Table of Contents

1. Sunday – A walk in the park...................................................................................2

2. Tuesday – The Museum.......................................................................................10
3. Wednesday – The birthday dinner.......................................................................18
4. Thursday – Meeting your match..........................................................................26
5. The dream – Fear and loathing in Las Vegas.........................................................44
6. Friday – The hangover.........................................................................................59
7. Saturday – Trouble..............................................................................................69
8. Royal Fuck Up......................................................................................................82
9. Digging a hole......................................................................................................92

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1. Sunday – A walk in the park
Some days are better then others, for everybody, but ever since living together with
a woman, I find that it applies especially to couples. If you take two people with
different mood cycles, different expectations and perhaps even completely different
mindsets, it is logical that they cannot always go along with each other in the
smoothest possible sense. Yet, every time it got me thinking. What are we doing
here? Why are we making this happen? Do we both want this to happen, or is it just
something that we are used to? Something that has become such a normality, that
changing it would change the whole center of gravity, the paradigm of our lives?
These thoughts were not so much on my mind when I woke up that Sunday, feeling
refreshed and tired at the same time, the way only a person that has just woken up
could feel. My body felt rested but ached at the joints here and there, and my mind
was clear, except for the hint of morning fog rising up from the ground, like on a
heath after a clear night in the winter.
Sarah was yawning next to me, and even though that also differed from day to day,
on this particular Sunday she looked amazing to me in the few light beams that fell
through the curtains. She looked drowsy, her blond hair wrapped around her head
in all kinds of ways, her eyes half open, her lips curled up at the edges, and finally,
stretching herself out, getting ready to get up.
I got up myself, opened up the curtains and basked in the amount of sunshine falling
through my windows. Sarah put a hand in front of her eyes, but she did not say
anything. It indeed could be a good day.
She got up too, exposing her long slim body in the sunlight, making me wonder why
we had not bothered to make love. I felt some fire in my gut, looking at her like this,
as she stretched herself once more, organized her hair, and finally put on a t-shirt
and headed to the kitchen.
I found her there, staring out of the window, waiting for her coffee to be ready. I
hugged her from behind, putting my hand on her flat belly, which we were hoping
would cease to be flat soon.
“It’s a great morning,” she whispered, for no apparent reason, “let’s head to the park,
enjoy some sunshine, and walk around…”
I yawned, mildly irritated by the fact that she was already planning things on such a
beautiful, easygoing day – but this was her way, getting her way, and why shouldn’t
we go to the park?
Sarah poured both of us a cup of coffee while I put two chairs on the balcony. If we
were going to enjoy the sunshine, why not start from the getgo?
“Yeah sure,” I replied, “the weather indeed looks nice.”
She frowned as she saw me busy on the balcony. “Can’t we sit inside?” She asked.
I had expected this, so I was not fazed. I knew where she was coming from.
“We can, but as you say, it is a beautiful day. Why not sit outside a bit before we go
outside?”
“Getting your revenge early today eh,” she replied, smiling though, holding the two
steaming mugs in her hand. Each mug had a sheep drawn on it, standing in hilly

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grassland. The way she was holding them, made the sheep look at each other,
sheepishly, of course, which had been the joke when we bought them during a trip
to Dublin. This morning it made me laugh again.
“We are like those sheep,” I joked, “staring at each other without a clue.”
A grin formed. “Alright, I will sit on your darned balcony, just let me dress then.”
“Thank you.”
She came back wearing grey jogging pants under the wide pink Snoopy t-shirt she
had been wearing when she got up. She also brought a blanket.
“Looking hot,” I told her sarcastically.
Sarah ignored me as she walked by me and dropped in one of the orange camping
chairs I had placed on the balcony, wrapping herself in the blanket, and shivering as
she tried to move into the sunshine.
“Ah, beautiful weather,” I sighed as I also dropped into one of the chairs.
We sat there for three minutes when she got up. “Okay, you win – its freaking
freezing. Let’s sit inside.”
Why was it necessary to have these little battles? What makes that marriage turns
into that type of trench warfare, in which every won centimeter feels like a great
victory? Whilst I did not, and still don’t, know the answer to this question, I followed
Sarah with the greatest of grins.
“Oh you are proud of yourself now aren’t you?” Sarah half-asked me, waiting for me
in the kitchen, still holding that stupid sheep mug, while the steam of the hot coffee
was causing some damp to form on her glasses.
“Just proud and happy to be here my dear.” I finished my coffee and filled the mug
again.
“You better be.”
“Are we eating breakfast?”
“We can. What do you feel like?”
“I feel like fruits… but we don’t have them anymore.”
“Ah.”
“Yes. Ah.”
“You don’t have a solution for this?”
“As a matter of fact I do.”
“Great.”
“So, if you’ll just run to the supermarket, I will make us some more coffee. How
about that?”
“And the park? Are we still going?”
“We could also go shopping.”
“Okay, park it is.”

In the morning light Sarah always looked like the all American girl – the cheerleader
in her underwear. She wasn’t quite though. She was born out of a strong, liberal San
Francisco family, in which her father had stayed home to take care of the children,
while her mother made a fortune – first setting up her own shop with organic soaps
and perfumes, and letter branching out and building a franchise.
This had given Sarah a huge role model to look up to, and it influenced her a great
deal. When she was young, Sarah’s mother had always told her that in order to

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succeed as a woman, you have to work twice as hard as men, even if you are twice as
good as they are to begin with.
It reminded me of how we used to sleep together in her dorm room, after we had
met each other at the UCLA, during an exchange program. But not before I had
promised to stay with her – not before I guaranteed this was more then a one-night
stand. The dorm room, not much bigger then our entire current bedroom, contained
two single person beds, two desks, and a lot of clothes lying around everywhere. On
the nights that her roommate would certainly not come home, we would share her
single bed together, sleeping so close to each other as you can only do when you
have just fallen in love.
We had met during an exchange program that I had followed at her university in the
States. Six months of drinking, sex and a little bit of higher learning. It was the time
of my life. About halfway through this tour of debauchery I met Sarah. The first time
I saw her, it seemed to me like she was beamed in from another world, walking into
the classroom mostly ignoring all other students, apparently having no care in the
world. The rest of the students, including myself, were either hunger over planning
to get drunk within the next hours.
To say that the interest in the course being given was low would be an
understatement. I don’t remember exactly which one it was, but I assume it was a
fascinating subject such as ‘the history of banking,’ or ‘strategic accounting’, taught
by the same type of teacher time and time again. They were short, either balding or
very gray or the bold ones sported a beard. Especially the gray ones tended to do
that, trying hard to look like Ben Bernanke while they were writing textbooks in
their free evenings. Traditional corduroy dinner jackets with arm patches were no
exception either, with the rare experimentalist who’d wear a Ralph Lauren sweater.
And amidst all that disinterest and apathy, Sarah walked in. She was tall, at least for
an American, standing at around 1.75m, and her posture was that of a soldier –
almost straighter then straight. There was no slouching, no swagger in her walk; no
posing with her backpack slung over one shoulder. The way she walked in was
almost in a soldierly – straight, to the point, without any show. She wore glasses
with a small, black frame, which made her look a bit strict, and her long, beautiful
hair was bound to the back of her head.
The other students paid her no heed. She was unassuming; she did not stand out –
not to us at least. The lecturer greeted her with adoration, shaking her hand and
showing her a seat in the front of the class. In my boredom I watched her give the
professor a smile, showing a set of white teeth and little dimples on her cheeks, and
something, somewhere in me woke up. There was the first hint, that this would be
the woman that I’d fall in love with. The smile was innocent, happy really. The smile
of somebody not bothered with the hopeless struggle of sex, love and popularity in
which nearly everybody else was drowning.
I looked at her for one second, then another one, seconds that passed slowly as I
observed her smile, the hand she gave the professor, the strict walk to the chair, the
disdainful look at us, ‘the others’ as she would later name them. I was still looking at
her when she noticed me, and gave me a less then grateful look back. It was as if she
was telling me to drop dead or stop looking, ice beaming from her blue eyes as she
turned again in order to sit down. The pinch in my heart was growing at that time –

4
this was not a look from a girl that looked at you and graded you on a scale from
nerd to quarterback. This girl graded you on whether you were a human being,
which was not ashamed to show intelligence.
Among all the students there, the short guys, the slim girls, the fat people, the
beautiful ones, the ugly ones, the popular kids, the losers, the nerds, the jocks, the
cheerleaders, and everybody else, there was not one person that I had seen who was
so at ease with herself. There was no pretense – she had nothing to prove, nobody to
impress except for her teachers. Her eyes, her smile, they were peaceful, focusing on
the course materials, the exams.
I wanted to impress this girl; she seemed to me to be a challenge – and not in the
Charlotte Simmons way. There would be no satisfaction in just letting her giving it
up at a party. What I wanted was her respect. I almost felt insulted by her glare, the
ice that she radiated. Who did she think I was, looking at me like this? I wanted, no, I
had to show her that there was a middle way. I would teach her that having fun and
being smart could work, and that I was the embodiment of that combination, and
from these lessons a new her would be sparked – beautiful and smart. She was my
diamond in the rough, this sparkle that I had seen when she smiled at the professor,
that was the hint that there was gold to be found in that riverbank, and I would be
the one to find it. She would walk on my arm, and people would turn, whisper, who
this great girl was.
Because of my dreaming I had not realized the class started, and worse, that the
professor was addressing me.
“Richard, can you hear me?” He asked me.
I flushed in the giggles and laughs of the classmates behind me. Most wondrously,
Sarah was staring at me, now with a look of mild curiosity gently hiding behind the
ice.
“Yes sir,” I replied, a bit shocked. “Loud and clear.”
“Okay good. I was just telling that for the project, I’d like you, as our exchange
student this semester, to work together with Sarah. She is our best student, and I am
hoping you two can challenge each other.”
One glance at Sarah told me that she absolutely disagreed with him, but given the
choice between me and the known evil that were the other students, she seemed
happy enough to give it a shot.
“That sounds great,” I mumbled, feeling like I had to say at least something, and he
smiled gratefully.
Two hours later I was sitting across from her in the library. “Look,” she said, “I can
write the whole thing if you don’t feel like doing anything. I won’t tell anybody, and
you will get an A. What do you say?”
“Why would you say that?” I asked her.
She was taken aback. “Because I am assuming that you will not turn down a free
ride. And I don’t feel like letting you do the work, and then having to correct it
because you wrote it hungover with some girl still lying in your bed next to you.”
I wondered how it was possible she could say these things. “You are awfully direct.”
“Live with it.”
Silence ensued. She let it be for half a minute while she was playing with a pencil.
Then she decided that her time was up. “So, do we have a deal?” She got up,

5
expecting me to nod and walk off, but I was not going to let her have her way.
“Nope,” I just said, hanging back in my chair with a satisfied smirk. “We’ll do this
together. So sit down, and tell me what your plan on this is.”
She frowned. “Maybe you did not understand me,” she started, “you have not been
her so long, so perhaps your English is not so good yet, or maybe you are just deaf.
But I just offered you to do your project for you. You… don’t… have… to… do…”
“Yes I understand that. What do you take me for? Sit down, let’s talk plans.”
Reluctantly she sat down. Later we would recall this as my first victory in our
relationship with warm smiles, but then Sarah was everything but happy. She sighed
deep. “Why do you want to torture us both?” She tried again.
“Two reasons,” I said bluntly, “first of all I will not let you insult me like that. Second
of all… No, the second reason I will keep secret for now.”
Of course, the second reason was that I was already thinking about what would lay
below that cold exterior, what her body would look like without clothes, how she
would moan.
She did not appreciate that. “Why do you tell me there are two reasons, if you are
only going to tell me one?”
“Because I am stupid like that sometimes. But perhaps it is a good idea we get
introduced a bit better first?”

The park was beautiful in the autumn sun. There was hardly any wind, which made
it almost warm, and as we walked I felt some sweat accumulate under my armpits.
The leaves were turning brown at a frightening rate, and the wind of the past couple
of days had made that many of them were lying on the grass and on the pathways,
being thrown around by zealously running children whose parents were struggling
to keep an eye on them.
It was busy in the park, parents young and old were grateful for an opportunity to
get their children out of the house. The children reciprocated by making sure that
there would not be a drop of energy left by the time they would be going home. The
evening was promising to be a blessing for the parents.
Sarah could not help but let her eyes go from child to child, as I was observing young
mother after young mother, smiling at their tired but pretty faces with the audacity
of a man who is walking next to his wife. But for Sarah this was not just some fun to
be had, the children touched a part in her that I could not touch, that I would never
be able to reach, no matter how hard I worked – and I did – to melt the permafrost
of her soul. After all that I had done, there was only one weapon left – children. All of
her sisters were long married and had children in a whole range of ages, and the
mother in Sarah was screaming for attention.
And I was not a real problem in this, insofar that I was not scared by the thought of
children an sich. The thing I was afraid of was what would happen to Sarah once she
held our baby in her hands. Some part of me suspected she would grow horns and
pointy teeth, leaving our bed of love in the night to go hunting for blood for her
baby. But the more realistic part feared that after I had given her what she wanted,
she would not need me so much anymore. Sure, I get annoyed when she would
bother me during a football match, or whenever I was doing something intently and
she’d come up, but if there would be a child – would it stop? Would all the attention

6
that she desired from me, and that she gave me, all go to this creature?
It bothered me that in a way, the baby would take my place. What bothered me even
more was the intensity with which she wanted it, and how obsessively she was
preparing to be pregnant by working out, eating right and reading every book that
had been written about being pregnant since the Stone Age.
She was single minded to create this monster, and when it would be there it would
be hers – hers to mold and shape in her ideals, in her ways of thinking. In a couple of
years she and it would gang up on him, telling him what to do, what to think, what to
eat, what to drink – and so on.
In short, it frightened me.
“Oh look, he is so cute,” Sarah said in a high-pitched voice, “come to Sarah, yes
come.”
Excited, a toddler half walked to her, his hands raised, his baby white hair blowing
to all sides in a sudden gash of wind. His eyes were pure pleasure as Sarah grabbed
his hands and lifted him from the ground, swinging him around as both of them
cooed.
A woman walked our way and observed the event suspiciously. I looked at her and
smiled. “I am sorry,” I said, “my wife just really likes kids.”
Some of the suspicion disappeared from the woman’s face, but she kept looking at
Sarah and her son with full focus. “Sarah,” I said, “I think this woman would like her
son back.”
Sarah looked up like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. Her eyes switched from
me to the woman and back. Then she put the little boy back on the ground, upon
which he ran to his mother. Sarah made an attempt at a smile, but the woman just
gave her a hateful look and walked away.
“You should not pick up strange children in public places Sarah, I thought you out of
all people should understand that,” I said as we started strolling along the pathway
again.
“Me out of all people because of what? Because I am an American?”
“Yes. In LA you would have been shot by now.”
“I cannot believe this. Why you always have to relate everything to me being
American.”
“Because a lot of your strange behavior can be explained in that way.”
“Don’t be a wise-ass.”
“Can’t help myself.”
“But he was so cute… I could eat him alive.”
“That was exactly what that woman was afraid of Sarah – imagine what your sister
would do if a strange woman would pick up her son in the park. Would she or would
she not grab her pepper spray? Tell me.”
“Well that is the US… this is Amsterdam… come on…”
“Just think about other people’s feelings.”
“Why would I? Its not like they care about mine? With all those children running
around here, screaming and making a fuzz. To me it seems like they do not care
about anything but themselves here.”
“It’s a park. If you want peace you go to a library.”
“Don’t always pretend you know better Richard.”

7
“I don’t, I am just stating facts.”
“Well then stop stating facts.”
“Stop being so obsessed with children.”
She stopped walking. “What did you say?”
The moment I said it I knew I had made a tactical error. She stood two meters
behind me, the ice in her eyes replaced by fire.
“What did you say?” She asked again.
“Nothing, let’s forget it,” I mumbled.
“No! If you have something to say to me just say it. Don’t be a coward.”
“I don’t feel like fighting.”
“Then do not say stuff that gets you in trouble. Now tell me, what did you say.”
“You heard me.”
“Yes I did, but I want to hear you say it again. Come on tell me. Tell me what is on
your mind. Tell me what you really want to tell me.”
“I just said you probably should not pick up strange children in the park.”
“Nothing happened.”
“No, but this woman was seriously frightened.”
“Its her fault if she lets her child run away that far.”
“Of course you know better. You are the mother expert here…”
She started to cry, just like that.
That was the strange thing about Sarah; one second she was as cold as ice, and the
next all problems and obsessions would come out in one big burst of either tears or
anger. In this case it was both, which by definition meant bad news for me.
“Bastard,” she stated in a voice soaked in anger.
Then she walked away from me.
Big, straight steps – arms sweeping along her body; her head bobbing as the resisted
the tears.
As always I followed. What else was there to be done?
“Sarah,” I said, trying to make myself heard while avoiding a public screaming
contest, “dear, come on…”
But she kept on walking along the way we had been coming, passing the mother that
had come to pick up her son, and walking through the running kids, the fallen leaves
and stressed parents.
“Sarah,” I tried again, and now I was closer I knew she could hear me.
She turned, and a pair of red eyes was piercing through me. Tears were rolling down
her cheeks, staining them as they brought the make up from her eyes down like ice
from a glacier.
“Apologize,” she said curtly.
“Sorry,” I replied, more out of habit then out of sincerity.
She did not seem to notice, and she took one step towards me, like a scared deer. I
stepped towards her as well; feeling the need to hold her, make her forget her
sadness, take away those tears.
“Here,” I said, “please come and dry your face on my shirt.”
She chuckled. “Of course not, I gave you that shirt for your birthday. I am not going
to ruin it with my tears.”
“Fair enough.” I searched my pockets for some tissues and found them. She took the

8
package and started renovating her cheeks and eyes, which looked like a disaster
area.
“I am still angry at you,” she said after she had made a first attempt at drying her
tears. “You know how I feel about this, why would you hit me in the face with it?”
I could not answer that.
“You don’t have to criticize everything I do Richard. This woman was fine, nothing
happened there. I just picked up this kid, and he was laughing and laughing, having
fun, so what’s the problem?”
Sheepishly I found a very interesting ant walking on the path, and started following
it with my eyes. Anything, just so I would not have to look at her.
“Richard?”
The ant was marching out of sight quickly. I looked up.
“I am sorry.” I did not know what else to say.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“For… how this turned.”
“How did it turn?”
“I don’t know Sarah… you picked up the kid, there was an uncomfortable moment
with the mother and I said something stupid, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
She nodded. “Yes, that is what I want to hear.”
“So I am sorry for doing that. And for making you cry.”
“Yes, that is bad.”
“I hate to see you cry, you know that right?”
“Then stop making me.”
I sighed deep, then stepped to her and put my arms around her. “Hey dear, let’s go
home and clean you up.”
“Are you sure I am done being angry?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I am trying. Are you?”
“I guess I am getting there.”
“So, shall we go home then?”
“What are we going to do at home Richard? Its weekend… can we go somewhere?”
“Sure. Where would you like to go?”
“Well, as the park did not work out perhaps its an idea to go shopping then.”
“Aargh…”
“Punishment…”
“I thought good things are supposed to happen to bad people.”
“You were wrong. Now let’s go… after that you can treat me on some coffee and pie.”

9
10
2. Tuesday – The Museum
The Dutch weather is like the mind of a woman, it is sometimes said. It was one of
those typical days of Dutch weather. A day in which the sun was shining brilliantly,
filling my kitchen with a gorgeous light, working on my brains like a sniff of cocaine.
Suddenly, without the sunlight flinching for a second, rain started pouring out of the
sky. Cats and dogs, as the British would say. For a few minutes the view from my
window was filled with umbrellas and running people, struggling bikers and
honking cars. Then, as quickly as it came, the rain went again, and the sun warmed
those pedestrians and cyclists who were now drenched in the violent but short
outburst of the Dutch weather gods.
It was one of those Tuesdays that I had woken up and by looking out of my window,
lost all my interest in going to work. One of the advantages of my job was that my
boss could not care less if I’d text him that I would not be coming in today, much to
Sarah’s indignation. But, there are just days that getting out of bed is too much
effort. Days on which the route to work seems too long, contact with colleagues
seems too much and it all seems not worth it. If on one of those days the sun is
shining as well, work quickly loses out to drinking a cup of coffee in the sun, reading
a book.
Sarah liked to scold me because of it, her work ethics being much better then mine
of course, and that morning she had been particularly outraged.
“I also don’t feel like going to work,” she told me as I turned myself around, closing
my eyes and enjoying the delights of the morning snooze while she was struggling to
leave the comforts of the warm sheets.
“So, call in sick,” I mumbled, smiling, as it would be the last thing she’d ever do.
Sarah would go to work even if her leg had been amputated the previous day - she’d
find a wheelchair.
“Yeah and lose my job when they come here and check,” she continued, “are you
crazy?”
“They never come. This is not the States here.”
“What are you going to do anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I yawned, “the bare minimum I think.”
“You mean you will lay around the whole day on a beautiful day like this?”
“Perhaps. But you are right, so maybe I’ll go into the city. Perhaps even visit that
exposition that I wanted to go to.”
“You mean in the Hermitage?”
“Yeah I have been dying to go there.”
“That sounds better. Go do something, don’t sit n your ass the whole day I beg you.”
She patted me on my back, then hung over me and kissed me on my cheek. “I better
get ready for work…”
“Yeah you should, you don’t want to be late.”
“Maybe my dear will make sure of that by making my breakfast ready?”
I sighed deep. The last thing I wanted was to get up, destroying my snooze and thus
the benefits of the free day. She was still hanging there and proceeded to kiss my

11
cheek and neck, finding the hollow under my chin with her nose.
“Oh please,” she cooed, “that would be so great.”
“I hate you,” I simply said and I got up.
“Oh thank you, thank you!”
She jumped out of the bed and made some more jumps while standing. I observed
her admiringly. Her slim frame had not changed a bit in the eight years we had been
together. She had an athletic build, though she was not muscular and made sure she
would never be. Instead, she was obsessed with staying slim while keeping her body
soft on the right places.
“I don’t want to have those Amanda Peet arms,” she used to tell me, “You’ll be afraid
I will beat you up and you will leave.”
I made my way to the kitchen, which was already filling up with the delicious
morning sunshine. Perhaps the summer will last for a couple more weeks, I thought to
myself, seeing that the calendar page almost needed to be turned from September to
October. I threw open the balcony door and sniffed the fresh after summer air. The
lovely thing about Amsterdam was its size – the city was merely more then a village,
and the air quality was more much better then in other cities because of it. This was
the reason that had convinced Sarah to come live with me here. She had fallen in
love with the picturesque view and the small scale, the parks and the international
feel, and so had I.
The espresso machine rumbled while grinding the beans, spreading their aroma
through the kitchen. I basked in the perfection of the morning like a stretching cat,
enjoying the smells, the sounds and the peace, while Sarah rumbled around
preparing to go to work. She hated my breakfasts, which consistently consisted of a
cheese sandwich, a fresh made cappuccino and some sweets.
When she was finally done with her tedious preparations for work, Sarah came into
the kitchen and gave me a final hug. She gave the sandwich a suspicious look, but
took it without grumbling.
“Thanks for that dear,” she said, “its very sweet.”
“I’ll be accepting my reward solely in a physical manner,” I joked, knowing it would
irritate her.
“Then you will have a long wait ahead of you.”
She grabbed the bag with the breakfast, put on her shoes and ran out of the
apartment. “Love you too,” I yelled after her when the door closed, and then went to
open my computer.

The rain had passed and I left the house, excited to spend my free day alone,
wandering about in the museum. I decided to walk, which would take me about
thirty minutes and would lead me through the narrow streets of De Pijp. As the sun
was caressing my head I walked north, the streets getting smaller as I got closer to
the center.
The Hermitage is a stately square building near the Waterloo Square in Amsterdam.
Its west side looks out over the Amstel River, whereas a terrace and a garden
surround the other side. The building has a big courtyard in the middle through
which the visitors enter, a place where in the previous usage of the building sheets
and other laundry of the elderly were dried on the grass.

12
The actual previous usage of the museum was a house for the poor sick and elderly
of Amsterdam. The current, recently renovated look of the museum, with its white
walls, light wooden floors and spacious areas, made it hard to imagine this.
I was surprised to find a line before the ticket desk. A couple of Japanese tourists
with big camera’s hanging from their necks, three alternative looking Spaniards
with piercings and dark colored hair, an elderly couple – why wouldn’t they be here?
There was nothing to do but to get in the line. I looked around the foyer, which was
bright and light, lots of white and glass. The sun was shining over both the inner
courtyard as the garden, which gave the space an even more spacious feel.
Then my eyes fell on a pair of high brown boots, standing near the desk for audio
tours. The boots belonged to a pair of slim legs, dressed in a tight black pants. It was
a small figure, surely no more then one meter sixty long, with short black hair. She
was wearing a short brown leather jacket, and held a brown purse on her arm. At
the desk, ordering two audio tours was an older man, perhaps in his fifties, wearing
a way too big brown corduroy dinner jacket over faded shapeless jeans. He turned
around as if he felt my eyes studying him and pierced me with his gaze for little
more then a second, then he turned and gave one of the tour computers to the
woman.
They walked to the entrance and disappeared from my view as the line started to
move. The Spaniards had been in a long discussion with the girl behind the desk;
apparently about whether they were students of not, but now they were moving on
to the entrance. Three minutes later the girl put my ticket on the desk, and blurted
“fifteen Euro” at me. I paid and decided to get an audio tour as well – I had all the
time in the world anyway.
Alexander the Great was the subject of the exhibition, and with enthusiasm I passed
numerous paintings and items that either depicted the man or which had been
utilized in his army. In the far end of the room a huge carpet was hung, showing
Alexander taking thanks from the family of Darius, after Alexander had spared and
reunited them. Intently I listened to the story of the Belgian artisan who had
fabricated the cloth, when I saw the woman with the brown boots again. She was
standing quite close to me, also observing the carpet. She was standing seductively,
with one leg bent and her back arched. Who stands like this, I wondered – it was a
pose designed to attract attention.
From the back she had looked very young, as she was small and quite smill, but now
I saw her faced I realized she must be at least twenty-five. It was a pretty face – a
slim nose, deep, dark eyes and a pretty mouth. Her face was slightly freckled, which
gave her a friendly look. Still, she was threateningly stunning – something I felt even
more so when I noticed her cleavage. Her breasts were hardly hidden in a simple top
under which there had to be a push up bra, which only covered the essentials. It
took me an extra second to take my eyes away from them, as their sheer size and
defiance of gravity hypnotized me. When I looked back up she was looking straight
at me, looking questioning. Quickly I turned and walked away, blushing, and tried to
find a toilet.
Idiot, I thought, now uncomfortable to rejoin the crowd. Still, I had little choice and
after a couple of minutes I walked back in, merging myself with the mass of visitors
that were slowly traversing the exhibition. The exposition was a bit of a

13
disappointment to me – I was not the person to show a lot of interest in drawings on
old Greek vases, and so I picked up the pace a bit only to stop at an interactive map
where the travels of the commander were shown.
Three tourists were discussing some of the places on the map.
“So what is Alexandria called nowadays,” one of them, a woman in her fifties, asked
her two male companions.
“I think that is Luxor,” the youngest of the two man said. He was bald, and dressed in
a tight white t-shirt. He was holding the hand of the other man, who was well over
fifty. “No,” he said, “it actually does not exist anymore.”
“Are you sure,” the woman asked.
“Let’s look it up,” the younger man suggested.
“Only if you don’t believe me,” the oldest replied, sounding a big irritated.
The woman looked at me. “Do you know,” she asked me, “what Alexandria is called
nowadays?”
“I think its still just called Alexandria,” I said, “but I can look it up for you if you
want.”
“No you are right,” a voice next to me said. I turned and was shocked to see the girl
with the brown boots standing next to me, offering me a cynical smile.
“Oh you guys don’t know anything,” the woman told her two friends, who both
grumbled and walked away from the display. “Thanks,” the woman said to her
before following her friends.
I wanted to walk away as well, when the girl with the brown boots said; “are you not
going to introduce yourself?”
Blushing, I turned to her. She stood a good fifteen centimeters shorter then me, but
her presence was so immense that I actually felt shorter. Her dark eyes were shining
with curiosity, which almost intimidated me, and I could not keep the eye contact. I
resolved to let my eyes fall on a little scar right above her lip, which fit right in with
the light freckles on her nose and cheeks.
“Oh yeah,” I said, feeling embarrassed by simply talking to her, “I am Richard.”
“Hi Richard, I am Sophia,” she said, sticking out a small hand. Her shake was gentle
but not frail.
“Nice to meet you.”
She smiled at me, friendly this time. “What do you think of the exhibition?”
I took a deep breath, counted till ten and just begged my voice would not break.
“I am a bit disappointed, to be very honest. Especially because it’s the only one in the
museum at the moment – I was hoping to see some of the regular collection as well.”
She laughed a bit, and I was not sure whether this was a positive or a negative thing.
I had trouble not to sneak glances at her breasts, which were even more imposing
from this distance. If she were here with her father, why would she be dressed like
that?
She struck another one of her flashy poses, throwing one leg in front of the other
and leaning forward a bit – as if all she wanted was to show off her assets.
“I think the exhibition is quite well done,” she said, finally. “A lot of authentic
artifacts – swords, shields, vases.”
“You like that?”
“Yes, that’s why I am here I guess. I mean a history student should like this right?”

