The day after I cheated on my wife for the first time, I sat alone in my Barcelona hotel room feeling like a piece of shit, hoping the phone wouldn't ring. The room felt smaller than it had before. The premium liquor, the over sized TV, the supreme sound system, and the high quality Egyptian towels and linens made me feel like a Vegas Gambler. I just didn't have the swagger of Tony Soprano walking around in a hotel bathrobe after having just fucked a new gumar. I felt cold, limp, and hung over and I feared the passing of the maid service. I was a strange man and had been abandoned by my seventeen year-old son the day before. I hadn't spoken to my wife for a couple days on purpose because I didn't want her to know that Harris and I weren't having a bonding experience.
Maybe we could have bonded, but I wanted him to like me so much that when he announced that his girlfriend from home and a friend had just arrived in Barcelona and were staying at a hostel, I realized I was never part of the plan. Harris was always smart, that's for sure and he knew that no parent would agree to having their kids go on a high school sweetheart honeymoon. Yes, he was going to meet-up with his friends, but that was after a vacation to Ibiza, or Mallorca, wherever he said he was going with his girlfriend. She must have told her parents the same lie and not mentioned that Harris would be in Europe at all, or at least not that fact that a seventeen year-old and a sixteen year old would be galavanting around Europe with Amex cards. It wasn't really a lie and that's what made Harris so smart. He knew how to present the situation. He presented it as the classic tale of a backpacker going off to find himself before college. It was the rich kids version of the army. Send your son off to Europe and he will come back a man. Boy, riding all of those trains will surely toughen him up. What were we thinking and what was the alternative? I guess we could have chained him to a fence in the backyard and made him dig ditches only to fill them back up again. It was clear that I didn't raise a Nelson Mandela or an Abe Lincoln, or even a Bill Clinton.
He had already found himself a long time ago, and was walking around in the shoes of a yuppie. The shoes that I gave him. I could only blame myself. It's never the kids fault, it's always the parent's, right? I wanted to be the cool Dad and the most uncool thing I could have done was to tag along with him and his girlfriend on their honeymoon. Maybe it was the thought of being ostracized by a seventeen year-old and a sixteen year-old for a weekend that scared me into submission. Clearly, I didn't want to relive being made fun of as a child. To put it simply, I didn't have the guts to say, No Harris, I would like to come because I love you and you are my son. I would like to come because I would like to be a part of your life and truly share and experience this brief time we have together. I want you to love me Harris because I am your father and even though you might not know it now, it will be very important for both of us later to be able to reminiscence about how pivotal this trip was for both of us as people and as a father and a son (without your mother). Jesus Harris! When I'm dead, you're going to wish that you had just fucking sat by the pool with me while we both secretly ogled the waitresses and you snuck alcoholic drinks. And if you didn't want to hang out at the pool of the Ritz in Barcelona with cocktail service and human umbrella adjusters, then we could have hung out on the beach God Dammit! Fuck you Harris! Fuck you!
FUCK ME! I'm a fucking asshole!
The solution was to take a hot bath with a nice Scotch. After that, I would decide what to do. I didn't know what time it was and I kind of liked it. This brief encounter with living on the edge was thrilling, but I felt emotionally and physically exhausted. A lot had been going on in the bathroom the night before, I couldn't exactly remember. Did we have sex in the shower? For how long? I didn't even think about protection. I didn't have any condoms. Where would I have gotten them from? And condoms don't work in the shower.
The bathroom smelled . . . The last time I smelled a bathroom like that was with my brother at CBGB's in the eighties? The seventies? It was still a really nice bathroom, but it was gross. I finished my drink and got another one while the shower ran. Her hair was everywhere, long, dark hair. And there was cocaine all over the counter. Had I been doing cocaine? I dabbled in it before my kids were born, during my med school and maybe residency. We all did. What was I feeling?
