|My weekend Part 1 (Warning: contains references to illicit drug use and hints at illegal activity.)||Ahimsa|
Dec 9, 2002 7:21 PM
|First of all, let me just state for the record that I had no idea Mario was bringing the man known to me only as "Dentista". I certainly didn't invite him. It was all Mario's doing. I figured me and Cippo would just do our usual rounds of various clubs and ogle women over glasses of vodka and tonic (I've never met an Italian with such a taste for vodka as Cip). That has been what generally happens whenever he is in town...well...at least since we both have gotten older and married. Suffice to say that things were wilder a handful of years ago and many fine women got a lot more than just a good ogling, but that is another story.
So, at any rate, here stands Cippo on my front porch with a bigger than usual grin, and to his left is some older guy (a total stranger) with greasy hair and an even greasier smile.
Cippo threw open his arms and shouted (much too loudly for 9 pm), "Ahimsa! Ciao, voi vecchio bastardo! Siete buoni?"
"I am fine Mario, so nice to see you again. We have much catching up to do." As I said this we embraced and I could see over Cippo's shoulder the greasy man nervously checking his watch.
"Please, come on in." I told them both. "We can have a cocktail in the bar before we leave."
The stranger mumbled something under his breath to Mario that I didn't catch. I speak only a little Italian and even then it can be hard to understnad when people are not speaking clearly. Mario shushed him and gave him a stern glance.
I extended my hand to the stranger, "I don't believe we have met, I am Ahimsa."
"Il Dentista." he breathed.
"Il DENTISTA." He said again, this time louder, and slowly, as if I were deaf.
"Swell." I thought, "The Dentist. Great. That's appropriate. Hanging with this guy is gonna be about as fun as a root canal."
"Your friend is a bit...odd. Where did you dig up this stiff?" I whispered aside to Mario as we entered.
"He is just...aaaah....nervous. He has not met you before, he will be friendly in time." Cippo spoke quietly, deliberately, like a child with a secret.
"How is your wife?" Mario changed the subject.
"She is well, thanks. She is having a night out with the girls so that we may drink undisturbed before heading out for the evening."
"Aha, she is a good woman. You are a lucky man to have a wife such as she."
"Indeed. I am happy." I smiled.
We stood in the foyer of my home, jazz music filling the hall. Mario leaned out the open door and whistled to the limo driver. He then moved his hand in a circular swirling motion, telling the driver to circle the block. He then clenched his fist in the air, followed by a flash of four fingers and then five, signalling that he should call Mario's cell phone in forty five minutes to check in. Then he closed the heavy front door behind him.
I motioned for them to follow me down to the bar, Mario grinned excitedly and said something to the effect of "You will like this." to the man apparently known as "The Dentist".
We desecended the staircase into the bar.
Allow me to explain a few things about the scene here: as soon as you reach the bottom of the stairs you begin to see that the room is a bit different to say the least. For one thing, there is a six foot glowing volcano and maybe a dozen man-sized grinning carved idols to greet you like guards at a gate. The whole room glows slightly orange like fire, and the volcano belches small puffs of smoke at regular intervals that play off the lights. The walls and floor are obsidian black and look like volcanic rock. All manner of strange artifacts hang on the walls and ceiling, a spear here, an old surf board there. Hula girls. Tiki mugs. Human skulls. Shrunken heads. Tropical plants. Lots of bamboo. Not exactly your average Italian night spot. Cippo loves it. The dentist looked shocked.
Mario has been here many times.
Dec 9, 2002 7:23 PM
|Mario has been here many times. He has even brought me a few bits from his travels to add to the atmosphere. I still use the Samoan machete with all the shell beads on the handle that he brought me. It's good for cutting limes. I keep it on a shelf behind the bar, right below a bamboo framed and very faded photo of me and Spirito and "Bunny" in the islands. We were all younger then. I was tan. Spirito had a bit of hair. "Bunny" was....well, he was "Bunny". Six foot five and bucktoothed and huge as he ever was.
I walked behind the bar as Mario and the dentist sat down on bar stools. I flicked the remote on the bar, changing the music from Coltrane to Dean Martin.
"Deano!" said Mario.
"Of course my friend, did you think I would forget?" I aksed him.
"Ha! Of course not!" Mario laughed and clapped the dentist on the back, "Deano!" he said again.
The dentist did not look amused.
I mixed a batch of singapore slings and deftly poured them into three glasses dropping a swizzle stick into each. I skipped the fruit as it was just us guys.
I leaned forward on the bar and toasted, "To tonight."
"Tonight!" shouted Mario.
"Tonighta..." said Il Dentista.
Dean Martin finished and the juke box clicked over to Arthur Lyman.
Mario was very talkative, even more so than usual. He went on and on about Aqua and Sapone and Le Tour. He talked about old times. He talked about old loves. He talked about old bikes. He talked about...everything.
I had missed him (it had been almost a year after all), and was happy to listen in spite of the rambling nature of his monologue. The dentist swirled his drink and generally remained quiet, occasionally asking Cippo something in Italian and then nodding as Cippo explained for him. He seemed to be loosening up and even asked me for another drink telling me"Very good. You are good host."
I appreciated the compliment and mixed him another round. We had each downed about three slings in roughly forty minutes when Cippo's phone rang. He answered and spoke in Italian. It was the driver checking in a bit early. Mario told him to relax and that we would be ready in twenty minutes. That would make it about 10 o' clock. Fine with me.
