One Night In Amsterdam

by Nadia C. Kavanagh

  They were photos of me and Max at the Fleur-de-lis party from a year ago. Obviously they were taken secretly in the mansion, in one of the private rooms without our knowledge. The photos were very graphic, showing Max and I having sex with the same girl while she was blindfolded and handcuffed. We were wearing masks, but the tattoos on our arms were visible, giving us away. Neither Max, nor I denied our ‘not so spotless’ bachelor past. The business we were in, the wild parties, the call girls, it was all almost normal. Unfortunately, the way the photos were taken, it looked as if we were torturing her, while in reality it was nothing like that. It was consensual sex between Valerie, Manhattan’s wealthiest and most famous nymphomaniac, and us. Valerie was every bachelor’s dream in Manhattan. She was the female equivalent of Max, who also happened to be Max’s impossible catch. He wanted to fuck her for years, but Valerie was a member of an invitation only club and she only hooked up with club members. No one else.

  Last fall, after my sweet victory over Chuck and I turned a billion dollars in revenue, and Chuck found out about the game I played behind his back, I had a horrible confrontation with Trisha. I needed a night out to blow off some steam. I knew what we did was unethical and it bothered me in more ways than I thought it would. Wanting a way to put Trisha and my terrible fight with Chuck behind me, Max came up with one of his ‘not so smart but supposed to be fun’ ideas. He knew about Valerie’s club and some of her connections. After some surreptitious meetings and many phone calls to some high up people in the Manhattan socialite, he got us in to an invite-only party that only certain people knew about. He didn’t care what the party was about as long as he got to be with Valerie and he didn’t even mind that I had to join them. At first, I wondered what he meant when he said I had to join them. A second after I saw Max’s intense glare and insinuating smirk, I understood we were going to do it together; fulfill Valerie’s fantasy, satisfy the most insatiable woman in Manhattan.

  It was a cold, blistery night when we drove out of Manhattan, two hours north. We arrived at a huge mansion in the middle of nowhere, close to midnight. A tall blonde girl with a feathered masquerade mask greeted us at the door and invited us in. She was wearing only a thong and a boa hanging over her neck, covering her nipples slightly. She handed us our masks and told us to wait in the vestibule. It was my first time at a party like this. I was nervous and had no idea what to do.

  A dark haired lady wearing nothing but a gold cloak and matching gold mask came out shortly and told us that our date was waiting for us. She offered us a red pill and explained that it was going to make the night, our first experience in the club, more satisfying and intense. A small red pill that all the guests took. It was supposed to be magical and all natural, better than ecstasy… or so we were told. Max didn’t hesitate of course. He swallowed it immediately and assured me that we would be fine. I downed it with some whiskey after him and sure enough, the magic began in less than five minutes. Before I knew it, I was wearing a mask, and nothing else, with so many beautiful and naked girls around me, all eager to have sex. I was half-hallucinating, half-awake in a complete blissful state. For the rest of the night, I followed Max around the mansion without a clue what the hell I was doing.

  Much later, I recalled being in a dark private room with black curtains and oil lamps. A group of people, all wearing masks, were watching us while Max and I had sex with Valerie and a couple other girls afterwards. There were awkward noises and whispers while an organ and a harp played in the background. The entire party was an orgy reminding me old, black and white paintings of Paul Avril. People were having sex everywhere… couples, girls, guys, groups, in every position imaginable, and only a few faces were recognizable since nearly everybody wore masks. It’s strange how I remember bits and pieces of the party, like where I got to watch people, while I still don’t have a clue who and what I did after Valerie. It was as if my memory of that night was erased. Since then, there have been times that I thought it never happened; that I imagined it all. However, looking at the photos in front of me, it was becoming clear that the awkward night indeed happened, and it was more fucked up than I thought, because the photos in my hand were getting worse.