Proud and horrified at the same time. It was like chewing sour gum. I needed to calm down. More Scotch please. I cleaned the bathtub as much as I could, or as much as I saw fit, so that I could sit in it. It was relaxing. I felt relaxed. And then I remembered her. She was Brazilian. Marcia? MMMmmmm. An M, something with an M. Marcia I said aloud and rolled the R like I knew what I was doing. Why did she want to have anything to do with me? I'm. Well, I'm obviously very attractive to a hot sweet Brazilian for a one night fling. She knew I was married because my wedding ring was still on. She worked at the pool. Ahhhhhh yes! We started talking because I said, "Let me help you with that," when she came to adjust my umbrella. She said she felt sorry for me that I was alone. Where was my wife? Where was the boy I was with the day before? I really was being a gentleman. I didn't think. Well, I did leave an inappropriately large tip. I remember that. It was double the bill. Hmmmmmm. Not so bad for an old man. Then I thought, I'm not that old, not with respect to how long people live these days.
"I can take you to one bar," she said. "After we close the pool area, when the sun goes down. I can meet you at that cafe over there because I work here, I can't. They can't see me leave with you, O.K.? I don't want you to be lonely." Then, I came up to my room, changed and went to that Cafe for a cafe con leche. I brought my book and was sure to sit outside, people watching, because I didn't know what cafe she meant. I figured she would just see me and it was something to do. I didn't think she would actually show up. I thought she was just being nice, so as I sat there waiting. I didn't feel like I was doing anything wrong because what else would I be doing? I was having a coffee, people watching. I was reading my book. The sun was setting. It was nice. I wasn't waiting and then she showed.
She sat down confidently, like an old friend, like she knew me. "So Alex, is that you're name? Alex." "Uhhhh yes and you are? I'm sorry I don't remember." I know she had had a name tag on. "Marsia." "Marsia, well it's very nice to to meet you and we shook hands." Harmless right? I remember it felt harmless. The conversation was polite and casual. Her English was good enough. Where are you from? Are you from here? No, where are you from? Los Angeles. Brazil, but I live here now. Do you like Barcelona? Do you like it? Cummon, I can take you to meet some friends. Let's get something to eat. And she giggled. Her nose crinkled. I thought O.K. That's all I thought was O.K. I remember eating shrimp and that I was inept with the de-shelling tool. I couldn't remember the name of it and she showed me how to use it. I wasn't used to shrimp still in the casing, the shell. The walk through the city twilight everything was lit up in shades of pink and grey, I felt free. I was free!
There was a knock on the door. Was it my door? More knocking? Don't they see the sign? Do not disturb. Session in Progress. Leave me alone. I'm in the bath with a Scotch. More knocking. I re-robed and opened the door, a gust of steam out, cool fresh air in. "Ummmmmmm Marsia. Hi. Please come in." "Alex. no, I can't because I am working." Her long dark hair and the fact that I had ran my fingers through it, maybe even gently pulled it. Wow. "I just wanted to see you and to know that you are O.K." "I'm O.K. How are you?" She was wearing her name tag and the hotel's clean white shirt and shorts. She didn't look tired.
"You got back to the hotel, O.K.? To here."
"Yeah."
"Do you want to clear the window. It's that button over there." The windows were tint controlled from a panel by the door, like those glasses that change shades when you go from outside to inside. "No, that's O.K.?"
"Did you see your son?"
"No?"
"Earlier this morning, very early he was in the lobby. He was with a girl and maybe some friends. I don't know."
"Did he come up here?"
"I don't know. They left anyways. I have to go back, O.K."
"Well, I'll see you by the pool."
"The pool is closed now."
"What time is it?"
"Seven. Seven-thirty. Maybe eight. I don't know. We are closing up."
"Ummmmm Marsia? Thanks. Thanks for taking me out and bringing me home. Here" And I reached into the pocket of my robe like it was a slacks pocket, like there would be money in there."
"I didn't take you home."
"What?"
"No, you left me in the club after you met that Russian girl."
"Pardon?"
"You left me to go dance with her. I don't know."
"O.K."
"After the camerones, do you remember the camerones?" She put her manicured hand to her mouth, petite and luscious. A giggle. My African friends came by and asked if you wanted to dance. I took one ecstasy pill and you took two."
"Two?" That didn't sound like me.
"One half before we left dinner and I guess the rest in the club. I don't know what you were doing. We went together and then you went with those Russian people."
"Well, where did the pills come from?"
"Oh, my friends. Joal and maybe some of his friends. I don't know. It's their little business because they have families to support and the Russians help them and without papers in Barcelona it's the best job for them. So, you came back here in a taxi with another girl, not me. I don't know."
