In my first report "A Dummy in Rio," I told you all a little "white lie" about the first working girl I met after dumping Roots. It wasn't Fawn, in fact she wasn't the second, but actually the third GDP I met that evening. Flash back to that drizzly evening; I’m strolling along Ave. Atlantico in my double-breasted blue blazer, jeans, a monogrammed striped shirt and a pair of Cole-Haan tassel loafers. While I'm walking past TA on my first pass, all of a sudden someone grabs my right arm and says "Lindo.”
I immediately replied that my name was James not Lindo as I turned around to see one of the ugliest women I have ever laid eyes upon. You know how they say that Latin women age well; all I can say about Silverback is that she isn’t one of them! Initially, I nicknamed her King Kong because she's built like a linebacker with huge square shoulders, has the face of an ugly gorilla and she’s quite intimidating. Actually TheRightWay came up with “Silverback,” which I promptly adopted for my own use. If he gets mad at me stealing her nickname, fuck him! At least I gave him credit for it, which is more than I do most of the time.
I've tried repeatedly to take photos her, but she's so damn black she actually absorbs rather than reflects the camera’s flash. Simply put, every photo of her looks like a distinctly human form intergalactic black hole and you can’t see any features whatsoever. Where was I? Oh yeah, telling her my name wasn't the smartest thing to do because she took this as an invitation to join me. As I sat down at the table under the umbrellas to get out of the misty rain, she immediately sat down next to me and started pawing me as if I was a toy.
After blowing cigar smoke in her eyes for a few minutes and slapping her hand every time she touched me, she finally got my subtle hints. Ever since that first encounter, she approaches me every evening and winks at me as if I'll have a change of heart. If you ever go to TA, you'll definitely see her there. Shit, she's there every fucking evening! For the life of me, I don't know why she goes back again and again, because I've never seen her leave with anyone yet. Come to think of it, if you leave Help when it closes at around 5:30 a.m., she’s still there trying to catch some innocent stupid drunken gringo who will look past her hideous face and succumb to her questionable feminine charms.
Unfortunately, as soon as she leaves another garota approaches who's even scarier. This one is small, about 5 feet tall, slender and about 45 years old. If any of you are getting "wood" after reading that description, you definitely need to go back to Rio right away. She looks exactly like a dirty favela rat, sleeps under the palm trees at the beach and parades around Hooker Beach in her underwear. Despite her numerous charms and repeated advances; I respectively declined by tactfully saying, "Get the fuck away from me."
Sadly, the direct approach didn't work either, so I went back out in the drizzle to get away from her. Stupid me, one day I pointed both women out to MBL and she had a field day with my ego. To finally shut her up, I had to point out that since she was with me, maybe she was of the same caliber as the other two. In case you're wondering, I didn't get laid for two days after that remark, yet she continued to collect $100 a day and eat fucking shrimp at practically every meal.
Okay, were sitting at TA when Felix and Timex walk by without as much as a glance in our direction. Stuck up snobs! Bluestraveller comes over and joins us for drink and within minutes he invites us to his apartment for dinner on Friday night. He tells us that he plans to cook chili, which happens to be MBL's favorite dish. Great, this is another foolproof way to finally reduce my enormous meal expense; Bluestraveller will feed me for free.
Within seconds that vision was smashed to smithereens as Bluestraveller suggested that I bring something to drink as well as something to cook. What the fuck is this? First he invites me to dinner and now he's telling me to bring my own food and prepare my own meal. How do I get myself into situations like this? Under the table I’m kicking Bubble Lips to let her know that we should decline, but she continues to go on and on about how much she likes chili, so I'm stuck like a shit-flinger’s goo to the top of your shoe.
Evil Twin joins us and looks a little nervous so I cut to the chase and discretely ask him, "Why are you so fucking nervous?" Apparently my interrogation skills are still intact because he immediately blurted out a story that I will relate to you. I'm told there's a lesson in it somewhere; perhaps you can figure it out. Essentially it goes like this: Evil Twin met this beautiful young thing at Meia Pataca, looked carefully at her identification card, which indicated she's 18 years old, and took her home for a quickie.
