Part III is here. Read on!
Intoxicated Tinker Bell was still talking to Nico. I saw her become enchanted by something he said and then they disappeared. I will take this moment to be truthful with you. I was jealous. Another British girl—I wasn’t sure which one she was on the 1-10 number scale, but she too looked like a fairy—squeezed in next to me on the couch. She had bright red hair and wore a light green pixie dress. I kid you not. I think “pixie” was the look of the night.
Nico and intoxicated Tinker Bell returned less than a minute later. Nico had a little bag and a big instrument that looked like a sawed off tree branch in his hands. When the red head sitting next to me saw the instrument Nico held, she pointed and shouted, “Oh my god! It’s a didgeridoo!”
One of the British ten shut off all the lights in the room and sat a single lit candle on the fireplace mantle. Nico pulled medium iridescent balls out of the small bag; they glowed in the dark, a mix of neon green, white, blue and pink light. Nico threw the balls in the air and juggled, as Iris and his co Lost Boy continued to play the bongos. I watched the glowing orbs circle past each other in the air.
Nico paused and removed his red turtleneck, revealing a black a-shirt and chiseled cut arms. He balanced the balls on those strong arms, making them slide across. I had one of those movie slow mo moments then. I watched every muscle in his shoulders and arms pulsate and flex; as I did this, I felt, for the first time in a long time, the effects of going a great deal of time without sex. And in case you’re wondering, yes, this was pre Santiago.
Ben, the tall British guy I met earlier, brought out pots and spoons for the British girls to play. Nico took a break from his juggling and serenaded us with his didgeridoo. As the room filled, Iris and I moved into the kitchen to get more wine. I met more people of the night, but the party moved in the same direction and alternate universe Neverland lost its charm. Some people filtered out of the house party and moved on to clubs. Six of the British ten stayed behind. Some where in the kitchen dancing on the counter tops.
I migrated to the balcony and stayed there for an hour, talking with an Australian guy about everything from relationships to traveling. As we looked over the balcony into the quiet night, we noticed a sketchy looking guy, sitting on the corner drinking a bottle of wine. When he finished the first, he went to get another and paced back and forth. Then another guy came about, breaking glass bottles and kicking garbage bags; he found a pole and prowled with it. The Australian guy and I stood up straight and leaned away from the crazy unfolding below us.
It was at that moment that I realized I was not walking out that house alone, especially now that it was four in the morning. As I was leaving, the Australian guy and I stopped back in the kitchen to say goodbye to the friends we had met throughout the night. Iris and I exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up again. An Argentine guy was working on one of the British ten in the kitchen. He had her pressed up against the fridge talking seductively into her neck and ear.
As we walked to the entrance of the apartment, we heard music coming from one of the British ten’s rooms; a red light district hue glowed from it. Two of the British ten were in there, singing loudly while sitting on top of a guy who was lying on their bed, his hands behind his head. The Australian guy and I took in the scene then looked at each other and laughed. We made our way outside and caught a taxi to share home. My first night in San Telmo was one I would never forget.