"Right."
"Did she leave?"
I opened the door more. We swept the room looking for a Russian girl. Marsia peered. "Yeah, she's gone. So, see you tomorrow."
"O.K."
"Hasta luegito!" And she romped down the hall.
I poured myself another Scotch and returned to the bathroom. Ahhhh respite. Condoms in the trash-can.
Maybe we could have bonded, but I wanted him to like me so much that when he announced that his girlfriend from home and a friend had just arrived in Barcelona and were staying at a hostel, I realized I was never part of the plan. Harris was always smart, that's for sure and he knew that no parent would agree to having their kids go on a high school sweetheart honeymoon. Yes, he was going to meet-up with his friends, but that was after a vacation to Ibiza, or Mallorca, wherever he said he was going with his girlfriend. She must have told her parents the same lie and not mentioned that Harris would be in Europe at all, or at least not that fact that a seventeen year-old and a sixteen year old would be galavanting around Europe with Amex cards. It wasn't really a lie and that's what made Harris so smart. He knew how to present the situation. He presented it as the classic tale of a backpacker going off to find himself before college. It was the rich kids version of the army. Send your son off to Europe and he will come back a man. Boy, riding all of those trains will surely toughen him up. What were we thinking and what was the alternative? I guess we could have chained him to a fence in the backyard and made him dig ditches only to fill them back up again. It was clear that I didn't raise a Nelson Mandela or an Abe Lincoln, or even a Bill Clinton.
He had already found himself a long time ago, and was walking around in the shoes of a yuppie. The shoes that I gave him. I could only blame myself. It's never the kids fault, it's always the parent's, right? I wanted to be the cool Dad and the most uncool thing I could have done was to tag along with him and his girlfriend on their honeymoon. Maybe it was the thought of being ostracized by a seventeen year-old and a sixteen year-old for a weekend that scared me into submission. Clearly, I didn't want to relive being made fun of as a child. To put it simply, I didn't have the guts to say, No Harris, I would like to come because I love you and you are my son. I would like to come because I would like to be a part of your life and truly share and experience this brief time we have together. I want you to love me Harris because I am your father and even though you might not know it now, it will be very important for both of us later to be able to reminiscence about how pivotal this trip was for both of us as people and as a father and a son (without your mother). Jesus Harris! When I'm dead, you're going to wish that you had just fucking sat by the pool with me while we both secretly ogled the waitresses and you snuck alcoholic drinks. And if you didn't want to hang out at the pool of the Ritz in Barcelona with cocktail service and human umbrella adjusters, then we could have hung out on the beach God Dammit! Fuck you Harris! Fuck you!
FUCK ME! I'm a fucking asshole!
The solution was to take a hot bath with a nice Scotch. After that, I would decide what to do. I didn't know what time it was and I kind of liked it. This brief encounter with living on the edge was thrilling, but I felt emotionally and physically exhausted. A lot had been going on in the bathroom the night before, I couldn't exactly remember. Did we have sex in the shower? For how long? I didn't even think about protection. I didn't have any condoms. Where would I have gotten them from? And condoms don't work in the shower.
The bathroom smelled . . . The last time I smelled a bathroom like that was with my brother at CBGB's in the eighties? The seventies? It was still a really nice bathroom, but it was gross. I finished my drink and got another one while the shower ran. Her hair was everywhere, long, dark hair. And there was cocaine all over the counter. Had I been doing cocaine? I dabbled in it before my kids were born, during my med school and maybe residency. We all did. What was I feeling?
Proud and horrified at the same time. It was like chewing sour gum. I needed to calm down. More Scotch please. I cleaned the bathtub as much as I could, or as much as I saw fit, so that I could sit in it. It was relaxing. I felt relaxed. And then I remembered her. She was Brazilian. Marcia? MMMmmmm. An M, something with an M. Marcia I said aloud and rolled the R like I knew what I was doing. Why did she want to have anything to do with me? I'm. Well, I'm obviously very attractive to a hot sweet Brazilian for a one night fling. She knew I was married because my wedding ring was still on. She worked at the pool. Ahhhhhh yes! We started talking because I said, "Let me help you with that," when she came to adjust my umbrella. She said she felt sorry for me that I was alone. Where was my wife? Where was the boy I was with the day before? I really was being a gentleman. I didn't think. Well, I did leave an inappropriately large tip. I remember that. It was double the bill. Hmmmmmm. Not so bad for an old man. Then I thought, I'm not that old, not with respect to how long people live these days.