They get along famously and she asked him if he wants some "weed" to pass the time. In about an hour they go out to meet this dealer who sells them the weed. Actually, two guys show up, ones the bodyguard who looks menacing and stands by and watches everything while the seedy dealer completes the transaction. After they got "high" together, she decided to spend the night and eventually they spent two glorious days together. Then suddenly the fucking wheels fell off!
Before I go any further, I have to give you some valuable background information. Evil Twin is a seasoned veteran, having traveled to Rio multiple times during the past six years. Unlike many of us, who go for one or two weeks at a time, Evil Twin stays for a minimum of six weeks at a time. He's also fluent in Portuguese, so there's absolutely no language barrier for him. Got the picture now?
On the third day together, the garota receives a telephone call from the dealer telling her that he was in a terrible accident with his motorcycle and needs R$800 for repairs. I know you guys are one step ahead of me, but please let me continue with my story. She turns to Evil Twin and asks him to put up the money. He refuses, as well he should. She tells the dealer this and he asks to speak to Evil Twin directly. When he gets on the phone, the dealer tells him that the girl is really 17 years old, not 18 and if he doesn't pay the R$800, he'll go to the police and turn him in. Evil Twin looks at her ID one more time and is convinced it's real and that she is in fact 18 years old and promptly hangs up on the dealer.
As Evil Twin is trying to get rid of this bitch, the dealer called repeatedly threatening him and later begging him for the money. After he finally got rid of her, he decided that the wisest course of action was to stay inside for a few days till things blew over. Fortunately, the dealer was just blowing smoke up his ass, she was 18 and in on the extortion plan, but things would have turned out much differently had he caved in. If he had he paid, they would've kept coming back for more and really fucked him over. As Evil Twin was telling us this story, I got a brilliant idea is how I could mess with Felix’s little mind. This was going to be good......
We said our goodbyes, I thanked Bluestraveller for inviting me over to cook dinner and we caught the "cheapo" entrance fee at Help just before prices go up at midnight. As we were leaving the table, Bluestraveller said, "I don't drink wine," as if I should bring some beer, Scotch or something else. Fuck him! I told MBL that we will bring wine, that way there's more for us. Doesn’t drink wine; who the hell does he think he is?
When we got inside, I immediately saw Felix and decided to put my devious plan into effect. I gave MBL R$20 and told her to buy four beer tickets and one water ticket, totaling R$14.50. As she was doing that, I approached Felix cautiously. "Hey Felix, have you seen that clown tonight? He was outside looking for you." An anxious Felix muttered, "He was?" Now you have to understand that this really pissed off Felix; primarily because he realized that the only way he could confirm this was by asking Bubble Lips and, if you recall, they weren’t talking.
Just to tweak him a little more, I said, "Go ahead, ask Bubble Lips." "I'd rather die," he replied. "Well Felix, your wish might come true if that clown takes off his makeup and decides to come in here looking for you. Shit, he could be standing right behind you at this very minute waiting to slit your throat," I said as he immediately turned around and scanned the crowd. After he was sure that the clown wasn't in the place, he confidently pronounced, "He’s not in here."
"How do you know? Do you know what he looks like without his orange wig and makeup?" I pressed the point. "Of course you don't, he probably looks like any other Brazilian guy and he could be any one of a hundred that are in here now," I said to mess with him more. "Hey buddy, if you don't believe me go outside and ask Evil Twin to tell you his harrowing story and how he hid out for several days," I added as further confirmation.
"Holy shit Jag, you've been right about everything today." "What do you mean by that? I asked as I quickly figured that I'd ask him for one small favor before the moment completely passed, "Could you please repeat that once more?" "Yeah, but why?" he replied. "It's not often, as a matter of fact, I can't even remember the last time that someone said I was right about something, let alone everything. So please, say it one more time for me buddy," I said with tears of joy to my eyes.
After he repeated it, he went on to explain his statement. “You were right about the cops this morning, the queers in the pastry shop, the girl on hooker beach, the dirty sandals and the dog shit in the ocean, so I'm not about to go against your advice now. "Maybe we'll get out of here and grab a taxi back to the apartment," he said as he took the bait. "Do you want me to escort you to your taxi?" I asked as if I was truly concerned for his safety. "Yeah, would you?" "Sure Felix, anything for a friend." "Hey Bubble Lips, I'm walking Felix and Timex out to a taxi, and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don't forget to give me my change!" I said as I started towards the stairs while Bubble Lips was giving Felix the finger. Then again, maybe it wasn't directed solely at Felix.
