by Nancy Adams
Once her panties had been kicked off, she pulled me to the bed, let go, and flung herself back, so that her legs dangled from its edge. She was about to hitch her skirt up, show me everything, but I screamed out, “Stop!”
“What?” she replied, halting the action, sitting up and giving me a funny look.
“We can’t do this,” I said, shaking my head. “Not like this. Not when we’re drunk. I don’t want this to be another drunken performance. I don’t want you to throw your virginity away in a fog of booze.”
As though my words had been a cold glass of water flung in her face, she began straightening out her dress, her look melting into one of shame.
“You’re right,” she breathed out. “You’re so right. I feel so ashamed.”
I came and sat myself gently down at her side on the bed. Placing my arm around her, I told her she need not be ashamed, and she perched her head upon its usual resting place.
“It was the drink,” I said.
“But you had more than me,” she put back.
“And I have been drunk a lot more than you. I can spot its cunning.”
“It still doesn’t excuse me.” Then, as though another thought struck her like a stone, she turned to me and added, “Why did you stop me?”
I felt in those shimmering eyes that I had injured her vanity somewhere deep inside of her, and that she suspected I’d stopped it simply because I didn't want to. The truth was that it had taken every muscle of my will to shout out stop.
“I stopped because it’s not what you want,” I answered her. “Not now; not when we’re drunk. And I don't want your first time to be some drunken blur of a memory in the morning. I want it to mean more than that, to be fresh in the vaults of both our minds, so that we can visit the memory again and again, recalling it as clearly as possible.”
She kissed me on the neck and told me that I was sweet.
After that, I left her to go to bed and made my way to my own room, where, of course, I found it difficult to get to sleep for several hours, my salacious mind feverish and restless, the heat of the night still coursing through my veins, a part of me cursing myself for giving her up. But I didn’t care. It was the right thing to have done.
SARAH
I awoke with something I’d only ever experienced a handful of times before: a hangover. And how bad it felt. A dry cough, loud and rasping, woke me up with a jolt, and it appeared that only then did I become aware of the jarring pain in my head. I instantly flung myself out of bed, and with the sudden movement, my stomach appeared to be as eager to jump out of me as I was to jump out of bed. I felt the need to sit for a moment, steadying everything as my head began to spin along with my belly.
Only once the sickly sediment had settled did I continue on my way to the bathroom, where I immediately drank down a glass of water, then another, and another, until my thirst was partially sated, my dry tongue having threatened to stick to the roof of my mouth before the initial glass. I stood for a moment in front of the mirror, leaning against the basin, my head hanging between my shoulders, my eyes trying to concentrate on the white porcelain below. I was fully clothed except for my bare feet, and the smell of last night’s rum and cigar smoke hung wistfully to the fabric of my dress. I shoved it off there and then to escape its odor. Then I looked in the mirror and felt for a moment that perhaps my face was wrapped in cellophane, my features looking a little blurred by my awful state. Maybe it was my eyes that were wrong, so I rubbed them. But the haggard mask still stared back, and I figured that I must have slept on my face the whole night.
“Ugh!” I groaned and climbed into the shower, where I instantly turned it on, feeling myself wince under its spray. Before long, though, I eased into the warm water and felt caressed and reassured by its touch, as though it were rinsing the worst of the hangover away. I couldn't believe I’d gotten drunk. When the jug had originally been passed to me in La Paz, I was so caught up in the moment of splendor that I went along with it as one train carriage follows another. It was only when its taste bit into me, knocking the wind out of me for several seconds, that I realized what I’d done. But by then, intoxicated as I was, I’d thought, “What the heck!”
As I cleaned myself down, feeling fresher by the second and the pain in my head dissipating, the one in my stomach not, I began to recall how the rum had removed my restraint as easily as a thumb and fingers remove the peel of an orange. There was no turning away from the truth; I had thrown myself at his feet. And I had fully expected him to take me. This was no test of his respect for me, no examination of his recent virtue. In that moment, I certainly had no respect for him; my object was sexual desire, pure and simple. Never did I imagine that he would be the one to rein in the furious horses of lust.
And now that he had, I sensed the beginnings of a new stage in the firmament of my heart. The thought of his rejection—so honorable in cause—helped the waters wash away the bitterness of the hangover. All my guilt at having behaved in such a way was pacified by my thoughts of his noble refusal, and once I was out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, blow-drying my hair, I felt only slightly unwell, and not guilty at all. Josh had saved me from throwing my virginity over the cliffs of a drunken fumble, and this only strengthened my heart’s claim to him.
A knock at the door was followed by Josh’s voice asking to come in, to which I obliged. He stepped into the room, already dressed and looking very fresh.
“How’re you feeling?” he gently asked.
“A little hungover. How about you?”
“A little dehydrated but nothing special. It was hardly a heavy night for me.”
“It was for me.”
“Tell me about it!” he remarked with a grin.
A crimson tide swept over my face.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said sheepishly from within my blushing mist.