14
“Oh you are a history student? Wow, I’d always wished I’d study something like
that.”
She remained quiet for a second, thinking about her answer. “Who wants to study
history,” she asked cynically, “it’s a bit nerdy don’t you think?”
The suspicious look was back. I could almost see the glasses on her nose while she
would be scolding a student in the future. “That’s a bit stupid, don’t you think?”
But, I was determined to keep my composure. Why should a pretty face and a pair of
stand out breasts faze me?
“Well I just think that in order to be good at something, you have to be nerdy to a
certain degree. At least in that field.”
“So, football players are nerdy?”
“In a sense, nerdy at playing football. At staying fit – at mastering tactics.”
“Dog trainers?”
I nodded.
“Garbage men?”
“If they become specialists at throwing garbage in the car – or find ways to do things
more efficient, why not?”
“What you are saying is that nerdy means kind of, obsessed?”
“Nerdy is just that you know more about a particular subject then somebody else. Sit
with people and try to explain something a little bit deeper then MTV or the daily
news, and they’ll look at you and yell ‘nerd!’”
A different look had gotten into her eyes now. “Interesting thesis you got there.”
“Are you tempted to say nerd yet?” I asked innocently.
This made her giggle. So she is human, I thought.
“So are you here with your husband,” I asked, trying to keep my advantage.
Sophia burst out in laughing. “My husband?”
“Well I think saw you with a gentleman at the entrance, right?”
She could not help herself, and was still laughing. “My husband? I am sorry, what do
you think of me?”
“Well what do I know?”
“That’s my father, he is more then sixty years old!”
I was blushing worse then when she’d caught me sneaking a peek at her breast – as
a matter of fact I just stood there – mute; there could hardly be a proper response to
this right?
“I am sorry,” she said, when she had finally stopped laughing. “Most men ask if that
is my father to find out whether it is my husband or not.”
“I guess I am a bit different then.”
She stopped laughing abruptly. “That’s cool. But it’s not my husband. I don’t have a
husband.”
“So, you and your father go to museums a lot?”
“Yes we do. He is over for a couple of days here and we are doing the tour. He is a
curator at a big museum in Switzerland, so if I were to speak in your words, it is the
thing that he is a nerd in.”
“That probably means that you are a pretty experienced museum visitor yourself?”
“Yes, for sure. He has been dragging me to every museum since I have been able to
read the little signs hanging in them.”

15
“I hope I just did not make a fool out of myself saying I did not like the exhibition
then.”
“No its okay. You are right it is a bit meager. But still, it is an interesting collection.”
“Oh thank god.”
Her phone rang and she picked it up with a slide of one of her manicured fingers.
“Hey dad,” she said, “yeah I just ran into somebody and was having a chat… where
are you? The restaurant? Okay I am coming. See you. Bye.”
“All right Richard, it was nice meeting you. I have to go join my father and prevent
him from being drunk before we go and visit the Van Gogh this afternoon.”
Taken aback I just nodded. She gave me one more look and then walked away. “Bye.”
“Ciao.”
She walked forward through the long hall, which was filled with the exhibition
pieces. What a surprise, I thought, looking at her behind in the tight pants – feeling a
slight hint of longing to have her, to peel those clothes of her. I shrugged it off – it
was time to get back to the exhibition.

“So how was it dear?” Sarah asked me. We were sitting in our kitchen, eating the
dinner that I made for her. Simple spaghetti with a Bolognese sauce filled to the
brink with vegetables, covered with a big layer of cheese. I took a zip of my red wine.
“It was okay, I was not so impressed.”
“Why not?”
“I guess it was just a bit boring. Lots of shields and vases.”
“What did u expect?”
“Not sure, maybe more paintings or some other more impressive things? I am of the
special effects generation – it needs to be bombastic to grab my attention! And you
know what? It’s the only exposition they are having at the moment – just this
Alexander thing. I really felt ripped off a bit.”
“I can imagine. What did you do for the rest of the day?”
“Oh you know I was there till about two in the afternoon. Then I went home, did
some cooking, some staring out of the window.”
“So another useful free day used up.”
“Sure, I guess you can say that. You know, I made such an ass of myself today.”
I got her attention immediately. “What happened?”
“I saw this young woman entering the museum together with an old man… then
somehow when I was standing looking at something we got to chatting…”
“Why would you ‘get to chatting’ with a young woman?” She asked instantly,
mocking my use of the expression but looking at me sharply.
“Oh it was just one of those things…”
“Stop talking like an American!” She half-yelled at me. “You embarrass me.”
I laughed. “Sorry. Anyway…”
“Grrrr stop it!”
“How else should I say it?”
“Just get on with it!”
“Okay okay. Well some tourists asked me what Alexandria is called nowadays. And I
said that I thought it was still Alexandria, but that I could look it up to confirm. Then
that woman was standing next to me, confirming that it was indeed Alexandria.”

16
“Ha,” Sarah just said, still looking at me frantically.
“So then I wanted to walk away, and she asked me for my name.”
“She asked you?”
“Yeah.”
“And then?”
“Well that was what I wanted to get to. We got to… we started talking, and then I
asked whether the man she was with was her husband.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I was just curious… Can I be?”
“Why would you care? Was she pretty?”
“She was…” I weighed my words for a second, “Yeah she was attractive.”
Now Sarah really got fired up. “So was it her husband?”
“No it was her father. She was laughing so loud – I was so embarrassed. That was
kind of the crux of my story.”
“I find it more interesting why you were speaking to that bitch anyway. What did
she want from you?”
“Nothing, she explained it was her father, and then he called and asked for her to
join him in the café. So she did.”
“Hm.” Sarah just said, and then walked away.
I spread my arms out in dismay. “What is it now dear, I am telling you about this
right? What is the problem?”
She stopped and looked around. “Nothing.” Then she walked on to the living room.
“What are you going to do tonight dear?” I asked, trying to get some idea of what had
happened to her.
“I don’t know.”
I followed her to the living room. “Hey what’s up with you now?”
She sat on the couch, staring to nothing in particular. “Are you angry with me?” I
asked her.
She seemed to think for a second, and then she looked straight at me.
“You did not even hesitate to say that she was pretty. And not just pretty, attractive!
Why should you find any other woman attractive? Why? How do u think that makes
me feel?”
“I don’t know how that makes u feel. Why don’t u tell me?”
“I just don’t understand why you should tell me she was attractive. It makes me feel
bad.” I saw tears on the sides of her eyes. What was up with her?
“I did not mean to make you feel bad. I just wanted to be honest.”
“Maybe honesty does not always work as well as you hope it does Richard.”
“Okay, well I will try to be less honest with you then in the future. There, does that
make you feel good?”
“You just don’t have to tell me you find other women attractive.”
“Okay. As you want.”
“Why do you need to look at other women?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, why do u need to look at her and then assess whether you find her attractive?
Why she cannot just be the girl in the museum.”

17
“You asked me whether she was pretty or not. In my story she just was the girl from
the museum. If you did not want to know, why are you asking me?”
She became quiet again, pouting. I sat down next to her and put an arm around her.
“Hey there, what is it that you are so upset about?”
“I just want to be the only woman for you. So you don’t have to look at random
chicks in a museum.”
My mouth fell open – literally. “What are you talking about? It was a random
situation, I just had a normal chat with another person – I was not looking at her or
seeking contact!”
“But you said she was attractive. So you were looking at her,” she insisted.
“Is it not normal to look at somebody while you are talking?”
“So what were you talking about that was so interesting?”
“I told you,” I started to get irritated, “we spoke about her father. He works in a
museum, so they visit a lot together.”
“And why you had to know whether she was married or not?”
“I eh... I was just curious whether she was married to this older guy or not. Its
interesting right?”
Sarah considered that for a second. “I still think it’s strange.”
“Think what you want. I will think twice before telling you something again I think.”
“Just don’t do things that you cannot tell me about. It is quite simple.”

18
3. Wednesday – The birthday dinner
My phone rang. It was Derek.
“Yo Richard, where are you man? Sash and me are waiting for you.”
I looked at my watch; it was a bit after eight.
“I am just outside of the restaurant man, just parking my bike.”
“Great, see you in a bit.”
“Yeah, see ya.”
Derek was one of my best friends outside of the office. We had also met during my
exchange in the States, and during all those time stayed in close touch. It was one of
the few friends I met regularly, and with whom I was capable of a real conversation.
I just had a horrible day at the office, during which everything that could possible go
wrong did go wrong. In the morning I had closed a good trade, between a big bank
and a smaller pension fund. Just before I wanted to leave the office the bank called
me and told me that we had been talking about a different paper, and that they
would not be able to deliver. Could I please cancel the trade?
One of the worst things is going back to your clients with bad news, and I was not
really prepared to let my client suffer for the banks mistake. However Jacob, my
boss, was not prepared to call the bank and tell them to piss off. Therefore, their
problem had become mine at a quarter to five, when it was likely that my client, or
at least their back-office, had already gone home.
When at seven I left the office Jacob took me for a beer.
“That sucked Rich. Let’s hope it can be resolved tomorrow eh, no worries.”
“I am not worried if it can be resolved Jake, its not my bleeding fault. I am worried
whether they will ever trade with me again. He was pretty angry.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“I just feel like me and my clients are becoming victimized again because of the fuck
up of a big bank, and our reluctance to flip them the bird you know.”
Jacob took a deep breath. “I know, but the truth is that we need them Richard. You
understand that right?”
“I understand that it was my assignment to find institutional clients. But instead of
protecting and cherishing them, we fuck them over because we bow to the big guys.
Then how am I supposed to make money?”
“Well you are still doing okay, right?”
“I am fine, but I want to be better. Can you help me with that Jacob?”
“I am not sure what I can do exactly. It is the nature of the market today, who knows
what it will be like in six months?”
It was one of Jacob’s habits to avoid direct responsibility, or for that matter to tell
you anything definite. He’d not disagree with the other traders to defend me in this,
he’d not go to management to try and change things. Jacob loved the status quo; he
was the embodiment of Switzerland.
“That is nice and easy to say.”
“Sleep over it Richard, you are angry now. Let it rest a bit. Are you doing anything
tonight?”

19
“I have a birthday dinner with some friends.”
“Good. That will take your mind of things.”

It seemed natural that I was not completely up for the birthday of Derek, which we
were celebrating in a steakhouse in the Utrechtsetraat. Derek, being an American,
loved steak and would randomly complain about the quality of beef and steaks in
general in the Netherlands.
After his studies he had started working at Philips in the USA, and two years ago he
had been transferred to the Amsterdam office. Derek was close to thirty but, unlike
Sasha, the other part of our triumvirate and myself, was single. Derek travelled a lot
for his work and felt disheveled because of it. “Travelling is great,” he was prone to
tell us, “If you have a place to come home to – that’s why I hate all the travelling,
because that is what I lack.”
The problem with Derek was also not that he did not get attention from girls – he
was tall, handsome and could be quite charming. He was awfully picky however, and
the ladies that he picked up and would sleep with him on the first night were
automatically crossed of the ‘girlfriend material’ list.
Alexander, or Sasha as he preferred to be called, on the other hand was quite
happily married, and even though he was only 27 and therefore the junior of the
three of us, he already had a child. Sasha worked in the IT department of an option
trading company, leading the development of the ever-improving software there. He
had been a trader for two years, but then decided that it would be more fun to write
the programs the traders used, as they did the actual thinking. It hardly damaged his
earning power, as the company had realized his obvious qualities and paid him
handsomely. And Sasha, being the old-fashioned Russian, used that money to make
sure his wife did not have to work a day in her life, something that made Sarah more
then a bit uncomfortable.
When I entered the restaurant the two of them were sitting at a table in the far back,
overviewing the whole place. Both were holding a glass of beer in their hands, and
were leaning over the table, obviously in deep conversation.
“There he is,” Derek said while greeting me. Both of them got up and we hugged. It
had been a while since I’d seen both of them, and it felt good meeting again. It
turned out that Derek was in a particular sour mood. He had just got word from his
boss that he was to go on a business trip, which would take him around the world in
less then two weeks, and looking at the blue under his eyes he already had been
working quite a lot. I was wrong about that though.
“No I have been seeing this girl, and she is just driving me crazy,” he told us after
taking a big tug of his beer, when we suggested he had been working too much.
“She wants it all the time, and its like she has nothing better to do then come over
and completely drain me. I cannot keep up with this.”
Sasha laughed, as did I. “Typical Derek,” I told him, “always bothering us with his
little luxury problems.”
But Derek did not laugh. He just sat there, with those eyes, which on closer
inspection looked too red for his own good.
“Oh geez,” Sasha said, “How much have you been sleeping?”
“Hardly at all. I am telling you, it has to stop.”

20
“So stop it,” I concluded, “or do you like this girl?”
“No I don’t think so, being with her longer would really kill me. But its not just that,
its my job that is driving me crazy, its this city that is making me go insane, and all
these evil women that just want sex – what am I doing wrong?”
“Sounds like you are living the life Derek, no attachments, making good career steps,
sleeping with random nymphomaniac chicks – really I feel that you are living the
dream,” I told him, not without jealousy.
Both of them looked at me. “Come on,” Sasha said, “you would not want to trade
with him.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have Sarah, you guys are happy, right?”
“We’re good. Sure. But still.”
“Richard please, I’d trade with you any day – I need to have some stability, some
purpose. I just don’t feel like I am going somewhere. I go to work, come home, cook
some shit, then go for a drink and try to meet some girls. Then its back home for
some crappy random sex, and that’s it. It just does not mean anything, that’s the
problem that I have.”
“Is your problem that you cannot tell your mum about what you are doing everyday,
or what? Because really mate, I think you should stop fretting and just enjoy life. You
will meet the right girl and then you will be longing to your free days soon enough.”
Both of them laughed. Derek looked relieved, like having dropped some weight from
his chest. “So what’s up with you Sasha,” he asked Alexander, who was just typing a
text message, and didn’t hear Sasha at first.
“Hey, family guy, can you hear me?”
“Yes, I do. I am good guys, I am doing great. Work is going well, we’re working on the
final test version of our new platform, which is going to make a killing for the
company when it comes out. Eva is doing great as well, spending her days at home
together with Carolina. Actually her mum is over for a couple of days, so that means
it’s a bit of a vacation for her.”
“Ouch… mother-in-law – another thing that’s not bothering you Derek!”
“Oh its not a problem, she is cooking, cleaning, taking care of Carolina real great. Eva
is even doing naps during the day now, so she is most certainly not complaining.”
“And if she’s not complaining…”
“…I am not complaining, indeed Richard, you know the drill all too well. How are
things at home for you?”
I thought about it for a second. “I think its good man, you know Sarah, and she has
her moods with this and that. Yesterday I told her I spoke with a girl in a museum,
and she just flipped out.”
“What kind of girl?” Derek asked.
“Hot girl.”
“And you told Sarah?” Sasha added.
“Not immediately. But then she asked whether the girl was pretty and well, I was
stupid enough to tell the truth.”
“Ouch, tell me about it. Eva would do the same. So what did you speak about with
this girl?”
“Nothing special, it was just completely random.”

21
“But not random enough to not tell Sarah eh,” Derek summarized.
“I guess not. She was hot though, and smart too. Interesting girl. But anyway, I am
trying to be honest and then she just goes berserk or something. It’s a bit odd; I
guess she is just stressed out with work. Good thing she is going on holiday.”
“Ooh, good timing for you to be talking to other women,” Sasha teased.
I colored, even though the thought had not really entered my head yet. “You think
that’s why she got mad?”
“Oh you are asking the wrong guy mate. I have no idea why they get mad. They just
do every once in a while. Then you say sorry and buy them a gift – there you go,
happy again. Till the next time.”
“See Derek, you are not missing anything mate. Its like walking on egg shells every
day again.”

Sasha left early, eager to get home to the family that he loved. Derek gave me a
questioning look and said: “How about you, shouldn’t you go home, if Sarah will be
away from Saturday?”
I sighed, thinking about it for a second. “Perhaps I should,” I told him.
“For me its no problem, I’ll just go home, maybe play a bit of Call of Duty…”
I chuckled at that. “Sure you have no girl waiting somewhere whose duty you are
going to call on?”
Derek grinned. “Or that perhaps. So what do you say?”
I looked at my watch. It was only ten, which felt too early to leave. “Maybe we can
order another bottle of wine… the night it still young.”
He ordered the wine, flirted with the waitress for a second and then focused his
attention on me again, staring relentlessly at me.
“Why you look so restless Richie?”
“Do I?”
“Yes you look restless. Now tell me. Is everything alright with Sarah?”
I shrugged. “It’s alright, I guess.”
“What does that mean?”
“It is hard to explain. You know, if you are together for six years I just assume there
are periods like this.”
“Periods like what?”
“That I have less interest in her, and just have an urge to…”
“Cheat?”
“I don’t know. But it is just one of these periods that every girl that walks by seems
hot to me. That makes me restless.”
“And Sarah, does she seem hot to you?”
“One day yes, other day not. It depends. Sometimes I want her like crazy; sometimes
I don’t have any desire for her. We live alongside each other, we eat, we watch TV,
we fight, and we make love. All of that. One day its good, the other day its bad.”
Derek touched his chin and stared at no apparent space in the restaurant. The
waitress came with a bottle of wine, and let him taste it, giving him all of her
attention. And I could imagine, he was a good-looking guy. Slim and tall, with dark
curly hair, piercing green eyes and the sturdy jaw which women seem to like so
much. Expertly he let the wine flow through the glass while studying the color,

22
which was a bit much as it was way too dark for that. Then he sniffed the wine by
inserting his nose almost all the way into the glass. Finally, he took a small zip,
seemed to contemplate it for a second, and then nodded.
The waitress looked both relieved and impressed, and poured our glasses. She then
took her leave, but not before giving Derek another hint.
“You should have told her it’s your birthday,” I told him, “she would have given you a
nice present tonight.”
He stretched himself, a satisfied smile on his face. “Its not too late for that yet. But
first, tell me more.”
“About what?”
“Just, about what is in your head. You said you feel an urge to sleep with another
woman.”
I got red. “Sometimes.”
“So what do you do? Watch some porn and jerk off?”
I nodded, shamefully.
“Does it help?”
“Nope. Seems to make it worse actually.”
He laughed, and I felt good offloading it, though it still embarrassed me. “Of course it
does,” he continued, “random sex looks so perfect in porn… But you know how it is
right, with a strange woman – you are both nervous, and or drunk. If you are lucky
you get a chance to redeem yourself in the morning but that is about it. By the way,
how is the sex with Sarah – are you guys still doing it?”
“Yes we do. Not as much as we used to, but we still do it.”
“Is it good?”
“We have been practicing for six years, I’d say we have gotten pretty good at that.”
“So what is the problem?”
“The sex itself is not the problem. It is just the way I feel, and sadly it makes me feel
pretty shitty.”
“Do you know what will make you feel shitty?”
“What?”
“Cheating on Sarah. I know you, you would dive into something like that if the
opportunity strikes at the wrong moment, but then you would realize what you have
done, and then we would be having a much more desperate conversation here.”
“Perhaps…. You are probably right.”
“Good. You don’t need it man. Sarah is a great woman; she is smart, she is caring,
and more importantly she loves you and she wants to have your kids. Don’t fuck it
up. You do not want to become like me.”
“Maybe I do,” I started, “sometimes I think that maybe it is the right thing for me, to
be single, now I am not thirty yet. You do realize that I have not been with another
girl for the past six years? And sometimes I think that if I feel like this already at this
point, what will I feel like when I am forty, and possibly have two kids? What can I
do at that point?”
“I did not think of it like that. You don’t think it will just pass?”
“I really do not know Der, sometimes I feel like I am right back in puberty, having no
idea what to do.”
“So are you thinking about this girl you met?”

23
“Which girl?”
“The one in the museum. The hot one. Are you thinking about her?”
“No, not really. She was hot, but it is not like I will see her again.”
“And what if you see her again?”
“I really do not think she’d be interested in me Der, look at me.”
“Don’t start fishing for compliments here. Anyway, what would you do if you’d meet
her again?”
“Talk to her, maybe. Probably nothing. Like you said, Sarah is great. Most likely I
would just greet her and walk away. Maybe show her a picture of Sarah. That is
probably the best. Right?”
“Right.”
I hushed for a moment. Thinking.
“You just need to relax Richie, I think you are just thinking too much. Maybe you
should just take it down a notch with the porno, and spend some quality time with
your girl.”
“You really think so eh?”
“Look at me man, I am miserable because I am without a girl, without a base where I
can look forward to coming home to. At first it might be fun, screwing around, but
first of all, it is a lot of work – chat those girls up, buy them a drink, give them
attention…”
“Sounds horrible.”
“It is Richard, come on now. The only thing that is wrong with you is not that you are
looking at another woman, or that you are thinking about what it would feel like to
be with another girl from time to time. What is wrong with you is that you do not
cherish what you have. If you just realize that, you might still look at some girls and
think, ‘wow she looks hot, I would not mind spending some time on top of that,’ but
you will also think, ‘but she could never give me what Sarah gives me.’ Try to find
your peace mate, stop worrying so much.”
“That sounds like good thinking.”
“Thank you.”
“But you know what?”
“What?”
“Maybe I should just try to get it out of my system you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just to try it, and then realize that you are right. That it is as horrible as you say. The
work, the shyness all over again, the clumsy sex, the insecurity and ambiguity
afterwards…”
“Could you?”
“I have no clue Der… I am just talking here man…”
“Stop it mate. Really.”
“I need to stop thinking.”
“Yes. Because you don’t want to leave Sarah right?”
“I could not imagine my life without her.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I know. The grass is always greener… but you are right, we have a good thing.
Stability, good jobs… perfect soil to raise children, to have a happy family.”

24
“Attaboy.”
“And now we have to get you to stop thinking,” he said while pouring my wineglass
completely full. “This should help.”
“You know this ranks as number one on Sarah’s reasons for fighting list eh…”
“I am sure it does. Worse then the porno though?”
“Oh I don’t know what she’d do if she’d ever discover that.”
Derek laughed. “That must be the worst moment in any relationship except for
cheating. Being caught with your hands in you own pants, getting off on some real
nasty stuff.”
We cheered and laughed. “Happy birthday Der, I am sorry to throw all this shit at
you. How are you doing?”
He touched the bottle and said: “This is my lover at the moment.”
“That cannot be good.”
“No it is not… on some evenings I just find myself on the couch at home, or just
behind the computer, and I open a bottle of wine, and before I know it I have
finished it and I am looking for another one.
I bobbed my head in understanding. “Now that I recognize.”
“I am sure you do. That is what I am wondering about – it is not like I need to drink
you know, but sometimes it just feels like a habit. Like when I am sitting at home, I
just grab a drink and just keep on drinking, maybe even without realizing it.”
“People are always making a big deal about how bad it is to drink alone… but what is
the difference?”
“I do not know the answer to that question Rich, but just as you feel bad about your
doubts, this is something that sometimes bothers me.”
“You are afraid you are an alcoholic?”
“Or turning into one, for instance…”
“This happens a lot?”
“Couple of nights per week. When I am alone.”
“I am also pretty aware of what I do with drinking… Trying to keep it in check I
guess. Sarah is always complaining when I am drinking, whether it is one glass or
one bottle.”
“She is keeping the tabs on you eh.”
“For sure.”
“You know I find myself having ‘alcohol free days’, just to make myself less worried.
And I am actually happy when I survive those, kind of gives me a relieved feeling…”
“Yes I also do that.”
“Its just such a good feeling to sit with a glass, listening to music…”
“It is what they call ‘in the zone’ I think.”
“Like being high…”
“What do you think alcoholics crave? Not the drink probably…”
“Its that what they miss right? That is the scary part, because that is indeed
something that could be addictive…”
“It is Der. It is like sex, it feels so darn good we wish we could have it every evening.”
“So what are you going to do this weekend? Sarah is out of town?”
“Yes. I don’t have plans. Probably just do what we just said – sit and have a few
drinks, dream away with music, maybe watch a movie.”

25
“As long as you are only drinking more Rich… I’d drop by to keep you company, but
my boss needs me over the weekend in Singapore for some darned reason.”
“Sounds horrible…”
“Yeah laugh,” Derek laughed, “you guys keep on acting like my life is a dream or
something. I am sure you’d both be sick of it after a couple of days if you’d be in my
shoes. Crying about nobody making your sandwiches in the morning and stuff.”
“Any partying planned in Singapore?”
“Oh I am sure that it will be strictly business. My boss is not the guy who likes to
hang out in clubs, or who you want to be seen with in a club for that matter. Not
exactly the right wingman.”
“I always thought you did not need any.”
“Do not overestimate me.”
“Well, I bet you can get the number of that waitress without any problems. No
wingmanning from my side involved there.”

Derek did decide to ask the waitress for her number, and as faith would have it she
was just ending her shift, so as they walked off for a drink I texted Sarah:
On my way home, see you soon.
I had parked my bike in the garage underneath the cinema near the Rembrand
square, and within a couple of minutes I was cycling down the Vijzelstraat, feeling
the fresh wind in my face, the alcohol giving me feelings of euphoria and happiness.
Derek was right; I was on my bike on the way home, to the woman that I loved, the
woman that loved me. We would hug, fall asleep next to each other, holding each
other even, and tomorrow we would continue to go through life together, like we
had been doing.
Life was simple, and I should keep it that way. I should love my woman; take care of
her, so she would take care of me. This stable home base was important – Derek was
losing his bearings in the world without it. A sailor needs a home base, a place to
rest his head, where he can always feel welcome.
And Sarah was great.
Life was great.