The next morning Felix didn't show up for our morning walk and I called him. He said he wanted to stay out of the sun because of the sunburn. What a fucking lame excuse that was. But try as I might, I couldn't budge him. Unfortunately, my plan was working better than anticipated. Shit, it was 7 a.m. and everyone, except the old ladies and the dogs, was asleep. It was actually delightful walking alone in silence without Felix ticking off the day's planned events right down to the minute. I haven't met anyone who plans more than Felix, including his alternative and contingent scenarios. I was momentarily feeling guilty about not having Felix around when he found a way to pester me without actually being with me. I found this out moments after I thought I was free of him as my cell phone rang. Oh fuck, it’s Felix!
Four phone calls later, I was entering The Office for breakfast and informed Felix that I would lose phone reception when I entered the place. For some strange reason, almost all cell phone communication is terminated inside The Office. Perhaps the place is lead lined or something. In any event, all I can say is if you're waiting for a call on your cell phone don't wait inside The Office because you'll never get it. As predicted, our call is terminated soon as I stepped over the threshold to my relief. Christ, now I know exactly what Don felt on Tuesday when that "asshole" pestered him on the phone all day long. Some people have absolutely no regard for others. Don't you just hate people like that?
After a delightful breakfast alone without anyone outlining the day's upcoming events minute by minute, I sat back and watched the news on the 60 inch widescreen TV at The Office. Outside the weather had changed dramatically from a warm balmy day to a clear one with swift gusting winds. I smiled inwardly as I realized that the wind will prevent the beach guys from using parasols today, which should translate into better phone reception at my Mobile Command Center.
Jag’s dupla on the beach
Bubble Lips is sound asleep at 10:30 a.m. and I quickly get her ass out of bed so we can go to the beach. As we approach Av. Atlantico, fighting to stay a foot in a veritable windstorm, Fernando rushes across the street in an excited state. Oh shit, what the fuck is wrong now as he starts jabbering away in Portuguese. "Hey Bubble Lips, what's Fernando saying?" I ask her. "I can no hear him, wind take away his words before I hear. I think he wants you to pay a "wind tax" because no one on beach today. He say something about money," she replied. Fuck, everything’s about money when Fernando’s involved, but what awaited me on the beach surprised me beyond belief.
There she was, absolutely beautiful, long and lean just lying there waiting for me to crawl upon her and have my way with her. As soon as I saw her, I knew MBL wasn't going to like the fact that she had to share me with this beautiful thing. "Fernando, how much is she?" I asked. He scribbled R$100 in the sand as it quickly blew away. "For how long?" He indicated all day, but I thought his price was too steep. When I indicated my displeasure, the price immediately dropped to R$50, which I still considered way too high. Finally, we settled on R$30 for the entire day and as I lay down on her and caressed her arms, I asked Fernando, "Where she comes from?" He answered with only one word, "favela." I’ve heard persistent rumors that some of the best and most beautiful come from up there in the favela, but ever since my visit, I couldn't quite imagine anything this beautiful staying in that hell hole.
Bubble Lips went sub-orbital as soon as I crawled on top of her and started snuggling. Perhaps what really pissed her off was the fact that she was so damn white; consequently, I nicknamed her “Branco.” For those of you who don’t know a fucking word of Portuguese, Branco, means “White,” or at least I think that’s what it means. That said, I’m not too sure that I’m using the right gender or not, but who the fuck cares anyway? Where was I? Oh yeah, she was a little dirty, but after all she comes from the favela, so you have to make some exceptions. MBL put both hands on her hips, gave me a jealous look as I was affectionately stroked Branco's left arm and asked, "Are you sharing her with me?" "Honey, we can share her, but only one at a time, not both of us at once," I replied. Shit, after I've had my way with her, she can enjoy her, and I can just sit back and watch the two of them go at it.
