An Affair Abroad Read online

  “We want you to be happy,” said Isla, “Forget about that lame prick, and move on with your life. It’s been what three years?”

  “Five,” I mumbled.

  Taylor could tell from the sour look I gave her, I was pissed she brought Dylan up. She sat quietly, while everyone else piled on with their thoughts about what I should do. Casually she interrupted, “I think breaking up with Evan was the right thing to do. If a guy isn’t satisfying you in the bedroom, you will not take him seriously. I know I wouldn’t. And look at you. Stunning and miserable. If he doesn’t make you happy after doing all the things you ask of him, then he isn’t the one. You want magic. And fire. And passion. I get it.”

  “Well you just answered my questions about your sex life,” joked Shannon.

  Taylor scolded Shannon for prying yet again, while I fought the urge to remain upset with the one person now showing me support. I was missing everything she mentioned. I was bored and unhappy with Evan. I wanted what I had with Dylan, before his true colors were revealed, and what she had with Levi.

  Dylan’s whip appeal kept me thinking about him all of the time. My phone was glued to my hand, making sure I didn’t miss his call. I yearned for his touch in the middle of the day. Snuck home during lunch for quickies. Everything Taylor said was true. When a man isn’t doing his job in the bedroom, he doesn’t cross your mind, or give you the shivers when you least expect it. I never looked for Evan’s call, or yearned for his touch. I tolerated him because he was nice, and I suffered from the responsibility to be polite. To be a kind woman.

  Sex shouldn’t be a deal breaker, but it was a deal breaker. After nearly six months, I had given my best to a dreamy guy, waiting for something to kick in. Shannon joked, “Dylan really dicmatized you.” She was correct. I have been comparing every man I date to him.

  At some point, I joined the club of women who had a hard time getting over a man not worth my tears, time, and energy. The worst men always handled their business in the sack, and are the hardest to move on from. Old women speak truth when they say, you have to lie under a new one to get over an old one, but that statement needs some amending. You have to lie under a better one in my opinion.

  “Let us set you up with someone,” Khai suggested.

  “I’m not donating my reserve dick,” said Shannon.

  “Wait, what?” I asked, “I don’t want any of your hand me downs. I can find a man on my own thank you.”

  “It’s not about finding a man. It’s about getting you laid with some good D so you can move on with your life. I knew a guy so hung he gave me a bladder infection. You might be able to handle him. I sure couldn’t,” said Khai.

  “Thanks, but no thanks to the Emergency Room dick. I’ll pass.”

  We burst with laughter. Isla stood at the table and made a toast to finding me a thoroughbred in the sack. They all raised their glasses, “To finding Nadia a thoroughbred in the sack!” Glasses clinked amongst them, as I held my head low in humiliation.

  Taylor diverted the attention back to her with news about our upcoming seven-day wedding getaway. She discussed the details and itinerary of our trip to London in a week. Khai lit up at the mention of the words getaway and week, expressing she was overdue for a break, and in desperate need of some girl time. Taylor made the trip sound surreal, constantly repeating, “We are going to live like The Royals, or at least close to it.”

  Her soon to be husband rented buses, and a private chauffeur during our stay, along with scoring us access to clubs, and passes for a major festival happening on the weekend. She made it sound as if we were going to party like rock stars, which was up her alley.

  Taylor devoted the past year to plan her extravagant affair: scheduled family activities to occupy us during the week, designated days for rest—which we were going to need after wine tasting, game day, and a two-hour train ride to Paris.

  I had been eyeing flights to Ibiza, Spain from London, and asked if any time would be permitted to do something of our own choosing. “I want to see the big magnetic rock, Es Vedra. It’s supposed to have healing powers,” I said. Taylor shut down the notion of us not obeying her every command, for her wedding, and quickly dismissed my query, “We have a jam-packed week. Maybe next time.”

  She continued with her speech, killing the mood and our buzz with the nonstop details. Finally, Shannon saved us with her usual antics. She interrupted Taylor and asked, “Are we going shopping, and what kind of men do they have to offer over there?” Isla was now tipsy, slurring in her words, and added, “I heard a rumor the men in London are the world’s worst lovers.”

  “I guess we’ll find out won’t we Isla,” said Shannon giving Isla a high-five.

  Their shenanigans returned the liveliness back into the room, and we sipped a few more rounds, listening to Isla and Shannon match each other wit for wit. An oldie but goodie came on the radio, and we sang along and grooved in the open area by the table, dancing our drunken heads to the tunes, until Levi returned to shuttle us home.

  Chapter Two

  London

  Visiting a different continent, and country, could now be checked off my bucket list. The anticipated destination wedding weekend was upon us, and thanks to Khai upgrading my seats to first class, the long flight went smoothly.

  By early evening, all of the bridal party assembled in Taylor’s suite, to check in and receive our orders. Wired with excitement, even though we were on a tightly run ship, we tended to the list of duties given to us. While welcoming the guests at the reception in the hotel lounge, the girls and I scoped the premise for possible prospects. Levi’s family provided certifiable eye candy, as well as a few of the hotel staff.