“It’s okay. You were pretty wasted, and I take it that you don’t usually get drunk.”
“You’d be correct in your thinking on that.”
“Then we’ll talk no more about it.”
“That’s a deal,” I said, smiling up at him from the bed.
“Get dressed and come join me downstairs for breakfast. They put on a good spread here.”
He left the room, and I got dressed. Regarding the breakfast in the restaurant downstairs, he wasn’t wrong. In the center of the old-style dining room was a long mass of metal serving trays, with chefs dressed in neat whites distributing the food. At one end of it was a multicolored display of exotic fruits, and it was this that I headed for, the thought of bacon and eggs turning my restless stomach. I loaded up on fruit, granola, yogurt, and juice, foods that would rejuvenate me. Although my lassitude made me feel in need of something to wake me up, I felt impelled to avoid the coffee, as when I reached the espresso station its sharp aroma traveled down my nostrils and dealt my stomach another blow. Having loaded up, I sat down opposite Josh at one of the tables, observing that his own plate was filled with sausage, bacon, eggs, and toast, a coffee sitting at its side.
“It was an incredible night last night,” I couldn’t help remarking as I poured some yogurt over chunks of honeydew lemon. “That place you took us to was amazing.”
“Which one?”
“Both really, but especially the first one, La Paz.”
He grinned at me, clearly happy that I’d enjoyed the place.
“La Paz has been holding parties for hundreds of years,” he informed. “It was originally the residence of Spanish civil servants and their families, but was turned into a club in the early twenties. It’s seen a lot of change over the years but has always ignored it in favor of having a good time. It’s a little corner of peace in a world of chaos.”
His words brought the fluttering wings of a smile across my lips.
“It’s a shame we can't stay longer,” he added. “You’ve hardly seen the place. I mean, we’ve only got this morning, and then we have to head home. And the timing’s so cruel too.”
&
nbsp; “Why?”
“Because it’s carnival day after tomorrow.”
“Carnival day?”
“Yeah!” he let out with a boyish look. “They have a huge street festival right here in Havana. It’s absolutely crazy. The whole city opens its doors to parties and celebration.”
“What does it celebrate?”
“Who cares! It’s amazing. You come in from the street to some bar filled with music and people, life and soul, and then you move back outside and stride along the streets, dancing with all the dancers, bands playing from the balconies of buildings or stages set up on the trailers of trucks moving along the road. Then someone grabs your arm, drags you into a house, you fly up some stairs, and before you know it, you're dancing on someone’s balcony or in their lounge.”
The whole way through his speech, spoken with such boyish enthusiasm, I had sat with gaping eyes and mouth, simply eating his words with my ears and his joyful expression with my eyes.
“If only we had two more days,” he finally pronounced at the end.
An exciting thought rippled through me.
“How about I call my father,” I said, “and tell him I won’t be back for another couple of days?”
This ignited the fires of a grin on his face.
“It’s completely up to you,” he said joyfully. “If you want to. I’m sure I could square it with my dad. I’ll call him as soon as we’ve eaten breakfast.”
“And I’ll call my dad too.”
We finished breakfast eagerly, and with each mouthful, my stomach calmed and my hangover became a distant remnant. We both went up to our respective rooms to make our respective calls, and it wasn’t till I was sat on the end of my bed, phone in hand, that I began to feel trepidatious about my call. I was expected in court two days from now and would miss it by being out here. However, I was only there in the capacity of Karl’s assistant, handing him documents and merely commenting with him on the case. But, still, my father would be upset.
After a few rings, he answered.
“Hello, sweetie,” he said with ardor. “How’s the Caribbean?”
“Absolutely fantastic.”
“Everything good?”
“Better than good. The day before yesterday we spent at his villa in the Bahamas, and now I’m in Havana.”
“Ah! I went there a long time ago. I think you were only a baby then, and your sisters weren’t even around. It’s a fabulous place, isn’t it?”
“Incredible. Last night, Josh took me to a restaurant where we ate and danced under the light of candles. Then we watched flocks of birds dance in the sky at some rooftop bar. It was brilliant.”
“Oh! I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I take it Kelly has behaved himself?”
“Of course. We’ve spent our time in separate rooms, if you’re that worried, and Josh has been the perfect gentleman. The other morning, he took me horse riding.”
“Horse riding?” my father exclaimed. “He really does know the doorway to your heart!”
“Okay,” I let out in embarrassment.
“Well, it’s good that you’ve had such a wonderful time. What time are you expected back tonight?”
After the initial small talk, we’d suddenly gotten to the point.
“That’s what I’m calling about,” I said sheepishly.
“What do you mean?” my father replied in a gruff tone, knowing already what was coming. “You are coming back tonight? That’s what you said. You have court on Tuesday, and you need to be back at least a day before so that you and Karl can go through the case notes.”
“It’s carnival time in two days, and I was wondering whether—”
But my father interrupted. “This is the first hearing of the Miller case. It’s important. All this work. Think about Troy, Theresa, her other children, and then all the other children trapped in that death pit of a building.”