At this point The Dentist had really loosened up. He began to ask me all sorts of questions about myself and the bar and America. His english was really quite good, though his accent was thick. He even asked me about the old days. About the rum, the island, and Bunny. I told him that those days were long gone. I mostly just wanted to lead a quiet life now and spend time with my family and friends. I built the bar as a sort of Disney-esque reminder, a way for me to sugar coat the past in colored lights and wicker. To remember the good without the bad. To draw it big like a cartoon and watch it over and over through rose colored specs. Escapism. He nodded his understanding. He looked at me with a deadly serious expression, "I can trust you, yes?".
"Of course." Mario said suddenly.
I was a bit thrown off. "Trust me? With what?"
"I am....ah....a good dentist. I take good care of patients come to see me. Many are cyclist. I help them."
"Sometimes they get in trouble. It is not me. I only do what I am told. I am only dentista, not a bad man. It is my habit, nothing more. They have their problems. I have mine."
With that he pulled a package from his pocket, a small black leather pouch with a zipper. He unzipped it and reached inside. Fumbling for a moment, he managed to fish out a clear plastic bag. A clear baggie, filled to bulging with white powder.
"Farina." he said as he placed it on the bar. "The very finest."
"Farina?" I asked the question just as it struck me. Cocaine. This was Simoni's dentist.
As if in synch with my own thoughts, Mario jumped in, singing in his pronounced italian accent and doing his best Clapton,"If y
Dec 9, 2002 7:25 PM
|As if in synch with my own thoughts, Mario jumped in, singing in his pronounced italian accent and doing his best Clapton,"If you want to get down... down on the ground...cocaine."
Mario then laughed out loud and said to the dentist, "This is what you are so nervous about all night?"
"I tell you, Ahimsa, he is fine person. A good man. I have known him a long time."
Mario was really laughing now. The Dentist smiled a broad toothy smile. He had all of his teeth capped and whitened so that they gleamed like the sun off of snow. It looked strange in the dim orange light of the bar.
"Do you want some then?" The Dentist asked me, the relief now obvious in his face and demeanor. It was as if we all were new college roomates just discovering that one of us was holding pot.
Now I honestly don't know whether it was Mario talking about old times, or the fact that we'd downed a sizable amount of gin in a short period of time, or the combination of both, but I looked at Mario and it was if the last ten years had never happened. He shrugged back at me and smiled. I looked at the dentist. "Sure, why not. Just this once for old times sake."
As I lit the 151 floating on top of our second round of shots, The Dentist (or simply, Dentista as he had now become) snorted a very large line into his right nostril through a rolled up lira note. I had already done up more of his "farina" than I ever did back in my younger days, and was just plain soaring. Mario was now recharged, and rambling on and on about old cycling victories and sexual conquests, weaving his narrative in and out of English and Italian like a biker navigating New York city traffic. It was mesmerizing. I tried my best to keep up, but kept missing out on most of the Italian parts.
Mario had turned his phone off a little while ago when the farina first came out, but by now an hour had passed and we decided it was time to hit a club. I checked my watch, it was around 11:35 pm. I rinsed our glasses and left them in the bar sink. Dentista tenderly packed up his stash. Mario grinned like and idiot. We were a mess.
I closed up shop on the bar with a click of the remote and a single light switch relayed to the whole works. Lights, juke, even the volcano, all went dark and silent. We climbed the stairs.
It was Mario who wanted to ride to the club.
At first I thought he meant the limo, you know, ride in the limo. Ride. It's not like we were driving. I saw Cippo talking to the driver through the rolled down window. The trunk popped open and Cippo went to the back of the limousine.
He pulled out a bike.
I'll post part 2 "The ride" and part 3 "The club" later if you all want to read it.
|you b**tard ....... dont leave me hanging ...||Spirito|
Dec 10, 2002 12:38 AM
|hee hee heheh ..... had a bit of hair
i might have a chrome dome but chicks recognise that i am endowed in such a way as to not readily meet the eye ;-)
say no more .......
anyway, more A., mario and dentista ... pretty please
|A, don't leave us hanging - I am on my knees here (nm)||lonefrontranger|
Dec 10, 2002 6:04 AM
Dec 10, 2002 11:13 AM
|Dig it.||Gregory Taylor|
Dec 10, 2002 6:09 AM
|I always knew that Mario was a Dean Martin man. Class.|
|well, now I'll be an a**hole.||bill|
Dec 10, 2002 7:09 AM
|"deftly poured"? you're better than that.
|please post part II and part III!!!!! nm||castrello|
Dec 10, 2002 8:52 AM
|Hey, come on, man. . . what kind of bike was in there?||Mike P|
Dec 10, 2002 4:25 AM
|I can see all of you standing, swaying, at the rear of the limo, with a light glow of gold eminating from the open trunk, lighting your faces. What did he have. They never ride the same thing when it's dark out.
Let's hear it, please,
|Post More! When does Spirito show up? At the club? nm||Spunout|
Dec 10, 2002 6:00 AM
|ahhhh! post more! you're killing me!(nm)||merckx56|
Dec 10, 2002 7:48 AM
|come on Ahimsa, give us another hit!! (nm)||Geds|
Dec 10, 2002 9:24 PM