26
4. Thursday – Meeting your match
In the end I do not think it is strange that I ended up dreaming about Sophia. She
had been a strangely exotic and mysterious creature, crawling into my reality.
Perhaps Sarah had sensed something, something that seemed almost supernatural,
because I cannot recall me giving too much thought to the meet. We met and had a
chat. She was beautiful, and I was married. Two reasons why there would be
nothing going on between us.
The stranger thing was that it took my mind one night to collect itself and assemble
the memories into a dream. Tuesday night was not a pleasant affair anyway. Sarah
had remained cold and distant, perhaps out of shock of her own jealous behavior.
We usually stuck to the don’t-go-to-bed-angry rule, and I must admit that I was not
really angry myself, but Sarah did not seem herself the whole night. Wednesday
morning she seemed to have turned around, still a bit aloof, but she was talking in
full sentences again and kissed me before she left.
Then, on Wednesday night, Sophia came to me in a dream. She appeared, going from
distant to close, to distant again in those hazy dreamy minutes, which might be
hours or days. Like a vision in a desert I could see her coming, then disappearing
right before I reached her. Instinctively I knew it was she, even though I could not
get close to her, but the hint of her dark hair told me all I needed to know. I dreamed
the rest of her features, the hazel eyes, the lips, and those sexy freckles.
All of a sudden we exited the strange emptiness in which dreams so often take place,
like a big film set with empty blue walls, and I found myself in a taxi, sitting in the
backseat, with her next to me. Now I could finally see her I realized that I was having
a wet dream – her short skirt slipped high up her legs, and she looked at me licking
her lips. I shifted myself in, in order to kiss her when…
The alarm rang. Of course. I shook up, found myself being fully erect and sweaty.
Sarah hummed annoyed next to me.
“Turn that thing off,” she groaned, referencing the alarm, which was increasing its
volume steadily. I pushed the off button and got out of bed. The cold feeling of the
laminate floor gave me a more steady footing and enabled me to get up. I was home,
I was next to Sarah, and it was all okay.

Work was the usual combination of small victories and big disappointments. I had
been a bond broker now for almost five years, and I found that it slowly turned you
into a junkie. “A broker is never happy,” an old colleague, considered a sage before
he retired, once told me. “There is always a next deal, there is always more money. It
is like a drug.”
Now, after five years I slowly started to agree with him. A broker was constantly
hunting for the deal, working to it with determination and great hopes, like it was
the one thing in the world that would set him free, release him of his great ordeal.
But, a deal was just a deal, a small victory, an orgasm that gave pleasure for a short
deal of time, until you realized that you needed another one. It was like running
through a labyrinth, in which you hope that every corner will lead you to the exit –

27
but after every corner there is another corner, and another.
We all seemed relaxed enough from the outside, hanging in our chairs, calling our
clients, but I am sure most of the other guys felt the same way – caught in a never
ending rat race that made us rich and unhappy. And thus we drank. Drank like big
men, as money and drinking was all we had in this life, as if we were doomed
mercenaries.
Thursday was the capital of drinking country, the night at which it was absolutely
obligatory to drink. The other nights were fine as well; Wednesday and Friday were
regulars, especially when good deals had been done. But Thursday was sacred.
Drinking was not my strong point. First of all I do not handle my drink well – I get all
bloated, red and double tonged when drinking. Moreover I tend to do stupid things
that I regret afterwards, if I can remember them. My second problem with drinking
is that I like it too much – like a mining cart without a brake, once I get going it is
difficult to stop. One more was my motto, and the third problem that I had with
drinking at that point, was that I found myself in an environment of enablers, which
all had similar tendencies.
That is why, around ten O’clock that Thursday night I found myself at a small table
in a club, together with three of the worst usual suspects. The table was filled with
empty glasses, and I was in a more then cheerful mood, completely oblivious of the
result my drunkenness would have on Sarah when I’d get home.
“So this investment manager, old, smart, and more then stiff, starts on his fourth
glass of wine – and there he goes!” Thomas, himself probably on his fifteenth beer of
the night, was telling excitedly, “he, he started talking about this position that we
had been inquiring about earlier, when he was all evasive and superior, but then,” he
could not help himself but interrupt himself in uncontrolled laughing, “but then he
said ‘if you guys can give me a good price we are just going to sell that fucker!!”
All of us joined in Thomas’ infectious laughter, one of the reasons why he was so
good at what he did. He slapped my shoulder, “and you should have seen this little
soldier here, scared stiff the whole dinner, hardly said a word, and I just saw his face
light up when the guy said this. The relief!! The relief!!”
More laugher followed. “That guy hated our guts Thomas, and you know it,” I said,
trying to keep it realistic.
“Yes he hated us. He still might, but a little less now we got him drunk and some
good bids on those pieces of crap he owns.”
“He’s old school, I think he hates all of us young guys.”
“No, he hates all Dutch fucking brokers. He thinks we are small fries. He wants to get
his dick sucked by Goldman and Morgan. That’s his problem.”
“Well at least if he lets them suck his dick, he is sure that he will get fucked as well,” I
joked.
Thomas was the thing closest to a friend I had on the floor. Friendships were fragile
when money was the subject every day and I avoided most of the bonding activities
that were organized within the company. And if I went out for drinks, as I did do
regularly, it was always with him. He was ten years older then myself, and already
working for the company for twenty years, started right out of high school. He was
also one of the big earners in the company, even though he was reserved and not
one of the most social guys in the company. Even better, Sarah liked him.

28
We went for dinner with Thomas and his wife Jennifer, to whom he had been
married already for fifteen years, on a regular basis. They had three kids together,
and after dinner with them Sarah would usually go on about what a great guy
Thomas was, making Jennifer so happy and being a great father to his kids. It was
the only thing I did not like about Thomas - sometimes he was a bit too perfect.
That was probably the reason that he shook my hand. “Hey boys, I am off. Got the
wife waiting at home.”
He pulled out a fifty Euro bill and dropped it on the table. “And let me know if that is
enough to cover my share of the damage. Don’t be too late.”
Thomas took me aside, “hey, want to join me? Sarah would probably also like it if
you are home on time. She was complaining about your drinking with Jenni the
other day – you got to keep those things in check mate.”
I nodded, he was right, but I did not feel like going home.
“I appreciate it mate,” I said, “I will finish my drink and leave as well. But you go on
ahead, I don’t want to slow you down.”
Thomas gave me a parental look, then turned around and walked out with a wave of
his big arms. Mark, one of the other colleagues that were relatively close laughed
while Thomas walked away. “What a guy that is,” he said, “first stand here, talking
shit, drinking like a fish, and then walk away like ‘the wife is waiting’. Priceless!”
Mark was young and rash – a guy with the big Wall Street dreams. He had been with
the company for about two years now, and was starting to become a serious player.
Time would calm him, I knew, but for now it was entertaining to watch him play the
big man a little bit more every day.
“So are you going to spit some game tonight,” asked Eddy, who was the same age as
myself and who was a notorious womanizer, whilst Mark was still rather helpless
with the opposite sex. I laughed, while Eddy looked intently at Mark who was
blushing.
“I might,” he answered, “you see anything nice here?”
Eddy looked around, and then held up his glass.
“I can’t see anything when my glass is not filled,” he complained.
“I will get some new drinks I guess,” I said, knowing it was my turn.
“Great,” Mark said, “another beer then please.”
“You Eddy?”
“Make it a GT, it was a horrible day.”
“All right, coming up.”
I walked away from the table, pushing my way through the crowd of students and
yuppies that populated the club, towards the stylish bar behind which a group of
employees in white T-shirts were trying to be as extravagant as possible while
pouring beers and cocktails.
When I made my way to the bar, somebody just got up from his bar stool and left,
and I quickly grabbed it. I stood on the bottom bars of the stool to stand out, and
started waving at the bartender, when somebody touched my shoulder.
I looked next to me, to see who belonged to the hand that had touched me, and
almost fell of my stool when I saw a gorgeous girl smiling at me.
“Hey it is you,” she said cheerfully.
I was paralyzed from shock, and needed a few seconds to place her.

29
“Sophia,” she said, “remember me, from the museum? You are that guy right?”
I was silent for at least ten seconds, during which her face went from enthusiastic to
extremely doubtful. When she was just about to turn around, I finally managed to
regain my composure.
“Yes. Sorry, I just did not recognize you for a second.” Then, I immediately stuck out
my hand, “nice to see you again Sophia, how are you?”
She shook my hand with the same frail force as she had done in the museum.
“I thought you did not recognize me. I am well thank you, how about you?”
“Great, great thanks. You left your father at home this time?”
“Yeah, he is in his hotel already.”
“How did you like the Van Gogh on Tuesday?”
“Oh he loved it. But I don’t like Van Gogh.”
“Amazing,” I said, looking at her. She had dressed up, wearing make up that
accentuated her big, dark eyes, and wearing a blouse, which flattered the bosom that
had hypnotized me so much in the museum. Still – it was not as big as I had
remembered.
“What is amazing?” She asked, with big questioning eyes.
“I hate Van Gogh,” I said.
She giggled. “Don’t let my father hear you on that one – he will call you out for
blasphemy.”
“And I already mistook him for your husband earlier this week. Not a good week for
me and your father,” I joked.
She smiled, showing her teeth. “Still funny,” she concluded.
“What,” I asked, “the remark or me?”
“Both I think.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“That some idiot thought he was your husband?”
“Oh no, that’s not a joke to be shared with him I think.”
I looked down for a second, thinking what to do with the situation, with this woman,
and decided to take a chance. Maybe I just wanted to have revenge on Sarah for her
behavior earlier this week, or maybe I was just drunk – fact is that it started a
sequence of events that I was not able to stop anymore.
“Say Sophia, it is very nice to meet you again. Would you let me buy you a drink?”
“Only if you promise me not to talk about my father anymore.”
“I think we have a deal,” I beamed stupidly.
“Great, then I’ll have a gin and tonic please.”
“A real drink,” is what I said, blushing at the stupidity of my remark. As I waved at
the bartender, who was skillfully ignoring me in favor of the better looking guys and
girls around me, I wondered what to say next. I did not know this woman, and I had
absolutely nothing, no idea of what I wanted to say to her. No idea actually, why I
wanted to have a drink with her in the first place.
Still trying to gain the impossible seeming attention of the bartender I looked to the
side to check if she was still there. I was dumbfounded to see her looking at me, her
dark eyes apparently determined to not just look at me, but to look into - if not
through - me. It was a piercing, investigative look, and when my eyes met hers I

30
noticed a flash of shame appearing in her face. I had caught her peeking.
She got up, and whispered: “Here, let me.”
In a smooth movement she stood up and waved at the bartender with a smile that
could turn emperors into beggars in an instant. Within less then 3 seconds the
bartender was in front of us, sporting a tight white V-neck t-shirt that placed the
bottom of the V in the middle of his chest, exposing a strong but bare chest.
Apparently shaved chests were the fashion again. He leaned over the bar to smile at
her, biceps tightened on the wet bar, shining in the flashing lights of the club.
She seemed oblivious to his prettiness or his obvious attempts to flaunt it.
“So what will it be,” she asked me. “Rum and coke please,” I asked. “Okay, so a gin
and tonic and a rum and coke please,” she ordered upon which the bartender gave
me such a nasty look that for a second I was afraid he would actually hit me or -
worse - just spit in my drink.
“So,” she said turning to me again, “can you believe this guy? If this bar is supposed
to live on past its ‘hip-ness’ due date he better starts serving the guys who buy
drinks rather then these skinny bitches that only order one glass of orange juice for
themselves. What do you think?”
I laughed. “I couldn’t agree more. But somehow I have the feeling this guy does not
care that much about the business behind this place.”
“He seems like the only thing he cares about is the way his hair looks in the mirror
in the morning to be honest,” she smirked.
“I thought girls liked guys who take care of themselves and their appearance?” I
asked.
“Well, sure. He needs to shower at least once a day I guess and wear clothes that
don’t look like they were laying on the floor the whole night, but this,” she said while
pointing at our friend the bar man, “this is just insane.”
We were interrupted by his return. He placed two coasters on the bar upon which
our drinks landed. He barked a number at me, which I could not comprehend, and I
gave him a twenty, waving along with it to signal that he could whatever change
there would be.
“Whom are you trying to impress,” she laughed again, more cheerful then really
offended.
Our eyes met each other and we toasted. I took a careful zip of my rum coke, afraid
to taste the phlegm of the bartender, but if any was there I could not determine it.
“So what are you doing here tonight?” She asked me.
I pointed at Mark and Eddy, who were still standing in one of the corners of the club.
“I am here with some colleagues, I was just about to get us some drinks, when I
found you here all alone.”
“Being alone is under appreciated,” she said, making it sound like much more then
just a punch line. “So you are letting the poor boys wait for their drinks now? I am
sure they will not be happy with that, will they now?”
“With the amount they have been consuming I am sure they can wait a couple of
minutes before they get their next one,” I said, nodding to the table besides which
the guys were standing, which was completely filled with empty glasses and bottles.
“Besides that, they would have done the same if they were in my position...”
She grinned. “And what position is that exactly?”

31
“Well,” I hesitated, “at the bar, next to a girl I met in the museum… who is very
pretty, and not married.”
She blushed. “Getting flirtatious already?” She giggled, “but thank you for the
compliment.”
I chuckled, “I thought I was there already when I offered you a drink. I took me more
then one second to bring up the guts for that.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” She asked me.
“Sure.”
“I wanted to embarrass you.”
I looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“When I asked for your name in the museum. I wanted to embarrass you.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No, why?”
“Well, because you were staring at my breasts when we were standing close to the
carpet. I saw you. I thought you would be very embarrassed if I spoke to you. But
you were so relaxed under it, and actually quite a normal guy. So I changed my
mind.”
“Hmm, so my status changed from pervert to normal guy?”
“To nice guy basically.”
“Nice guy… what happened to funny guy?”
“That too,” she giggled.
“In my defense,” I started, “you were not exactly hiding them.”
“What?”
“Yes! Actually that’s why I thought you were with your husband, I could not imagine
that you would dress like that when you were with your father.”
She was laughing frantically. “That is horrible!” She said, “How can you even say
that!”
“I am sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, I mean you looked gorgeous, just, they were
present.”
“You really think it’s beneficial for your status to continue on this subject?”
“Probably not.”
“But maybe you are right.”
Now it was my turn to laugh loudly. “Haha I knew it. You had to admit it.”
“I wasn’t really thinking when I dressed.”
“So am I forgiven for looking at your breasts in the museum?”
She sighed, “yes, sure. You are forgiven.”
I made a mock dance of victory. She looked down and then took a big zip from her
gin tonic. It seemed that we were both contemplating the situation for a second, in
our own thoughts, thinking of the paths that we were treading on. Should we keep on
heading in this direction? Is what I thought.
“So what is it that u do?” She started, breaking the silence with a serious question.
Here we go.
“I work in finance,” I said, trying to sound cool saying it in the American way,
emphasizing the ‘fi’ like the guys liked to do when they were drunk. Who was I
fooling?

32
“Oh that explains your behavior,” she said. “Do you work for one of those big bad
banks then?”
“Nay... I work for a small brokerage house; I work as a trader in the bond markets.
Have you heard of that?”
Her eyes lit up. “What do u take me for,” she said, almost angry - an anger of which I
could not determine whether it was real or just play. “You take me for a girl who
does not know what a bond is? Is that the level of girls you usually speak with?”
Stuttering again. “Eh, oh, eh yeah that was of course not what I meant. I think there
are many intelligent people who have never heard of the bond market. Would you
disagree?”
“Well I guess it is indeed a bit too boring to be interesting for really smart people
indeed, you might be right. Nice save Richard.”
She blinked at me. Then another idea came into her eyes. “So tell me then Richard,
do you take home those 7 figure bonuses at the end of the year?”
It was company policy never to talk about bonuses, or actually about anything
money related within the firm. I had always found it an interesting phenomenon
that within the world of money nobody was really willing to speak about money. But
of course most guys bragged about these type of things when talking to girls,
keeping it vague enough to net tell anything but at the same time giving the girls the
idea they were dealing with a big swinger.
“Well for somebody working with money everyday I guess I am not used to really
discussing that... But I am doing well enough.”
She seemed pleased by my embarrassment. “Well of course you wouldn’t tell me
that - but tell me, how does it feel? Do you feel like a sort of reverse Robin Hood?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well the old archer and his merry men were into this stealing from the rich and
giving to the poor thing right? Don’t you suppose you do the opposite? Stealing from
the common people and giving it to yourself?”
“So you really do know what I do,” I laughed it off, but when she kept looking at me
intently I had to say something. “Hmmm this conversation is taking a dangerous
turn...”
“Oh no, I don’t mean to be mean, but I was just curious if you are one of those guys
that is up front about what he does or whether you are still babbling that your job
actually adds something to the wider world.”
“I guess you do have a point there, but on the other hand, if we’d had no function we
would no exist.”
She laughed. “Haha, so you do agree that what you do is fundamentally evil, but you
still revert to these hard core capitalistic ideas that you do indeed have a function?”
“Actually its quite simple. If people do business with us it might mean that we fuck
them over sometimes, whatever that might mean, however the simple fact that they
do business with us also means that all the other people they speak with fuck them
over even more.”
Now she was really all up in laughter. “So you see yourself as the least bad of the bad
guys eh... That’s quite charming. You are, you are ... I don’t know, but its charming.”
“So you know I would be bragging if I’d say a 7 figure number is what it is, but if
you’d refer to it as stealing I think saying that its less can only work in my benefit?”

33
“Good for you. So tell me, are you colleagues over there just as modest when
speaking to strange women in bars?”
“Perhaps. Some of them might, others might tell girls they drive a Porsche while the
thing closest to that they have is a Porsche designed water boiler.”
“They do that? Design water boilers I mean?”
“Yeah, its all slick in its design and it says Porsche, but in the end a water boiler is a
water boiler I guess. Are u the kind of girl that likes these things?”
“Well everything shiny for sure,” she chuckled, “but I kind of like the idea of
something so decadent as boiling water in a device designed by Porsche.”
“Yeah it is kind of cool I reckon. The best thing is that you can buy a whole set of
things - the boiler, juicer and so on...”
“So next to bonds you now also sell home products or what?”
“Yeah… wanna buy it?”
It was quite incredible, speaking to her like this. She was cheerful, enthusiastic and
obviously curious and smart – where did she come from? And why was she in front
of me, giving me the opportunity to bask in her sunshine, and bath in her attention. I
had to know more about her, keep her here – make the night last as long as possible,
because that’s all there could be to it.
“So what do you do Sophia?”
“Oh a little bit of everything really,” she said, trying hard to be a bit vague.
“You told me you were a student.”
“I guess you could say that. I am actually in the middle of my studies but I took a
break to make some money... I do some modeling for art sometimes and next to that
I just try to enjoy life you know, trying to discover who and what I want to be when I
grow up.”
I made an obvious scan of her, letting my eyes go over her from top to bottom. She
was wearing a pair of stylish black stilettos on her small feet. Black translucent
stockings, and a short black skirt, which concealed her upper legs for no more then
fifty percent, covered her long legs. I thought about the way her buttocks had looked
in that black pants she wore in the museum, and could only fantasize about what it
would look like without anything.
Before I could continue my analysis of her body she gestured violently to move my
eyes up, locking them back up with her pools of hazel, the lakes without bottoms.
I gave her a naughty grin. “Well, you look pretty grown up to me Sophia.”
“Only a real bastard would check out a girl like that and then make a cheeky remark
like that,” she sneered sarcastically.
“Is cheeky wrong if it’s flattering at the same time?”
She smiled and took another huge zip of her drink, finishing it in the process. So she
had taken the drink, finished it in the nick of time and would now be on her way. I
put on leg on the floor in order to stand up and walk away, when she put her hand
on my arm.
“What are you doing? Bored of me already?”
“No but...”
“But what? I will get another drink, can I return the favor and buy you one as well?”

The new drinks arrived. She pointed to the counter and made a gesture as if making

34
a signature. Put it on my tab please.
“So who is the big swinger now?” I asked, trying to keep a reasonable amount of
cheekiness in my voice, as that had seemed to disarm her for a second earlier.
“Well my company has an open tab there, apparently it’s cheaper to drink on a
corporate tab then on a personal one, so I opened it up...”
“And with your company you mean your company, or the company you work for?”
“Should there be a difference?”
“Not necessarily. So within the little bit of everything you also include running a
company?”
“You make it sound much bigger then it is,” another one of those blushes - why was
this beautiful woman blushing for him? - “Like I said, I just do some modeling for art
and that kind of thing, and I help some girls to get some assignments as well, no big
deal.”
I resisted the impulse to ask more. I had the tendency to ask too many questions,
and I did not wanted to bore her. But I had to know more about her. What made her
tick? Why was she here alone, who was she waiting for?
But I also still did not know what I wanted in the end. Would I kiss her if she would
allow me? Would there be such a moment? Would she allow me? Would she take the
initiative? What would that mean, where would that take us, where would that take
me?
The thoughts took away my energy for moment, and I resorted to emptying my
second rum coke within record time. The combination of sugar, caffeine and alcohol
hit my system and gave me a delightful buzz in my head.
“So what made you decide to study history? Your father?”
“You promised you would not bring that up again.”
“Ouch yes. Couple of points deducted I guess.”
“You bet.”
“But tell me, why you studied history? Do you like it? I mean, I already told you that I
do.”
“Yes I really do like it. Is that so strange?”
“No, not really. But I am just surprised that you would study that.”
“Why? Because I wear high heels and I have boobs?”
“Ergggh how shall I put this... Please don’t be angry, but when’s the last time those
old professors saw a woman like you in real life? And don’t lie to me. How many
have died from straight heart attack by you merely walking in, or asking them a
question?”
She gave another one of those generous, happy laughs. “Well thank you I suppose.
Perhaps you are right, but at the same time I hope you realize how f-ing ridiculous it
is that the thing you said is so close to the truth. But as far as I know none have died
as of yet.”
“Well at least I know that if you would teach history, so much more kids would love
it.”
Then she touched my leg. She shifted in her seat, taking one leg off the other one in
order to switch them. Her stiletto-covered foot gently touched my lower leg and I
felt a surge of blood flowing towards my crotch.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She had also finished her drink and consequently we stared

35
at each other for a couple of seconds, both holding one hand around our empty
glasses, and not knowing what to do with the other one.
I did not have to do anything, I decided. I was just chatting with this girl, what’s
wrong with that? Sure she’s gorgeous, but what’s the difference?
Mark, who had approached the bar and had seen me, interrupted us.
“So this is where our Richard is,” he said, sticking out his hand to Sophia, “a pleasure,
my name is Mark, and now I understand why he did not come back with those
drinks.”
“Hi Mark, I am very sorry to keep your friend from you. Do you desperately want
him back?”
“Oh no,” Mark said with a high pitched voice, “you kids do your thing. Have fun, nice
to meet you Sophia.”
We stared at Mark’s back while he wrestled his way through the crowd.
“Friendly guy,” Sophia concluded, and I caught myself feeling jealous for a second.
“Yes, he is a decent guy. One of the few… So, Sophia…”
“So Richard…”
“What do you think, should we extend this meeting with a third drink?”
“Well, if you want that you’d have to tell me something interesting, because even
though I might be a bit tipsy, you won’t make it with cheekiness alone.”
“Won’t make what?” I asked, stupidly, upon which she just smiled mysteriously.
“Okay, well let me think of something while I order the drinks then. The same for u?”
“Yes and please ask that douche if he can put some more ice in mine this time. The
second one was almost lukewarm.”
I turned to the bar again to see if the hopeless mission of getting my hands on some
drinks would be achievable this time. Tipping him had obviously worked because
this time the barman was more attentive, and he came to me almost immediately.
While he was taking my order a tall, muscular guy moved himself in between me
and Sophia and started chatting her up.
I turned my head away and looked at Eddy and Mark, who were still standing at the
table in the corner, and obviously talking about me intensively now. They were both
looking, Mark with both thumbs up, Eddy sticking out his tongue in an obscene
manner. Two girls were standing at their table, and after having made enough
obscene gestures in my directions they focused their attentions back on those two
girls, young students, who they would impress with bullshit about money and big
cars. And then disappoint.
And myself, I was just getting a drink for a girl that was now being chatted up by a
guy much better looking then me. I resisted the temptation to just walk away and
decided to stand the humiliation for a couple more seconds. I was here, I might as
well stick it out for a bit, especially now the guys had noticed what I was up to.
The drinks arrived and I gave the barman another twenty, giving him the good night
he did most certainly not deserve. I took the drinks and turned 90 degrees on my
barstool, thereby hitting the legs of the big guy with mine. He turned around and
looked at me with a look that held the middle between surprise and utter disdain.
“Oh honey, thank you for the drinks,” she said with the sweetest of smiles. “Jeroen
here was just telling me how he works out six times a week. He pushes 150 kilo’s
can you imagine that? 150 kilograms. Quite impressive. Jeroen, this is my husband

36
Richard. Richard, this is Jeroen.”
The smile on Jeroen’s face faded rapidly as he accepted my hand with the most
reluctant shake possible.
“Nice to meet you Jeroen,” I said with the vilest smirk I could come up with.
“A pleasure,” he mumbled.
“I don’t think my husband can lift 150 kilo’s, can you Richard?”
I felt embarrassed and said nothing.
“Well,” Sophia said, “I can assure you he does not. And do you know why?”
“Ehm,” Jeroen said, clearly taken aback by the turn of events.
“It is because he is busy providing for me, and our family, giving us the life we need.
He is a big shot broker, and between his work and his family, there is no time and
need for pushing 150 kilo. Because even if he would be single, he can come up with a
better pick up line then that.”
“Look, I gotta get back to my friends,” the poor guy stumbled, not knowing how
quickly to get away.
“And he’s gone,” Sophia laughed.
“Wow, let me remind myself never to get on your bad side.”
She had clearly enjoyed that and took the new glass of GT and held it up. “To the
quickest marriage ever,” she said.
I looked at my watch.
“Yeah, within an hour must be a new record, for Amsterdam at least.” We toasted
and drank again. Then the smile disappeared from her face, and she grabbed my
hand.
“Hey you seem like a nice guy Richard. I don’t mean to be too upfront, but you have
this thing in your eyes, some light, or passion or something. And you’re funny. I
don’t know what it is, but I like it, which does not happen to me too often.”
Now it was my time to blush. She liked me? What the fuck. She must be fooling
about. And who would say something like that to a total stranger in a bar? Who was
this woman?
“And I don’t mean to be arrogant either, but I am guessing you might also have a
mild interest in me… perhaps a bit more then just having a conversation about
water boilers and the like?”
“I think we were doing a fairly good job on that but...”
“No buts here, I am having an good time with you here but I can also see you are
wearing a ring. And I am guessing that’s not a friendship ring.”
Now the amount of blood that had been surging towards my crotch after her slight
touches and surprising words, came back in order to race towards my face, and for a
second I was happy for the relative darkness of the place as the blood made my
contemplation go from light to crimson red. I looked down and cursed the fact that I
had not taken it off. My wedding ring, of course. What was I thinking?
“So Richard, let’s do it like this. Like I said, I think you are a nice guy. You can tell me
the thing behind that ring now, and whatever you say I will go with it, even though I
might not believe it. Do you understand me? You tell me what you want to tell me,
and it will be our thing.”
I nodded like an idiot, my heart pacing. Face like a tomato. Lights spinning. Noise.
Where was I?