  The start to our getaway seemed promising. After exchanging pleasantries with both families, Isla took it upon herself to ask the concierge of the Friday night happenings. According to the itinerary, we were scheduled to go clubbing Sunday night, but we were too excited to spend our first night in Europe stuck at the hotel. Secretly huddled in the lobby, Isla whipped out a list of events to check out nearby. It was settled. We were going out on the town. Now, we had to break it to Taylor.

  She wasn’t thrilled with our plan, especially since she was unable to join us. Veering from her itinerary, wasn’t how she imagined the start of the weekend, but she graciously gave us access to the limousine for the night. After a quick change into skimpy outfits, the fab five minus 1 made its first stop. A few blocks away from the hotel, a nearby pub stood on the corner. The girls and I looked at each other confused. Surely, the concierge didn’t think we would have a good time, at a place playing music we didn’t know how to label. The place was practically empty, and the scene was trite. Without mumbling a sound between us, we backtracked back into the limo, fearing the night was going to be a bust.

  Isla asked the driver, Tony, if he was familiar with any of the places on the concierge’s list. He scoffed multiple times as his eyes read from top to bottom. He then asked if she wanted to hear the truth. Isla nodded yes. He confidently stated, we wouldn’t enjoy any of the places on the list. “These are the safe tourist attractions,” he said, “A group of young ladies like yourself would enjoy the clubs the locals go to.”

  We pretended to have a private sidebar conversation about what we should do, but Tony could hear us. “I say we stick to the list. I’m not trying to be a human trafficking victim,” said Khai.

  “Who would buy and sell you Khai,” Isla joked.

  Khai nudged her then added, “We are not home. We can’t trust anyone. Not even Tony here, no offense,” she motioned.

  “Taylor said he is bonded and will be with us all week, so I’m guessing we can trust him,” Shannon added.

  Khai asked Tony a serious round of questions, typed out his full name and license number in an email to her sister, and made him swear he would do as we commanded. “I will take good care of your party. Would it be of interest to you, if I drove by the hot spots not mentioned on the list?�
�� Tony asked. The four of us agreed with a simple nod. “And Tony sir, I am live streaming this outing, so our whereabouts will be public,” Khai announced.

  “Sounds good Madame.”

  The line in the car rang loudly enough for us to hear in the rear. Tony called a friend by the name of Prano, who had connections with nighttime entertainment. He explained our dilemma to the high-pitched voice on the line. We struggled to understand what was being said between them, due to their heavy accents and broken British lingo, which sounded alike yet different somehow. The background of his whereabouts sounded like the place we needed to be. We gave him the okay and arrived at Tower Nightclub, placed in the middle of a block, with a heavy line of people waiting behind a velvet rope.

  Tony drove us directly in front of the entrance, and thanks to his contact, we bypassed the line to go inside. “No woman left behind,” Khai reminded us as we entered. The place was leveled with people of all colors, and the music was blasting techno rave tunes. The music scene was different than in the states. The hot songs were blends, mixed over a faster house music sound, which was popular in the U.K, thumping with heavy bass lines and noisy effects.

  We settled at our table sharing appetizers and cocktails, when the music transitioned to classic reggae dancehall, my favorite genre. Off I went to the middle of the dancefloor to show off my moves.

  I had to create my own space on the floor. Once I let loose, the crowd surrounded me as I threw my cilantro colored fringe dress and hair around. Heavy into the moment, and feeling alive for the first time in a while, I danced as if I knew a crowd was watching. A spotlight appeared above me, singling me out in front of everyone.

  The crowd surrounding me clapped and cheered me on, fueling my ego to carry on the way I did at frat parties back in college. I fed into the way they were receiving me—until another dancer came from the darkness, and made his way into my light.

  He circled me before engaging, and when the beat dropped he began thrusting and winding on me from the rear. I felt his bulge against my back, so I turned to get a good look at him. He wasn’t the most attractive man, nor was he my type, but I couldn’t deny he had rhythm.

  I paused and watched him with my hands placed up on my hips, doing moves I couldn’t dream of in an acrobatic fashion. He taunted me to battle him, and instead of gracefully giving him his respect, I waited for his moment to end, then joined him once the bass kicked. I circled him, throwing my flimsy strands everywhere, and challenged him as if he were an old companion.

  He too responded to my invitation as if we knew one another, and went back and forth creating a frenzy in the crowd. I let him get the best of me until it was quitting time, then I surprised him with a slowly risen high kick, and held it in place for a few seconds. While holding my balance, I tossed my hair and pretended to file my nails, causing the crowd to go wild. My consort bowed down to me, and I in return curtsied him. Together we bowed to the crowd as they applauded us, then shook hands followed by a friendly hug, whispering compliments to one another.

  I strutted back to my table for some much-needed rest, but before I could sit, I was asked to join Isla in the ladies’ room. We snaked our way through the crowd when I noticed a short, latte colored guy appeared to be following us. I freshened up in the mirror while Isla used the loo, debating if I wanted to worry her about the suspicious man.

  Upon our exit, the guy in question stood with his back against the wall near the men’s pisser. I grew nervous. He stepped forward, “Pardon me, I’m friends with Tony, the chauffeur who brought you here. Hayden’s my name but people call me Prano.”

