes, I stepped out into the hall, followed by Kurt.
Matt had offered Eden his arm, and the pair of them ambled happily toward the elevators, chatting pleasantly about Spanish art during the dictatorship of Franco. Kurt and I just sort of shuffled along awkwardly behind them, his hands shoved in the pockets of his dark-wash jeans and mine clutching my purse protectively.
Upon reaching the elevators, I pressed the little down arrow on the wall and waited impatiently for the sliding doors to open. When they finally did, the four of us stepped in, Kurt hitting the "vestíbulo," or "lobby," button. The doors clanked shut, trapping me in a rather awkward situation.
"I think that Franco sort of repressed the surrealist movement," Eden commented.
"I suppose," Matt conceded. "Considering that most of the surrealist painters were Marxist. What about Dali, though?"
"He's sort of the exception."
I leaned awkwardly against the mirrored wall of the elevator, not really sure how to join in on the conversation and also reluctant to interrupt my best friend's one-on-one with her potential boyfriend. I didn't think that Kurt knew too much about surrealism, so the chances were that he'd stay quiet as well.
"I think that people tend to pay so much attention to Dali that they end up ignoring the works of all the other great surrealists. Have you guys ever seen a piece by Magritte?"
Then again, maybe not.
I snapped my head around to look at Kurt, completely surprised. Kurt was an art lover? Who knew?
"Actually, I have," Matt replied, seemingly unfazed. "And I agree. People always associate the movement with Dali, but there so many other notable surrealists."
"Oh definitely," Eden agreed. "I'm personally very fond of Yves Tanguy."
I shifted uncomfortably. I was definitely the odd man out, so to speak. It seemed that all three of my companions knew quite a bit about surrealism, whereas I was more of a photography person. Still, I attempted to join
in on the conversation by agreeing with Eden.
"Same here. Her work is extraordinary."
All three of them stared at me blankly.
I smiled at them, supposing that they were merely surprised that I'd said anything at all.
"Lotte," Eden began flatly. "Yves Tanguy was a man."
Oh shit.
I turned about twenty shades of red and hastily tried to come up with a creative excuse for my ignorance. "Oh," I said, feigning surprise. "I thought you said Eve Tanguy. You know, the…er, photographer?"
Kurt raised an eyebrow at me.
"Um, yeah," I went on. "She's not that well known, but, um…her work is wonderful. She does a lot of…cityscapes?"
They clearly weren't buying it.
"Right…" said Matt slowly, knowing that I was just bullshitting.
Kurt snickered.
I glared at him. "Shut up."
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Although I was not really in favor of the whole double-date-with-Kurt thing, I was actually quite pleased with Eden's choice of restaurant.Restaurante El Séptimo was one of the few places in Madrid that had a decent selection of vegetarian food. I had a sneaking suspicion that Eden had picked it to make up, in some small way, for putting me in such an awkward situation in the first place.
As the hostess seated our party at a table for four, I took in my surroundings: simple but elegant décor, checked tablecloths, candles. Quite nice, really.
A waitress appeared at our table with a cheerful "Hola!" and began speaking to us in Spanish, pointing at a sign that proudly stated "Especial." I assumed she was referring to that night's specials, but I honestly didn't understand a word she said. It's not like it was her fault, of course. I had just never learned Spanish. Perhaps someday I would, but for the moment, I settled for being slightly confused.
When the waitress (whose nametag read "Ainhoa") had finished speaking, Matt, the only one of our group who understood Spanish, gave her a reply. Eden beamed at him with a proud, "that's my date!" sort of look on her face.
