On the Move

Dear Diary,

One quick post for the road: I think I overstayed my welcome here. Maybe it's time for a change of scenery. I'll write this quick and then I'm outta here.

Liam came back today. Was it this morning? I have no clue. I keep picturing the scene over and over.

He came into the ktichen and looked into the little room where Sven sleeps. Only I was there with him. Oh, and Pieter too. Three spent lovers exhausted on a pile. We looked like a baroque painting, three naked bodies in an erotic pose. I would call the painting: Passion Spent; or The Fall From Grace; or The Taking of the Maid. 

Anyway, I had felt myself starting to doze off. The apartment door opened and slammed shut. Liam said something in Dutch from the kitchen. None of us moved. I turned my head towards the light.
 

Liam stood in the doorway of the little room and looked in at the three of us for a moment. No expression on his face. Not a word. Nothing. He turned away. I heard the door open and slam so that the walls shook. 

 

“He’s looking for you,” Sven said.

“Oh fuck,” I said.

“I’m going back to bed,” Pieter said, crawled over the two of us and left. 

I sat up and looked at Sven. 

“Good night, Jess.” He rolled over on his side away from me.

I got up and walked up the back steps. I was sore now from all this fucking and sucking and rubbing. I opened the door to Liam’s room and turned on the light. He wasn’t there. I grabbed some of my clean clothes, went into the shower and came back to his room. He still wasn’t there. I tried to sleep but kept tossing and turning. I didn’t know if I should feel guilty or not. Some unspoken possession was going on here but I didn’t know if Liam’s attentions were enough to keep me here as an exclusive lover or not. He certainly did what he wanted to, coming and going, doing God-knows-what. 

I stayed in the room for much of the day. I had one bottle of wine left. I drank that during the day and found some old bread to eat. No one came. It was still cold in here. 

I pulled on my jeans and the sweater that I had worn on the trip here. On the table was the crumpled slip of paper with Gabi’s number on it. Oh shit! I was supposed to meet them for breakfast! What time was it? I switched on the computer. Shit. It was 7pm. 

A new e-mail from Randy was in my inbox:

Where are you? I’m here with your mother and we are going to bring you home. You have a family to take care of and it’s time you take responsibility for your actions. Your mother and your daughter need you. Stop acting like a child. You just have to respect my decisions. We’re all adult here. I’m going to find you.

I'm outta here.

Love, Jess 

Gabi

Dear Diary,

Have I already said that those boys can cook? Love, love, love.  

At our table, a pair sat down. They talked in English with very heavy German accents. The chattered away with each other in German and then they would remark to us in English. I ate in silence and only nodded my head politely, wolfing down the stew. I was absolutely famished. I hadn’t eaten in two days.

“This is our last night in Amsterdam,” the woman said. “We’ve been here the whole week.”

“And is it cold here,” the man said. “A damp cold. Not nice.”

Sven nodded. I did too.

“The sun was shining in the morning when we ate our breakfast. But the fog came back,” she said.

“Germans like to talk about the weather,” Sven said.

I finished eating and got up and went to the WC to wash my hands and face. I felt such a warm content and thought about going back to sleep for a few hours. I was just drying off my hands when the German woman came into the tiny room, with one toilet stall and a tiny basin stuffed into about two square meters of space. We stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the little basin and spoke to each other in the mirror.

“Are you just visiting? Or do you live here? You’re American, aren’t you?” 

“I’m just visiting for a few days,” I said. “I’d like to see more of Europe.”

  

My answer baffled even my muddled head. See more of Europe? Any ambition I felt had dissipated in smoke. I was truthfully planning to stay on here until Liam or his brothers physically threw me out.

“Well, if you’re looking for someplace to stay in Germany, here’s my number. We live in Nuremberg. Beautiful old town.”

I looked at the slip of paper. She had scribbled Gabi and a telephone number in red ink. I stuffed the paper in my pocket. These invitations never amounted to anything, empty holiday encounters. She washed her hands, checked her look in the mirror and reached across me for the towel. Her arm brushed against my arm and my breast that hung free underneath Liam’s t-shirt. My nipple stood up and a chill went up my spine.

We stopped and looked at each other in the mirror. My hair was clean but hung limp on my shoulders. Dark rings circled my eyes like I spent all my time in the dark. Gabi, on the other hand, seemed fresh and healthy. She wore her hair short, very artificially red. Black rimmed glasses shielded her face from the world. 

She looked up into my face then reached behind my back and locked the door. She took her glasses off and set them on the basin. I saw her eyes were a brilliant blue. Her hand was cold against my cheek and she pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes much like a mother would to a tired child.

“Is everything ok with you?” she said.

I felt a dam of tears behind my eyes. I nodded that, yes, I was fine. I think I even mouthed the words. I was fine. Everything was ok. She smiled, put her hand behind my head and pulled me in for a kiss. A long, soft, emotional kiss like I had never had from a man. An understanding, a real confession of passion, a sensual and considerate exchange.

“Do you need to talk?” she said.

I shook my head no, reached up and stroked her hand that still cupped my one ear. 

“You can come with the two of us tonight, if you would like.”

I looked down at my feet.

“Would you like to meet for breakfast tomorrow? We aren’t leaving until later in the afternoon.” 

I nodded yes.

“I better get back. Otherwise I’ll get a spanking if he finds out I’ve cornered you in the WC.”

She unlocked the door, pulled it open and went back into the guest room. Her husband’s voice rose as she turned the corner and entered the room. I used this escape and took the back steps two at a time up to Liam’s room. The room was dark and cold. Either the twins hadn’t turned the heating on or it was broken. I switched on the computer and logged into my e-mail.

