“She’s not!” I countered, catching his eyes in the mirror and realizing with a thrill that I decidedly liked what I saw. In between Tara’s dry heaves I got a chance to evaluate him more carefully. He was most definitely a pirate. He looked like the actor Breckin Meyer, only a few decades older and with a dark, slightly dangerous side. I could hardly wait to engage him in conversation on the way home.
He very dashingly helped us transport Tara from the car to the lobby, then waited outside with a cigarette while Tito and I shuttled her up to her apartment. She was coherent, but sick as a dog.
“I’m just gonna lie here......” she said, after fumbling open the door and making a beeline for the toilet. “So comfortable,” she murmured, her cheek resting against the porcelain. “I’m just gonna rest here all night.”
“Are you sure?” I asked nervously, offering the wash-basin that I had procured from the kitchen. “Why don’t we put you in bed and you can use this if you need it? I think that would be a lot more comfortable.”
But she was already waving us away, her eyes closed. “I’m fine now,” she insisted. “You kids go have fun. Go.”
So we did, on the basis that it was almost morning and hopefully someone would soon be awake to keep an eye on her.
We kept a respectful silence on our way down to the lobby, where, I was pleased to see, our pirate driver was still waiting. His spirited reaction to the situation prompted a conversation on alcohol and inebriation as we pulled away.
“And what’s your favorite type of drink?” I trilled, scooting closer to the divider.
“Sex y perversion!” came the answer. He had heard vida, not bebida.
I was considering telling him that that was my favorite type of lifestyle, too, but I paused to consider the consequences. Luckily it was at this moment that Tito pulled me back into conversation of his own, so I could put off considering the possibilities of running off with a cab driving pirate for a while longer. At least, until we pulled up to the curb outside Chiqui’s. I ran out to use the ATM and returned to hear the snippets of their conversation.
“She’s beautiful, your friend,” The cab driver was saying to Tito, “Very beautiful.”
I promptly slid into the front seat and tipped him far more than was necessary. I lingered for a second longer than what was appropriate, debating whether or not to grab him by the collar and... but alas, I had sobered up too much and there was a group of revelers approaching the cab.
“Good-bye,” I said regretfully. I wriggled out to join Tito on the sidewalk and we waved as the cab pulled away.
“What a night,” I sighed. Tito agreed.
But apparently, he didn’t feel it was over yet.
“Can I come in for a glass of water?” He asked.
“Sure,” I said, ever-accommodating. Before I knew it he was sitting on the couch with his glass, and motioning for me to join him.
“Uh oh," I thought. Why couldn't he be just a little more pirate-y?
“I don’t want to wake the senora!” I whispered, putting a finger to my lips. “She’s a very light sleeper!”
He frowned, un-convinced.
“And she prowls the house late at night sometimes!” I added, shuttling him to the door.
“Really, it’s better if you go.”
He tried to stick his head back in the doorway to protest but I was already putting the lock in place.
“Thank you so much for all your help tonight!” I whispered. And slammed the door.
Thank God for Chiqui.
I thought as I was crawling into bed about how he had been inordinately helpful, and had probably come far out of his way. Was I supposed to have been some sort of compensation? This is why I avoid men, I thought, and went to sleep.
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