"I can take you to one bar," she said. "After we close the pool area, when the sun goes down. I can meet you at that cafe over there because I work here, I can't. They can't see me leave with you, O.K.? I don't want you to be lonely." Then, I came up to my room, changed and went to that Cafe for a cafe con leche. I brought my book and was sure to sit outside, people watching, because I didn't know what cafe she meant. I figured she would just see me and it was something to do. I didn't think she would actually show up. I thought she was just being nice, so as I sat there waiting. I didn't feel like I was doing anything wrong because what else would I be doing? I was having a coffee, people watching. I was reading my book. The sun was setting. It was nice. I wasn't waiting and then she showed.
She sat down confidently, like an old friend, like she knew me. "So Alex, is that you're name? Alex." "Uhhhh yes and you are? I'm sorry I don't remember." I know she had had a name tag on. "Marsia." "Marsia, well it's very nice to to meet you and we shook hands." Harmless right? I remember it felt harmless. The conversation was polite and casual. Her English was good enough. Where are you from? Are you from here? No, where are you from? Los Angeles. Brazil, but I live here now. Do you like Barcelona? Do you like it? Cummon, I can take you to meet some friends. Let's get something to eat. And she giggled. Her nose crinkled. I thought O.K. That's all I thought was O.K. I remember eating shrimp and that I was inept with the de-shelling tool. I couldn't remember the name of it and she showed me how to use it. I wasn't used to shrimp still in the casing, the shell. The walk through the city twilight everything was lit up in shades of pink and grey, I felt free. I was free!
There was a knock on the door. Was it my door? More knocking? Don't they see the sign? Do not disturb. Session in Progress. Leave me alone. I'm in the bath with a Scotch. More knocking. I re-robed and opened the door, a gust of steam out, cool fresh air in. "Ummmmmmm Marsia. Hi. Please come in." "Alex. no, I can't because I am working." Her long dark hair and the fact that I had ran my fingers through it, maybe even gently pulled it. Wow. "I just wanted to see you and to know that you are O.K." "I'm O.K. How are you?" She was wearing her name tag and the hotel's clean white shirt and shorts. She didn't look tired.
"You got back to the hotel, O.K.? To here."
"Yeah."
"Do you want to clear the window. It's that button over there." The windows were tint controlled from a panel by the door, like those glasses that change shades when you go from outside to inside. "No, that's O.K.?"
"Did you see your son?"
"No?"
"Earlier this morning, very early he was in the lobby. He was with a girl and maybe some friends. I don't know."
"Did he come up here?"
"I don't know. They left anyways. I have to go back, O.K."
"Well, I'll see you by the pool."
"The pool is closed now."
"What time is it?"
"Seven. Seven-thirty. Maybe eight. I don't know. We are closing up."
"Ummmmm Marsia? Thanks. Thanks for taking me out and bringing me home. Here" And I reached into the pocket of my robe like it was a slacks pocket, like there would be money in there."
"I didn't take you home."
"What?"
"No, you left me in the club after you met that Russian girl."
"Pardon?"
"You left me to go dance with her. I don't know."
"O.K."
"After the camerones, do you remember the camerones?" She put her manicured hand to her mouth, petite and luscious. A giggle. My African friends came by and asked if you wanted to dance. I took one ecstasy pill and you took two."
"Two?" That didn't sound like me.
"One half before we left dinner and I guess the rest in the club. I don't know what you were doing. We went together and then you went with those Russian people."
"Well, where did the pills come from?"
"Oh, my friends. Joal and maybe some of his friends. I don't know. It's their little business because they have families to support and the Russians help them and without papers in Barcelona it's the best job for them. So, you came back here in a taxi with another girl, not me. I don't know."
"Right."
"Did she leave?"
I opened the door more. We swept the room looking for a Russian girl. Marsia peered. "Yeah, she's gone. So, see you tomorrow."
"O.K."
"Hasta luegito!" And she romped down the hall.
I poured myself another Scotch and returned to the bathroom. Ahhhh respite. Condoms in the trash-can.
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