laughter and knives

“No, seriously, I’m tellin’ you, these girls will play with themselves, grab your balls,” Jimmy boasts.  “Shit if you pay’em enough they’ll fuck you right there man!”

This is the eighth time Jimmy has made this proclamation.  No one is really listening anymore because we are all too busy pounding down as many Pacificos as possible before we leave for the night’s fun.  The drinks are expensive at Fantasia, students in Mexico for four months have spent too much money on too much shit, so we are forced to search downtown Cuernavaca for beer specials each night.

I don’t mind, Los Arcos is great, in the zocalo of our city, tables and umbrellas cover a corner of the center, and the band is playing something by Luis Miguel.  Cortes overlooks the entire scene from his post at the east end of the mall.  And of course tonight is 4 for 1 beers, so our order of 8 beers covers our table with 32 bottles.  Really, I’m just happy to take a break from the techno music assaulting my senses at the over-priced discotheques these assholes insist we go to every fuckin’ night.  I’ve memorized the playlists, and I continue to go back each night thinking tonight will be the night they’ll play something by the Pixies.  But they don’t.  And I go. 

Tonight holds different expectations though.  While I’m not a connoisseur of the gentlemen’s club, I’ve had just enough experience with this thing to know that you watch a girl undress and if you like what you see, you open your wallet to get a closer look.  This is Mexico so I think the rules may allow for a little more room to maneuver as well, if I remember the Godfather II correctly? 

“Just tell me if we’re gonna get shived in the back while takin’ a piss?” I ask trying to be funny, but sounding a little racist.

“Ah, man, this place is cool,” Jimmy says.  “High class, we’ll be alright,”

The beers are emptied business-like, too soon after their arrival.  A couple of us take an extra step to get out of our chairs, Andrew grabs one of the metal chairs for support, which scratches the cement in response to the weight. 

But we are geady to ro, shit man, give me the keys, I’ll drive.   But the curb on Calle Hidalgo returns me to my current condition. 

Jimmy and Andrew are ahead arguing with the cabby about our fare, the only thing I can figure out is that the driver continues to say that Fantasia is a long drive, in a bad part of town.  I probably should be nervous, I guess that’s the real reason we drank so much so fast before leaving tonight.

The wrestling match over cab fare has ended without any bloodshed or fish hooks, and we are crisscrossing through downtown to the outskirts. I think we are headed east, maybe south.  Downtown is quickly a memory, and Jimmy pulls out a joint he rolled back in his room.  I stare at it in between my fingers and take a long drag liked I used to and let the smoke escape slowly from my mouth.  So now I am pretty drunk and really stoned and going to a strip club in Mexico and this is only my fourth month ever speaking the language and a thousand other potentials I can’t think about or foresee.   I’m not gonna be a pussy though, that’s for sure.  They say puta gringos, I say fuck’em. 

My most pressing concern is the fact that Alejandro is tossing me around in this backseat with a stomach full of beer and some guacamole, which is coming up if I don’t get out of this car.   And Jimmy is laughing and finishing off the joint and talking about getting a senorita to sit on his face.  Andrew has been cold cocked by the weed, I think he’s asleep against the window, he might be prayin’, there are several beads of sweat running from his left temple when we stop at a light.

Not quite like Vegas, but the neon sign for Fantasia lights up the street as we round another corner and the cab comes to a stop outside the gate guarded by two extras from that movie about mobsters.  Greetings are exchanged, and the gate opens and we drive in.  This doesn’t look so bad, a couple of nice cars parked in the lot and some fresh paint on the walls, no pools of blood on the ground, we might be alright.  We single file past the door man and walk into someone’s fantasy.  I keep my eyes on the head in front of me as I assume someone knows where they are going, and we walk, 4 gringos, walk around the ring, we catch a few stares, and we walk.  Finally another extra points us to our table, next to the center dance floor. 