As the ferocious wind whipped around us, I asked Bubble Lips to cover the two of us with a conga. That way I could enjoy her without prying eyes watching us. After 15 minutes Bubble Lips said she wanted her and I refused, which started one of those Brazilian arguments that go on and on. While she was bitching and moaning, Fernando came by to cool off our feet with his watering can. "Be careful Fernando, don't get her too wet," I admonished him as he gently poured water over us. As he is walking away looking for more unsuspecting victims, I shouted to him, "Obrigado Fernando, she's magnificent!"
When he was not more than 10 meters from us, she collapsed. I assumed it was due to the fact that she enjoyed having me play with her, but as it turned around, I noticed that the rope around one of her legs came untied. "Hey Fernando, you rented me a fucking defective chaise lounge!" Within seconds he was putting her back together by tying the most God awful knot you have ever seen. At this point, I decided to let MBL have her and as soon as she sat down, Branco collapsed once more. Shit, Brazilians tie knots like they do almost everything else with the exception of sex, which is to say: poorly. As I untied her broken leg, I shouted to Fernando to bring me more rope. Within 30 seconds, he's at my side with a handful of quarter inch nylon twine. I look around the beach and see only a handful of people so I wonder to myself "where the fuck did this twine come from?"
Clearly Bubble Lips was also troubled by this new development as she said to me, "You think Fernando into bonding?" Fuck no! There is no way Fernando’s going to "bond" with me, I replied. She then put both her wrists together signifying "bondage" as I nodded my head affirmatively. Immediately she called Fernando over and started shouting at him for being a "sexual pervert" who ties people up. After taking a few minutes of her shit, he explained that he uses the twine to tie together all his parasols at the end of the day. Bubble Lips didn't believe a word of what he said and she took her right index finger and put it under her right eye and looked directly at him. In Brazil, this signifies "I keep my eye on you." Good, now Fernando has a better understanding of what I have to put up with day in and day out so perhaps he'll cut me a little more slack. But knowing him as well as I do, he'll manage to turn it to his advantage. All Brazilians do that somehow, especially when I'm involved.
Since I raced sailboats as a kid and had an intimate knowledge of knots, I started to carefully craft a series of support cables out of Fernando's twine. To ensure stability, I used my patented non-slip knot affectionately called the "cutter" by my close friends. For some strange reason, you couldn't untie it, consequently, you had to take a knife to it for removal; hence the name "cutter." My friends hated it, but the local marine supply store loved me for inventing it because they sold more rope each year as I taught others how to tie it. Anyway, by the time I was finished, Branco looked like the Brooklyn Bridge with about 12 support cables holding her together.
Fernando came over and inspected my handiwork, figured I was a "lunatic" and tried to retrieve his twine before I created any more havoc with his equipment. As he struggled unsuccessfully with each knot, he finally stood up, looked at me, and shrugged his shoulders. Clearly he was asking how to untie this fucking nightmare and I responded by reaching into my bathing suit pocket and extracting my deadly and faithful SOG knife. I held it in my right hand pointed downward, gently felt for the little thumb knob that you used to swiftly open the blade, and smiled at him.
Fernando took two steps backward as, in one elegant movement; I snapped my hand downward and propelled the blade open with my thumb. Fernando jumped as the blade shot out. Regrettably, I was holding it a little too close to my right thigh as the tip of the razor-sharp blade neatly sliced a superficial yet painful four inch gash along the outside of my leg down to my knee. Fernando shook his head in disgust and rolled his eyes as MBL was stemming the blood flow with a conga. I could've sworn I heard him say, "Signor James loco" as he was walking away. But since it was windy I probably missed what he really said.
Two hours later, we left the other three brave souls on the beach, who were vastly outnumbered by the chair rental guys, and went to The Office for a quick lunch. Shortly after we sat down, Felix entered the restaurant and proceeded to sit down in the first booth located three booths away from us. Bubble Lips laughed out loud at she's stated in a commanding stage whisper, "Felix still angry with me." I ordered a burger and went over to Felix's booth while MBL selected her choice for lunch. "What are you doing out in public, aren't you afraid that the clown will get you?" I asked. He told me that he was tired of sitting inside all day and was hungry, so he decided to get some lunch. Then he got nasty. “How many fucking pink shirts do you own?” he inquired. “This isn’t pink, it’s chartreuse,” I replied. “Looks like hot pink to me, but I’m not a fashion plate like you,” he screeched at me.