The fat black letters announced an unread e-mail from Randy, subject none. I clicked on it and prepared myself for an angry attack. No greeting, no signature. Only these words:

We’re in Amsterdam. There is no such coffee shop called Fortuna. Where the fuck are you? 

Love, Jess

 

I am so cold

Dear Diary,

Would someone please turn on the heat? They told me they would, but it is taking ages to warm up here. I just can't size the two of them up. 

There I was, naked, no clothes, no passport, freezing cold. I had no recollection of having sex but the tell-tale sticky wetness between my legs was a dead giveaway. 

I got up, rummaged through Liam’s chest of drawers until I found some stretchy cotton sport pants, a t-shirt and a sweat shirt and I headed for the shower. I locked the shower door and heard a few pairs of heavy footsteps coming up the steps. The shower squealed as I turned the tap on and hot water stung against my cold legs. 

I quickly went back into Liam's room and locked the door here as well. The towel smelled like a mixture of bleach and damp as I toweled my hair. A knock sounded at the door. It was both Sven and Pieter. I backed up without a word and let them enter.

“It’s very cold in here. Could someone turn on the heat?” I said.

“Liam didn’t pay his heating bill this month,” Pieter said. He was a tick taller than Sven and seemed to be the boss. “That’s why he’s out working. His tastes are too expensive.”

“I thought he worked here,” I said.

“Yes, he does, but he has other work, too.”

“When is he coming back?” I said.

“Not for another week, I assume,” Pieter said. “He’s on holiday with a rich widow.”

Sven laughed when he saw my eyebrows shoot up.

“What did he tell you he did?” Pieter said.

I looked away. He never told me anything about himself.

Sven laughed again, “They only have sex,” he said. “They don’t talk.” 

“Come downstairs with us. We’ve made a lot of stew. Fresh bread. Come have something to eat.”

I crossed the room and rummaged through one of the drawers until I found socks.

“Where are my things?” I said to Sven. “Everything is gone.”

“What, your clothes?" Pieter said. "Liam gave them to our neighbor to be washed. Seems he’s quite smitten with his new pet.”  

Sven laughed again. It's still ringing in my ears. Half sinister, half childish, completely intriguing. 

Love, Jess

 

Lost

Dear Diary,

I woke up this afternoon and realized I have lost two days in here somewhere. It was after I met Liam's twin brothers. I'd say they're about ten years older than Liam, so that makes them about five years younger than me. The one brother gave me a pipe full of something to smoke and all I remember is, well, not too much. Everything was great. I kept hearing some woman singing that song 'Beggin.' That's a song from Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. My mom used to listen to them.

But now, I'm here on the sofa, typing away. The place has been cleared up some, but all my stuff is gone. My clothes and the clothes I borrowed from Liam. I have literally nothing to put on. When I finish this, I think I'll have a look through his chest of drawers. It's friggin cold in here. And my backpack is gone. My passport is in that backpack.  

Love, Jess

This Is Your Fault, Randy

Dear Diary,

I am no longer a vegetarian. I haven't eaten meat for close to ten years. That’s another part of my old self that I have abandoned. My new diet consists of red wine and hamburgers from Amsterdam. They are the best I have ever tasted. 

Randy is pouring on the guilt. How could I leave home two weeks before Christmas? How was this going to make him look? What was I doing? I was going to ruin my life. I answered his e-mail with four words:

My Life Is Ruined.

Then I added another twist of lemon:

This Is Your Fault, Randy.

Love, Jess

An Observation

Dear Diary,

Liam pointed a few things out to me today. For one, he said, those periods of unconsciousness that I slip into when he goes out are called sleep. Another thing, he said, that, although it is not that healthy, consuming nuts, bread and red wine is considered eating. And I have not lost five pounds. He would have complained. He said I could easily gain five pounds if it was up to him.

And, he said, I could probably love this city if I would go somewhere besides up the Prins Hendrickkade to that little shop that sells wine and back into his bedroom. 

It’s too cold to go out. The wind whips the snow horizontally and my view of the city is reduced to what I see through the folds of my coat collar. The trees outside sway as I sit in the warmth, sipping at a glass of wine. I light a cigarette. He takes the cigarette from me and stubs it out. He draws on his hand-rolled cigarette and sets it in the ashtray. Firmly planting his lips over mine, he shares his smoke with me. I pull him in close and kiss him back. He pulls away and unbuttons the top button on the khaki-green shirt I have borrowed from him. My skin shivers as he presses his warm lips to my bare chest. He undoes another button. And another. 

He leans back, grabs his joint and takes a deep drag. I ask him why he lets me stay here. He says I’m good company.

Love, Jess

Liam

Dear Diary,

Two weeks before Christmas and here I am in Amsterdam with a young man named Liam, crashing in a room above a coffee shop called Fortuna. I must have lost five pounds. I don’t sleep, I don’t eat.

Randy has finally written me an e-mail. He wants to know where I am. I told him he could read all about it when it comes out in paperback. I’m not answering any questions. Let him explain to the family where I am and why I’m gone.

I could love this city if it wasn’t for the bitter cold coming in of the IJ bay. Or the lake. Whatever it is. I am exhausted-- jetlagged, I think--but still? After a week? In spite of that my senses are sharp, I am processing every detail of my surroundings: the drip, drip, drip of a faucet I can’t see. Shouts that I hear from the street below. The red and green paisley print scarf hanging in front of a book case. One flame dancing in an unseen draft. A spicy scent with a hint of cigarettes and orange that can only be coming from the young man that just sat down next to me.

Love, Jess