Getaway - Part 19

After enthusiastically necking everything from Absinth to Zambooka we staggered back to my hotel at closing time arm-in-arm and absolutely rat-arsed drunk. We arrived at the locked glass doors of the Sahara and found gay bellboy Manuel, who judging by his swollen eyes and furious blinking, had been snoozing somewhere on the sly. I was still slightly fearful of the young man – who after all has a key that can open every room in the hotel – so I clamped my arm tightly around Noy’s neck and planted a kiss on her cheek in an ostentatious display of my heterosexuality while Manuel unlocked the door to the lobby. Manuel threw his eyes to heaven before putting his hand on his hip and coldly looking Noy up and down. Noy was oblivious as we tramped into the lift but Manuel glared after us with evil, camp intent.

Once the door dinged shut we attacked each other with a drunken vigour. We kissed with that passionate recklessness which generally ends with a clash of teeth or a cut lip and began tearing at each others’ clothes with the ferociousness that generally ends with, well, torn clothes. By the time the lift dinged a second time Noy had re-attached herself to me with the same limpet-like embrace she greeted me with at her bar. As I staggered out of the lift with her held at waist height, she then decided it was a good idea to start biting and chewing on my kneck and ears. I was so hammered, I noted, that walking from the lift to my room without ending up with carpet burn on my forehead would have been a major accomplishment even without the highly-excitable-drunken-bar-girl-shaped necklace I was wearing.

Almost inevitably, her flicking tongue and hot breath hit a tender spot between earlobe and neck, which sent me into some sort of involuntary spasm. This, in turn, made Noy squeal and attempt to jump off me. In my inebriated state I thought she was falling, and opted to save the day by tightly gripping her around legs which were still partially flung around my waist. Sadly, her attempt at de-coupling sent me into a hopeless forward stagger and with her in my arms it could only end in one thing – the two of us crash landing. We ended up in a drunken, laughing heap at the foot of my hotel door.

We spent the next 10 minutes chortling into each others faces before I staggered to my feet, massaging my jaw which ached from laughing too much. I produced my card key after some not inconsiderable fumbling and thrust it skyward triumphantly. My alcohol-numbed fingers however, made a meal out of getting the fucking door open and by the time I did, Noy looked to be on the no-sex side of comatose.

“Ah for fuck saaake Noy,” I wailed pitifully. “I didn’t take that long to get the Jaysus door open, did I?”

Now, Noy has just answered my question by not saying or doing anything. My first attempt at carrying her ended in catastrophic failure so I take the decision to drag her by the arms for the duration of the ten foot journey to my bed.

“Mon Noy, wake up love…” I continue, as the carpet pulls down her fake, low-cut diesel jeans. “Ah! Mon now! Snap ouva, will ya? You’re just lyin there not sayin anythin. You’re as lively as Stephen Hawkins unplugged!”

I suddenly lose my grip as I’m jolted upright by the memory of something –which even through the haze I can clearly recognise as significant – and I’m only vaguely aware of the gentle clunk her head makes as it hits the bedroom floor. Noy hasn’t seen the money yet. She’s actually yet to make the acquaintance of the €100,000 I have wrapped up in a plastic bag inside the safe.

“Wake up Noy, I’ve something to show ya!” I half yell.

“Noooo Michael. I too drunk,” she replies from the floor.

Then, out of nowhere, she decides to sit bolt upright and fix me with an accusatory glare.

“You drop me again!” she wails tragically, throwing her arms out by her sides before letting them slap back down by way of emphasising the point. “And I know what you want to show me,” she mumbles, while turning her attention to one of her shoes.

“Naaa yaaa don’t,” I say, noting with considerable outrage that my lilting Irish voice has been thoroughly overpowered by this horribly unattractive slur.

“I dooo! And you more drunk than me so it no work!” Noy giggles, before doubling up with laughter in a manner which suggests that she is under the impression that she has just sent forth the funniest sentence in the history of the spoken word.

The sound of Noy’s voice while drunk can be almost as irritating as mine so I opt to dispense with the chit-chat and focus on getting some sleep. I manage to de-robe without sustaining any further injury before turning my attention to Noy. As soon as I hoist her onto the ludicrously comfortable bed, she falls asleep. Being in a dark room with a girl passed out on my bed leaves me feeling oddly bashful and I decide not to go overboard with regard to undressing her. After I whip off her shoes and jeans I opt to leave it at that. The real problem comes however, when I decide it’s necessary to cover her modesty with a blanket of some description. I tug away until I have freed the outer edges of the one she’s passed out on and throw it over her from both sides – effectively wrapping her like a burrito. But it won’t do, I decide after standing back to examine my progress. I’ll have nothing to cover myself with.

“It won’t do Noy,” I say.

“hmmmm….” She replies, as I lean heavily over and begin to un-wrap her.

“Don’t worry love, we’re nearly sorted,” I add reassuringly.

“hmmm?”

The only option left open to me is the one which involves sliding the blanket from under her, which I begin to do at a slow, steady rate. The job however, is implausibly tiring and I decide that I’ll have to speed up the pace. A quick pull is needed – like that trick that creepy little hobbit Paul Daniels used to do in the eighties when he was famous – the one where he whips a tablecloth out from under a full set of tableware. If a magician can do it I decide, then so can I. With that, I wind handfuls of the blanket around my fists, put my foot on the edge of the bed and give it a good hard yank. Sadly, whatever law of physics that permits magicians to whip tablecloths off tables without upsetting the crockery sitting above does not transfer well when you fuck with the variables by replacing the crockery with a Thai bird called Noy, the table with a bed or the magician with a drunken, semi-psychotic Irishman called Michael. So Noy, basically, gets her arse flipped off the bed and straight into the wall.   

Helping her back into bed proves difficult because I’m laughing so much. Noy however, although entirely uninjured, isn’t impressed and my excuse (it used to work when that freaky little gremlin Paul Daniels did it with a tablecloth on the TV!) – doesn’t seem to be winning her over.

“I don’t know fucking Paul fucking Donalds!” she wails. “You crazy guy! Who he? You tell me Paul fucking Donalds can throw lady off bed no problem then he crazy same you! You drop me every time you not take care me!” and so on and so forth.

Ultimately though, we find our way back into bed and after rebuffing my half hearted attempt at seduction, (You drop me too mutt) Noy falls back asleep. Finding myself content for the first time in as long as I can remember I decide I don’t want to sleep and I opt instead to lay there awake, watching my room rotate. Noy eventually rolls over and puts her head on my chest without opening her eyes. I spend few moments locked in battle with my eyelids. I fight for as long as I can but like always, I go under without retaining any memory of loosing. 

To be continued

© Rob Carry. All rights reserved by the author.