Starting Again from Me
“Hey, that’s not fair… Come one, that’s really not fair – mine’s bigger than the others! “I protest, lifting my full to overflowing glass. I try to knock it back in one, but without success. I don’t think I have the necessary co-ordination to handle salt, lemon and tequila without risking drowning. It’s certainly more difficult than it looks in films, not to mention more disgusting. Okay, yes, I’ve never tried one before. And yes, I did have an adolescence, but it revolved more around Coke and potato chips than bottles of booze stolen from convenience stores, so I think it’s fairly understandable that I’ve just lost my game of shots by the side of the pool.
“Just give up. It’s over,” jokes Ian, staring at me with those bad-boy eyes of his.
“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t agree to that. I have to try it again!”
“No way, Ian’s right. You have to pay the price,” says Brandon, Dolce & Gabbana’s testimonial for Fashion Week. You can tell they’re both models by the way they tilt their heads when they walk. Have you noticed? It’s as though the world only makes sense for them if it’s viewed from the right angle. Three quarters to the right. They walk as though they’re in a daze, their thumbs between their lips with their eyes staring blankly into space. I imagine it must make them feel terribly sexy, but it just makes me want to laugh. I don’t want to hurt their feelings, though – they’re such sweethearts. And they promised to take at least a dozen compromising photos to pass around The Chronicle’s office tomorrow morning. I can’t imagine what will happen when they see me on the cover of next month’s Vogue. That’s the type of thing that puts the spring back in your step.
“No way, that is not happening,” I protest. “It’s because of this dumb stool. It keeps wobbling! No, we need to do it again, and this time, I’m going to say when we start!”
“Okay, okay,” says Ian, giving in and passing our empty shot glasses to the barman. “Another two.”
“No – another three,” interjects Brandon.
“You’re disqualified,” Ian reminds him.
“Like hell I am! Anyway, if she gets another chance, I’ve got every right to have another chance, too.”
“Sounds legit,” I joke, sitting between them. “We have to be fair. So? Are you ready?” I cheerfully bang my hands on the bar.
“Ready!” says Ian, handing out the shots.
“Down in one, though, otherwise it doesn’t count. The first two to finish go through to the next round,” says Brandon, running through the rules as he passes me a little plastic bowl. “Your salt, madam…”
“Why, thank you.”
“Cool – but if I win, I want a kiss,” whispers Ian, getting comfortable on his stool.
“You hear that, Brandon? Because if I win, you’re the one who has to give him the kiss.”
“Who? Get the hell out of here!”
“That’s not what you said last night,” teases Ian.
I burst out laughing and nearly spill my drink. “That’s enough! You’re conspiring to try and make me lose!” I say, and just as I finally find the courage to lick all that salt off my hand, my little boozy evening comes to an abrupt end.
“I’d say you’ve had more than enough to drink for one night,” snaps Dave, snatching the whole lot – salt, lime and shot glass – out of my hands. I don’t even know when he turned up or how long he’s been standing there watching me.
“Hey!” I say, without managing to stop him from giving everything back to the barman.
“Take it easy, dude,” says Ian, playing the peacemaker. “We’re just having a little fun.”
“Sure. And from this moment on, you can have a little fun on your own, because she’s coming with me,” snaps Dave, grabbing my wrist. He gives them a glare and then drags me off towards the swimming pool.
“And if I don’t want to go with you?” I say, trying to jerk my arm out of his grip, but he’s stronger than me, and I’m too drunk to stop him. “Dave, cut this out right now!”
“Listen, if Sam wants to stay, she’s staying,” says Brandon, blocking our way. He’s more or less as tall as Dave, but seems to know a bit more about how you handle a bar room brawl.
“Get out of my way or I’m calling security,” snaps Dave, seemingly unconcerned by his manner.
“No, man – you’re the one who needs to get out of the way,” responds Brandon, not backing off.
“Can I say something?” I cut in.