“But I’m only going to be Karl’s assistant in it. It’s not like I’m actually standing in court. Someone else can just as easily hand him documents and prepare the case notes.”
“But no one else knows the Miller case as well as you, and Karl wants you there. You may not be addressing the court, but you will eventually. It’s only because you’re still getting over the crash that you’re not leading the case. You have to be there from the beginning.”
My father wasn’t budging. I’d hoped that he’d accept it begrudgingly, but I was now aware that he wasn’t even willing to do that. I knew he hadn’t wanted me out here with Josh in the first place and had reluctantly accepted that, but now that I wanted more time, his tether was stretched to its end.
“I want to stay out here,” I spat back like a spoiled child. “Me missing one hearing when I’m not even needed isn’t going to affect anything.”
“I’m telling you, Sarah,” he replied firmly, “not just as your father but as your boss, that you better be here by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
His hardly disguised threat annoyed me the instant it was given, and I placed the phone down on him, something, I have to admit, that I’d never done in my twenty-five years as his daughter. I sat on the bed for a moment, the relevance of this moment resonating through me. But then something else inside spoke up on my behalf, something that had been silent for such a long time. The voice of my ego told me to ignore my father and that I should be angry at him for ruining—or at least attempting to ruin—the amazing time I was having out here. For the first time since I could remember, I was living my life in a way that was simply for me and no one else. I wanted to go to the carnival. I wanted to spend my time with Josh. I wanted to wear expensive dresses and dance until the moon was replaced with the sun. I wanted to live this carefree existence where I didn’t always feel duty bound to someone or something else. I wanted to live for me for another two days.
JOSH
“Of course you can have another two days,” Dad said over the phone. “Knock yourself out! I take it you need that little extra time to pick your way through your little lady’s locks, eh?”
An angry pang attacked the skin of my back at his lewd witticism, and if it had been covered in hair, then they’d surely be on end. But I held back my vitriol behind gritted teeth.
“Nothing like that,” I replied as calmly as I could. “It’s carnival day after tomorrow, and we’re gonna stay on to see it. Sarah’s never seen one before.”
“Oh! Good old carnival. Try not to repeat the mistakes of 2010 when I had to have Holman pick you up from the police after you’d been involved in the theft of a cop’s squad car.”
“Huh! I almost forgot that one. They were so pissed when they found it crashed into the harbor!”
“Well, no more of that,” my father pronounced.
The memory of the cop car theft glittered in my mind, me driving, several of my buddies in the back, putting the sirens on and scaring the shit out of people in the streets, before running it off a pier and into the water, all because one of my friends had dared me to.
“So I’ll see you in a couple of days,” I told my dad.
“Have fun, son,” he replied in his best rendition of a happy father.
The moment I put the phone down, I skipped off to see Sarah, knocking on her door and being permitted immediate entry. When I walked in, she’d only just gotten off the phone with her father and looked a little glum, it has to be said.
“You good?” I asked her.
“Yes. It was just my dad. He’s a bit annoyed that I won’t be in court on Tuesday.”
“But he’s cool, though, isn’t he?”
“No, not at all. I put the phone down on him.”
“So you’re going back?” I asked, my voice taking on a sad tone.
She shot me a look, and I instantly recognized the determination glimmering in her emeralds.
“Not at all,” she exclaimed.
“Wow! Go Sarah! So Cinderella will be going to the ball?”
She smiled and said, “Yes, she will.”
“Then allow me to be your prince,” I said, coming to the end of the bed where she sat and kneeling in front of her, looking up into her eyes and offering my hand.
She giggled and gleefully took my proffered mitt. I stood and pulled her gently from the bed, taking her other hand as well.
Gazing into the misty green of her, I said, “For the next two days, let it be just you and me. No dads, no court, just us.”
She didn't say a word and instead placed her cheek to my chest, squeezing my hands tenderly before letting them go and placing her own around me. My hands now spread across her, one to the back of her head and the other to the base of her spine, gently holding her to me, so that we were two objects become one.
After that, we left the hotel and explored the rolling, narrow streets of Havana. I took her first to the clothing market, where tailors of all descriptions plied their trade in a great collection of shops bordering a large square.
“Now, you never let me give you that Dior,” I said to her as we stepped from the sun-drenched cobbles into a dressmaker, “but perhaps you’ll let me spend a couple of hundred dollars having a dress made for you here.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said with obvious carefree merriment.
Inside, we were sat down upon quaint little chairs and served coffee. Sarah was then taken away to select the style and then the fabric of the dress. As she did, she would pop her head from around the corner and ask me for suggestions, but I merely waved her away and told her that whatever she chose fit to wear, I would see fit to admire. Soon she was down to her bra and panties, stuffed behind a curtain and having her measurements taken. An hour or so after entering, we were leaving and promising to come by next morning to pick up the dress. She gave my arm such a squeeze when we left the shop that I winced from it.