  I was shocked seeing the explicit and inglorious images of that night. The entire thing was obviously a set-up. Fleur-de-lis was an invitation only, very exclusive party. The pictures were probably taken on purpose by someone at the party, maybe by the host, to blackmail me and Max at some point. Unfortunately, even the people who got the invitation didn’t know who was hosting the party. There was no way for me to figure out who did this to us and what they got out of it. However, at this point, it didn’t matter. Chuck Reed got a hold of those pictures and he was glaring at me with a sly grin as if he won a big victory.

  I stood by the tall bay window, worrisome and nervous. I was petrified, knowing my worst enemy, the father of the love of my life, who hated my guts, was going to use those pictures against me.

  “How did you get these pictures?” I asked. My hands were shaking.

  “Does it matter? It shows what kind of a person you really are.”

  “It was just one night and I was drugged.”

  “Drug or no drug…I don’t care. This is who you are. I have seen you with other girls too and I know what you do to them. I don’t want someone like you to be with my Emma. You are an asshole and she deserves better. You will stay away from my daughter!” He threatened me.

  “You, son of a bitch!” I yelled back.

  “You will stay away from her. This is my final warning.” He shoved me against the wall and tried to punch me in the face. Reflexively, I moved my head to the side and instead of my face, his fist hit the wall. His knuckles opened up immediately and started bleeding. He was standing in front me, shaking his hand and glaring at me with disgust, getting ready to throw another punch. I could tell he wasn’t going to miss this time. I clenched my hand, made it into a fist. I was about to hit him back when Max got in between us.

  “Let it go…He’s not worth it.” He spat out.

  I inhaled deeply to calm myself. After a couple deep breaths, “Get the hell out of my office,” I told Chuck and pointed at the door. I threw all the photos into the trash right away.

  “I guess you don’t want to keep them, but don’t worry, I have another set printed.” He taunted me and paused to check his watch. “It should be delivered to Emma within an hour. Let’s see if you still trust your relationship after she sees them.” He said with a scornful face just before he left my office.

  I collapsed on my chair, hearing his last words.

  “What the fuck was that?” Max murmured. I stared at him blankly, speechless. My mind was busy contemplating the ramifications of what Chuck had just said. Last night’s argument was bad enough and now with the photos, it was going to be much worse. The possibility of losing her terrified me. I had to find her and explain everything before she saw the photos. I checked my watch. It was close to her lunch break. I hurried out of my office, ignoring Max and his prattle. I hailed a taxi cab and handed him a hundred to hurry up. I promised another hundred if we arrived at Harlem in less than ten minutes, and after running three red lights …we did.

  I couldn’t wait for the elevator. I rushed to the stairs and climbed up four floors, two steps at a time. When I arrived at the surgery center check-in desk, I saw that one of the grumpy old nurses, ‘Nurse Linda’ was on duty. I was out of breath after climbing the stairs too quickly. Still panting, I approached her and asked for Emma without any pleasantries. “I need to see her right away!” I commented seriously.

  “Wait here.” She ordered. “I’ll page her for you but you should know that she is very busy today. She might not be able to see you.” Linda brushed me off. Her voice was cold and distant. She always gave me the feeling that she didn’t like me much.

  I sat on a chair in the waiting room that smelled of an acrid combination of bleach and Pine Sol that burned my nose each time I breathed in. Twenty minutes passed as I
waited patiently, but no one showed up. Linda gave me an ‘I told you so’ look, but I didn’t care. I had to see Emma, even if it meant I had to wait for her for hours. Twenty more oppressive and torturing minutes later, the door to the waiting room opened and I saw Emma coming out in her green scrubs. She stopped at Linda’s desk first and asked for something. Linda handed her some paperwork and her mail in return. She held them under her arm and then slowly approached me. I could see the yellow manila envelope tucked between her pink patient folders.

  “What are you doing here Dylan?” She asked tersely.

  “I had to see you. You didn’t call.” I replied back.

  “I told you I needed some time alone, and I had my clinic this morning, I didn’t have time.”

  “I have to tell you something…” I muttered. My voice was hoarse, the words barely escaped.

  “Okay…” She hesitated. “What do you want to tell me?” A piece of hair fell into her eyes. I wanted to brush it off her face but I held myself back. She looked so distant that I was sure she wasn’t going to let me touch her.