“No,” mutters Dave, and I decide that for the moment I’m going to do as he says. As soon as I can walk without falling over and we’re no longer in public, we will certainly be continuing the discussion.
“Sam, is this guy bothering you?” asks Ian, who also appears.
“No, it’s just the way he is.”
“Sam, I told you to shut up!” says Dave, giving me a very mean look.
“Dude, do you want to stop talking to the lady like that?” says Brandon, who looks like he can’t wait to give Dave a lesson. And I can’t say I blame him – I would too, if I could…
“Brandon, really,” I intervene before one of them does something stupid. “Really, it’s fine, I can…”
Dave’s voice, however, cuts me off, rendering any attempt to make excuses for him pointless.
“A shared view, but not one which anybody asked you to air,” he replies with his usual confidence. Unfortunately, that’s the way Dave is: arrogant and convinced that he is always right. “Now, if you gentlemen would be kind enough to let us pass, we will be on our way and we can all continue our evening in the way we see fit.”
“Did you hear that, Ian?” Brandon does not seem to want to back down and takes another step towards Dave. “I’m not going anywhere – let go of the girl’s arm and buzz off.” His voice has changed and his expression has grown dark and threatening.
“Look,” Dave says, who suddenly seems to lose his patience. “I’ve met plenty of tough guys pumped up with ecstasy just like you, so do us both a favour and get lost. I’m the deputy editor of The Chronicle, and in less than twenty minutes I can have all the freelance photographers on the west coast on your ass. So what do you say? Not a problem, right?”
An embarrassing silence falls.
“Woah, listen man…” stammers Ian, moving backwards and raising his hands.
Brandon backs off too. “It was just a drink, man. There’s no need to get…” he says, his confidence disappearing.
“No, I didn’t think so,” Dave says. “But I don’t want to keep you.”
“What… what does it mean? Dave, don’t you dare…” I say, trying to put a brake on his behaviour, but it’s too late. No one is going to dare talk to me after this for fear of running the risk of ending up being lambasted in the pages of The Chronicle. The two of them mumble some incoherent excuses and then disappear without raising a single finger in my defence. Real pals, the pair of them!
“Dave, what the hell has gotten into you?”
“Shut up!”
“Dave, will you cut this out?” I whisper while he drags me past the pool and towards the hotel lobby. “I don’t want to go.”
“You should have thought about that before.”
“That’s not up to you to decide!” I manage to break his grip and stop a few steps from the stairway which leads from the garden back to the hotel entrance. Dave stops too. He puts his hands in his pockets and slowly looks round at me.
We are in a darker part of the avenue, hidden from indiscreet eyes, away from the rest of the guests, the orchestra, waiters and champagne glasses. Apart from our own breathing, we can only hear the distant arrangements of the orchestra wafting over on the breeze and see the faint light that reaches us from the windows of the entrance.
Dave is absolutely enraged. But so am I. What does he want? What the hell does he want? What right has he to ruin my evening? And why should I go back to the room with him? Hmm… wasn’t he the one who said that he didn’t care?
“So are you going to tell me why the hell I should come back with you?”
“Because you’re drunk and you’re making a fool of yourself.”
“I’m not making a fool of myself, I’m just enjoying myself.”
“There is a clear line between enjoying yourself and behaving obscenely in a public place.”
“Behaving obscenely?” I snap. “Behaving obscenely?”
“Exactly. And there’s no point shouting, because that doesn’t make you right.”
“I was just drinking a tequila.”
“Nice try. Partially true, legally acceptable though questionable, but totally inadequate to get you off the hook. Because you were actually drinking a tequila, but it was your third, and as if that wasn’t enough, you were playing the fool with two strangers who were only interested in dragging you into a hotel room to do god knows what.”
“Ah! Now it’s all clear,” I conclude. “That’s the problem – that and only that. Me daring to rebel against the stupid labels that you and all the others like you have stuck on me. I can’t, I mustn’t, I don’t have the right to. All I’m supposed to do is listen to other people’s problems, sort out other people’s problems, step in for other people at work. Because other people can have a life, but not me. I’m only supposed to help you with your life!”
