Summer Vacation: 'him on a platter with lube, handcuffs, and chocolate syrup'

She stood in the courtyard awash in the rhythms of a local Latin jazz soul funk troupe in May. Based on all the pedo-stache men in the vicinity, the only discernible sound she could hear was the Gypsy Kings version of “Hotel California.” She turned to her friend who was waiting in line for a drink and said, “Did you know that 'Hotel California' is the most requested song for street musicians in Mexico?” This was all she could come up with, all the party conversation she was willing to fake and pantomime. She was trying to embrace that peaceful easy feeling. Trying to forget that she’d been let down far too many times. 

Her friend now had drink in hand and started up with the subject of chihuahuas. It’s was a well known fact that Maxine was a complete “huahua fanatic.” This conversation was a clear distraction from one with substance. Even she was trying to mend a broken heart. Maxine asked everyone within earshot which is sicker: the idea that her chihuahuas like drinking wine or the fact that she lets her chihuahuas drink wine out of her glass while they're sitting on the couch watching TV together. A gallery owner says they are equally twisted, two bizarre parallel lines that have converged to create a drunken nightmare in her living room. That was a great time to wander off, talk to other party guests and drink as much champagne as possible.

He was there with some mutual friends, drinking whiskey. Consumption of whiskey has probably led to the creation of 10,000 love songs and break-up songs combined. Another distraction. He was clearly not from here and that got her excited. A new conquest. Another brain to probe. A shiny new toy to play with. Her mind instantly went to the gutter, to naked sweaty flesh writhing on fresh sheets, steeped in the glory of booze and accordion ballads.

It was time to get down to business. Time to channel some La Roux and go “In for the Kill.” She knew what she wanted and she wanted him on a platter with lube, handcuffs and chocolate syrup. That and so much more. She wanted to know if it was possible to go all night like so many songs had boasted about. No man had ever been able to pull it off. Would he meet her at the starting line and be able to keep up for the relay? The starters gun went “bang!” and they were off to devour each other until there was nothing left. All summer long. Until he went away to college.

She stood in the courtyard awash in the rhythms of a local Caribbean reggae soul-funk troupe in September. The party guests coo and make baby talk for Maxine’s chihuahua. She thinks about her own college days, about the best summer job she ever had. It was being his lover. She sighs, waits for a drink and scans the patio, looking for a shiny new toy.