  “First, that yellow envelope in your hand. Please don’t open it.” I almost begged.

  “Why?” She looked at me sideways.

  “Because…” I stuttered. I didn’t know how to tell her about the pictures… that night, and all the horrible things I had done. I was thinking of how to start the story when Linda interrupted, “Emma, you have a call on line one.”

  “Let me take this…” Emma walked back to the nurse’s desk. I watched her carefully. She was serious, didn’t say much on the phone, other than yes or no. She pulled the yellow envelope out of the stack as soon as she hung up the phone. She flipped it over and stared at it and then at me for a long second before she broke the seal.

  Holding the envelope in her hand, without looking inside, she approached me quickly and then sat next to me. “What is in this envelope, Dylan?” She lifted her brows, narrowed her eyes, demanding me to answer.

  I couldn’t reply. I closed my eyes, and bowed my head. I rubbed my forehead with my fingers, trying to fight this terrible nightmare. I wanted to tell her it all, what happened that night, how it all happened, but the wavering expression in her face told me that she wouldn’t understand.

  “My father who never calls me at work called and asked if I received his package. What is so important in this thing that he called me personally and not his secretary?” She asked softly this time, looking deep into my eyes.

  “There are pictures of me in there.” I finally admitted.

  She pulled the stack of photos out and started looking at them. Her face, expressionless at first, turned ice cold quickly. She looked at each picture less than a second and skipped to the next, and to the next, until she couldn’t handle it anymore.

  “Is this a sick joke?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “Is this Max and ...”

  “Yes, it’s Max and me…” I finished her sentence, stutteringly.

  “Oh, God. I can’t look anymore. It’s too much. Too disgusting. You are…”

  “I know, I’m sorry Emma. I’m sorry you had to see these.”

  “Who are you Dylan? A member of some cult group, shooting your twisted version of an ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ movie?”

  “No. No… It’s nothing like that. Let me explain…”

  “There isn’t much you can explain Dylan. These pictures… I simply cannot…”

  “Don’t say it Emma!”

  “I can’t be with someone like this. The person in these pictures, I don’t know who he is, but he is not the person I fell in love with. Bondage, masochism, group sex… It’s too much.”

  “I am not into any of those things. It was one night, Emma. Only one night. I took a pill. I was high and I didn’t know what I was doing. I am sorry. Please…Emma!” I begged desperately, collapsing onto her knees.

  “How does it, you, taking a drug and not knowing what you did, make any of this better? You know how I loathe drugs. Drugs ruined Steve, ruined my family. I cannot be with someone who does drugs.”

  “I am not doing drugs. Not any more…”

  “I don’t believe you and I don’t trust you, Dylan. I don’t think I know you.”

  “You know me. You know everything about me.”

  “No, I don’t think I do, not after seeing these pictures. I can’t even wrap my mind around this concept. How could you torture someone while having sex?” She shook her head in disbelief.

  “No, I wasn’t torturing her. I promise you. She demanded it… Oh, God. I don’t even remember.”

  “See, that’s what I mean. You don’t even remember what the hell you did. This picture …. It’s just… I don’t know, makes me sick!”

  “I…I am sorry …Please Emma. Please forgive me.” I stuttered.

  “Forgive? This is not about forgiving Dylan…” She shook her head. “I have to go. I need to scrub in for another surgery. I can’t deal with this. Your life, your past… is too much for me to handle. I simply can’t...” She said and left the waiting room without looking back.

  Watching her disappear behind the door, in a cold, emotionless state as if what we had was nothing, was the final blow. All my strength left my body, my shoulders shook, my legs gave up and I fell onto my knees beside the coffee table in the waiting room. It felt like someone took a knife and carved out my heart. For the first time in my life, I cried. I cried without caring who was there, looking at me. I felt stupid, weak and incredibly foolish, but I couldn’t stop my tears.

