Part II is here. Read on!
San Telmo was a ghostly place at night. The cobble stoned streets pushed on our shoes as we walked past a building that looked about one hundred years old. Its age did not fade its charm and the eloquence it once retained resided in its European architecture. A stone balcony, weathered with age and eroded at its bottom, jutted out from the building’s façade.
We stopped in front of Bo’s friend’s house. The doors were wooden and stood tall above our heads. Before we could ring the buzzer, two of Bo’s friends approached from behind us with white shopping bags in their hands and let us in. One was tall and British. He wore a gray faded t-shirt and sported a Cesar cut. His name was Ben.
We walked through the dark vestibule and up the dusty curved marble stairs to the second floor. Each room in the apartment had a French door attached. Half of the party was in the kitchen. The room was bright with florescent lights, and loud music burst through the room. Sitting at the long kitchen table, sat nine of the British girls. A cluster of alcohol bottles of all shapes, brands and sizes stood in front of the girls like tepees. Pick your poison.
“Oooooh! Haloooo!” They screeched as one when we walked in the kitchen. Bo pointed to each one of them and told me their names—I half expected each of them to do a freestyle dance as he did—of course I would never remember them. As each song changed, the girls banged on the table and sang along. It was apparent that they were already drunk.
I stood back and searched for someone to talk to. Through a cloud of cigarette smoke I spotted a girl lounging at the edge of the kitchen. She struck up a conversation with me. I thought she was Argentine but discovered she was from France and her name was Iris.
“Who are you here with?” I asked.
“The Argentine boy there,” she said as she gestured to a young Argentine guy. He sat at the long table with his black buzz cut hair and in his navy blue hoodie. He was seated between the nine British girls, watching them with a serious fascination. “He loves to be surrounded by girls,” Iris added as she eyed him through her cigarette smoke and took another toke.
She turned her attention from him and reached behind her back for a glass of wine. She poured me one too. Iris and I decided to move into the living room where it was a little tamer. A shy Asian girl stood in the room alone by the ancient fire place, her arms crossed at the wrist in front of her stomach. She told us she didn’t feel comfortable in the other room so Iris, the Asian girl and I kept each others company.
Soon the house filled with other guest and everyone joined us in the living room. Three Argentine guys strode in like sexy Argentine versions of The Lost Boys. One of them stood out to me the most. He wore a red turtleneck, black sweat pants and flat black acrobatic shoes. His hair was cut in a Cesar except for a short curly ponytail in the back. His eyes were innocent: wide and curious. His cheekbones sat high, and his lips were small yet full. I could tell he was an artist of sorts. The other one had longer hair, a mustache and spoke perfect English. The third had his hair pulled back into a tight matador ponytail and had a mustache as well.
The sexy Lost Boys greeted everyone. The one with the red turtleneck made his way through the room, distributing kisses on the cheeks of all the females. I savored my turn and enjoyed the softness of his skin. The Lost Boy with the pulled back hair sat across from Iris and I and began to play a bongo drum. I discovered the Lost Boy with the red turtleneck was Nico, probably short for Nicolas, which is a common Argentine name.
Nico did flips to the bongo beat. Weed was passed around, causing a blend of cigarettes, herb, beer and wine to scent the room. As if called by the sound of the drum, one of the British girls stumbled into the room like a drunken woodland fairy…or maybe an intoxicated Tinker Bell is a more accurate description. She was bare foot and her deep blue one shoulder pixie dress stopped above the middle of her pale white thighs.
When she went to sit down on the mattress next to the couch I was sitting on, she toppled over. She righted herself then asked me my name and what I was doing in Buenos Aires. I told her I was writing and traveling around. “Oooooh. My. God. That is soooo cool! We must hang out!!!” She said. She gave me a high five to punctuate her point.
Intoxicated Tinker Bell leaned into me to whisper in my ear. She was eyeing Nico. “The one in the red turtleneck is cute isn’t he?” She slurred.
“I was just thinking the same thing!” I said.
She got up and left the room, but a few seconds later sauntered back in towards Nico. She plopped down next to him. He didn’t seem bothered by her intoxication. She began to talk to him and that’s when I thought to myself, I really need to get my Spanish together so I can communicate with the guys I think are hot!
One of the other Lost Boys began to talk to Iris. She asked him if he had more drums. He returned a second later with mini bongos. I figured their apartment was either next door or one floor up or down. Iris accepted the mini bongos and played them along with the other Lost Boy who was still working the big bongo.
Intoxicated Tinker Bell was still talking to Nico. I saw her become enchanted by something he said and then they disappeared.
TO BE CONTINUED…