37
I did not understand what she wanted from me, and I most certainly did not know
what to do.
She got up.
So this is it I thought.
“I will quickly go to the ladies room, and by the time I get back you can tell me what
you want to tell me. How is that?”
Another idiotic nod, I felt like I had just been castrated.
Again those spinning lights.
The noise.
Too much blood in my head. What was happening?
She got up, looking me in the eyes with a combination of hope and suspicion, before
turning around to walk to the stairs leading to the restrooms. I could not help myself
sneaking a peak at her behind and the way she was walking, straight and with the
composure of a princess. She was simply gorgeous, and getting more so with every
zip.

She had given me a chance. She had given me a choice. It was exactly the choice that
I had not wanted to make. It was a choice that I wanted somebody else to make for
me. So I at least could feign innocence. It was exactly the thing that was nagging at
me in the back of my head.
That bloody ring. I touched it with my fingers, the cold smoothness estranging me
for a second. I thought of Sarah, deep asleep in our bed now, in our home, oblivious
of whatever took place in this bar. I thought of my time with her, the good times, the
bad times. The reality of working life in the city. Two tired people living past each
other in the period from coming home from work to going to bed. Spending time
together by eating food, doing dishes, laundry and sometimes watching a movie.
Maybe occasionally some love making, but certainly not what I’d thought it would be
like when it started out, eight years ago now.
The grass is always greener I thought, but as green a type of grass of Sophia I had
not seen before. Even less been close enough to kiss.
Still I was married. I signed a contract before the law, before God even, to love and
care for one woman. And I took care of her, I loved her, I cared for her, through all
her idiosyncrasies, peculiarities and her paranoia.
I could cry whenever she was sick, feeling like my whole world was imploding
whenever she was angry with me for being careless or drunk. She was my woman,
what was I going to do with this girl, what kind of thing of value could she possible
add to my life?
I tried to create a stern inner voice. We are trying to make a baby, he said. How does
this fit in there?
I noticed I was breathing heavily. I took a big zip of my rum coke, almost finishing it,
and tried to compose myself. My heart was doing double time.
I looked at my watch, she had been gone for a couple of minutes, the moment of
truth would quickly be upon me and I had no clue what to do. Well, that was not true
of course. I knew what to do, I would just tell her that I have a marriage, that I am
happy in that marriage and that it was very nice chatting with her, that we should do
it some other time again and become friends. Maybe Sarah could meet her. That

38
would be great, wouldn’t it?
We would go our separate ways like we should. What else was there? Did I really
want to kiss her? Yes of course I wanted that, every man would want that. But what
would be next? Was there a possibility of me ending in bed with her? I could barely
imagine seeing her naked, her long legs around me, her eyes full of pleasure while I...
Stop it. Not going to happen.
Marriage Richard, just remember, marriage. Just go home, say goodbye, go home, jerk
yourself off and go to sleep. Tomorrow you will be happy. Just go home. You can do
this. Marriage Richard, remember what u signed up for.
Then I saw her again. Gracefully she descended the stairs, made a turn at the
bottom, stood there for a second in order to spot me and let her eyes rest on me for
a second. The distance gave me a chance to finish what I had not been able to do
earlier. Her hips looked slightly bigger in the skirt then I’d imagined, giving her a
feminine look. She had a very slender waistline, which she was showing off with a
pink blouse, which followed her shapes nicely. Her skin was tan and where the
blouse was opened it showed a hint of those breasts that had stunned me two days
before, curvy and full. She had straight shoulders that were sexy in their frailness,
small gentle bones visible in the flashing lights.
She was walking to me with that queen like walk of hers. Straight and composed.
The kind of walk that gives you the ability to dominate any space you enter, and as
she made her way from the stairs to the empty barstool next to me I felt all
resistance just fade away. All men in the place were looking at her as she made her
way. All of them were wondering what it would be like. All of them wanted to make
her theirs, if only for a while.
She had a serious look on, but still smiled disarmingly as she took her seat next to
me, making sure to make the slightest of touches to my legs as she placed herself.
She picked up her drink, took a zip and looked at me.
“I had the idea you were staring at me all the way from the stairs to here,” she said.
“I am sorry,” I replied, “I did not mean to stare, but where did u learn to walk like
that? It is... I just don’t know anybody who has that kind of composure I guess. And
in my defense, I was certainly not the only one staring.”
She looked at me but did not say anything. She touched the rim of her glass with one
of her slender fingers and then put it in her mouth, as if she needed the bitter taste
of the GT to swipe a big smirk from her face.
“So,” she started. “Like I asked you before Richard, what is your story? And
remember, I will go with whatever you tell me. It is your choice. I have only one
condition.”
“And what is that?”
“Whatever you tell me tonight, you cannot change it. Never. What you will tell me
will become truth, and you cannot touch upon it again. Do you understand?”
“I eh...” I started. I looked at her. Her thin but shiny lips, the little scar above them,
the strong but beautiful freckled nose, those eyes, the raven black hair that fell over
her forehead and by the sides of her face. I had met my match.
I had put my foot into strange waters many a time before, speaking to women in
pubs and bars. Every time I had been able to walk away, preferring to swim in the
familiar waters of my own pool. But today something, something beautiful maybe,

39
or perhaps something horrific, something dangerous, had grabbed my foot while I
was wading through this stranger, darker water. And now that something was
leading me deeper and deeper, and I knew that if I would do nothing it would take
me to the place where I could not feel the bottom anymore.
And then all would be lost.

The paradox was that I wanted to go to that dark place. I wanted to dive in, to lose
my bearing in the depths and to drown. At that point it seemed to me as the most
beautiful thing in the world.
Her eyes were growing pools of darkness, eagerly awaiting my reply, waiting for my
lies to take shape, for the story to unfold. Of course she knew I would be lying. Who
would not lie? I wondered if she would want me to lie?
She was ready, she’d said. She would go with anything I’d say, that would be the
truth - our truth. What would be done could not be undone; a parallel universe
would be created centered about that truth.
But that was not what I was thinking about. I was thinking about her eyes, what the
sensation of pleasure would look like in them. I dreamed about the promise of her
mouth, her warm body, the feeling of her breasts against me, the excitement of
whatever lay beyond that. I wanted it – I wanted to see her without that shirt, I
wanted to taste her skin. I needed to. After eight years of one woman I just had to.
I felt the excitement of somebody who is about to commit a misdemeanor.
Is the shop assistant looking/quickly put the can in your pocket/now just walk
away/did she see anything?
I had the sensation of floating outside myself, rising up to the ceiling of this place of
lust to look at this man of close to thirty with too much meat on him, this man with
his clumsy smile, which he mistook for mannish charm. This man with his thick
blond hair and baby-blue eyes. There was sweat on his forehead, perhaps also some
forming in his armpits, making stains in his white shirt, which was just a little too
small for him. Buttons were straining across his belly. Surely buttons were straining
as well a bit farther south.
I looked as this man; this stranger opened his mouth to spill the lies that would
create this new truth, the truth that would open the door to where lay what he
wanted. This door that would lead to a beautiful room that lacked an exit. From
there, the only way out would be through the window. Throwing yourself out and
just wait how long it takes to reach the pavement. 10 stories, 20? How many does it
take to kill a man?
I was still floating when the man said: “I am still wearing the ring on my finger, but
no longer in my heart. We have been together too long and its not working anymore,
we still share the same house but are working of a way to end that. To, you know,
divorce. That’s my story, that’s what’s going on. That’s why I am here on a Thursday
night and not at home.”
Sophia looked at me with the intensity of the presenter of ‘Who wants to be a
millionaire’. Her eyes were asking, no they demanded; ‘are you sure that is your final
answer?’
The audience would become quiet, as the contestant would consider for one more
second, like I was, my heart aching from the untruth I had just spit out, from this

40
cheating of reality.
Yes, I was cheating already.
She seemed to consider this for a moment, and then seemed to be busy devising a
plan of what to do with it. She touched my hand gently, and then put it on her leg. I
felt the gentle material of the stockings. Moving closer, I could smell the delightful
perfume on her neck, ever closer, her lips no more then an inch away from mine. I
felt embarrassed for the smell of deep fried food and alcohol that she must be
experiencing at that point, but she did not seem to notice.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I hoped you would say that.” And with that she bridged the
final gap, to let her lips touch mine for the first time.
It was a short, tender kiss, a moment over before I had realized it had started. I just
sat there, with my eyes closed, my lips felt slightly wet, and my brain was
overheating to find out what that sensation was I had just experienced – and trying
to recreate it again and again.
When I opened my eyes she was back where she had been before, finishing her gin
tonic and getting ready to order another one.

The world felt as if it had just been turned upside down. I found myself paralyzed.
Time stretching. She handed me another rum coke, and stood up from her stool to
move herself very close to me. She was very aware of the power that she wielded,
and now that she had her permission was determined to drag the last pieces of
doubt out of me. Her body was slowly moving to the rhythm of the music, constantly
missing a beat to move in half time, touching my legs as she swayed from side to
side. I put my hand on her hip and she smiled at me, moving her body as to make my
hand move to her behind, where it slid willingly. The curve turned me on like
nothing in my life had ever before, and now I know that was the point where
everything started to become a blur.
My hand was lying on the ass of this beautiful girl who was tipsily and sensually
swaying in front of me.
She must be drunk.
Still, what was happening?
My body was pumping with desire, with thoughts so impure I was almost ashamed
for thinking them. If I would stand up she would be able to feel just how excited I
was, but I sensed that she did not need this confirmation of her skills. She made an
attempt to kiss me again, for real this time, but that’s when I thought about my
colleagues. I know they could not care less, for fucking around was about the only
thing they did, however I did not want anybody to know. If this was about to
happen, and it most definitely seemed to be the case, then it had to happen
somewhere anonymous.
Instead of kissing her, I reached for her ear. “Can we go somewhere else?”
“We can go outside? You can walk me home. Would you like to do that?”

Well the answer could not have been more obvious. This strange electricity that had
infected both of us with this silliest of things was too strong to ignore. I had told my
colleagues that I was going home, telling them that tomorrow work would be
waiting for us and that drinking more would probably not be beneficial for them.

41
They laughed; asking where that pretty girl went that I was talking to had gone.
“Home,” had been my answer, which was not a lie per se, as she was waiting for me
outside to go home. Together.
A few claps on the shoulder and the advise to aim a little lower with the ladies next
time escorted me out of the club, where Sophia was waiting on the corner of the
Kerkstraat and Leidsestraat.
In the shine of the streetlights she was even better looking. She was a mirage in the
half lit streets of Amsterdam on this Friday morning. Garbage from clubbers and
tourists was laying everywhere, and a gentle stream of people was still moving to
and from the Leidseplein.
“Let’s take a taxi,” is what she said when I met her there.
“I thought we’d walk…”
“Yes I do, but how will you get home?”

The dream from the taxi, me getting in, Sophia sliding in next to me, grabbing my
head with her hands, kissing me, crawling on top of me.
Lips, hands, hair.
We had not told the taxi where we wanted to go but he started driving anyway, a
fact that I was absolutely delighted with, as we continued to kiss with passion.
Sensations that I did not have for a long time were in my head, in my heart and in
my pants. Her tongue was gently working itself into my mouth, while my hands
were working themselves under her skirts. She looked up for a second when she
noticed me squeezing one of her buttocks slightly and gave me a devious smile. Then
she resumed her kisses, short and long, varying in intensity.
I have no clue how long it took the taxi driver to get tired of this little show, but
when he finally coughed the meter was at 35 euro already.
“So where are you headed?” He asked in a heavy voice.
Sophia giggled, obviously surprised and slightly embarrassed by herself.
“Keizersgracht 446 please.”
The taxi driver sighed deeply, “that’s where we just got from.”
“So then we’ll have to return,” Sophia said.

When I finally got home I felt like a 17th century sailor, who just had returned from
sailing Cape Hope to reach the orient. I was exhausted, disoriented, sick, and most of
all strangely out of touch with the place that was my home. It was well past 3 in the
morning, well past the time that I would regularly return home. Sarah could be
asleep, deep in dreams, but she might as well be awake - what she most certainly
would not be was happy.
I sneaked up the stairs and tried finding the keyhole without making too much
noise, wanting to prevent a confrontation, or even a conversation with Sarah for that
matter. What would I say, how would I look? Would I have lipstick on my lips, on my
shirt? I had forgotten to check this before getting home and felt a panic surging, as I
could not find the keyhole.
Finally the key sled in and the door clicked open with the slightest of sounds. The
floor creaked as I set my first step in, and I was rewarded for trying to be careful and
quiet by an even harder creak as I set my second foot down. Bloody floor.

42
My heart was racing as I closed the door behind my self. Motions - routine but
different, somehow more difficult: Shoes off - jacket on the floor. Whatever.
Walking on my toes I made my way to the bathroom. I threw off my clothes and
made my way to the shower, both reluctant and eager to get her smell off me. The
feeling of her lips on mine was still present, the soft pressure and wetness, her smell
and warmth - the excitement of the illicit.
The heat of the shower gave me a bit of a wake up call. I still had not checked my
shirt, which was lying on the floor right in front of me. What if Sarah would wake up
because of the shower, come in to talk to me - what would she see in the shirt?
Would she pay attention? Did I shower normally when getting home? I could not
remember and the panic that had receded for a second came back with a vengeance.
With haste I washed myself, brushing my teeth in the process, hoping to eliminate
any trace of Sophia.
I was done. Still no sound from the house as I got out to dry myself, spilling great
drops of water on the floor in the process. The collar of my shirt was unpolluted by
the evening’s events, though I could smell a hint of her perfume on there. I savored it
for a moment, reminiscing once more about the time in the taxi - hastily, secretive
and so sexy.
Okay so the shirt needed washing, I could just hide it and wash it with the next shift,
as turning on the washing machine now would be the surest way to create a conflict.
I tugged the shirt deep into the laundry basket, hoping that the smell of the other
laundry would push away the faint hint of perfume on the shirt. Relieved I took a
deep breath - what else, what had I forgotten? I looked in the mirror, looking for
lipstick or lipgloss on my face; in the mirror I did not see anything but a pair of red,
tired eyes, and a bloated head filled with alcohol and nasty dreams. What time was it
anyway? With a shock I recognized I had not taken off my watch during the shower.
It was still ticking, but I was not sure it would survive the night.
The watch told me it was half past three. In four hours the alarm would ring, and I
was not at all sure I would be able to get to sleep. I decided for a drink, a nightcap to
relax myself a bit. In the kitchen cabinet I found a bottle of Don Barcelo rum and I
took it with me to the dining room, which gave a nice overlook of the street and
nearby intersection, where flocks of partygoers came by on bikes.
I poured myself a big shot and sipped it. The sweet warmth of the drink hit me and I
felt the comfort take some control of me.
What freedom all these people have, I thought. All of them unconcerned with waking
up their wives in the middle of the night. Unconcerned by smells of perfume on their
shirts. Unconcerned with getting to work on time and in one piece the next day. How
great to be so free, to be so young, so unspoiled by reality, by obligations and
expectations.
Why did I make the decisions I made, what made me come here sitting in the middle
of the night with a bottle of rum? Is that me? Have I gotten to that level that I need to
sit here drinking, trying to forget or remember? I am not sure yet which one I’d
prefer, but why am I not hugging my wife like a regular man? Like I promised her I
would do, love her, protect her, always hug her, give her warmth and strength? Why
then do I need this garbage drink, this garbage girl, this lack of sleep, and this hard
hangover the next day? What do I need, what do I want?

43
I refilled my glass with much more then I needed, and already I started to feel drunk,
getting into that bad stream of thoughts that gets me when I am drinking, making
the ridiculous seem normal, the normal seem ridiculous.

The flow of people was hypnotizing and I felt my thoughts disappearing, my head
becoming empty as another big zip of rum entered my system.

44
5. The dream – Fear and loathing in Las Vegas
I fell into a deep, drunken sleep in which I saw her again. In my dream I was in Las
Vegas, extravagance was all around while I was making my way through the
labyrinth, no, anthill of one of the hotels. Corners were everywhere, as well as
contradicting signs, shops, restaurants and more pathways leading to the lion’s den
of the hotel where hopes and dreams were made and broken again. And worse,
everywhere were people. Young, old. Beautiful, ugly. Rich, poor. Las Vegas seemed
to be the most democratic of places - the place where everybody can feel rich and
yet where all this wealth, this demonstration of decadence felt fake, like a carbon
board, which you can hit through easily with a aimed stomp.
I was disoriented, walking around without a real target, maybe just finding a decent
place to have a sit, drink a beer and watch this giant flow of people walking by. But
then again, sitting down is not the purpose in Vegas, unless it’s at one of the tables.
Therefore the terraces are cramped, functional places, where people can quickly eat
something in order to continue to be lost, only to find solace in the casino. People
were carrying plastic glasses with cocktails around, drinking them through huge
straws, dragging plastic bags from the shopping malls with them looking
exhilarated, happy.
It was only fitting she should come to me in this environment that invited such
visions of self-indulgence, of clandestine legality. The first time I saw her walking by
I was completely stunned. She was wearing a tight red dress, which fitted her forms
perfectly, following every millimeter. Her complexion was tanner then it had
seemed in the club, and the small scar above her lip had been transformed into a
small beauty mark, which somehow made her features only the more beautiful. She
looked more exotic here, a warm, no sizzling hot vision of rain forests covering dark
rich secrets which promised its discoverer rich bounties. Her heels were
ridiculously high, and made her taller and even more imposing and every man that
passed her by could not help but to look, or even give her a full out stare. I was in the
second category.
I saw her walking by in front of the Guess store. Confident, still sporting the princess
walk, enjoying the attention she inevitably drew to herself like a Sirene on the old
Greek seas. I could not help but be captivated by her, as I had been before. My eyes
were drawn to her like a firefly to the light, and her route of walking made that I
ended up looking her right in the eyes for the better part of half a minute. Then she
was right in front of me, right in my face, in my personal space, where I could smell
her odor, which mixed beautifully with her perfume, and feel the electricity of sex
that her body was radiating.
“Oops,” she said, pretending to bump into me. I could not help but smile. She was not
more then 15 centimeters away from me. Her pumps made that our eyes were
almost leveled. Neither of us was budging, we were just staring, wondering what to
do next.
What the hell was going on here? I felt my heart in my chest, pumping blood around
but unable to decide which direction - up or down. Dream Richard experienced the

45
same problems I had, when I had seen her in the club. I tensed and felt the dream
turning lucid. I just had to take control of Dream Richard in order to be with her, to
have her, even if only inn my sleep. But, even in my sleep, I felt the moral trouble
hanging over me, felt the tension of the forbidden, the illicit.
“Oh I am sorry,” Dream Richard soon to be taken over by Real Richard eventually
managed to say.
She smiled, finally looking down, breaking the stalemate, before glancing back
upwards to hypnotize me with those big chocolaty eyes, making both Dream
Richard and Real Richard melt like stones in lava.
“I just could not help looking at you,” Real Richard said, taking over the stumbling
dream alter ego. “You don’t see somebody looking like you everyday.”
She blushed and still she had not moved back. Her smell was spellbinding, the
electricity magnetizing and for a second it seemed like she felt the same, not willing
to break herself from this awkward deadlock in the middle of a hotel hallway.
Her lips pouted. “Oh well thank you, ehm?”
“Richard.”
“I am Lydia, nice to meet you. I am meeting my girlfriends though, so I should get
going. Do you mind?”
I did not want her to go anywhere, completely satisfied with just standing there so
close to her, breathing in more and more of her addictive scent, feeling the urge to
touch her, put my lips on hers, drown in her once more.
But she vanished in thin air. “Bye Richard,” she said before moving right past me. I
could not help myself but staring at her, the way she walked, the shapes of her body
in that dress. It was the museum all over again, but worse.
“Oh wow I need a beer,” I told myself and pulled myself loose from this mirage that
was she.

Once again I felt myself disappearing in the anthill. The meeting with Sophia/Lydia
had placed me in the spotlight for a second, at least in my imagination. Her attention
all of a sudden making me rise above the ordinary folk. I wondered how a woman, a
normal woman, was able to make every meeting with her feel like an audience with
a queen, and also, if one woman should have this power, how she would wield it. To
what end? I could imagine a woman like this becoming an empress in times long
gone, charming, hypnotizing and perhaps eventually fucking herself up all the way
into the arms of the most powerful man of the nation, of the kingdom and even the
empire. From that moment on even this man would not have stood a chance
anymore and the land would be ruled by this woman, if that was what pleased her.
What was there for woman like this in this age? Were they still winding silly, horny
and most certainly rich and powerful men around their fingers? Or were they
emancipated now, viewing their hold over men as a handicap that they were not
allowed to use in order to scramble upwards like the rest of us?
In my dream her power had been stronger then in real life, for sure. The events of
the day, the night, together with the inordinate amount of alcohol had magnified her,
extrapolating her magnificence into something that was out of this world. It was
mesmerizing, but the meeting was over and in the way dreams do, it did not force
me to move so much as that it just place me in the next situation, in a way that time

46
did not matter but the story still seemed chronological.
Dream Richard had gone by now, and I was placed on the other side of the mall. I
was free to roam this dream environment, visit the shops, bars and even the casino.
Lucidity was a great thing, but here it was a nightmare. Obviously shopping or
drinking was not on my mind at that moment - it was only working on ways imaging
kissing Sophia/Lydia. To have the feeling of not being able to reach her, to see her,
to touch her, even in a dream, which supposedly should bend to my ever cravings,
was a painful irony. If I could not even imagine how it would feel like to be with her
some more, to speak, to kiss, to perhaps take off her dress, to see what it would look
like, if I could not bend the situation towards this even in a dream, then how would
it be even remotely possible in reality?
The mall morphed into some type of food court. The ceiling had changed from
normal white to a painted, moving drawing of clouds, reminiscent of renaissance
paintings minus the angels. It only added to my feelings of being adrift, even though
I was following the “main way” through the mall. A huge noise broke my thoughts,
and the ceiling lit up. I heard the clatter of rain and instinctively tried to find cover,
holding my hands over my head. I jumped into a shop before turning around, where
everybody was still walking like nothing happened. The ceiling was still flickering,
sounds of rain and thunder were around, giving people the idea they were actually
outside, in some kind of medieval European town. The Vegas people had fooled me,
even in my dream.
Now I noticed that the facades of the shops had changed, blending into the
environment. I stepped out of the store and noticed that the path widened,
becoming some type of square with a kitschy fountain in the middle. Around the
fountain terraces were placed, European style, where people were taking a break
from buying and gambling, but not from drinking. Huge cocktails were served to the
crowd of people, who were strangely quiet amidst the artificial natural violence.
Groups of young men at bachelor parties were looking at many of the girls and
women coming by. Packs of young women were giggling softly, getting drunk for a
night of Vegas. In between were old people looking at everything around them in
bewilderment, perhaps trying to grasp what had happened to a Vegas that they
must have seen in a different way before.
Sitting on the terrace I ordered a Sam Adams and watched this collage of people
sitting around me and going by when my phone started ringing. The called ID told
me it was Sarah calling and my heart skipped a beat. She was not supposed to
feature in this dream!
I picked up the phone, effortlessly sliding back into my goofy and cheery mood
whenever speaking to her. “Yeah boss,” I said, joking like I usually did when she’d
call me at the office. She chuckled. “Hey dear, how are you? Where are you sitting, I
am kind of done shopping.”
So, she was here with me. She had gone shopping; I had gone to have a drink. “Ehm I
am sitting at this kind of square now having a drink.”
“A square? Are you still in the hotel?”
“Yeah its on the main pathway with the shops. It’s the place where the ceiling has
clouds painted on it. Its kind of weird on it to be honest, you should come and see it.”
“Okay, so how do I get there?”

47
I looked around for any landmark that would be recognizable for Sarah, but except
for the fountain and the square everything was cut out of exactly the same cloth
“Where are you now, do you have any clue?”
“I am standing in front of the Guess store, they had some really nice dresses here but
they did not have my size, the smallest size was 38, can you imagine? Bloody fat
Americans, they think everybody is like them!”
“Haha,” I responded, “and I am sure you told them that as well?”
“No of course not! I am not an idiot! So where are you, how do I get there?”
“I’d say just follow the big circular path - it goes around the casino so you should end
up here at some point. Call me once you see the fountain, okay?”
“Allright, I will try to get there.”
“Bye dear.”
“Bye.”

CONVERSATION ON TERRACE ENDING IN FIGHT

In dream as much as in reality I could feel my attention slipping away from our
conversation. It was not so much the stream of people that captured my attention as
we chatted like experienced lovers do, but the invisible needles that Lydia/Sophia
had left in me like a jellyfish in its prey.