“I’m sure we can talk about this in the room. Now quit yelling and come inside.”
“No!” I shout, staying exactly where I am.
“I wasn’t asking you,” growls Dave, suddenly standing very close to me.
“Good, because I have no intention of doing as you say.”
“Sam, come inside.”
“No.”
“Sam, I said come inside.”
“And I said no.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“You promised you’d be understanding. We made a deal. You’d behave yourself for a few days without annoying me, without provoking me…”
“Dave, I’m not provoking you. If anyone is provoking anyone, it’s you who’s provoking me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you don’t like it, why don’t you go back to the room. I promise not to annoy you any more,” I continue, my hand on my heart. “Scout’s honour! Anyway, as far as you’re concerned, I’m harmless, right? But you’re not the only person in the world, you know? Out there, there are people who don’t think like you. People like Ian. Did you see how he looked at me? And the singer? And the barman? How about the barman, huh?”
“Sam, this isn’t funny,” he says.
“Do you think that it’s funny for me?” I say, heading off back to the pool. “Don’t wait up for me,” I murmur as I go. “I don’t know what time I’ll be back. I heard they were organising a dip in the pool after midnight and I don’t want to miss it. Bye, Dave!” I walk away, leaving him standing there, without caring what he wants and especially what he expects from me. I don’t know if it’s the tequila that’s loosened my tongue and given me the strength to speak up. Maybe it’s just tiredness. Or maybe it was Al. He gave me something I thought I’d never had: myself. And the best part is that I was right there. How the hell had I managed not to see myself?
I slip off one shoe and then the other and enjoy the feeling of the gravel, damp with the dew of the evening, under my feet.
“Sam, don’t force me to come after you.” But I can hardly hear him, even though he’s not far away. Because in reality he isn’t standing there by the entrance, he’s actually far, far away. Maybe on another planet. And I’m here, alone. Surrounded by all these stars.
“Have you seen how beautiful the sky is?” I close my eyes and fill my lungs with the night air. I’m wearing one of those things you wear in the evening – I have no idea what they’re called: trousers and a bustier that was so tight I was ashamed when I looked into the mirror. In the end I decided to put on a cardigan to hide my addiction to carbohydrates, and I’ve been trying not to think about it all night. Is all I need really a jumper, a cardigan or a fleece to stop everyone from discovering that I’m not actually a size twelve? I don’t know. Because if that were the case, I wouldn’t have spent all my life in perpetual conflict with myself. No, in reality, all that stuff I wrap myself up in is just an excuse – another way to say ‘Yes, I know I’m terrible – see?’ so they can’t say anything to me that I haven’t already said to myself. And so no, I rebel, I refuse, I take off my cardigan. No more baggy clothes. If they want to tell me that I’m not okay then they’re going to have to tell it to my face, because I’m increasingly less convinced that what really matters is just how well I can fit into an S. That’s too simple – all you have to do is stop eating and then we can all become magically special. Well to hell that, I’ve had enough of it!
“Would you mind telling me what you are doing?” Dave asks me as I undress. He walks over to me slowly and looks at me as if he doesn’t recognise me.
“This,” I answer, without looking at him, and I take my cardigan off and throw it away. It’s something I should have done a long time ago.
“Sam, have you seen yourself?” he says, going white and raising his eyes to the heavens. “I swear, I’m gonna kill her. I’m gonna kill her,” he repeats angrily, slapping his forehead.
“Yes, and isn’t it wonderful?” I ask, turning around with my arms held out. “You know, Dave, I’ve thought about it,” I say, lifting a finger. “And I think I’m going to take that dip in the pool.”
“Oh, no you’re not!” he says, interrupting my fantasies. And, after making sure there’s nobody around, he grabs me by the waist and throws me over his shoulder.
“Dave, what are you doing?”
“Have it your way.”