“Calm down Felix; why don't you come over and join us?" I asked. "Not on your life!" He replied as I shuffled back to our booth to find MBL dinning on an appetizer of carpaccio (thinly sliced raw meat served with vinaigrette) and melon, which costs a fucking arm and a leg. When they bring my R$15 burger, they place a large plate of grilled shrimp in front of MBL and say, "bon appétit." Those two fucking words cost me a total of R$93 for lunch as we watched a lousy fucking soccer game on TV that ended in a 0-0 tie. To keep the viewers interested, the station repeatedly showed scoring highlight from other games because our game was so boring. I paid our enormous bill and we departed for the beach for another dose of sand-blasting.
Guess it wasn't a parasols or beach chairs that was causing all the interference after all. Three times I tried to call Don and each time all I heard was a "click" on the other end. Right about now I'm missing Felix because I know I can reach Don his cell phone. Then I come to my senses as I realize that to use Felix's phone he has to be here and that means I can't enjoy the windy silence in peace.
Settling up with Fernando gets more and more tortuous each day. Mind you, we had nothing to drink, yet somehow the chaise (R$30) and lousy fucking aluminum chair (R$5) totaled R$60, according to Fernando’s creative accounting. I looked at Bubble Lips; she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Fernando your problem now.” What the fuck did she mean by that, I wondered?
Oh yeah, she’s finished watching him because of that perceived “bondage” problem, therefore, the financial side of our inter-personal relationship is mine to handle. Shit, if Fernando only spoke a little English, I’d sign him up to do an infomercial called “How to get Rich with no brains or education, and with NO-MONEY DOWN. We’d make a fucking killing as Fernando dispensed advice like a financial guru. He’d be sort of like a combination of Tony Roberts and Carlton Sheets only wearing flip-flops. On second thought, Fernando would figure some way to fuck me out of my third of the profits, so I better forget about it.
As I’m day dreaming about our upcoming infomercial, Fernando’s explaining the unexplainable in exacting detail. After about a minute and a half of his babbling, MBL laughed and said, “Just pay Fernando his R$60; I want to go shopping.” As he was washing the sand off my feet on the sidewalk, MBL explained that Fernando told her that due to the wind erosion on the beach today, he decided to contribute R$25 to the Beach Conservation effort. Since he didn’t have the money, he decided to pass that expense on to me. Funny, I never figured Fernando for a fucking tree-hugger!
On our way home, MBL insisted that we stop in a small clothing store because she wanted me to buy her something. She purchased two small white cotton shirts and then insisted that we go to another store to have the shirts accessorized, whatever the fuck that means. On our way there, she explained that she liked my monogrammed shirts and wanted to put something appropriate on her new shirts. I can’t believe this, first I get shit from everybody for wearing monogrammed shirts in Brazil, and now I’m single handedly changing Brazilian culture to include the same. I can see it now, within days Fernando’s got a monogram, then his partner, Fiscal, and on and on till the whole country’s wearing them.
That vision is quickly dashed as MBL asked the lady at the Monogram shop to put MISS BUBBLE LIPS on each shirt in 3 centimeter high black letters. Monogramming is cheap in Brazil, just in case you’re wondering. Oh yeah, the shop is located right behind Mc Donald’s on Av. Copacabana in one of those little interior malls and she’s quick. Shit, back in the state something like this would cost $50 and take two weeks. Whereas down in Rio its dirt cheap and ready in a matter of hours. Both shirts initially cost R$17 apiece, but Bubble Lips scribbled something else on her order and the price went up to R$20 apiece. After she walked out of the shop, I went over and saw what she wrote on the order, crossed it out and paid the lady R$34.
Two hours later we returned and she had both shirts ready. Bubble Lips looked at them and started giving the lady some Brazilian shit about not doing them right. This went on for an eternity till the lady pointed to me and indicated that I had changed her order. MBL looked at me disapprovingly and asked, “Why you change order?” I told her that since she explained to me how all my friends knew her as “Miss Bubble Lips,” she thought it appropriate to put her name on several shirts, which I had no problem with. However, I drew the line at putting her phone number on them too!
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