Why was I so angry, so anxious, and so determined to destroy all good and nice
things around me? As I watched Sarah run away from me, holding her hands over
her eyes, I felt both helpless and guilty, self-hate sweeping over me. I wanted to
follow her but was afraid to make even more of a scene then the screaming Sarah
had done already. What would I say, what words would I have now that would calm
her down, which lies would make her hug me again, make her feel that in my arms
lied the safety that she needed so badly?
Yet her running away from me also made her irresistible. All thoughts of
Lydia/Sophia vanished from my mind as my brain cells formed an army whose only
intent it was to follow her and get her back, to make her want to hug me again, to
make her feel safe again.
This strange train of thought was in my head as I walked after her, trying to pace
myself but also straining not to run. People were already looking at the girl with the
red face, who was running away with tears in her eyes, looking panicked and
frightened. Worse, I had no idea where she would possibly go. Would she head off to
our room and lock herself in the bathroom? Or would she go to the strip, where she
could easily disappear in the mass of people, but on the same count would also risk
getting lost.
Oh god, she can get lost. She will run away and never find the hotel back. Where
would she end up? Would she want to realize that she was lost, and call me?
Panic engulfed me now. Where did she go?
I started to run, thoughts pacing faster and faster, scarier and scarier. The chase
took me into the heart of the labyrinth, the casino, where money was made, and yet
much more of it lost to be never seen again. I looked - left, right, left - but could not
see her, could not hear her in the noise that was all around me. Then, a flash of her

48
blonde hair - near the elevators. Where else would she go? Of course it was the room
where she wanted to be, a safe haven, a place to lock herself in.
I had to double my tempo in order to reach the room at the same time as she would.
If she would lock me out there would be a scene, there would be screaming - me
banging on the door, begging for forgiveness. She, hiding, crying, telling me to go
fuck myself.
The elevator area was a particular busy part of the casino floor. The entrance to the
area served as a funnel for those either wanting to go out or in, with the in-
streamers being the majority supposedly to convince the rest to also stay, as leaving
might be too much hassle after all.
People were all around me, and I started pushing them, cursing harsh Dutch words
at the fazed Americans who were stepping aside much too slow for my taste. I had
lost her again, but right now I just needed to get into an elevator and hope it would
be quick enough. I pushed the button - I might have pushed it a thousand times as
those dream seconds felt like full hours as elevators did not stop for me, as every
elevator that did drop by wanted to go further down, as more and more people
started getting in the general area ready to pounce on any available spot in a lift.
People people people were everywhere. A drunken young couple holding a huge
green cocktail glass that looked like a bong was sucking the liquid out of the cup
through huge orange straws. Three students were making remarks about the
cocktail drinking couple while leaning against the wall bare-chested. An old man and
woman were frowning at the youngsters who were too loud and lewd for their taste
- and the list went on. More and more kept coming whereas the elevators seemed to
have given up their never ending job of taking people up and then down again and
appeared to have just vanished. Two scantly dressed college girls pushed
themselves forward through the mass of people. They obviously had just arrived
from the pool and were wearing only the slightest of skirts over their still dripping
bikinis. This sight brought the male students in an absolute frenzy and I was caught
in an almost brawl as they tried to fight themselves as close to the ladies as possible.
Finally the elevator arrived. I had no conception of time, it could have been 3
seconds or 5 minutes, but here it was, opening itself like the doors of heaven - or the
doors to heaven if you thought about it. People started to push in and I was bumped
into the smallest of the bikini girls, who left a wet stain on my shirt and pants before
turning around and grinning at me. “That was quick,” she said poking her taller
friend in the side, who started giggling hysterically. I had a sudden urge to smack
those bitches who occupied these desperate moments that I had to prevent a full on
crisis from appearing, but I just grumbled while giving her the vilest look that I had
in my portfolio, while the crowd kept pushing us towards the elevator.
I was in, together with the young girls who were now in animated conversation with
the three boys who made no effort to hide their muscles to the ladies. The older
couple tried to get as far away from them as seemingly possible - which was right
against me, shoving me against the elevator wall as I pushed the button frantically in
a vain hope the doors would close and we would finally move on upwards.
The lift was full - so full that everybody was packed in together very tightly, much to
the delight of the boys who warned the girls not to lean against them as to not get
them wet, whilst everybody was aware that that was the very thing that was their

49
objective.
We were moving upwards. Floor 1, 2, 3 - the levels kept passing by.
Sarah - where was she. Tears were prickling in my eyes as I thought of her and the
sadness in her eyes. What had the fight been about again? Why were we screaming
and crying and running after each other? I had no clue, it seemed an eternity ago as
this box was carrying me upwards. Was it worth it to spend one hour on fighting,
then one hour of making up and the having fun again the rest of the day? Why
constantly waste this time, this energy, that we could spend roaming the strip,
eating, drinking, laughing, or perhaps even loving? Where had she gone, and why
was she so explosive? Why did I have to go too far all the time? Why she could not
just grasp my point and accept it, in order to prevent these escalations from
happening - because that’s what it was - in my conviction at least - a small difference
in opinion to which we both acted as if the other was an idiot, and in which Sarah
would play a war of attrition, not giving in, not retreating, just standing her ground
as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on, as if she was blind for whatever point
of view I was expressing, like a city surrounded by a mighty enemy that refused to
give up. But instead of letting them - her - starve to death in their - her - created
isolation, in that standoff, I would always bring out the big guns in order to get her
out of that state, to make her react, to make her come out of her fort and fight. And it
was this method that always backfired, like the police beating somebody up for a
small offense, like a conqueror destroying a city that had given up. It would always
turn the situation against me and then all of a sudden I was the one in defense, the
one who was apologizing - which she had not resorted to at any stage - and
eventually also the one who had to chase to fix the situation. So brilliant she was or
so stupid was I, as to let this happen, and now I was running after her once more,
trying to make up for some stupid turn of phrase that had been too rude, a response
rendered out of proportions.
I ran out of the elevator at the tenth floor, leaving the hormone bombs behind. I
tried to hear if I could notice her running, but I did not hear a sound. The floor was
empty. Turning left on the red carpet, I almost lost my balance but quickly
recaptured it and speeded up. Room numbers were flashing by, 1010, 1012, 1014 as
I sprinted down the corridor, anxious to reach the corner behind which our room
was situated.
She was sitting in front of the door. Legs bent, knees into her face. A small, sobbing
creature of loss and devastation, sitting there at the floor - fragile and lost, but angry
and probably dangerous.
Slowly I approached her, like a trainer would approach a wild animal in a cage. I was
struck by how vulnerable she was - how could I possibly hurt her? I had to protect
her, hold her in my arms, whisper sweet words in her ears, kiss her head, slowly let
my fingers slide through her hair so she could fall asleep in warmth, with only
feelings of safety and happiness in her head so the sweet dreams could arrive and
bring her even more happiness in the night.
I got on my knees and brought my head towards hers, not sure if she had noticed
me. “Hey,” I whispered, “it’s me, I am sorry dear, I did not mean it like that.”
There was no response, just more soft sobbing. I tried to move my arm around her
and she allowed me, a response, which was at least positive in a sense. I tried to

50
push her towards me, so her head would fall on my chest. “Hey how many times
have I told you not to cry without me dear, come on, stain my shirt with your tears.”
Finally she looked up. First at me, then at the shirt. “Your shirt is wet. How did your
shirt get so wet? Are you sweating?”
I forced a smile. “No, it was very busy in the elevator and some girl leaned against
me with a wet bikini.”
She frowned. “A girl leaned against you in a wet bikini?”
I nodded.
“How does that happen?”
“It was busy, many people, some pushing, some shoving...”
“Well lucky you,” she concluded, moving her head towards my chest and responding
to my hug.
“I am only lucky to have you dear, you know that?”
“Why you have to be such a bastard then, if you know this? Why you have to look at
those sluts walking by, can’t you just look at me when we are talking?”
“I am sorry dear... I did not mean to, come on, you know I only care about you, not
about some sluts who are walking by here in a hotel...”
“It hurts me Richard, it makes me want to be alone, makes me want to go home. It
feels like you are not here with me. It’s just you here and me here, and we both do
what we like and in the evening we eat and sleep together. I just don’t feel you... It
makes me sad.”
She made me blush with her words. I kept reminding myself that this was a dream,
that it was not really happening, but I could not help feeling sad at her words which
seemed to point right at my thoughts about Sophia/Lydia, liked she sensed my
distraction, my longings to that strange flesh, my fantasies.
But here I was, sitting in the hallway of this hotel, holding this girl in my arms, my
only thought being how to calm her down, how to make her feel my love, how to
make her trust me again. She was still gently sobbing against my chest, rendering
my shirt most certainly unfit for the night, but it did not bother me.
“You are a dick, you know that?”
“Yes,” I replied solemnly.
“And you keep on doing these things. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.”
“You have got to improve. You need to make me feel like you love me. If you do.”
“Of course I do, you know this. Come on dear, you know I love you. I did not do so
much but I am sorry if it hurt you - that was not my intention at all. I never want to
hurt you, because it makes my heart bleed to see you like this.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes of course dear, and you know it. I am so sorry I hurt you, really, it makes me
sick.”
“So then stop hurting me...”
“Hey, why don’t we go into the room? Let’s lie down and talk dear, I feel sad when
you talk like this. You know it’s not true.”
“Okay lets go inside... I need to fresh myself up...” She paused, looking at me. I
noticed some warmth flowing back in her eyes, but she was still contemplating how
to act to me. Then she decided. “Are we still going to dinner tonight though?”

51
I gave her a broad smile. “We can do anything you want tonight dear. Now let’s go
inside.”

We made love in the hotel room and I felt like a new man. Sometimes it was great to
argue just for the sake of making up, but the tension and struggle that came along
with it also always remembered me just how much I cared for Sarah. The cliché is
that you never know what you got till its gone, but unfortunately lately I had been
tasting a lot of those “almost gones”, and the reminder what was at stake was always
forgotten rather quickly.
Now it was close to midnight and Sarah was in deep sleep next to me. I was sitting
on the bed, unable to sleep - ironic as it was still a dream - touching her hair, looking
at the gentle smile that formed itself on her face when she was deep in dreams, and I
felt myself at perfect peace. It feels great to love somebody, to be full of that feeling
and to float on the waves of happiness that it brings you.
The room was messy, clothes were lying around and in the corner two big suitcases
were opened. It was a nice room, with two windows giving a nice view of the
bustling Vegas strip. It contained two comfortable leather seats, which were aimed
at the television. At the other side of the room there was a simple desk with some
hotel information on it.
The room was decorated with props from old movies, which were framed and hung
on the walls with under scripts like “Sweater Actor X wore in Movie Y”, like anybody
outside of the US had actually watched all those pulpy Sci-Fi stuff they were
advertising.
My stomach reminded me that I had not yet eaten - indeed after making up we were
all but consumed by the love making, after which Sarah had fallen asleep in that
deep sleep in which she was still, whilst I had woken up after a short nap. I looked
around the room for a mini bar, but I could not find any. On the desk I saw the
bundle with hotel information in it and contemplated ordering room service for a
second, however that would most likely wake up Sarah, something which I wanted
to avoid now she was asleep so soundly.
There was nothing else to do but browse the hotel to see if there was still anything
around, something that I did not doubt as this was Vegas. Quickly and as quiet as
possible I slipped into my clothes again and left the room. The hallway was empty
and quiet, and I paced myself to the elevator, feeling a bit guilty for leaving Sarah
alone in the room. The lift arrived almost immediately and brought me down to the
casino level, where it was - much to my surprise - still very busy. It seemed like the
same people that had been there the whole day were still there, just more drunk.
Whereas before only maybe half of all people were carrying a cocktail around, now
virtually everybody was drinking, doggedly making their way from table to table, or
from machine to machine whilst intoxicating themselves more and more.
In the middle of the casino there was a bar where scantly dressed girls were serving
those drinks to the thirsty gamblers. I decided to make my way there, so see if they
were able to serve me something to eat as well and my question got answered
without asking as I saw huge plates with sandwiches and fries being brought to the
guests.
It was supposed to be a “hip” place with a modern design and flashy lights which

52
were changing colors, however the picture of the waitresses bringing around the
drinks wearing only a bikini top and a short little pants served as a reminder that
we were still in Vegas.
I found a table in the corner of this bar and as soon as a sat down a small blonde girl
headed in my direction. She was wearing a red top, which was showing off a pair of
silicon-enhanced breasts. Those breasts seemed to be in danger of falling out at any
second. On top of it she wore a name tag which informed me that her name was
Heather, and the spring in her petite frame as she came towards me told me that she
had not been here very long yet. She radiated hope and excitement - the perfect
Vegas girl. Her pretty faced smiled at me as she arrived at the table and began the
standard American lines:
“Good evening sir, my name is Heather and I will be serving you this evening. What
can I help you with, would you like something to drink or eat tonight?”
“Hi Heather. I’d like a Sam Adams please if you have, and do you have a food menu?”
“Certainly sir, a Sam Adams and the menu coming right up.”
“Thanks very much.”
And there she went, almost dancing away from my table. She was good looking
actually and I could not help looking at her behind as she returned to the bar to fill
my order. Her legs were rather short but very slim and the small pants that she was
wearing showed off enough of her buttocks to earn her some big tips.
I was woken out of my thoughts by a light voice.
“She has a nice ass doesn’t she?”
I looked up startled. This rapidly changed into surprise as I saw Sophia/Lydia
standing at my table. She had changed her dress to a black, shorter version, under
which she was wearing dark thighs. Her hair was not hanging loose anymore but
tied behind her head in the slightest of ponytails. Her eyes were more heavily made
up then earlier, which made her look even better, especially in the light of the bar.
“Mind if I join u?” She asked, not bothering to wait for an answer as she sat down
across from me, staring at me all the while.
“Hello again,” I said, still not overcome from the surprise, or for that matter, not
overcome from the shock that my heart seemed to have gone to double time. I felt
myself getting a bit red and thanked whatever supreme power for the fact that it
was a bit dark in the bar.
“Where have you been hanging out?” She asked, “I was looking around for you.”
“For me,” I replied dumbstruck. “Why would you be looking for me?”
“No specific reason I guess, I just felt like we had not finished our conversation
earlier when you ‘bumped’ into me.” She bent her head sideways a bit and showed
me a sliver of a smile, while her eyes burned with fire, begging me to return the
challenge back to her.
Heather who brought my beer and the menu interrupted our pleasant exchange. I
could not help noticing the vile look that she gave Lydia/Sophia, which was
immediately replaced by the sincerest of smiles when she asked if the lady also
wanted a drink.
The question was somewhat interestingly addressed to me, but Lydia/Sophia did
not even think to let me reply. “Gin tonic,” she ordered not surprisingly.
“One gin tonic coming up, and sir, do you have any idea what you’d like to eat?”

53
“Can you recommend something Heather?”
“Well the cheeseburger is good if you just want to have a quick bite, or you can try
the rib eye, but I must warn you - it is very big.”
“In that case I’ll have the cheeseburger please, with fries, and could you bring me
mayonnaise with the fries please?”
Heather looked at me with distaste. “Mayonnaise?”
“Yes please. And ketchup too of course.”
“Okay sir, right on. I’ll be right back with that gin tonic for the lady.”
She dribbled away again. “Don’t you dare looking at her ass again,” Lydia/Sophia
said.
I smiled at her, not sure what to do with the conversation, and certainly not sure
how to reply to her earlier statement. However, she seemed to have no qualms
about it.
“So mayonnaise on your fries... Going with the whole Pulp Fiction thing?”
“It is great, you should try it. In Holland it’s the most normal thing in the world, but
here it hasn’t caught on yet.”
“Makes sense, it sounds disgusting. So tell me Richard, what are you doing here so
late, all alone?” The daring tone which frightened me till no end had returned in her
voice, and her eyes were once again challenging me to say something that would tilt
the conversation from casual to full frontal flirting.
Like in real life earlier in the evening, I had to think about the reply for a second,
wondering if what I wanted to happen in real life could already take place in this
dream, and how I would feel about it afterwards.
I decided to take the bluff to her - “I was playing on the poker table the whole
evening, forgetting much of the time till I almost collapsed of hunger. So I went here
to have a bite. I was in LA for some business and decided to mix it with some fun her
in Vegas. How about you, don’t you have some girlfriends to hang out with?”
She seemed to enjoy being spoken to like that - it lit up the fire in her eyes while she
touched her hair with one hand, curling the black locks around it and then letting
them go again. “The girlfriends all went to bed already, or went to call their
boyfriends... They are boring.”
“And you are not I reckon?”
Heather returned with the drink before she could reply. She smacked the glass
down on the table and I was surprised there was still any liquid in it after this crude
action. She gave Lydia/Sophia another one of her vile smiles before turning to me
again. “Sir I forgot to ask you how you wanted your burger?”
“Ehm medium rare please. And could I have another beer please?”
“Certainly sir, coming up.”
“That bitch keeps interrupting us,” Lydia/Sophia said, sounding almost angry.
“Well I am afraid that will happen if you order drinks, but I did see her giving you a
look that did not leave much to the imagination.”
“Hm I guess that’s just how Vegas girls look at other women. Their chances of a fat
tip are reduced if there is a woman at the table as the man does not want to seem to
be over tipping the waitress just because she has big boobs and a nice ass.”
“Makes sense. Where were we, oh yeah... I just asked you whether you were boring
like your girlfriends.”

54
“Is that your best way to charm women, asking them whether they are boring? Is
that also something that is popular in Holland, because I can tell you - it has not
caught on here yet for sure.”
She seemed satisfied with her reply and leaned back, looking me straight in the eye
as she took a deep zip of her drink.
“Don’t you think its a relevant question - if you would be boring we could either talk
for half an hour and I would find out, but then I would have wasted 30 minutes I’ll
never get back. I might as well ask you, as you pointed out that your girlfriends were
in fact boring.”
A laugh escaped her. It was odd that I felt enough distance from her to tell her off -
but it was also weird that she seemed to want to be told off. My heart had calmed
down because this Lydia/Sophia seemed to be a doppelganger, but also seemed to
be another person, or perhaps another side of the Sophia I had met.
“I think a woman likes it when a man takes his time to find out what she is like...”
“You mean you like it.”
She smiled, for real now. “Yes I like it.”
“So then for now I will assume you are not boring?”
Her face turned somewhat serious. “I can guarantee you that I am not boring
Richard.”
“I did not expect you to be.”
“Why don’t you come sit on my side of the table, so I can show you that I am not
boring.”
Another dare. She loved playing this game I saw, but by getting me closer to her she
was playing on her strengths. From this side of the table, and supported by the
realization that I was in fact dreaming, I could be distant and play it cool, but to sit
right next to her in that cramped space, her legs rubbing against me, the perfect
view on her cleavage from that angle, her smell - and then those eyes which would
be slaughtering me from that distance, I would be like a lamb to her wolf.
Still, I could not resist being closer to her, to this strange creature that had appeared
here in a devilish incarnation of herself, in a version that was not just incredibly
attractive and sexy, but who was simply oozing sex from all parts of her body. If sex
would be sweat, all of her clothes would be soaking with it right now, levels no
antiperspirant in the world would be able to deal with.
So I did get up, not thinking about food anymore, or about what I had left upstairs in
this same hotel. No, in my dream I could afford to be a fool, and I dove right in. I got
my beer and made the three steps to the other table. Lydia slipped to the corner of
the booth, inviting me.
“So,” she said when I had taken place next to her, and she had placed herself tightly
against me, “isn’t this much more personal?”
I decided that I did not want to play any more games, it was my dream and if I
wanted her I could have her. I put my beer down and looked at her face, which was
now at just fifteen centimeters distance. There was still some challenge in her eyes,
but also something else. Then, I just kissed her. My mouth hit hers a bit harder then I
had intended, and she reacted with surprise, pulling back at first, before replying
eagerly with an open mouth. It lasted about five seconds before I, satisfied, pulled
my head back to look at the result of my actions.

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As a matter of fact she was not as dumbstruck as I had expected. She licked her lips
for a second while she gained her composure back. Then she leaned into me to kiss
me again, putting one arm around my neck and touching my crotch with the other
one. A burning desire started to take hold of me as she started massaging me under
the table with her left hand, while kissing me with a passion that I had not felt for a
while.
This kiss took much longer then the first one, and when we were finished it was my
time to take a few seconds to gain my composure. “See,” she smiled, “not boring.”
Heather arrived with the burger, in which I had the very least interest at that point. I
ignored her as she put it on the table together with the fries and the mayonnaise,
making herself scarce just a bit too slow.
I kept on looking at Lydia with a hunger that should have frightened her. Instead she
seemed to be savoring it. She picked one of my fries and dripped it in the
mayonnaise. Then she put it in her mouth, sucked the mayonnaise off the fry and
pulled it out again.
“Shouldn’t you start with your burger,” she asked me as if nothing had happened,
“you would not want it to get cold now would you?”
But my hunger was all gone, and the only meat I had an interest in was hers at this
point.
“Let’s forget about that. I want to go upstairs and fuck you.”
This shocked her for a second. The same fry was dipped into the mayonnaise again,
which was then expertly sucked off. She seemed to evaluate her possibilities but I
had not time for that. I got twenty dollars out of my wallet and put it on the table.
Then I grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the booth. She did not resist.
We walked away and I put my hand around her waste. “So,” she finally said, “you
have decided you are also not boring?”
“I guess you brought it up in me. Now, shall we go to your room?”
“My room? Why?” She seemed reluctant for that option, but obviously it was the
only one, even though she did not need to know about that necessarily, even so she
might not give a darn if she would.
“Does it matter? Let’s just go there,” I pressed her on, not too willing to admit my
wrongdoings even as I was about to do them, even when it was just a dream.
“But my girlfriends are in there - don’t you have a room?” She insisted.
Before I knew it I blurted out that ugly truth: “I do but my wife is sleeping there.”
“Ah... That’s a problem... In that case I guess we can go to mine.”
“You don’t mind?”
“About what?”
“About what I said before of course.”
“Why would I care about that, its your wife, not mine.”
“Not boring indeed,” I concluded.
We took the elevator up to the 12th floor. Here the hallways were wider and the
distance between the doors was bigger. “Looks good,” I said.
“My girlfriend is the daughter of an ambassador, so she gets some extra’s.”
We kept on walking and I could not help grabbing her ass, feeling its roundness,
letting my hand slide over it. I must have overdone it, because she stopped walking
and grabbed my crotch again. Her eyes were fiery as she asked “so, how is it if

56
somebody just grabs you en plain public?”
I gave her a generous grin. “I love it.”
She walked on, seemingly angry, faster, towards a door with two men in suits
standing around it. I followed as she nodded at the men and slid the key into the
door. One of the men raised his hand. “Who is this?” He asked Lydia.
“Just a friend Frank, now let him through, let’s try not to wake up those girls in there
right?”
Frank gave me a suspicious look, trying to assess me with his piercing eyes. He was
not so tall, but just by the way he stood he radiated an aura of authority and
strength in a way that told people “don’t fuck with me” in capital letters. I nodded at
Frank, sticking my hand out. “Richard.”
Frank took the hand and then crushed it. “If I hear as much as a hint of a complaint
about your behavior in there I will kill you, okay?”
My composure was shook. “I will try and be quiet,” I said feeling castrated.
“You better not just be quiet. Keep it in your pants too friend.”
I just nodded as Lydia opened the door and Frank let me go. We entered a room that
was not so much a hotel room as a suite. The space we entered was a sort of living,
with a sofa and chairs standing round a coffee table. The room had three doors, of
which two were closed, which were likely to lead to the respective bedrooms, but
that was not where Lydia was headed. She made a sharp turn right, grabbing my
hand in the process, to a fourth door. She hit the light switch at the door and then
opened it, leading me to the bathroom.
When I was in she closed the door and locked it. She put one of her fingers on her
mouth, signaling me to be silent, as she reached under her dress to take of her
panties. She took them off with surprising skill and pace. Then she walked to me and
gave me a short kiss.
“So,” she said, “Do you still have such a big mouth?” She still had her panties in her
hand, and she dangled them in front of me. “No more obstacles here, Richard.”
She threw the panties away and grabbed my hand, bringing it down between her
legs.
“You feel that?” She whispered. I did feel her moist and it turned me on, as she
moved my hand in the way she liked it. “You like that?”
She began to breathe heavier as she speeded up the movements. I felt she was
getting wetter as the pace became frantic. She grabbed my shoulder with her right
hand and lifted her left leg, still guiding my right hand up and down the core of her
femininity, until she started to shudder and breathe even heavier. She shrieked as
her body shook a couple of times, heaving her head against my chest. Then she let go
of my hand, giving me a wild look. “Not boring,” she said then as she started
unbuttoning my pants. I felt weak in my legs, still feeling Frank’s killing grip on my
hand of just a couple of minutes ago.
“What’s wrong,” she asked, feeling my distraction, “don’t be afraid of Frank, he just
likes to fool around that’s all, now come on, do what you came here to do.”
She pulled down my pants and started rubbing my crotch, giving me sloppy French
kisses in the process. I felt myself get hard as she freed me out of my underpants.
She had a firm grip around it as she rubbed it, making me close my eyes, kissing her
in order not to make a sound.

57
“Now sit on the toilet,” she ordered. I walked there, getting rid of my pants and
underwear completely in the process and closed the lid before sitting down. She did
not bother taking off her dress as she sat on top of me. Her hand led me inside of
her; effortlessly I entered her, and she started riding me. She was leaning backwards
and I could not help making noise, which she did not seem to hear, hypnotized by
her own rhythm of riding which was driving me insane. I started touching my chest,
trying to distract myself from the pleasure, which was immense, and I was torn
between the fear of being discovered by Frank as much as the fear of coming too
quickly.
Lydia increased the tempo and started making sounds of her own, first soft and
gentle, then louder and louder as she worked herself to another peak. “Lydia,” I said,
“let’s be quiet, please.”
She stopped for a second, looking at me with wild eyes that seemed to be drunk or
high, or perhaps both. She hugged me, kissing me. “Don’t worry,” she said, “its okay.”
But it was not.
There was a loud bang as Frank kicked in the door of the bathroom. With eyes of fire
he looked at me sitting on the toilet like an idiot, my pants laying in the other corner,
Lydia on top of me with her dress still on, not leaving much to the imagination.
“I warned you,” Frank threatened as he stepped to me. “Miss, would you get up
please?” He asked Lydia in the gentlest of voices. She hesitated, “Frank,” she started.
“I don’t want to hear it miss, I have specific orders. Now get up, get dressed and get
into your bedroom. Me and this gentleman here have some business to discuss.”
“Please don’t hurt him Frank, just...”
“Miss please, just leave and let him be my business okay?”
Reluctantly she got up, leaving me exposed and half naked on the toilet. Frank put
his hands behind his back as Lydia pulled her dress down and left the room. As soon
as she had left Frank closed the door. He rubbed his hands, seemingly delighted by
what was about to happen. On this right hand there was a big ring, with which he
was playing, perhaps doubting whether to hit me with the ring still on or not.
“So you enjoyed that eh,” he said to me, not so much asking as concluding it. He
nodded to himself; answering the rhetorical question he had asked himself. It
confused me as I looked around the bathroom, trying to locate where my pants
were. Sitting there with Frank who appeared to be about to hurt me was scary
enough, but sitting there on the toilet with the lower half of my body completely
naked made it truly frightening.
“Say Frank,” I tried, “I am very sorry, now just let me leave and you will never see
me again... What do u say about that, does that sound okay to you?”
“Oh yeah it does,” he replied, “of course. I like it when people come in here, disobey
what they say and then just leave after they were just fucking my boss’s daughter,
while he had specifically instructed me not to let that happen. So yeah, just walk on
out.”
He weighed me as I got up to get my stuff, instinctively holding on of my hands
before my crotch. I shuffled past him and picked up my pants, pulled them on myself
and looked at Frank again. Before I knew what happened Frank took one step
towards me and punched me in the face. With a bang I hit the floor and all went
black...