Now I can take in these surroundings, and the eyes on me.  The maroon curtain from my high school’s theater drapes the outer wall.  The lights are dim, candles remain unlit, none of the ceiling fans move. We are the only white faces in the place.  More beer is ordered, and the DJ plays a salsa song.  Old men and pretty, young, barely dressed girls slow dance in the center.  And we watch, and another song comes on as more couples enter the floor.  This is it.  This is what that dumbass has been talking about for the last week.  And I laugh, uncontrollably, were watching old men dance.  I look at Jimmy shaking my head as my eyes water over.

“Seriously fellas, these girls were raw when I was here last, titties and pussy, all over the dance floor,” Jimmy proclaims as he tries to prove his innocence. 

Fortunately we are all under some kind of influence so no one cares, and we watch for an hour as old men dance with young girls.

“This is bullshit, complete fuckin’ shit, man,” Jimmy says periodically.

And I am still laughing and drinking and dancing with my own odd visions, not sure if it is real or compliments of the weed.  It’s so fuckin’ hot in here.  And I think we’ve lost our attraction to the regulars in this place.  The faces of my amigos continue to hurt my stomach, mouths open, heads shakin’, Andrew nodding off in his chair.  But then a tap on my shoulder brings me to attention.

A five foot dark hair, caramel skin beauty leans in and says something like “Tomar parte” with her hand extended.

“………,” nothing comes out of my cotton mouth.  And her head nods towards the dance floor.

My heavy legs break free and I move to the dance floor towed by her out to sea.  She laughs when we stand together on the dance floor, her head barely reaches my first rib.  And we dance, and she lies about being a student in Mexico City, and I don’t care, too busy trying to keep a beat and not bump one of the couples closing in around me.  Andrew has left his sleeping chair for sleeping against some breasts.   Jimmy appears too, and cocks his head to tell me that he told me so. 

We return to our table and the girls order drinks.  I break out my Spanish skills and amuse everyone at the table with how pathetic I am.  And so the night has gotten interesting.  Victoria leans over and kisses me, I taste powder on my lips.  And so the night continues with more drinks and more lies from all of us, and Jimmy and his girl go to the back room for awhile, and Victoria and I hold hands and kiss and she tells me she’d  like to see me again.

Jimmy returns to the table with a cocky smile bronzed to his face, and they continue to go at it with the table as support.  His hands are all over her, and I laugh at his insecurity.  But the laughing stops when a monster appears from behind and whispers into the girl’s ear sitting on Jimmy’ lap.  She shakes her head furiously and Jimmy’ smile just broke.  And the monster places his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and tells him to get his hands off the girl. 

“Gentlemen, we need to settle up your bill,” the suit said at my end out of nowhere. 

My eyes are focused on the monster, and Jimmy releases his grip on the girl, and Andrew stares at his eyelids.  But the girl grabs Jimmy’s cheeks and kisses him violently. 

“Senores, dinero, ahora!”

In one motion Jimmy and the girl are propped up onto their feet by the monster.  A man wearing a Bulls 23 jersey appears on my side.  Jesus, Michael Jordan’s gonna kick my ass in Mexico.  The girl is pushed aside, and Jimmy is grazed by the first punch, then the sound of shattering glass, and a second punch that flattens Jimmy.  Our table is up, ready for the slaughter.  I am done before anything starts, the blow to the back of my head fogs over the next twelve hours or so. 

I kind of remember someone standing over me asking to pay up, the monster dragging that girl away from the scene, Andrew going to a deeper state of sleep, and Jimmy braggin’ about getting laid through a bloodied mouth. 

Eventually this fog lifts when I wake up the next afternoon in my bed with some dried blood in my hair, dirty clothes, empty wallet and a matchbook with some girl named Nina’s phone number on it.  My head hurts and I wonder how bad off Jimmy is and if Andrew is still asleep. 

500 pesos, a lot of fun Mexico style.  And even though it hurts, I can’t help but laugh.   And wonder if that’s a knife scratch across my stomach.