[ Excerpt. ]
...The day was rather uneventful save for the somewhat final preparations for the International Festival I was hired to model in as well as perform a dance and song number from an African country of my choice. I'll be representing Nigeria in the fashion show, but I'll be representing Senegal (particularly Casamas) on stage when I dance and sing.
The night, however, held promise of something far more stimulating than joking with the maid and swatting angrily at mosquitoes.
Viktoria called, asking my mother and I to go clubbing with her; my mother declined, looking wearily at the pile of work that awaited her on the computer, but I readily accepted, eager to traipse about Port-au-Prince without the restraint of an armored vehicle and vigilant body guards toting shotguns I'd only seen in Call of Duty 4. I was wary at first, when she told me it was a bourgeios Haitian event held near the ambassador's grounds, and I was crestfallen thinking I wouldn't get to rub elbows with the locals as I'd wanted.
Well, I rubbed elbows, turned heads, and one man desperately begged to see me again if only to have "one more dance". I smiled nervously and replied in French that I was not that good a dancer. It was a little lie, but dancing with him one time with his erection against my leg was enough to convince me he wanted far more than "one more dance". Viktoria and I drank more rum than I myself could handle, and by my fifth glass of it, I was loose and ready to mingle. I spoke in German, French, and Creole that night, but mostly English as there were some agents from the UN present, one from NYC who took an unreasonably profound interest in my writing. He asked me all about the "Viperinae" project I was working on, as well as some of the other series I was spinning in my head.
Of course, he flirted, not knowing he was twice my senior, and that I was already spoken for. When he figured out my age, he was shocked (but undeterred), saying his son was older than I was, if only by a year. Ha. xD
Another drunk Haitian grabbed my arm, claiming he'd been watching me dance and that he would not leave until he'd had a chance to dance with me. Luckily, Bob Marley came on and saved me the embarrassment of trying to figure out if I should samba, salsa, or cha-cha. I fell into an easy rhythm, and luckily he was not trying to dance intimately with me as the other guy, so I was left to move at my own discretion...
...and received envious looks from the dates of the men who leered in my general direction. Of course, when I dance, I am oblivious, but when the music stopped I caught sight of one Puerto Rican woman seething in her chair. Well, her date wasn't that attractive, so she had nothing to worry about. Sadly, I got no pictures of myself in action, and the New York agent of the UN still insisted on flirting, asking me why I'd snapped a photo of my rumsauer.
I told it was because I was documenting my journeys abroad. Unlike agents in the UN, I don't get to break the borders of the US as often as they do, despite my being a diplomat. He nodded, saying he'd love to see me again sometime, and maybe see me Stateside. I told him it wasn't likely. I'm a recluse in the States, and if I do venture out, it is only because there is nothing for me to do indoors or in the immediate area. I was only recently bitten by the travel bug again, which is why I summarily decided to book a trip overseas to do whatever I damn well pleased. He laughed when I told him this, saying I was shy, which I am depending on the company I keep. If I wasn't spoken for, I may have been more...receptive to his invitation, because there has to be some perk for being tethered to a UN agent, right? Right. But I took another glass of rum (Viktoria generously put it all on her bar tab) and got drunk.
Somehow, I managed to walk a straight line to her car in 5.5" stiletto heels (another reason that men leered my way -- I was the tallest woman in the club), tumble into the passenger's seat, make it back home, and stumble two flights of stairs to my room and change for bed. I don't even remember closing my eyes because I was so drunk. But luckily, I'm not a vomitting-drunk. I am a sleepy drunk, and so I slept like a rock on the mountainside, full of rum, high spirits, and the promise of an even more exciting evening the next day.