58
59
6. Friday – The hangover
Another hit followed and slowly I opened my eyes. A flash of white, some brown, I
could not make it out. Light pierced into my eyes, while my head felt like a thousand
sharp needles were piercing it at the same time. Something was humming in the
back of my head, a nagging, threatening sound of pain which was hovering around
my brain, not quite there yet but announcing itself like the steps of thousands of
soldiers from a distance. My mouth was dry and filled with a most disgusting taste,
like something had gone in and died there.
Another bang on my head, sounds filled my ears and the vibrations were echoed a
million times in my head, shaking the needles, making them pierce deeper and
deeper into the sore bundle of flesh my brain had become. My neck was as stiff as I
had been just seconds earlier, when I was...
I could not really lift my head yet, but did start the feel the presence of somebody
hitting me. It was certain I was not lying on a bathroom floor, I was somewhere else,
but where was I.
“You miserable bastard,” resonated in my head while somebody kept hitting me. I
made an attempt to lift my head upon which everything started to spin and I quickly
closed my eyes again, but the spinning did not stop. Something was making its way
up to my mouth, something bitter, and something absolutely awful. I tried to open
my eyes again, tried to get the strength to lift my head to not be dizzy, tried to keep
that awful substance in my body while I figured out what was happening.
It was too much, of course. The vomit was mostly liquid but it flowed out of my
mouth and nose, spraying itself on wherever my head was actually laying on. I
coughed and wanted to cry, feeling helpless like a new born baby as the substance
forced itself through me and into the world, leaving its harrowing flavor behind in
the facial instruments most adept at recognizing it.
“Oh no,” the voice said, going from high to fever pitched. “Stop it, Richard stop it,” it
was screaming now, even though the vomit stream had come to an end, and all that
remained was a puddle of it very close to my face, making me actually want to
continue. My stomach crunched itself, trying to work more up to the emergency exit,
but that was something I could not handle. I raised my face out of the puddle, which
set off another bout of dizziness but I had to fight it. I stumbled up, opening my eyes
to see Sarah standing there with a wooden spoon in her hands, her eyes madder and
crazier then I had ever seen them. The dining table - that’s where I had been
sleeping – and now it was completely covered in my sick, flowing to the edges where
it would drip on Sarah’s beloved carpets.
Speaking was not a bodily function, which was in start up modus yet and without
saying anything I walked on by her to get some tissues. Sarah followed me,
impotently beating me with the wooden spoon, screaming and crying at the same
time. My walking was wobbly at best, but by holding on to whatever objects were
close enough I made my way to the kitchen, still fighting the horrible dizziness
which was driving me mad, as well as driving up ever more spew into my mouth. I
wanted it to stop, it had to stop, but it just didn’t. I held myself to the kitchen, as I

60
was sick once again, now in the kitchen sink while Sarah wailed and screamed
behind me. She was fuming with anger; standing in the doorway of the kitchen with
that spoon and regardless of myself I gave out a weak laugh.
“Oh its funny now?” She yelled, “come home like a fucking drunk in the middle of the
night, falling asleep on the dinner table like a bum and then being sick all over it
when u wake up? Who are you, what monster have you turned into? Are you sixteen
years old to act like this? Is this the man I am supposed to be with? Not like this
Richard, no go and clean up that mess! And please sleep somewhere else tonight, I
cannot see you like this.”
Having said that, she threw the spoon at me, turned around and marched out of the
house, smacking the door with a relentless force.
My first instinct was to clean the table, even as my body was begging me for water,
hoping for a drop that could relief the solid throbbing pain in my head, but Sarah
would kill me if her carpet would be drenched in my vomit. Armed with paper
towels I shuffled back to the living room, walking normally was still difficult and
every step was a challenge to my stomach. The smell in the dining room was
horrible. Luckily most of the stick was still lying on the table, but on the far edge
drops were staining the woolen carpet. The bottle of rum was standing still opened,
a glass half empty next to it, all in the middle of the disgusting puddle. The paper
towels soaked up just a bit of the substance, and before it was all soaked up I had
finished two rolls, had ran to the toilet twice to lose some more spew and also
realized that I was completely naked.
Drained I entered the bathroom where I literally sucked water out of the tap. The
image in the mirror was one of horrible devastation - blood soaked eyes, huge blue
stains beneath them and a contemplation as white as snow. I looked like shit. I felt
even worse. How in the world was I supposed to get through the day?
Work! The realization was as simple as it was a revelation. What time was it? Where
was my phone? The water had made me feel only slightly better, but being aware of
having to be somewhere really kickstarted my brain into action.
The kitchen clock told me it was almost nine already, so I was late already. Where
did I put my phone? I ran back to the bathroom to find my pants in the laundry
basket. I felt into the pockets and felt the phone. Five missed calls, seven messages.
Shit. My boss had called me four times, and Sarah once, only five minutes ago. I hit
the number of my boss and the beep pierced through my ears.
“Jacob.”
“Hey Jacob its Richard.”
“Ah good afternoon sir. I heard you had some fun last night.”
“Its not fun anymore I can guarantee you.”
“I am sure. So are you coming in?”
“Yes, I am terribly sorry I overslept, I just woke up. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.”
“Take your time, just make sure to bring us breakfast.”
“Will do.”
“See ya.”
That done some of the adrenaline that had made me feel momentarily better clocked
out and my headache returned with a vengeance. Still feeling dizzy I stepped into
the shower, feeling disgusted with myself. The warm water got my blood flowing

61
again as I washed the sick of my face. Feeling clean was the least I could do for
myself.
I dried myself and dressed into the first shirt that I could get my hands on before I
realized there were 7 messages on my phone, and only five missed calls. My phone
was lying on the sink in the bathroom and while buttoning my shirt I opened the
messages. As expected five where voicemail messages from the office, which were
most likely hilariously funny, making the most of the misery that my colleagues
knew I was going through. The sixth message was from Sarah:
I hate you for being so irresponsible. Please clean up your mess. Give me some time to
be less disgusted with you, and then try to make up. Please sleep somewhere else
tonight; I cannot stand the sight of you today. S.
So she meant it. Sarah was usually not prone to staying mad long. Normally I’d send
some flowers to her office, or would buy her a present. However, I did not have the
feeling it would help today, even as the anger would lessen over the course of it. So
where should I stay? How could I fix this?
The seventh message was from a number I did not recognize.
Hey you, thanks for last night. I hope you had as much fun as me. Don’t be too
hungover. You forgot to ask me for my number so here you have it. X. S.
Sophia. It was ironic Sarah should be so angry at me even without being aware of
the greatest of my sins, and guilt and remorse smacked me in the face like Frank had
done in my dream. I had been too drained and hungover to think about last night,
but now it all came back to me, as did my dream. Sophia, and her passionate kisses
in the taxi. Her beautiful eyes, her promise to believe in my lies, her sweetness and
gentle ways, which stood in such a stark contrast with the Lydia of my dream, who
had ridden me on the toilet in Vegas. What did it all mean, and what should I do with
it?
As I had no clue I decided what was the most convenient at that point - nothing. I got
dressed and ran outside to get to work, where at least I knew my colleagues would
destroy me.

A dealing room is a strange thing. A melting pot of hopes, dreams, losses and most of
all testosterone, all floating through the room in freedom between anger and pure
joy. Some of my colleagues once philosophized that a dealing room is like putting all
the world’s lethal animals in one room, organize themselves and see how much kill
they can pull together. On other moments it is just a fraternity house, with a group
of hungover men (sadly, yes, mainly men) leaning in their chairs, trying to make the
arms of the clock move by pure willpower.
One a normal working day around forty men - guys really - were sitting in this room
behind their Bloomberg terminals, phone in hand, looking at their screens, talking to
their clients or yelling at their colleagues. Deals were closed by open cry out and
when there were a decent number of trades being done at the same time the room
felt like a schoolyard during lunch break. People were standing with one or two
phones at their ears, yelling at the phones or somebody else, while other people
were screaming at them to shut up, a feat that was sometimes done by throwing
random objects at that person. The room would usually be a mess during the day,
with papers, cups, glasses, plates and a great number of other items of which it was

62
utterly incomprehensible that they were here in this room laying and being thrown
around.
It was this environment that I entered at a bit later then half past nine, armed with a
bag of hot ham cheese croissants for my colleagues and two aspirins to kill my head,
which felt like a huge penis - throbbing with blood and ready to explode.
My colleagues started clapping as I entered, inviting hard yells and some items being
thrown around by those of my coworkers who were on the phone with clients as the
rest of the room burst out in hard applause and screams. I made the obligatory bow
of the guy who is too late and made my way to my desk, where my colleagues were
anticipating my arrival with both laughter and eager looks at the content of my
bakery bag.
Jacob stood up and walked towards me. “Why don’t we have a word while those
hungry wolves devour the breakfast?”
Some sweat appeared on my forehead. “Ehm, yeah okay Jacob.”
We got into the offices only meeting room, the aquarium as it was called, under a
loud “oooooh” sound coming from the room. I gave them the finger and followed
Jacob, who sat himself down right across from me.
“You know I could give you a formal warning for this.”
“For what? Being late?”
“For being late because you were fucked up out of your mind last night. How do you
feel?”
“Like a monkey has just discovered a button inside my head that makes a horrible
sound and keeps pushing it.”
Jacob laughed, a big, jovial sound as he leaned backwards and spread his arms out of
the chairs besides him. “You sound alive enough, that’s good. Now tell me why you
were late?”
I got red as I told him the story, waking up in the living room, the fight with Sarah,
leaving out the throwing up part, as Jacob silently nodded.
“Okay, well, that is pretty stupid I think. Shit happens, but just make sure it does not
happen twice. Now why don’t you go out there and make some money? Thomas has
some good things going on I think, you should have a look at that. And don’t forget to
send Sarah some flowers later today, she’ll turn around.”
“I will try but I am not so sure after this morning, I have never seen her like this -
like something really snapped.”
“Give her some time, I am sure it will be okay. She will forgive you, they always do.”
“Thanks Jacob.”
“You got it.”
People were giving me questioning looks as I got out of the aquarium. I gave them a
painful smile and held my hands up - “no bullet wounds,” upon seeing my grin the
tension in the room shifted back to the frantic calling and screaming that I had
gotten used to in the past five years.
Thomas came to me and smacked me at the shoulder. “You good?”
“Let’s have a coffee,” I told him. He grabbed his glass and followed me to our small
kitchen, which started out clean as my mother’s in the morning but inevitably
always looked like a dorm kitchen as the day came to an end. At this time in the
morning the mess was still bearable and I put my cup under the espresso machine,

63
which came to life with its grunting sounds of grinding as I pushed the button.
“So what happened mate, Sarah squeezed your nuts hard this morning?”
“Fuck man,” I started, “I fell asleep on the dining table, then overslept as Sarah did
not wake me till she had to leave herself.”
“She pissed?”
“What do you think? Out of this world I can tell you, never seen her like this.”
Thomas looked down and sighed. “You know how it is, she’ll be angry for a day. Just
come home with some flowers and perhaps a present, tell her you are sorry and she
should be okay man.”
I took a big zip of my coffee. My body reacted gratefully on the caffeine, which gave
it the much needed energy boost. “Yeah I will try that. But she told me not to come
home today.”
Thomas’ eyes revealed shock as he looked at me. “Are you kidding?”
“No, that’s what she told me. I don’t know, usually she does not stay angry that long
so maybe later she will come around. But if not, can I crash at your place?”
He considered it for a moment. “Me and Julia have plans for tonight, so we will not
be in. If you don’t mind you can babysit the kids. Let me give Julia a call about it, I’ll
let u know, okay?”
“I appreciate it.”
“Sure man. So she really flipped on you. Wow, that does hardly sound like Sarah.” He
paused for a second. “Unless there is something else?”
I gave him a non-understanding look. He continued.
“So what was up with that girl you were with last night?”
Blood flushed to my cheeks and so I turned to grab an orange juice from the fridge.
“Which girl?” I said nonchalantly.
“Which girl? Are you kidding me? You were all over her with your greasy paws!
Come on man, dish it! She was really hot wasn’t she? For a second there I thought
you guys would start kissing right there in the place.”
A laugh escaped my mouth. “It wasn’t so bad, we were just having a good time.”
“Yeah, bumping and grinding! Haha saw you were having a good time for sure. So
then you just said goodbye?”
For a second the thought crossed my mind that I should share some of this
adventure with somebody. Even if it only helped to relieve my own guilt, or perhaps
to get some helpful advice, it would feel good to get it off my shoulders. On the other
hand, Thomas knew Sarah and would most certainly disapprove, and the last thing I
needed right now was a speech from him on loyalty and the family values that he
cherished so much.
“Yeah,” I finally lied, “she was really nice but you know... She gave me her phone
number though.”
“Are you going to call her?”
“That would not be very smart now would it?”
“With a girl like that, absolutely not. But if Sarah will dump you over this then at
least you have a place to crash.” He smiled as he finished his coffee. “Take you off my
hands at least.”
“Very funny Tom.”
“Now come on, I need to find 10 million of those bloody Pfizer papers before that

64
asshole finds them somewhere else.”
“Oh I know a guy who might have them, I’ll give him a call. You mind doing a bit less
then 10?”
“Guess not, if we get a couple he might be more patient.”
“All right, I will give it a try. Let’s see if we can salvage anything from this day.”
“That should be possible, look at the weather, it will be a great day.”
“I am not feeling it yet.”
Thomas touched his head. “Me neither but I am sure its coming.”

The day went by in a tempo reminiscent of a snail. Every time I looked at the clock it
seemed to have just taken a break, having hardly moved since the last look. Thomas
early enthusiasm had subsided after two hours of trying to find the papers for his
client and he started to look worse every second. The noise in the room slowly died
down as the time moved towards lunchtime, after which the Friday afternoon mode
would kick in while everybody prepared themselves for the weekend.
My headache had gotten better and I even started to feel hungry again, which had
sparked wild preparations for a nasty lunch at Burger King, which I would surely
regret afterwards. Two hours ago I had ordered flowers for Sarah to be delivered in
her office, with a big big sorry note attached, and just as the clock hit twelve she
called me.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” I replied.
“I just received your flowers.”
“Ah.”
“Why you have to do that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know I cannot stay angry with you when you do this.”
“Well... That’s kind of why I do it, I don’t like it when you are angry with me.”
She sighed. “But I want to be angry with you. No, I need to be angry with you. Look
at how I found you this morning Richard; you looked like some kind of bum, almost
drowning in your own sick. Can you understand that finding you like that makes it
very difficult for me to love you?”
“Yes I understand. And I want to tell you that I am really sorry, but not just for you.
Also for myself, I am really ashamed of myself. It was just... I got home and I took a
shower and I did not feel like going to bed yet - there were too many things in my
head. So I decided to stare out of the window for a while.”
“And drink more...”
“Yeah that was stupid.”
“Why you never have enough Richard? I am sure you were drunk already when you
got home. Why make it worse?”
“I don’t know...”
“It needs to stop Richard, I cannot handle it.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” She was almost crying now, “Do you really understand what I mean
Richard? I mean I love you, why you want to make me so sad all the time? Why do
you want to make me hate you?”

65
“Dear I...”
“Don’t even start. I need some time Richard, I am sorry, but could you please just
stay somewhere else tonight?”
“But you are going away tomorrow. Isn’t it a bad idea to go away when we are like
this?” I was pleading now, wanted to avoid having to walk around with this horrible,
guilty feeling all week. I just had to see her.
“Maybe it is what we need, we can both get some clarity. You have to get your act
together Richard, I don’t,” she took a long break, seeming to look for the right words
to say, “I just don’t want you turning into your father.”
There, she had said it. The obvious thing had been stated. She had taken the heaviest
weapon out of the armory and wielded it. Tears sprung into my eyes. This I could
not handle, and anger and sadness fought for supremacy within my head.
“Richard?” She whispered, aware of the damage she had done.
“Do you love me,” I asked her, crying, desperate for a lifeline here.
“Yes,” she said without pausing, “that’s why I think we need this, so we can think
about what we want. And if we love each other then next week we will fall into each
other’s arms like we used to. I just need the feeling back Richard, that old feeling of
happiness when thinking about you. Right now I am just scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of you coming home reeking and drunk. There is nothing in this world I hate more -
your drinking is destroying our relationship.”
I remained silent as I thought about her words.
“I want to be with you Richard, but I want to be with the man that I met, not the man
you are slowly becoming.”
“Okay Sarah, I have an idea.”
“What’s that? You will stop drinking?”
I shrugged. “Well, I was thinking we could meet somewhere out of the house,
perhaps to eat something? Then we can talk, and if you still want me to stay
somewhere else I will find a hotel.”
She thought about it for a second. Then, letting out a lot of air in the process she
said, “okay, I know you will not stop harassing me till you have what you want. Pick
me up at six and we will go someplace close.”
“Thank you Sarah, you will not regret it.” I changed tones, “you know how much I
care about you, and so you should know how horrible I feel about this morning... I
hate making you feel bad, I will make it up to you dear, just give me a chance.”

At six o clock I was waiting outside of her office. After work I had quickly gone home
to freshen myself up in order to look like I had not vomited all over our dining table
that morning. As a matter of fact I did not even look so bad. A heavy lunch of a
Whopper, big portion of fries, onion rings and a very large coke had given my body
the boost of fat and sugar it needed to restore itself. The horrible thing was that
sometimes I felt even worse after eating that crap, as if all the chemicals gave me a
hamburger hangover, but today this had not happened. I even stopped sweating and
after brushing my teeth for more then ten times I even was confident of not smelling
bad anymore. The evening had the potential of turning into something good,
especially figuring what I had in my pocked.

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After the Burger King I had separated from my colleagues to find a jeweler, where I
found a beautiful bracelet made out of beautiful white pearls. “Getting pissed is
getting an expensive hobby indeed,” Thomas had joked as he had seen me coming in
with the bag from the jeweler.
Now I was nervous, but still confident I could turn the tide around. It would not be
the first time, even though this situation had been by far the most embarrassing
event to take place. The trouble lay with us both, I thought as I saw suited men and
women walk by me, ready to join the Friday afternoon drinks or just to go home. I
enjoy the fun and the buzz that hanging out in bars and drinking gave me, and even
though I would not get drunk all the time I would drink a considerable amount of
alcohol. Sarah on the other hand could already get angry if she could smell alcohol
on my breath, and her simmering anger and my tipsy cheerfulness would often
collide in scenes of drama and screaming.
Sarah came out of her building, looking like she had been crying for most of the day.
She did not try to give me a smile as I approached her and tried hugging her. “Not
yet,” she said, observing me. “You look better. How do you feel?”
“I am fine, Thomas and I had some junk food during lunch and it worked its magic
on our bodies.”
“Yeah that’s a great idea, battle all those calories and poison you consumed last
night with some more pure poison and calories.”
“You have to battle poison with poison they say. So where shall we go?”
“Let’s go to the Wagamama around the corner.”
“Okay good. Are you hungry dear?”
“Not really, but I reckon I should eat something.”
“You reckon right dear, come on let’s go.”
Even though she was resisting mildly I put my arm around her while we walked the
short distance to the restaurant. The place was decorated with wooden picnic
benches where a couple of people were sitting, eating from steaming bowls of
noodles and drinking fruit juices.
A young woman in a black t-shirt, which showed the name of the restaurant,
approached us. “Table for two?” She asked with a British accent. Sarah nodded and
the British girl showed us to a busy table in the middle.
“Could we perhaps have a place at the window?” I asked her.
The girl sighed and nodded. She handed me the menus and walked away, letting us
find our own seats. “Apparently even the British have taken to the Amsterdam style
of hospitality now it seems,” I joked to Sarah, who gracefully ignored me as we made
our way to the window.
“So,” she said, “You really look better.”
“Thanks dear.” I paused for a second, looking deep into her light green eyes, which
were moist and full of doubt. “You know, I just felt like we should see each other
before you go on your trip. I know I fucked up last night, it was stupid and juvenile,
and I see now what kind of hurt I am causing you, and I am very ashamed of that.”
Sarah was silent as she observed me. Gently, I touched her hair and she closed her
eyes, trying hard not to cry as I continued. “I am an idiot sometimes Sarah, but I am
not like my father.”
“I did not mean that Richard, I just wanted to get through to you.”

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“And you did. Look, I will get better alright, I will think a bit more before doing
things and I will take you into account a lot more.”
“That’s what I want Richard, but how do I know that you are not just making empty
promises again?”
“Give me a chance.”
She sighed, upon which I took the opportunity to get the bracelet from my pocked. “I
am really sorry Sarah, and if my words are not enough I bought you something to
show you I mean it.”
Her eyes went to the package, which was colorfully wrapped. “I hate you,” she said.
“I know,” I smiled back. “Why don’t you open it?”
Reluctantly she accepted the box and stared unwrapping the paper. At the same
time the British girl had arrived at our table again. “Are you ready to order?” She
asked with the least possible interest.
“Could you give us some time please?” I asked her, trying to be polite.
I became the victim of another one of her eye rolls as she walked away.
“Little cunt,” I said to Sarah, who was patiently unwrapping the bracelet. She looked
up surprised as she heard the words. “I am sorry?”
“I meant the waitress. She is a little arrogant cunt.”
Sarah looked around to see the waitress. “It’s just the effect you have on women
Richard, live with it.”
With the utmost care Sarah opened the box and looked at the bracelet. She gasped
for a second. “It is beautiful Richard.”
“I just,” I started, tears swelling up, “I can’t let you go to San Francisco for a week
while you are thinking badly of me. I am not bribing you, but I just wanted to show
you how much I care, and I hope you will take it with you on your holiday and look
at it every once and a while.”
Finally a smile broke through on her face. “It is lovely, I will definitely bring it with
me.” Her mood had completely turned, as I had expected, upon seeing the pearl
bracelet.
She tried to put it on and held her arm up, admiring the pearls in the sunlight. When
she gazed at me again the doubt was gone. “Just remember you are a bastard,” she
said, “now give me a kiss.”
We kissed each other gently, and while pulling back I touched her hair again. “You
are so beautiful,” I told her, “I never want to make you sad, I cannot stand the
thought of you crying.”
“Then stop being such a dick all the time Richard. I mean it.”
“I swear, I will. I want us to be happy, I want you to come home smiling, knowing
that you will be with me.”
She moved a bit closer to me and laid her head on my shoulder. “I cannot be angry at
you, you know that? I just love you too much. Please improve yourself.”
“So,” the British waitress interrupted, “shall we order something or you just want to
stare out of the window?”
“I am sorry?” I said, “what did you say?”
There was not even a hint of shame on her face. “I asked you whether you were
ready to order sir.”
Sarah looked at me, giving me a deep frown. “You know what,” I told the waitress, “I

68
think we will just leave. I am not sure if I am comfortable with being spoken to like
this.”
“Whatever you want sir, have a nice evening.” And with that she walked away.
“Incredible,” Sarah whispered. “How can they hire people like that.”
“I am afraid that in Amsterdam they do not seem to have a lot of choice, all waiters
suck.”
“Let’s go home and cook something good.” She threw her arm around me and I felt
at peace for the first time that day - it would all be okay.

69
7. Saturday – Trouble
One off the most horrible things about traveling is the stress of packing and getting
to the airport. At least in my humble opinion. That stress is doubled whenever a
woman is involved. When I have to travel I am able to pack my suitcase as late as
fifteen minutes before actually having to leave. What does one need? Clean
underwear, some socks, and toiletry items, a pair of jeans and some polo’s and t-
shirts. That should keep one dressed some type of decent for at least a week.
If this goes for men, why does a woman need at least one suitcase for going away for
the smallest amount of time? There is not one, but at least two toiletry bags. There
are three pair of shoes at the minimum, no less then two or three outfits for every
day and any number of contingency items. All this is organized in the most
disorganized and stressful way imaginable, preferably as close to the departure time
as possible. And, finally, items of true importance are usually forgotten, which then
need to be purchased at the airport, making the checking in process more stressful
again.
I am not a brave flier, and because of the mentioned pre-flight stress and during-
flight fear airports are places of absolute horror for me. Groups of slow tourists,
dragging around suitcases, long lines, overpriced drinks - there are simply no
upsides to being at an airport. It was because of those reasons that I did not exactly
wake up in the best of moods that Saturday. I was happy of course, Sarah and I had
made up, cooking together after which we had made love and fallen asleep close
after. But when the alarm rang at six and Sarah jumped up frantically, I knew that it
would be difficult to keep the peace.
“Dear, could you make me some breakfast?” She asked in a syrupy voice.
I hummed in reply.
“Come on, get up. I need to pack and shower. If you could just make me some coffee
and a sandwich, we can be on our way faster.”
“Why you did not pack yet,” I yawned.
She came to a stop and looked at me. “Shit,” I mumbled.
“Why did I not pack yet you ask,” she asked, almost angry, “well let me think about
that for a second.”
She was quiet for a second while she put her finger on her chin, staring out of the
window in a sarcastically philosophical stare. “Oh I know,” she exclaimed, “its
because my husband got home drunk on Thursday and spent the whole of last night
making up to me. Silly silly me.”
Shame always worked well on me and I jumped out of the bed quickly. She looked at
me with ice in her eyes.
“And you better also don’t nag me to hurry up, if not for you I would have done this
last night all right? I don’t want to hear a word from you.”
I could only nod, pulling on an old t-shirt that was hanging on the side of the bed.
“Just hurry up then,” I said. “I’ll make u something.”
Finally she smiled, and got about the strenuous process of packing her suitcase. Her
flight did not leave until eleven, but this was her way of punishing me some more for

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my behavior. I decided to take it easy and not to get involved with the packing, as
that would certainly create a dangerous situation. I turned on the coffee machine
and then walked to the dining room to put on my wireless headphones. Even the
sounds of the packing were enough to get me into a nervous frenzy, and I needed
myself to stay away from that.
“Will you go with me to the airport dear?” Sarah asked when I almost bumped into
her in the hall.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes of course, please come with me. We will have a coffee together and then I will
be on my way. You don’t have anything to do anyway, right?”
I thought about that for a second. It would cost me two hours at least to go to the
airport and come back, time that I had planned for my lazy Saturday - watching a
movie, laying on the couch in my old pants and just chill the day away. What was the
sense of going with her?
“Right, dear?” She asked again, looking at me with the expression of somebody who
was holding my balls in her hands, ready, willing and able to dome some unpleasant
things with them.
“Yes of course, dear. That will be fun.”
She planted a gentle kiss on my cheeks and ran on. I shook my head. Where had my
balls gone, I hated airports. I opened my laptop and turned on the headphones while
looking for he hardest playlist possible. My aggression had to go somewhere while I
was making breakfast.
And so I jumped through the kitchen, making breakfast, drinking coffee. Then I
dressed into a faded pair of jeans with a woolen sweater. The summer had
eventually faded, nevertheless my hopes from earlier that week.
Sarah was hardly ready, her huge suitcase was still opened on the bedroom floor,
clothes were spread on the bed - and she still had to get dressed.
“So how is it going dear?” I asked her carefully.
“Oh I just don’t know what to bring. Could you check how warm it is in San
Francisco right now? Do you think it will be cold in the evenings?”
“I will check, but why don’t you just bring some summer clothes and a couple of
sweaters. That should work right?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Yes Richard, I will ‘just’ bring some summer
clothes and a couple of sweaters. Do you know what kind of hotel we are staying in?
Do you think I can just appear for dinner there in ‘some summer clothes’? Huh? Now
please have a look what the weather will be like.”

When we finally left for the airport we had little more then two hours left. Now
Sarah was stressed. She was jumping and fumbling the backseat of the car, telling
the taxi driver to go faster, then telling him to slow down as the speed was scaring
her. Upon arrival she stormed out of the cab, gesturing me to follow her with her
suitcase, and ran to the check-in desk. Once I had paid the driver I followed Sarah to
the terminal, however an attendant who would not let me in without a ticket
stopped me.
“But this is the suitcase for my wife, she is over there,” I said, pointing at Sarah who
was completely oblivious of my troubles, fixating on the long line for the check-in

71
desk.
“That might be true sir,” the attendant said with fading patience, “however I am not
allowed to let you in without a ticket.”
I wanted to curse, but decided to keep it decent. “Please,” I said, “we overslept and
my wife needs to catch her flight. If she needs to come here for her suitcase she has
to get in the back of the line again.”
The attendant sighed and turned away from me, which I interpreted as permission
and I walked towards Sarah was standing. Her look showed some mild panic. “Why
it took you so long?” She asked.
“Attendant would not let me in.” I kissed her on her forehead. “Please relax, it’s
almost your turn. You still have forty minutes, it should be all right.”
She smiled, “I hope so, but I had wanted to buy some things in the tax free.”
“I guess there are more important thing then that dear. Hey, its your turn.”
The lady behind the counter was smiling, and somehow some of that had rubbed off
on Sarah when she got back. “All done,” she beamed, clearly happy that this part of
the ordeal was over. “I still have thirty minutes, I better get going... Its sad that we
will not be able to have a coffee together dear.” She had moved closer to me and now
put her arms around me. I laid my hand on her back and touched her gently.
“Hey,” I said, “you are going on a holiday - you should be happy.”
“Oh I am, but I will miss you. Will you be okay without me?”
I grinned, thinking about the evenings of watching pulpy movies, football matches
accompanied by pizzas and six-packs of beer that were ahead of me, and struggled
for a second to remove the grin from my face. It was not pleasant to not have her
around, but obviously there were some advantages. I looked her in the eyes and
kissed her gently. “You will have to re-domesticate me when you return,” I joked,
upon which she squeezed my arm hard.
“I am sure you will be fine... Now, give me one bigger kiss. I will miss you dear, you
take care of yourself yes?”
I gave her another, longer kiss while holding her dear. I would miss her, I realized
now. It felt good to hold her, to have her near, just to talk or to sit next to each other.
I took a deep sniff of her smell, letting her scent penetrate deep into my senses.
Tears were welling up in my eyes - I loathed saying goodbye.
“Well,” she started, “I will call you when I have arrived, is that all right?”
I nodded, holding her hands. “You have fun, and send my love to your family please.”
“Of course I will. Next time you join!”
“I hope so dear, now go, or you will miss your flight.”
“Okay, I am running!”

