RIDE: B:1 C:2 – “Twenty-three”

It’s been about twenty-three minutes since we’ve reached the hotel. Towers of luxury elongated to the heavens, painting a picturesque scene of opulence. It’s beautifully situated in the heart of Downtown, the entrance just feet away from a nearby McDonald’s.

On our way inside, I couldn’t help feel the pulse of life coursing through the veins of Downtown Nassau. Locals, moving in ant-like alignment, hurrying along to provide service to their country’s visitors.

Forced smiles stained across colored faces, resentment biting its tongue behind glossy, off-white teeth. There’s something about the hospitality industry that always rubbed me the wrong way.

To me, it’s servitude working under the guise of care. Like any of these people give a damn about where we’re coming from.

We’re from LA dammit! The streets are plastered with weirdos, wannabes, and heat. And everyone’s too busy servicing their egos or getting high to get the luggage. It’s basically a self-fellating Ouroboros of desperation.

And funny enough, desperation was the order of the day. Still gun-ho on my ploy to sabotage Drew’s arrangements, I surveil our surroundings for any possible signs of mischief yearning to be brought to fruition.

As we were getting checked into our room at the front desk, my eyes wondered away from the receptionist who get making googly eyes at Drew.

Normally, I’d give her (just like any other female that isn’t his blood relative) the death glare for even keeping direct eye contact for more than twenty-three seconds.

However, something more intriguing got hold of my otherwise impertinent attention.

Just beyond the main lobby, at the end of the hallway were two interesting looking men. The first one was large and bald-headed, reminiscent of the legendary Latrice Royale (outside of drag).

In contrast, the other male was lean, tall, Middle-Eastern complexion with lengthy, straight hair that tucked neatly into one of the manliest ponytails I’ve ever seen. Hell, I don’t even think my ponytail has ever looked so rich. Wonder if he double-conditions?

Now using my fingers to trace the strands of my hair out pure insecurity, I noticed both men getting rather agitated. They were too far from me to hear and sadly, I never mastered the art of reading lips.

Nonetheless, their hands began to sway and saunter like those wacky inflatable waiving arm tube men at the car dealerships, so I know something was about to go down.

Suddenly, I see baby Latrice jab his two, meaty fingers (middle and index) into the temple of Mr. Ponytail. I gasped almost silently, my eyes unable to tear away from the scene that’s unfolding.

Suddenly, Mr. Ponytail reaches into his jacket pocket and plunges something into baby Latrice’s side! The giant thuds gently onto the floor and is rolled away into the corridor by Mr. Ponytail himself. Who was this man? And did I just witness a murder? Should I suggest we stay at another hotel?

“Everything okay babe?”, Drew queries, his voice snapping me back into my own version of reality.

“Everything’s fine babe”, I lied coyly. “The décor is just a real eye-full, you know?”

He nods as he should and gets our room cards from she who keeps eye contact – bitch.

We were headed to room twenty-three on the eighth floor. We drag our luggage to the elevator ourselves, per my insistence. Drew knew how much I loathed the idea of being served.

On the other hand, it was just another etched pattern in the fabric of his life. When his folks became loaded, they made a conscious commitment to hardly ever raising a finger.

Drew told me horror stories about having to insist to his parents that he no longer needs a personal ass-wiper by the time he hit thirteen. In fact, if I remember correctly from the stories, they had about twenty-three people hired just to carry out daily bathroom duties.

Half the staff belonged to his Persian-faced mother – no surprised there. She loved showing the younger male staff how well plastic stays afloat during bath time.

On our way up, the elevator stops to the fourth floor, picking up another guest. As the man enters the lift and stands beside us, I felt my chest tighten and my heart sink down to my anus. It was Mr. Ponytail! He was straight-faced and collected, as if nothing ever happened.

Although mortified for our lives, I oddly found myself admiring him. His ponytail was even more immaculate up-close. Sure, he has the nose of fucking swordfish, but his calm, assured, and slightly ominous demure really had me dazed.

“First time visiting?”, he breaks the awkward silence that only existed in my head with his raspy, native voice. Hopefully he didn’t notice me noticing him take down a man earlier.

What if this is why he’s here now?! I don’t want to die! I have an engagement trip to ruin. Oh God, he timed us leaving the lobby!

Clearly cemented in a state of analysis paralysis, Drew responds after giving me a concerned look.

“Yeah man, first time. We’re from LA. How about you? You visiting from somewhere?”, Drew asks casually.

At least one of us had the balls to reply. In this moment, I had the collective brain power of mustard. I was scared shitless.

“Oh no, don’t mind my looks. I’m from here. My mom’s Indian and my dad’s Bahamian”, Mr. Ponytail informed us with a sly smile.

Still clutching unto silence like a set of pearls, Drew continues the conversation. “Oh, that’s awesome man! I’m Drew and this is my girlfriend Nat, nice to meet you.”

YOU IDIOT! Why in the hell would you give this murderer our names? Are you trying to get us killed? Of all of the stupid sh-

“Nice to meet you both. The name’s Viper. I hope you both enjoy your time in Paradise.” Viper nods as we make our exit to the eighth floor, which felt like twenty-three floors away.

His last sentence sent chills down my spine as I glanced frantically at his fleeting face beyond the now closing elevator doors.

Slightly trembling, I take a quick breath and attempt to pull myself together. Feet ahead of me is Drew, ecstatic to get to our luxurious suite.

“Come on Nat! This room’s not gonna enjoy itself”, his voice laced with excitement.

Rolling myself and my luggage to our room, I enter quickly and lock the door behind us. I press myself backwards against the door like I just escaped death itself. And it’s only because I probably did.

Noticing me greased and mcgriddled to our room door like a roach that’s been sprayed with too much Baygon, Drew’s thick eyebrows furrow; he hunches over until we’re both at the same eye level.

Yes! He noticed that something was wrong. I’m so happy we’re finally at that stage where he can pick up on any minor or stark changes in my mood. My hero!

The excitement in his voice has given up the ghost and is now haunted by earnest.

“You’ve got gas huh? It was the burger you ate to the airport, right? See I told you not to add extra onions, but you never listen.” He finishes off his ‘I told you so’ moment with a cheeky smirk.

IDIOT!

I-

Mouth agape, I take about twenty-three seconds to respond. “I don’t have gas, you butt-plug! That man we were in the elevator with just now, I saw him at the end of the lobby earlier kaput some fat dude who looks like Latrice Royale!” I blurt out in frustration.

Drew’s face was a living portrait of confusion. He’s silently, chronically confused.

Now rolling my eyes, “OUTSIDE OF DRAG!”

“OOOOOOOH!”, he exclaimed, now plugging the full visual into his twenty-three by forty sized brain. Decimeters of course.

“Are you sure Nat? You sure they weren’t just roughhousing?”

“Never in my life have I seen a skinny newt like that take down a man of those proportions! I’m sure. I’m also pretty sure that you just told him our names and where we’re from, asshole!”

“Well how was I supposed to know he’s a killer? You said everything was fine when we were at the front desk.”, Drew opined surprisingly fast.

Dammit, he had a point. But I didn’t want to make a commotion right there in the lobby. What to say next? Twenty-three seconds on the clock Natalie.

Oh yeah, wasn’t I supposed to start a fight on purpose?

“Oh don’t try and pin this one on me! I saw the way front desk girl was making eyes at you! And you didn’t even look away! You two were practically eye-fucking the hotel down! Tell me Drew, did she had dreamy, ocean eyes? The kind that Billie Eilish would write a fucking song about?!” , I counter ferociously.

Simply genius; I’ll take my Oscar now.

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