  I called Emma every day for the next ten days. She never came home, she neither returned my calls, nor stopped by my office to talk. I stopped by the hospital, the university, even her house in Brooklyn every day, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. It was as if she disappeared into thin air. Emma was gone, or she simply didn’t want me to find her.

  Desperate to talk to her, I called Sydney. I told her how much I loved Emma and how sorry I was and added, that if I didn’t hear from her soon, I was planning to hire a private detective. A few hours after my phone call to Sydney, I received a short email from Emma. It was devoid of any emotions, it just explained the fact that we could not be together, that I had to move on and stop looking for her.

  After reading her bitter, glacial words, I couldn’t breathe. I felt like my heart was ripped apart and stopped working. She was telling me that it was over. I was to go on with my life without her. I just didn’t know how to do that.

  CHAPTER 18

  DYLAN

  “Open your god damn door, Dylan!” Max yelled for the second time. He was outside, shouting loudly and banging on the door. The cracked dry wood of the old deck squeaked underneath his feet.

  ‘How in the hell did he find me?’ I groused inwardly. Only my personal assistant, Rose Donnelly, knew about the house, and that’s only because she helped me with the purchase and all the associated tedious paperwork. Nobody else was supposed to know about it. Not even my sister, or at least that’s what I hoped.

  “Dylan! You idiot! I know you are there.” He hollered inside from the open window this time. “Come open the door right now or I am breaking it, and I am fucking serious!” He admonished.

  Max and his god damn mouth. He was rogue and crazy as usual and I knew if I didn’t let him in, he would continue cursing and would make a fool of himself. I certainly didn’t want to explain him to my neighbors. I had to let him in, although I wasn’t ready to talk to him. Or anyone for that matter.

  I left Manhattan six weeks ago, a week after I got that god-awful email from Emma. It was a befitting response from her, as always. Blunt, incisive and keen…just like the first time I met her. It was over between us. She was pretty damn clear about that. I couldn’t blame her for ending it. My past ruined it for us. It was my fault, and knowing that it was my fault made it that much worse.

  Now that she was gone, I was supposed to get on with my life, as if it was something easy to do. I wished I could just reboot and start over,
but life wasn’t easy and simple that way. I couldn’t just continue from where I left off. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t go to work. I couldn’t stay in my apartment, it was full of her memories. My bed, my sheets, my pillows…all smelled like jasmine, like her hair and her skin. My closet was still full of her clothes, which she didn’t try to get back. Every corner of the apartment had a trace of Emma. Even the city reminded me of her. There was always a subtle, small thing that triggered a memory button in my brain. A street vendor selling chestnuts, a girl with earmuffs crossing the street, a violinist playing Offenbach in front of the subway… New York City was like memorabilia of Emma. Everything reminded me of her.

  So, there was nothing I could do except to get away from the city, disappear and try to forget about her. ‘How does forgetting work?’ I wondered inwardly. Could you forget someone just by telling yourself you had to? Could you rewire your brain so that a familiar smell or an object would not remind you of them? Is it even possible to erase memories ingrained into your soul so profoundly? I was in a state of self-pity. Horrible images of my past kept coming back. My life had become one big nightmare, full of remorse, guilt and mistakes of a past I could not change. That’s when I knew I had to leave and somehow, move on…

  On a warm spring evening, I got out of the city on a whim, not knowing where to go. I drove towards Brooklyn instinctively at first, hoping I could see a glimpse of her, maybe cooking in her kitchen or eating soup, but her house looked deserted. No light. No noise. There was at least a week’s worth of newspapers at her door step which confirmed that she wasn’t staying at her house, just like Sydney said. Thinking of her unwittingly, wondering where she was and what she was doing at that moment, I kept on driving. I drove an hour on NY-27 East without a purpose, without a plan, while listening to a random radio station. I was about to pass West Hampton when the radio show host started talking about the best surfing towns in the USA. Montauk was in the top ten. I was only an hour away from one of the best surfing towns in America. Never mind that I had never surfed in my life, but all of a sudden, I decided to go there to fight with big waves, instead of my demons and nightmares.