The ride on the train back home was always a bit of a paradox. I hated the trips to
the airports, with all the stress and hassle, I loathed the masses of people and the
feeling of airports, and finally I abhorred saying goodbye. Therefore, the ride back
home should automatically be a sort of joyful event, a moment of relief, of happiness
to having survived it all. However, at the same time it was also a ride that brought
along with it a certain emptiness. There was a ‘we’ that went to the airport, and only
an ‘I’ was coming back. So even though I detested going there, at least I had gone
there together with Sarah, and my coming there had made her happy, up to some

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point at least.
The train moved slowly towards my final station. It was still early and the autumn
sun was making an attempt at warming the city, which was slowly waking up after
one of its usual heavy Friday nights. I decided to walk home from the station, rather
then wait for a tram to come. It was not a long walk, about fifteen minutes, and it
could be just what I needed to make myself a plan for the day. An additional
advantage was that I could drop by the supermarket to get some supplies for the day
- beer, chips and pizza would be absolutely necessary if I wanted to take full
advantage of Sarah’s holiday. A holiday for her was, in a way, also a holiday for me
as I could live a bachelor life for a week.
Blueness descended over me, despite the nice weather. It had been a strange week. I
hated fights with Sarah, which were especially hard - and expensive - to mend when
alcohol was involved. It made me feel like a child that had eaten too many cookies,
upon which it got sick. Mummy would get angry. Why did she even care that I had
been drunk, except for the fact that I had covered our dining table in my spew. On
the other hand, why had I not bothered to come home to her, ask her how her day
was, held her on one of these last nights before going on her holidays.
Matter of the fact was that I don’t like people being angry with me. Next to that, I
also care if people think I had acted like an idiot. Worse thing is, that I tend to act
like an idiot when I am drunk, and this has been like that ever since I was sixteen. So
the very worst part of this is the fact that even though I know that I act like a maniac,
and I am aware that my wife hates it, I still get pissed about twice per month. Twice
per month, big deal, some might say. Still, this was sometimes a weight on my
shoulders, combining what I liked, what she wanted me to like - and to both be
happy.
Therefore I decided I should not be blue. The fight was over, all was mended, and
ahead of me was a week of acting like a fool without anybody caring about it. I
stepped into the supermarket, wondering what other delights I would be able to
find in there. Perhaps it would be a good day after all?

Days go quickly when you are home alone. At least for me. Entertaining myself has
always been one of my strong points, and as a result I always take great pleasure in
being alone. On my own in my house the music is blasting from the stereo, I enjoy
my lunch with a cold beer and I watch crappy movies or play computer games the
whole day. Sometimes I wonder whether I would ever get mentally older then 16,
but on the other hand I don’t really want to.
It was close to ten in the evening, and I was on my fourth beer, when my phone
buzzed. Hey dear, I finally arrived. Going to bed immediately. Thanks for taking me to
the airport! Love u. X.
I was sentimental enough to let these types of messages get me, and I immediately
replied:
Dear, the house is not the same without you. Watching a movie, X.
The movie was absolutely useless, a lot of shooting between a bunch of guys who
appeared to be mercenaries for a secret organization, and some military guys
controlling an island. It was brilliant for the circumstances though - my fourth beer
ended and I decided to get another one.

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The kitchen felt empty without the mess Sarah would leave behind her. The beer
was making me sentimental - the right buzz was not yet setting in. I decided to
warm up some nachos in the microwave with cheese on top. Warm food would
warm me up from the inside, if the beer would fail to do it. Almost subconsciously I
checked whether my bottle of rum was still there, and more important, whether
there was still anything in it. I found it next to the trashcan. Sarah had wanted to
throw it away, but had forgotten about it. There was still at least a quarter in the
bottle, and I was looking forward to have at least part of that before going to sleep.
With a loud beep the microwave announced it was done creating my little calorie
bomb. I put the bottle of rum on the kitchen table to find it back a bit later. Now it
was time for a bit more beer. I got the next bottle from the kitchen and took a big zip
from it. For a second I wondered why I was assuming this tempo - was I going on a
binge? The thought drifted away as fast as it had come. This was my Saturday night,
and I was having it the way I wanted.
The movie continued for another hour, by which time I had finished two more beers.
It was difficult, but I tried to pace myself at no more then one per 30 minutes. By the
time the movie was finished the buzz had most certainly kicked in, and because it
was late already I decided to listen to some music on my headphones. Volume was
turned high and I started to bump my head as the music filled not just my head but
my whole body. Bass and beat, sometimes I felt like it could just take over me - like a
fool I was sitting behind my laptop enjoying the music, half screaming along, still
conscious enough to realize that my neighbor would be more then just able to hear
me.
Around twelve I decided it was time for the rum. I cleaned the bottle from the
outside, more to get rid of the guilt then for really caring about the cleanliness of it,
and poured a big gulp in a long drink glass. It was then that I realized I was out of
coke. Fuck. There was more beer in the fridge, but somehow I had a craving for the
sweet warmth of a rum coke - the irrationality of the drunk never ceases to amaze.
Lucky for me the evening store just across the street was still open, so I resolved to
head outside to fetch myself a bottle of Coke.
I loved the atmosphere of the city. Whenever I went outside it felt like something
was going on. Cars drove by, groups of bikers were screaming and pushing, and
scores of tourists, business people and the like were populating the terraces close to
my apartment. It was a sense of liveliness. On that night, the liveliness gripped me -
what was I doing all alone in my apartment? I wondered who I could call to have a
drink with in the city. I started browsing my phone and my heart stopped when I
arrived at the S. There was the name that I had tried to suppress for the last forty-
eight hours - the name of the person that had caused me to slip, and then take it a
step further in a drunken dream. The name of the woman, which embodied all that, I
could possibly want on an evening like this.
Without thinking I wrote her a message.
Hey, thinking about you. What are you doing?
My heart started pacing as soon as I had sent it. What was I thinking? I continued to
walk to the store. It did not matter; it was not like she would reply.
The store was not busy, except for the owner who was reading an old Donald Duck
issue behind the counter, there were three foreigners deciding on which beer to buy.

74
They spoke in excited German, going from can to can, seemingly discussing the pros
and cons of every beer to a very great extend.
I grabbed the Coke bottle I wanted and paid for it at the counter. The man barely
looked at me, humming the amount I had to pay, in the deep trance that the
magazine was providing for him, and I felt a deep jealousy. How great is it to just be
lost in something like that, even though it is because you are bored to death while
you are working? I wanted to be lost in something like that.
I still felt a bit lightheaded when I left the store. I did not expect Sophia to return my
message, and I was not sure if I wanted her to. During the walk back to my house I
held my hand on my phone the whole time, to the extend that the people who were
passing me by might have suspected me of touching myself in public.
Back home I poured the Coke over the double shot of rum I had given myself, and
drank it all in one, big, and very stupid gulp. Then I made myself another one and
opted to listen to some more music and do some useless web browsing.
I did not have my headphones on yet when I heard a sound.
Buzz buzz.
My phone.
My heart seemed to skip a beat, and I put my hand against the wall for a second. I
had to catch my breath. My stomach felt like it hadn’t felt it years, miserable like a
boy in his puberty I got out my phone, ready for disappointment - ready to be served
off as a one off mistake in a club. When I was ready to open my eyes I was stunned
by the message.
Just wanted to go home, but if you want we can hook up somewhere? X. S.
What was with this woman - why in the world would she want to hook up? Then
again, where should we hook up? Thinking thinking - what to reply, should I invite
her over home? No, that would be stupid, she would see immediately that my whole
story was a lie. Then where? The center? She had said she lived in the center, or had
she? I was not sure, but it seemed like a safer bet. The further away from my own
home the better.
Sounds great. Where are you?
I thought about adding an x for a second, but then got a grip on myself. I might have
felt like a schoolboy that did not mean that I had to act like one. Who adds x-es to
messages anyway, I thought, except for the schoolgirls that those boys are chasing.
The second rum Coke was now downed at a similar ridiculous pace - my nerves
were rattling like hailstones against a window. It did not take her more then half a
minute to reply.
I am where we were on Thursday. Will you come keep me company? X. S.
Now it was my turn to reply quickly.
On my way, see you in fifteen.
The only matter now was that I was not particularly dressed up for the night on the
town. Faded jeans and polo’s only go so far, especially if you have been wearing
them the whole day. I quickly ran to the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth
and get my hair into something resembling order. Then, I stormed into the bedroom
to change into a white shirt and better jeans. Satisfied I observed myself in the
mirror. Chubby, close to thirty guy ready for a night on the town. Awesome.

75
When I entered the club I saw her immediately. She was seated on a leather bench in
one of the corners of the place. On the table in front of her there were three bottles
of wine, of which only one actually still contained anything. Oh good, I thought, at
least I am not the only drunk in the house.
She smiled when she saw me, pearly white teeth showing behind her light red lips.
Her eyes beamed, filled with alcohol and excitement. She was even more stunning
then I remembered, and I felt my stomach turn when I got close to her. I was
seriously nervous being close to her.
She was sporting tight jeans and a t-shirt that looked casual enough - she had not
been out looking for company tonight. Even though she was dressed nonchalant, it
was absolutely impossible to ignore her beauty, beaming through ever pore. Her
eyes and face bore hardly any make up, except for her slightly red lips, but they
were just radiant, drawing me to her like I had been two days earlier. The situation
was beautiful and unfair; I was lucky and so screwed.
“Hey there,” she said, clapping her hand on the bench, “come have a seat with me.”
“With pleasure,” and with that I said down, giving her a kiss on her cheek, which felt
strangely natural.
She teased. “That’s all?”
I looked down for a second, and then kissed her on the mouth. It was a short kiss,
not without passion, but somehow appropriate. My stomach was bubbling, filled
with all sort of unstable things and my head started to spin.
“That’s better. So, we have wine here. Shall I ask for a glass for you, or are you on
something else?”
“You finish the wine, I’ll be back on my rum and coke stupidity.”
A giggle escaped her, upon which she blushed. “Sorry, I am a bit drunk already.”
“Don’t apologize, I am well underway myself.”
“So what were you doing?”
“Oh you know... Nothing...”
“Nothing? Sitting at home and drinking?”
I chuckled. “Something like that, just chilling, listening to music, drinking a beer...”
“And then another one I guess, and one more?”
“It seems you know the drill well.”
I reached for the bottle and poured her another glass of wine. She was smiling at me
all the time, making me even more nervous.
“I’ll go and see if I can fetch that rum and Coke,” I told her, somehow relieved to put
some distance between us for a second. I almost stumbled getting up, which caused
Sophia much hilarity. God what was happening to me?
The bartender was different from the friend we had made on Thursday. He was also
a better bartender, noticing me immediately and asking me for my drink whilst
putting a coaster on the bar. The drink was made promptly and I returned to the
table, where Sophia was busy texting, giggling heavy in the process.
“I did not take you for a giggly girl,” I said whilst sitting down.
It stopped for a second, but then she could not help herself and continued, touching
my arm with her left hand whilst texting with the other one. “Only when I am
drunk,” she admitted, and then, when I remained quiet, “its just a girlfriend, asking
whether you actually came or not.”

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I nodded, “all right, what would you have told her if I had not shown up?”
“That does not happen,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Of course it doesn’t,” I agreed. “So how were you Friday morning?”
Another giggle. “Just horrible. I am never drinking gin and tonic again - its just
poison.”
“Same goes for this here,” I pointed at my glass, “I was completely out of it Friday
morning, like somebody removed my brain and replaced it with a wild animal which
was trying to get out.”
“And yet, here we are again...”
“I did not have a chance yet to tell you that I had a very good time with you
Thursday.”
She blushed, incredibly. “So much you forgot to ask my number?”
“Well I was distracted... I also don’t remember giving you my number.”
“I got it from your colleagues.”
I was shocked. “You went back?”
“Yeah, I live right around the corner. When the taxi dropped me off I realized I did
not get your number, so I went to see if your colleagues were still there. They did
not tell you?”
“No, those bastards were only giggling behind my back the whole Friday. Now I
know why.”
“Anyway, I also had a good time on Thursday. Friday just sucked that’s all.”
It fell silent for a second. What was I doing here? I looked at her and knew I wanted
her, every little part of my body wanted to be close to her, smell her, feel her,
wanted to hear her laugh, while a very little, very far away little voice was telling me
to run away, run as fast as I can.
She sipped her wine in silence, looking around the club with mild interest. I was
looking, no staring at her, racing my mind for things to say. What if I could not come
up with anything? She would finish her drink and get up and leave, go to sleep,
delete my number in the morning. Playing computer games and drinking at home
were not exactly things I expected her to be very much interested in. Yet, that’s what
I had been doing the whole day, instead of going out and experiencing things that I
could have told her about.
“So,” she started, “did you think of anything to say yet?”
“Eh,” I started surprised, what was wrong with me. “I was just thinking about...”
“What to say,” She finished for me, “relax Richard, we are just having a drink, and
you don’t have to entertain me or something. Silence can be very refreshing
sometimes.”
“Hm,” I responded. “To be honest I was just lambasting myself for sitting at home
the whole day.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. Do you have that sometimes, that sitting inside just feels so right, so good,
while on the other hand there is a big, maybe even wild, world out there, where we
could experience so many things.”
“Is that why you texted me?”
“Exactly, I had not been outside the whole day, but when I was I just got sucked into
the city you know, it was calling me in, screaming ‘live’ ‘live’ to me from every bar,

77
every light outside, all those cars coming by, bikes, screaming students...”
“Interesting.”
“I think it is, the city was just... Pulsating I guess.”
“So was that the only reason you texted me, because the city was pulsating?”
“Are you crazy?”
She remained quiet, just observing me, finishing the last bit of wine in her glass.
“Well, if I am being honest, I was a bit afraid to text you.”
“Afraid?”
“Yeah... I mean, we had a good time on Thursday but I was just thinking that...”
A huge smile had formed on her face now. “Thinking what?”
“That you’d have better things to do on a Saturday night.”
Another giggle. Her hand slid over mine. She leaned over and kissed me again, with
more passion this time. I was floating, feeling her lips touching mine gently. It ended,
she pulled me closer towards her and I put my arm around her.
“I told the girls to leave,” she finally said after about a minute had passed, “I would
have done that too if you had texted one hour earlier, or two.”
“Why?”
“Not sure, but Thursday was just exciting... I am here with them at least once a week,
and if this turns out bad they will be with me again tomorrow. As a matter of fact I
was hoping you’d text.”
I was stunned. “You were?”
“I was. So you relax and just enjoy yourself.”
Confused was not the right word anymore. She drew me in with great tugs, like lost
in quicksand I was paralyzed and unable to struggle. It felt good sitting so close to
her, and I kissed her again, touching her cheeks, forgotten in this kiss.
“That’s more like it,” she said when we had stopped.
“So what do you want to do,” I asked her, noticing her wine had finished.
“Why don’t you walk me home, like a gentleman?”
“That sounds good, you said it was close so that suits me just fine.”

Hand in hand we walked the three hundred meters it took to get to her house. It was
an old merchant building, with a beautiful white facade, which looked more than
impressive in the dark. Stairs lead to the front door, which was massive, colored in a
dark red and decorated excessively.
“Impressive,” I said.
“My grandfather bought this apartment for my father when he went to study, and
now I am renting it from him.”
“Nice.”
“It is, great location, beautiful view, I am lucky I guess.”
“Well you are. So... Ehm good night I guess?”
“Do you want to come up?”
“Only if you want me to.”
“We could have a night cap I reckon, its still early.”
“Night cap sounds like a great plan.”
She opened the door, which exposed a dark hallway that ended in a steep stairwell.
“Please don’t tell me you live on the third floor?”

78
“As a matter of fact I do. Its quite a climb so brace yourself.”
“So this is how you stay in shape.”
She walked ahead of me, and from the stairs I got a great, if indecent, view of her
impeccable ass. Halfway she noticed. “Hey,” she yelled, “are you having a good view
there?”
“Its the only thing that keeps me from going upward, I am exhausted already.”
She giggled and continued. When we finally reached her apartment I felt like I was
going to die. My heart was rocking like a drum-machine that had gone mad, and I
could feel the sweat dripping from my forehead and in my armpits. But the worst
was my breath, which sounded like that of a ninety year old. I stayed behind for a
minute to get my composure back. Sophia poked her head out of the door.
“Are you coming?”
“One sec,” I said still breathing heavily.
“Come here, sit yourself down for a second. When I did it for the first time I spend
half an hour with my eyes closed right in front of the door, so don’t be embarrassed.”
“Okay I am coming.”
I stumbled into her apartment, which was impeccably decorated. The wooden floors
were light and shiny, the furniture modern and new. It smelled like vanilla and
freshly washed sheets. Three large windows gave a spectacular look on the canal. In
front of that was a lower, white leather couch, which was directed at a big TV set. On
the coffee table in front of it where scattered magazines and papers. On the other
side was a big wooden dining table, with six chairs standing around it. Right behind
that was the modern kitchen, which was littered with glasses and empty wine
bottles.
“Wow,” I said, “this is nice.”
“Thank you,” she beamed, “I just completely redid it one year ago. Now its just so
much nicer.”
“Well I don’t know how it was before, but this is great. Well done.”
“Oh and sorry for the mess. Before we went out my girlfriends and I were hanging
here. I did not drink all that wine by myself.”
She nervously shuffled some of the glasses about, and got two clean ones out of a
cupboard. Then she stopped in the middle of grabbing a bottle from somewhere else
and she turned around. “Richard?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I be honest with you?”
She was standing in front of her kitchen, looking absolutely stunning, but something
in her demeanor had changed. She was nervous.
“Of course, tell me.”
“I just... I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“Wrong idea about what Sophia?”
“Well... We don’t know each other that long. I mean I like it that you came up, so we
can have a drink but...”
“Yeah?”
“I just hope you don’t expect me to sleep with you tonight.”
I laughed. “You serious?”
“I am so don't laugh at me.”

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“Oh I am sorry, its just... I don’t expect you to do anything... I am just happy to be
here and... You know whatever happens happens.”
“I just don’t want you to get the impression that I take random guys home to fuck.”
“Message received.”
“You are not disappointed?”
“Two hours ago I was sitting behind my laptop with a bottle of beer in my hand, now
I am here with you, it’s not possible to be disappointed at this point.”
I walked towards her and kissed her, putting my arms on her back and pushing her
close to me.
Oh how much I did want to fuck her.
“Thank you,” she said when she pulled back. “I don’t like all the ambiguity when you
just know each other. I like clarity.”
“Oh I love clarity.”
“Great. So what will your nightcap be?”

It was harder then expected to control ourselves, or maybe just to control myself.
Sophia had poured two glasses of cognac as a nightcap, and seated on the couch we
had stared out of the window at the strangely quiet canals, which were shiny in the
reflection of the almost full moon.
The cognac had burned in my throat, and taken my pleasant buzz to a state of almost
ecstasy, in which worries did not exist and in which all my sentences were bathed in
sweet smoothness, at least it sounded like that in my head. It also made me very
warm.
We had been quiet, just staring outside, thinking of this bond that was brewing
between us after she had spoken her mind. If not that, then what was the question
that was hanging in between us, but on the other hand she had been right earlier -
silence can be pleasant. Which was exactly what was so scary, because the silence
felt right, comfortable even, while it should not have been that. But with the sexual
tension burst, we seemed to be eerily comfortable being quiet to each other.
All this peaceful silence was disturbed when we had finished our drinks, and started
making out on the couch. We wanted to keep it cool, take things easy, but the
amount of drink in us made it exceedingly difficult. Lips, tongues, hands - they all
wanted to have their way with each other, and before I knew it her t-shirt was off,
exposing two brilliantly sculptured breasts, which were cheekily pointing forward
like they did not have a care in the world. They did not, of course, and at first I was
afraid to touch them, as if my touch would somehow hurt their perfection. But I had
to touch them, first shyly with my hands, then, greedily with my mouth. She moaned
soft, letting me have my way with them while letting her hands go through my hair.
It seemed like we would not make it. My hand had slid in her pants, and I could feel
her excitement on the tips of my fingers. The movements of her body told me she
was ready, screamed at me that she wanted it. But, while I was working her towards
her climax a certain clarity dawned on her. Her eyes were wide-awake and clear as
she came on my fingers, gasping for breath for one second. “Oeh,” she said, “we have
to watch out now.”
There was sweat on her forehead and a wiped it away with my fingers. My pants
were about to burst, but I did not dare opening them, knowing that then there

80
would be no way back once that happened. “Yeah,” I responded finally, trying not to
be disappointed. I had to get out of here before I would lose control over myself. I
got up and looked at her, laying there, only wearing her blue panties, still gasping a
bit, looking perfect without clothes in the moonlight.
She gave me a warm look, gesturing me to come to her and kiss her, to lose myself in
her hugs again. “If I would do that, those pants are coming off,” I said, pointing at her
underwear. She giggled, and then, without thinking took them off. She made a funny
face and put her hand in front of her mouth. “Whoops,” she said, still giggling.
I was torn. There was nothing in my life I had wanted so bad as to make lover to her
at that point. But she was obviously drunk, caught up in that delicious erotic energy
that we had created on the couch.
“Come here,” she nagged, “please?”
“Sophia, I think I should get going,” I tried.
She started to pout. “You don’t want this?”
“Oh, you have no idea how much... But you said...”
“Oh let it go! I changed my mind. I want it. Come on...”
She got up and walked towards me. She pushed herself against me, completely
naked, sex in her eyes. I had never been harder then that, feeling her body against
mine, my hands on her ass, her eyes looking at me, asking.
It was at that point that I had a strange thought. It was about guys in movies, or TV
series. The decent guy always walks away at this point in one of those scenes -
whenever they get what they want, they feel like it is not decent, because the girl is
drunk, or because they have another girl - or whatever. And I hate that. I hate it
when they do it, because I always felt a man would just lose control, especially with
such a beautiful woman involved. How often does this happen? I asked myself. If I
hate the sight of guys walking away in the movies, would I not be an idiot to walk
away now?
So, I kissed her, throwing so much energy in it that it was clear only one thing could
be the outcome there. I unbuttoned my pants, finally releasing the pressure there,
and dropped it on the floor.
“That’s better. Now come on.”
She led me to her bedroom, which was also at the front of the house and which had a
small balcony overlooking the canals. The windows and curtains were open, and she
made no attempt to close them as she undressed me. She opened the bedside
cabinet and handed me a condom. I messed around with it for a bit while she
observed me with a mysterious smile, sitting naked on her bed. When I finally had
finished the most horrible ordeal in the bedroom I laid down next to her, grabbing
her, kissing her, and finally finding my way inside of her as she rolled on top of me
and started to ride, moaning louder and louder as if the world had stopped existing
outside of our movements.
For once I was happy I had been drinking, because without it I would not have
lasted for even a minute. The sight of her naked body moving on top of mine, and the
delights of being inside of her made me want to scream and erupt long before it was
due. In the end, I could only control myself for so long, and with a primal scream I
burst, sitting upright and holding her as if in panic. I kissed her and we remained
seated like this for a minute, breathing heavily and thinking our own thoughts. Then

81
she got up and laid herself down right next to me. “Hold me,” she said. I complied,
and it took her less then five minutes to be far away, her body shaking against mine
as sleep took control over her body. I laid there, staring at moon through the
windows, and wondered what I had done.

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8. Royal Fuck Up
I was sipping on my guilt like it was a giant cup of coughing syrup that I had to finish
in order to feel better. It was bitter and sticky, and I had to swallow three times in
order to down it. It felt safe returning to my - our - apartment, to retreat
momentarily where nobody could see me, where I could wallow in the potent mix of
self-hate, guilt and memories of the previous night.
After two hours of lying next to Sophia I could not handle it anymore, and had
sneaked out of the apartment. Now I was in my own bed, unable to sleep, my
stomach turning in circles, my mind rotating around the same thoughts, while a part
of my brain kept re-imagining how she had looked on top of me, naked.
That was stupid but if you stop it now it will be all right you just need to forget it time
will make it fade and in a couple of weeks you will be all back like nothing happened
and you can continue your life like it has been and you will be happy you had your fun
and now you can relax it was not that great anyway right it was just what it was it
was sex an adventure just a slip everybody slips sometimes and yes she is good looking
but she is just a girl and she is not Sarah she is not your partner your friend your mate
for life the mother of your future children your wife for god sake so just get your act
together and you will be all right no matter how hot it was or how sexy she is or
whatever just keep it to yourself and live your life but geez she was hot it hot hot hot
unbelievable but that was stupid stupid...
On and on it went, like the shortest of songs repeated to infinity, a DJ who was trying
to find the right settings for a piece of music, repeating that smallest of parts, sixteen
bars in order to get the EQ right. But I was unable to get those settings right, because
I found myself in unchartered waters. A look at the clock told me it was only seven
in the morning, it promised to be a long day.
At least now you know what it feels like.
In my head a slow nagging sound started to form. The clouds of the hangover were
entering my brain and my misery could not be much worse. Why had I left her
apartment? At least then I could have shared my misery, perhaps she would have
made breakfast. Maybe we would have made love – oops, fuck – again, in a better,
more drawn out and sober way. What would she think when she’d wake up?
Secretly I hoped she would never want to see me again. Throw the door closed that
had led me so astray. I hoped she was angry, disappointed, maybe even feel used
and humiliated, just to make sure that any contact from now on would be a
cannonade of screams and curses from her side.
Now you know what it feels like. Like it?
I stared at the ceiling, trying not to think. Minutes past by, and the minutes seemed
to dance in front of my eyes for an eternity before forming hours.
I did not feel like moving, while the hangover took control over me. My mouth was
as dry as a desert, my bladder about to explode; yet I could not bring myself to move
in order to relieve myself. I was just laying there, closing my eyes from time to time,
begging some divine power to let me fall asleep, just so I could wake up in a different
story. But every time I closed my eyes my head started to hurt harder, and the black

83
behind my eyes began to spin, making my stomach unstable.
After a really long time, at least it felt that way, I got up. It was around eleven, and
my headache had subsided a bit, but my mouth was ever so dry. I drank from the
fountain in the toilet before relieving myself, and the dirty stench of last nights
poison filled my nostrils. In the kitchen I made a mint tea for myself, and drank it
while it was still way too hot. My mouth hurt, but at least it relieved the horrible
thirst, as well as the bubbling of my stomach. I took a good look at myself in the
mirror in the bathroom and I saw the same image as I had seen Friday morning. I
looked like a squeezed sponge, or worse, like roadkill.
Then I heard my phone ringing in the living room. The noise pierced my ears, which
was the only reason I ran to pick it up. I did not want to speak with people; I did not
even know whether I was able to speak.
“Yes,” I grumbled when I picked up.
“Hey,” a voice on the other side said.
“Hey?” I replied, having no clue who it was.
“Yes, hey. I just woke up... I noticed you were gone.”
So it was Sophia. And she did not sound angry, not at all. To me she sounded like a
purring cat, which just woke up satisfied after a nice nap, stretching herself in her
bed while the sun touched her skin gently. I wondered if she was even suffering
from the same hangover as I was.
Is she still naked?
“Ehm... Yeah.”
“When did you leave?” She yawned.
“Some time in the night. I don’t remember.”
“Are you all right? You sound horrible.”
“Thanks. I feel horrible.”
“Oh poor thing.”
“Yes...”
“You should have stayed. I would have made you soup.”
“Oh... Really?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I would kill for soup now,” I moaned, and despite myself I was drawn in again. Even
my dick was woken up by her purring on the phone, seeing an opportunity to prove
himself again. Of course this was immediately rewarded by a hard stomp in my head
as the blood was flowing the wrong direction. God seemed to be on this.
“So why don’t u come back? I’ll have a shower and prepare some.”
“Now?” I was flabbergasted.
“Yeah, why not.”
“I don’t know. Feels a bit weird.”
“Weird? Why? Because you snuck out?”
“You’re not mad about that?”
“Why would that make me mad?”
“I don’t know.”
“I also prefer to sleep in my own bed, so I can imagine.”
“Oh. How do you feel?”
“I am all right, my head is a bit heavy.”