  Immediately I recognized the high-pitched tone. “Nice to meet you Prano. I’m Nadia, and this is Isla.” I imagined him as a tall, slim, fair-skinned figure from his voice on the phone. It didn’t match the person I created in my head at all, but he was still cute enough. His eyes bounced between Isla and I, and he smiled on the side of his mouth. He was just as nervous to meet us as we were him.

  “Thanks for letting us come in tonight,” said Isla.

  “It was no problem at all. Really. Lovely meeting you both. I planned on coming over to your table and introducing myself, and a few of my associates here tonight. But before I could do so, the Deejay wanted me to find you,” Prano pointed at me. “He wants to thank you personally for putting on a show out there. You have some really nice moves.”

  I blushed like an idiot. My cheeks were so full, they nearly burst. It was as if I had never received a compliment before. “Thank you. If he really sent you out of your way, I guess we can go say hi.” I looked to Isla for confirmation it was okay with her. “If you wouldn’t mind following me, I’ll take you to the stage,” Prano led with a step.

  “I guess it’s okay,” Isla shrugged her shoulders. “If he is fine, I call dibs.”

  ‘Dibs on a man.’

  “Isla, please. I’m not going there with you tonight. Besides, he asked to meet me.”

  The side of the stage was guarded by a hefty security team, sectioned off by a velvet rope. Limited seating was available, so we stood and waited, too long for Isla’s taste. Song after song blasted from the nearby speakers, still no sign of this deejay who wanted to show his gratitude. Isla grew impatient and asked Prano to escort us back to our table, without asking if I was ready to bail. “You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” I said. Her face grimaced, “We travel in pairs. Always.”

  I convinced her to give the guy a few more minutes, as a line dance song came on. Prano assured us his friend would join us in a few minutes, claiming to know the playlist. Rudely, Isla suggested, “Can you light a fire under him,” and he climbed the stairs to the dimly lit booth, signaling thumbs up from above.

  Moments later, the music changed and Prano returned with an average height, slightly tanned white boy behind him. He was medium-build, with curly brown hair cut low on the sides and nape of his neck, thick eyebrows, hooded light brown eyes, and a square jaw outlined from a five o’clock shadow. Wearing a crisp white fitted t-shirt, and white jeans tailored to hang correctly around his waist, it was hard to not stare at him.

  “Ladies this is Mash. Mash this is Nadia, the lady you asked to meet, and her friend Isla,” said Prano, smiling at Isla.

  “Nice to meet you ladies, especially you, the dancing queen,” he said, kissing the back of my hand.

  I blushed. Unable to speak as the gorgeous specimen eyed me from head to toe. When the cat finally let go of my tongue, I flirtatiously said to him, “Dancing Queen. Stop. I was just enjoying the music.”

  “Ah, an American. You surprise me yet again.”

  “I know we don’t sound sophisticated like you Brits. You’re easy to understand by the way. I was having trouble earlier with your friend.”

  “I love your accent,” he said gazing into my eyes without blinking.

  I blushed again, looking at his full lips, then his eyes, then his lips once more. ‘They look tasty,’ I thought to myself, searching for the right words to say next. My accent was all over the place at times. I had my home voice, which was country twang, my work voice, which was considered proper, and my Geechee tongue, which I spoke with my grandmother. Sometimes I spoke all three without realizing it.

  Finally, I complimented him in return, “I love yours as well.”

  “Tonight, must be my lucky night. A great beauty gave me the boost I needed to get through this set. You see I just arrived back in town for a big event tomorrow, and I’m fatigued to say the least,” he confessed.

  “When Prano said your name, I thought I recognized it. We’re here for a destination wedding, and there is a big outdoor party we’re going to tomorrow. I remember reading your name on the flyer.”

  “Yeah, a few hours away in Glastonbury. I won’t rest until my set is over. As soon as I’m done here I’ll load up again, and hit the road. When is the wedding?” he asked looking at his watch.

  I felt I had bored him quickly, and didn’t want to humiliate m
yself further. “Next Sunday. Well, good luck tomorrow. It was nice meeting you,” I said salvaging my pride before being dismissed.

  “My apologies. I checked my watch to see how long I have before this song ends,” he explained.

  “I understand. I don’t want to keep you from working. We need to get going anyway, since we have an early morning.”

  “So, you’re here for a week?” he grinned and I nodded yes. “I hope this isn’t too forward, but if I give you my information, will you reach out to me. I’d really like to talk with you some more, maybe you could stop by my tent tomorrow. Check out my set? If it’s cool with you?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Here’s my card. All of my social media is listed, and this is my cell on the back. I really hope I hear from you Nadia.”

  I studied the card, thinking of the perfect response before walking away. ‘Talk to you soon. See you later. I’ll be sure to call.’ “You will,” I replied, lifting my head from studying his information, and surprisingly greeted with a kiss. We shared a smile from our faux pas moment, and for a few seconds locked eyes, until he recognized the song was about to end. “I was aiming for your forehead but you—I should apologize, but I’m not sorry,” he admitted.

  “It’s fine. Don’t miss your cue. I’ll be in touch,” I sauntered away slowly.