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“Are you… How do u feel about last night?”
“Richard,” she laughed, “will you relax?”
“I just... I can’t...”
More laughing from her side. Perhaps she was still drunk?
“What do u want to know Richard?”
“I don’t know. I can’t really think right now.”
“Well maybe that’s better? You sound like you have been thinking too much
already.”
“I might have.”
“Hey why don’t you come on over. You take a shower and take a tram here. I will
make some soup and we’ll have lunch. Then we can talk. How does that sound?”
“You sound awfully composed.”
“Well, I always wake up nice and composed after... Well you know what. I am quite
well. You don’t have that?”
I remained quiet, my heart skipping some beats as she spoke those words. I could
not even struggle. I wanted more, I wanted to have it again, to experience it to the
fullest. And what would it matter? I had sinned once; the second one would not
matter anyway. After that I could walk away, when my head was clear, when I had
fulfilled my wish, done what I wanted, done her and then be done with her.
I know what it feels like now. And I want it again.
“Okay, let me try and take a shower.”
“Yes try that.”
“Then I will be there in one hour, okay?”
“Great, see you then.”

I took a shower and got dressed. Showering helped clearing my head, and it stopped
the dizziness at least for a second. I made myself a coffee and shoved a sandwich in
my mouth. I flushed an aspirin down with a big gulp of orange juice. Then I got my
stuff and walked out of the house. According to my phone it was close to twelve by
now. It also told me I have three messages. Sarah, I realized. Of course. The first
message was sent around nine in the morning:
Hey dear, good morning! I just woke up and smelled and saw the sea. It’s the best
feeling. If only you could be here. Love! X
The second message was send at a little past eleven:
It’s so great to be with my family, to feel the warmth and love. I am looking so forward
to having that with you as well! Miss u. X
I plunged on the couch, dizziness back in swing, voices back in my head. I needed to
lie down, and I closed my eyes.
There it is there it is there it is, a little voice in my head told me. You Slept With
Another Woman, you jerk! What kind of a Royal Fuck Up are you? Your wife is visiting
her family for a couple of days and the only thing she can do is thinking how nice it
would be to have that with you, and here you are!
Okay, so I could do without the little voice yelling obvious stuff at me from inside my
head.
I must be going crazy, I thought.
I opened my eyes again, and got up straight. It felt bad, but I’d just have to be a man

85
about it. Either I was doing this or not. Or?
The third message, which I merely wanted to read to distract myself, was from
Sophia:
Richard, would you please relax and enjoy what is happening? You seem so stressed
and nervous around me. Just come here and we’ll have fun. X. S.
Great. I threw my phone away and it splattered apart on the floor. It made a hell of a
noise, for such a small device. Regretting it immediately, I got up to collect the
scattered parts of the phone. I managed to put them back together and turned it
back on.
Okay, composure, I thought to myself. Just write a message to Sarah, let her know you
miss her, which you do, right? - Right - and then go to Sophia, see how it feels in the
bright of day, make love to her if you cannot control yourself, then go back home, drink
yourself into a stupor and forget all about this weekend. Can you do that? - sure -
great. Then let’s go.
I composed a quick message to Sarah, that I missed her, without really thinking
about it. I guess it was the advantage of being together for a long time - I could write
those messages whether I meant them or not. The point was giving the attention,
and the meaning went with it. I felt the way I was writing them, putting real love in
the text, and feeling the horror of it all.
Hey dear, I am good. Just sitting at home, killing time. Miss u.
Then I got up, feeling the urge to get out of the house.

The doorbell of her apartment created the familiar buzz that always gave me a heart
attack when it sounded in my apartment. Just why a doorbell has to sound like that
has always eluded me, but at least it got somebody’s attention.
“Richard?” Her voice sounded from the small speaker.
“Present,” I answered, and the door opened.
The climb upwards was even worse then I remembered it, and by the time I had
conquered this mountain of doom I was sweating last night’s alcohol from all my
pores. Great entrance again, I thought.
She opened the door wearing a short, pink bathrobe. Any doubt that the daylight
would suddenly turn her into a lesser version of herself was destroyed as she stood
there, smiling, without a care in the world. Girls like this don’t have hangovers, I
thought, and she did not seem to suffer in the least bit. Her eyes were bright, the
complexion of her skin clean and natural. I tried to relate the way she looked to my
image in the mirror, and wondered what I was doing here. Shouldn’t she be dating
some model guy? Or a guy driving a Maserati? At least somebody who could look
good after a heavy night of drinking? Why wasn’t she dating a guy with a dick of at
least a foot-long?
“Hi there,” she said, somehow beaming with energy and joy.
“Hey beautiful,” I said, trying to sound cool to make up for my beastly appearance
here in front of her. She truly made me feel ugly.
I walked towards her and she pressed herself against me, laying her head on my
shoulders. I could not help it but get hard, but she would not let go. She raised her
head and looked at me. “So how are you now?”
“Better then one hour ago.”

86
“I can feel some parts of you are functioning properly already again...” She teased,
gently touching me down there.
“It seems so,” I concurred.
“We will have to try later. But first I will feed you.”
She went in. I was surprised that it seemed to delight her till no end that she could
take care of me, like a wounded bird. Once more I thought that she did not seem like
that type of girl, but apparently I did not know the first thing about her type of girls.
So now she makes me feel stupid as well, I smiled to myself.
She turned around and saw my smile. “Ah finally, I thought it would never happen.
Please, have a seat. I am just finishing the soup that will save you from your misery.”
“That’s a bold statement.”
“My soup is amazing, I dare say it.”
“That would truly save my day.”
“I hope so.”
“Me too. I am sorry I am so miserable. I am not very good with hangovers - when I
was younger I was always the one suffering the most from all my friends.”
She giggled, standing in the kitchen, stirring in a big pan, which contained the
supposed soup. It was an awesome sight, seeing her standing there in this short
bathrobe, which reached only a bit further than her buttocks, and exposed her long
legs. I wondered whether she was wearing anything underneath it, and the thought
stirred my crotch again.
“I used to think it was because I was the shortest of them, but of all the people that I
have met, and drank with, I was always the unlucky one. Guess I am not meant to
drink.”
“Well you don’t exactly live by that, do you?”
“I am afraid not.”
“So are you a heavy drinker?”
“I don’t know... What is heavy?”
“Heavy is... Ehm... Drinking every day?”
“I don’t do that.”
“Ehm... Being drunk at least once a week?”
“Also not... I guess I go for some drinks once or twice per week, maybe drink a glass
of wine or two at home...”
“And yesterday? How would you call that?”
“That? Well... I have those days.”
“Are those unhappy days?”
“Yeah I guess you could say that. I guess most people have those days on which they
are just blue. When I am blue I drink.”
“So you are a sad drinker.”
“Perhaps,” I laughed. “How about you?”
“Well,” she started, “I hope you did not get a wrong impression of me, the two times
we’ve met each other in a club now.”
“You were a bit warmed up, to say the least.”
“Haha,” she laughed, “its not usual.”
“So what is usual for you?”
“I am not really a drinker at all. To be honest, I did not drink before I was twenty

87
one.”
“For real?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
Her face turned a shade sadder. She stepped away from the soup for a second to get
two plates. Then she turned to me, her eyes serious.
“I have only had one boyfriend in my whole life. This was the guy I had been with
since I was sixteen. We went to the same international high school, and fell in love
immediately. Our parents knew each other well; we would be together all the time.
Then he broke up with me because him and his parents were moving to Hong Kong.
So obviously I went hysterical, because ever since I had been sixteen we were
talking about getting married and having children... I am sure you know the drill.
And all of a sudden he was just gone, he did not answer my e-mails anymore after
that, no messages, no phone calls - he just cut me out of his life. Actually that was the
reason that I stopped with my studies. I met a bunch of girls who were into the
clubbing scene, and I joined them just to forget.”
“I am sorry to hear that. It must have been tough.”
“It was the worst time of my life. Sorry, I did not mean to put this on you right now.
Might be a bit heavy.”
“No not at all, please. So is this long ago?”
The smile returned on her face. “Are you asking me how old I am?”
I grinned. “I don’t recall us exchanging that essential information yet.”
“I am twenty three now. Its two years ago since that whole thing, and as you see its
still difficult to talk about.”
“Well I can imagine. Especially because its his fault that you are nearly an alcoholic
now.”
She laughed, walked towards me and gave me a kiss. “Exactly, you got me. But really,
usually I don’t drink, I just have these phases in which I go out a lot and then I tend
to drink a bit.”
“And take home strange men.”
“Yeah that is also not really a hobby of mine.”
“So strange things have been happening. Everything is very much out of the
ordinary?”
“If you can believe it...”
“But you must have men throwing themselves at you like there is no tomorrow. Do
you have a net to catch them all or how do u deal with that?”
She was pouring the soup into the bowls. “It’s not as bad as you think.”
“Come on, I cannot believe that. Men would cut limbs of their body to be near to
you.”
She gave me a strange look. “Oh, okay. Limbs you say?”
“Yes, arms, legs. Perhaps even worse things.”
“Would you?”
“I might have. But I got lucky and I only needed to lose my mind to be with you.”
“Don’t get cocky now. So here is the soup.”
She put the two steaming plates on the table. The substance smelled amazing and I
could not wait to let it heal me.

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“Well thanks for this, it smells amazing.”
“I hope it will make you feel better.”
“Soup usually helps me when I have been drinking... The water, the salt, the meat - it
builds me back up.”
“It sounds like you know how to treat your hangovers. And you still want me to
believe you are not a heavy drinker?”
“Hey we were talking about all those men chasing you. My drinking habits are no
subject for a third date.”
“Third date?”
I took a big zip from my spoon. The soup was powerful, a bit spicy and very, very
warm. My mouth burned, still fresh from the stupidity with the mint tea earlier.
“Isn’t it?”
“Thursday was no date. We met Tuesday, and then Thursday again accidentally.
Yesterday was the first date.”
“Are you sure? That does not look good on you.”
Another laugh. “Oh yes, that is right. Perhaps Thursday should be considered a
date.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About Thursday?”
“No. About last night. I mean when we arrived here you told me specifically that you
did not want to… you know.”
“Never listen to a woman who says she wants something. We either don’t know, or
it’s the opposite of what we say.”
“I was afraid you would be upset about it.”
“I know. But that’s also part of the reason that it happened. I knew you would be at
least thoughtful about it. Most guys would just tear of their pants and have their way
with me.”
“Of course.”
“So did you doubt?”
“For a second, yes sure.”
“And what made you do it?”
I thought about it for a second. “Do you know this television show about RJ Berger?”
“No, never heard of it.”
“Okay, well it’s just this standard type of serial, about a guy in high school who is a
big nerd. And he is in love with the hottest girl in the school...”
“As usual.”
“Yes, as usual, indeed. And in the last episode she offers herself to him.”
“Oh wow.”
“Exactly. But he refuses.”
“Why in the world?”
“They love to do that in movies, highlight morality and whatnot. There were all
kinds of constraints that I will not bore you with. But he had the opportunity. He
could sleep with his dream girl right there and then. But he walked away, and
watching that, it just frustrated me so much, and I thought ‘what kind of guy would
really do that - why he does not reach out and make his dreams come true’. And so
yesterday when I doubted I thought about this. And then it was over.”

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“Haha. Interesting what you think about when I am taking off my underwear in front
of you.”
“Yes. The interesting part of it that I was still thinking. It was an amazing view. Also
kind of a dream.”
She blushed, and touched my hand. “Thank you. That is sweet.”
“Thank you for the soup,” I said, finishing it. I was grateful. I felt reborn, felt like
taking a long nap from which I knew I would wake up fully rested and fresh. But
Sophia did not look like she wanted to let me have a nap. She also finished her soup
and got up from her chair, in order to land on my lap.
“Well mister, are you feeling better?” She asked cynically.
“I feel salvaged even.”
“That’s great news. So, do you want to guess what I am wearing underneath this
robe?”
“If I would have to guess, I would guess that you are naked underneath.”
“There is only one way to find out if you are right...”
I pulled on the terrycloth rope holding together the robe and it fell open. I took a
moment to look at her, like I had not been able to do the night before. Her slender
shoulder bones, and the little bowl that formed right underneath her slim neck. The
curves of her breasts made me hard by just looking at them. Round and soft they
were exposed to me, and I drank in the vision as I had drank the mint tea that
morning - greedily, afraid to spill a drop. Below her breast was the shallow valley of
her belly, which was flat, but also slightly curved naturally - no muscles were
showing and I loved it as I touched the little white hairs on it. Further south was the
sweet promise of her being, decorated with a thin line of dark pubic hair on top.
“I was afraid you had forgotten what I looked like,” she said, purring again, “So I
thought I would have to remind you.”
I got up, carrying her along in the process. “This I will never forget,” I said, before
walking towards the bedroom.

“So he really just left? Just took a plane and left you here? That’s just incredible…”
I was looking at how she was lying in her bed, naked, unembarrassed, with her eyes
closed and smiling the smile of one without worries.
“Yeah,” she only said, “turns out he is a jerk I guess.”
My hand gently touched her belly and moved up to feel the rising of her breasts,
upon which she moaned softly. “A blind jerk I would say.”
She opened one eye. “Well Richard, he had me since he was sixteen, so to him it was
all business as usual.”
I shook my head. Incredible.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to pry. Just looking at you from basically any way does
not cease to baffle me.”
“Well you know me for one week. If it already started to get normal there would be
something seriously wrong.”
I laid down next to her, and kissed her forehead. I felt full of peace, any negativity
chased away by the buzz of our sex.
“Am I much younger then your wife?” She suddenly asked.
The question startled me. “A bit.”

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For ten seconds she looked at me with big question marks in her eyes. Then she
smiled.
“You see, it’s not pleasant to talk about these things when we’ve just made love.”
Love? It thought. Did we just make love? I awoke from my gentle buzz a bit and for
the first time felt uncomfortable next to her. A bit dirty even. Who was this woman
and why would I be in bed with her, completely naked, exposing myself at the most
vulnerable.
Did we make love?
The question made my head spin. Love – love. Or was it just a way to say it, not to
say fuck, or even worse? What were my feelings for her actually, except for lust? Did
I like her? I don’t know her, I thought, how can I like her. And with this thought, I
started to panic. I wanted to sprint to the door and leave her presence, her bed, and
her apartment.
I got up. The movement made her open up her eyes.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” I said sheepishly.
“You don’t have to go,” she replied, “just come here, lay down, close your eyes.”
“Why you said made love,” I blurted out.
She got up, looked at me with the strangest look I have ever seen, and then just laid
down again. “Just go then.”
I remained at the edge of the bed, looking at nothing in particular.
“Come on Richard,” she moaned, “what is it. You really want to discuss my
terminology on what we just did?”
I was like a small animal facing a predator – I just played dead. Nothing seemingly
suitable to say spun into my head, no real reasons to leave or stay either. It was a
deadlock, so I laid down again.
“You are a difficult one aren’t you?” She asked me.
“I am an idiot,” I concluded, “that’s all that I am. No more, no less. I am just a royal
fuck-up.”

She insisted I stay for dinner. We had slept for an hour or two, refreshing her, but
completely destroying me. When I got up I felt like a zombie. My head was heavy, my
eyes pained and every limb in my body refused service. By the time I managed to lift
myself from her bed, she jumped out of the shower. Glowing, she was drying herself
and walked through the room with composure, a confidence that was awe-inspiring.
Naturally, she was naked, but even though the window was open she paraded
herself wherever she needed to be, no shame, no care.
“Hey old man,” she said, “perhaps you should also take a shower.”
“It seems like you have destroyed me,” I groaned.
“Sure you don’t want to fuck me again?” she teased, emphasizing the f word.
“Let me consider that,” I joked, moaning as I got up and deliberately rubbing the low
of my back.
She kissed me, simply, happily. I looked in her eyes and felt my stomach get weak
again. She was beautiful, but seeing her jumping around the room like this I realized
that was not the only reason that she was so attractive, that made me want her so
much. Her eyes shone, were beacons of light, her mouth always had a smile around

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it, and she seemed to be able to energize herself whenever it was necessary.
We held the look for at least ten seconds, in which her assassins took out the last bit
of me that wanted to run, that wanted to forget about her.
“I am sorry about earlier,” I said.
“It’s okay. Am I your first since you and your wife…?” The question was innocent
enough, and there was sincerity in her eyes, which made me want to cry. At this
moment I wanted everything to be true.
“Yes,” I said, happy that it was not a complete lie.
We shared the silence, still looking into each other’s eyes.
“Look,” she started, finally lowering her glance, “let’s have fun together, and not
worry about what it is supposed to be, okay?”
I nodded. What else could it be, I wondered.
“Why don’t you sleep here tonight? Your office is right around the corner right? I
will cook, and then we can do whatever you want.”
I thought about it. It was tempting, but also weird.
“Well I can’t go to work like this,” I said, gesturing at my clothes, which were lying all
around, “I will have to pick up my suit anyway, so perhaps I will go home for the
night. If you want, I can drop by tomorrow after work?”
“Are you sure? Your wife is there too right?”
“She is on a holiday, visiting her family.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you not move out yet?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you still have hope that it will be okay?”
“She does I think. It is very difficult. We have known each other since our university
times, everything we have we got together, so you can imagine how it is to leave
that, never mind even how to divide that.”
“How long were you together?”
“About eight years.”
“I can imagine it must be tough then.”
Impulsively I hugged her. I wanted to capture her naivety, her sweetness.
“It is a nightmare.”
“Well,” she seemed to conclude, “you are welcome here whenever you want to
escape.”
“That is very hospitable. Just please, don’t let me invade your privacy too much. I
mean you must have a busy social life.”
She laughed. “No, not really.”
“How is that possible? You seem a very social person.”
“Well, I can be. I have some friends, but I don’t have to see them every day, or even
every week.”
“Sounds like more reasons for me to not intrude on you too much.”

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9. Digging a hole
After dinner I was able to wrangle myself loose of her spell. Sophia seemed eager to
have me stay over, offered to accompany me to fetch my stuff. It had been a while
since a man, except for the irregular one-night-stand, held her in the night but I told
her I needed some space. She told me she understood, but she had looked
disappointed. It was remarkable, I thought, that she wants my company, while it
should be the other way around.
So I had escaped, ran from this strange hold she had over me. But I realized it had
been a mistake. Sitting on the couch, slowly I became miserable and full of self-pity.
Everything here breathed Sarah, as she had mostly decorated our house. Every
candle, every lamp, even the coasters on which I had placed a bottle of red wine and
a glass she had meticulously picked out. Now it was Sarah’s grip that was grabbing
me, and unwilling to let go.
Life is better if lived through images and movies, I thought. They give a safe distance,
a grace period perhaps, to events and emotions. My own life hardly ever made me
cry, but cheesy sitcoms did so regularly. Emotions seem to be more comprehensible
when lived through pictures, through illusions. Like a movie character recently said,
‘in the movies you see a couple walking towards the sunset and your heart melts,
but in real life you walk to the end of the pier, have a fight and then walk back to the
car’.
So, to make things worse, I, in typical hole digging fashion, decided to go through the
photo albums of Sarah and me. Looking at those pictures, us at the Eiffel tower, us at
the Sagrada Familia, us at the Coliseum – for a second I felt happy. We smiled, and
we hugged. We looked like right after we might have kissed. We looked like we got
out of one of the sitcoms.
However, browsing further, a different feeling took over me. I was going through the
photo’s of Sarah’s sisters wedding, a big, rather fancy affair which was held up in Big
Sur in California. Sarah was looking her best, wearing a beautiful dress, her hair
done professionally and all made up.
She looked gorgeous.
And next to her, was sitting a man. Not a fake one, no, but a real man. He was
wearing a dark suit, with a light shirt and a bright tie. The man had a round face,
deep blue eyes and messy blond hair, but he looked sharp, and smiled happily into
the camera.
He seemed familiar.
I wanted to be that man.
He felt so far away from me, from who I am, from whom I was at that point. He was
the man that Sarah wanted to marry, that she wanted to have a family with.
Would she also want it with this low life, cheating drunk on the couch? Where did
that man go?
The bottle of wine was standing in front of me, and I did not even bother to fill my
glass. I grabbed it and drank from the bottle – taking big slurps, some of it spilled
over my cheeks and chin. I was not able to finish the bottle at once, but at least it

93
numbed my senses for a bit.
I threw the photo album on the floor, looked at the bottle, and held my head in my
arms. Cry I could not, but I loved to wallow in my own misery. Punishing myself. It
was like taking a warm bath in a tub filled with acid.
At least it was what I was used to – it was my fuck-up place, where I came when I
had done wrong,
Perhaps I should call Sarah and tell her. Maybe just call her now, and open up,
confess – just spill it. In that way, we can clear out everything. Our love will be
proven by the fact that it’s these types of things that we can discuss. She will
understand, she will be angry, but forgive me. And then we can move forward.
Sure.
Like she will ever accept this.
Yes she will.
Hell no. She’ll want to hear all about it, and then hang up. She’ll call back two days
later, and the same day movers will be on our front door already, in order to take
out her clothes.
She can’t, she loves me too much.
Not that much. She will never forgive me for this. It will be over.
What have I done?
I have fucked up. And with that I grabbed the bottle again, and swallowed down the
rest of the wine.
Now dizzy, I wrestled with the question whether to stay here or return to Sophia’s.
It somehow seemed wrong to sleep here, now I had soiled myself with the affection
of another woman.
I stumbled onto the balcony and breathed the fresh air, savored the peace and quiet,
in order to clear my head. It would not make sense to go to Sophia’s. Much better to
go to sleep.

“Who was it who said that, stay away from irresistible women?” Thomas asked me.
I looked at him puzzled. “I don’t know, anybody said that?”
“Yeah of course, I think it was a song or something, but okay, it does not matter.”
“Why would you want to stay away from irresistible women?” I frowned at him,
wondering where this philosophical side of his had been hiding.
“Because that’s what they are, irresistible.”
“So if they are, how can you stay away from them?”
“It means that you need to stay out of their way - if you get too close you will lose
control over yourself. That’s why you have to stay away from them.”
“Is this another Sirens of Greece metaphor?”
“Of course not you idiot. Or it might be, what do I know. But what I mean is that an
irresistible woman knows she is irresistible. She will use this to whatever end she
feels is proper. An irresistible women is like the palladium of Ironman - it makes
him strong but it also poisons him.”
“Ironman, really?”
“Yeah really.”

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“You sure you don’t want to go with Kryptonite now you get the cliche train
started?”
“Kryptonite doesn’t give superman strength. It only brings him down. The palladium
gives Tony Stark the strength he needs to be Ironman, but it is also slowly
poisoning him. You haven’t seen the movies man?”
“Before my age and time I’m afraid...”
He chuckled before turning serious again. “But seriously, you need to listen to me,
what you are doing here does not make sense, and it will destroy you and
everything you have and love. You need to snap out of it.”
“That’s not so easy.”
“And why is that?”
“Well you said it yourself, she is irresistible. How can I get away? How can I refuse
from that?”
“You have to set your priorities Richard - you need to make sure your marriage is all
right. You need to build for your future, you need to focus, here, at home. You love
Sarah, right?”
“I am married to her, of course I love her.”
“So then why are you fooling around with this girl.”
“Because... Have you seen her mate?”
He nodded. “Yes I have. But come on, you cannot just sleep with every beautiful girl
you see. You are too old for that. You are married for crying out loud. You need to be
strong my friend. All of this,” he said while he swung his arm around the dealing
floor, “and all of those,” he pointed at a bunch of models in bikini at somebody’s
desktop, “its all superficial. Stupid pussy. Means absolutely nothing. It can all be
gone in a minute mate, it means nothing, but it can destroy you. What you have with
Sarah, that is what is important in life. She is your friend, like you always say. You
have so much history already, and so much future to go, so much to look forward to.
You really think you can have that with this girl? I mean if you have to, enjoy it, but
don’t drain the cup till its dry man. Seriously.”
He laid his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. I nodded at him. It was good to get
solid advice, but its never that simple as Thomas made it seem. For some people it is
easy to just live and love. They are strong, they only look straight ahead, do not get
distracted. Thomas was one of those guys. Happily married to his high school
sweetheart for 15 years. Three kids. Never even looks at a different woman, let
alone do something stupid like I did.
But he might also not understand how difficult it is to want to give in to those things,
to have the love of enjoying them, and how difficult it is to escape from them. How
nice it feels to do something that cannot stand the light of day, the excitement, the
guilt.
I looked him in the eyes. “Thenks man, I appreciate it. I know you are right, but you
know... Its just difficult sometimes.”
“What is difficult?”
“Everything man. Life, love. Marriage. Women, sex. Money. All of it. Its hard to get to
grips with it. Life is not like a fucking computer game where you head on in the first
time, completely mess up and then start over. Were just playing it by ear all the
time, and its not just hard not to make mistakes, is fucking impossible.”

95
Thomas looked at me hard and deeply. He seemed to be assessing my words with
that silent composure of his, that could drive people mad but gave him the peace of
mind he needed to live that glorified live he had, and to make his clients trust him
and allowing him to make lots of money off him.
“I guess thats right. I never felt like that thought - life is a journey and you learn. You
fall and you get up. The trick is never to raise the stakes too high man. Never put all
your chips on black, you know that.”
“If only you could bet it all on black but still keep some chips on red too.”
“Yeah that would be good, but only in a dreamworld man. It seems to me that you
feel like you are missing something in your life, or perhaps that you missed
something earlier. But trust me when I say that that thing you think you are missing
- you are really not. But of course that’s like telling a kid not to put his fingers in the
electricity plug - there is only one way to learn and if you really want that go ahead.
Just be careful, have a zip but please like I said, don’t drain the cup. Just taste, savor
and move on.”
“I think that’s all there is too it in the end.”
“Just don’t drown, please promise me that.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“All right. Now come on, we need to make some money in here. After that we’ll go
for some beers, all this serious talk gets me thirsty.”

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