Amsterdam Twelve: Reflection

I tidied up the room, especially the coke and ganja, and opened the windows to let the place air out. It was cold with a nasty wind so I didn’t leave it open long. Before I put the coke away in a dresser drawer I checked the amount. It looked like we’d done about two-thirds. I made sure the “Do Not Disturb” sign was on the doorknob and took a shower. I dressed, put on my Hugo Boss jacket—the one item of clothing that made me feel like I belonged in The Grand—and went out the door. I flipped the sign so that it read “Maid Service Please.”

I took the elevator downstairs, walked past the bustle in the lobby, and headed outdoors. I walked toward Dam Square, found an ATM, and got a thousand Euro cash advance. I thought about adding up the financial damage from the night before but decided against it. I wanted to enjoy myself. I’d worry about money on the flight home.

Rain began falling so I ducked into a coffeeshop. I bought two grams of Buku plus a pre-rolled joint. I was dead tired so I left and found a café. It was nothing special, but it had java. As I drank I thought about the previous night. I had gotten laid for the first time in nearly a year and had the feeling that comes with it: confident relaxation. Visions of Vanessa danced in my head. I had a hard time believing she was only nineteen. I suppose one matures quickly working as an escort. I could only wonder at the situations she’d experienced. When I’d asked her about her work she deflected my questions. She was right to do so. That night was about her and me not her and others. Still, I wondered what it was like being an escort. I wanted to know.

I ordered a sandwich and another coffee. I watched the denizens of the café as well as the passersby outside. Most of those in the rain were scurrying to and fro because it was coming down hard and the wind was downright cruel. I saw a woman’s umbrella fly into the sky. I felt sympathy for her, but I was also fascinated by the umbrella dancing in the sky. It rose about twenty feet in the air until it passed out of sight behind a building. The woman was running after it and I watched her until she disappeared from view.

The rain and wind died down and I went back to the hotel. I was exhausted even after the coffees. I needed sleep. When I arrived back at the hotel the concierge nodded to me and said I had a note. I opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of hotel stationary. It read, “Kisses for you, baby.” There was a red lipstick stain in the shape of a kiss. My heart melted a little. I thought, “Geesh, no wonder guys fall for escorts. I always thought they were dipshits but I’m beginning to understand.” Again I was surprised she was only nineteen. She was such a pro I forgot she was a pro.

When I got back into my hotel room I noticed the maid had come. I looked around. There was no evidence of the previous night at all. My MacBook was the only personal item that could be seen in the room. I put the ganja I purchased into a drawer then undressed, slid into bed, and fell asleep.

I woke around seven. I was groggy, overly tired, and couldn’t move. I stared at the ceiling for ten minutes without thinking about anything. I finally made myself get up. I showered, put on sweats, and called room service. With Vanessa coming over later, I wanted something light. Bloating I did not need. I ordered a salad and a fruit bowl. The fridge had been restocked. The tiny man had been busy while I was out. I grabbed a Heineken.

I looked online while waiting for the food. A friend who partied a lot sent me an email. I shot him a quick response to tell him about the previous night. It dawned on me that I had my digital camera with me. I hadn’t taken any pictures in Amsterdam on this visit mostly because I had taken so many during prior trips when I was married. I brought the camera along to take photos of the hotel so I could remember my vacation away from my apartment. Would Vanessa let me photograph her? Nothing pornographic or necessarily nude, just photos of sexy poses and natural moments. She had such a powerful personality and I wondered if it could be captured in a still. Judging from the photos I saw of her online, the answer was yes and no. She certainly jumped out at me compared to the other young women, but it was an intangible quality I couldn’t place until I met her face-to-face. She was photogenic, but she exploded in physical form. With other women it may have been the opposite: physically attractive in a photo, but less than lifelike in person.

I realized how much I liked Vanessa as a person. She was not at all what I expected. Not that I had any expectations at all, but I didn’t expect her to be so wild and energetic, playful and adventurous while also being cute and cuddly, intelligent and witty. She was uniquely herself; she owned who she was in a way I had never been shown by anyone else. No one I'd met had ever exhibited personal uniqueness as quickly, boldly, and openly as she did. If that’s what she was able to show in a night, how vast might she be? I became aware of how much she had given me in just one night. I felt like a new man. I had no anxiety at all, no dread of the future, no regrets about the past. I felt myself in the here and now and I liked myself. It felt very strange to really like myself. It dawned on me that I liked Vanessa for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was that she reintroduced me to myself. That was a zinger.

I was able to recall memories I couldn’t access while depressed because the emotions attached to them didn’t match up. Another reason to thank her. How much money and time had I spent seeing therapists over the prior two years without anything approximating the transformation I experienced after one night with her? Play is a better antidote for depression than psychology or pharmaceutical antidepressants will ever be, I had to give the shrooms a powerful assist, though, because they helped create the mood to make everything happen. I wouldn’t have even reserved a room at the hotel if I hadn’t been shrooming. Interesting how interconnected all decisions are; there are no isolated events.

My meal arrived and after gobbling it up—I was famished!—I loaded a bowl and had a few puffs of Buku. Good shit. I lied on the bed and sighed. I was at peace and stayed that way until it dawned on me that I needed to call Vanessa. I found the piece of paper with her number and dialed it. Voicemail. Crap.

I called again at nine. “Hello?” It was Vanessa’s voice. I said, “Hi, Vanessa. It’s Michael.” She responded, “Hey, baby.” I asked her if she could come over around ten. She said, “No, baby. I tired. I come over at eleven, okay?” I said yes, that’s fine. I was a little disappointed, but at least I’d be seeing her again. “You have money, baby?” Ugh. I did, but talking about payment ruined the mood. I told her, yes, I had the money. “Okay, I see you in two hours. Kiss.” She made a kissing sound then hung up.

I was tired, too, and the Buku made it worse so I grabbed the coke from the drawer. I fished out the CD case and chopped a line. I inhaled it and felt instantly awake. Not flying, but alert. It was a pleasant feeling. The shit was good, none of the jittery energy that came from a lot of coke I’d had in the past. Vanessa was impressive on all levels … except when she talked about money. That part I could do without, but it was the nature of the game.

I went out for a brisk walk. I didn’t want to sit in the room tempted to do more blow, smoke another bowl, or fantasize about Vanessa. I took my phone with me in case she called. The area around the hotel was mostly quiet. The canals in the area were dimly lit by street lamps and the lights from the apartments lining the streets. The weather was drizzly and cold, but there was no wind. It felt good to be outside breathing fresh air. The dampness didn’t bother me, either, which surprised me. It had been a mostly rainy month but the temperatures had been decent except for the past couple days.

The blow had eliminated the stony grogginess completely. It allowed me to appreciate the soft glow of the neighborhood, but when I looked at my watch I realized I needed to get back to the hotel. I didn’t hurry, though. I had my phone, my security blanket in this situation, and I didn’t want to lose the vibe created by the ambience. I felt mellow and content. I reflected on the previous night. We only fucked once, but the whole night was sexual. Everything about Vanessa was sexual. The flow throughout the evening was better than anything I could have scripted. It was a delicious dance and I loved it all the more because it felt mutually participatory, like dance partners transferring the lead back and forth.

I did not expect that. I didn’t know what to expect, really. If I had any preconceptions at all they were probably based on movies or stories told by others. My worst nightmare would have been if the experience resembled a porno: “Okay, let’s switch from doggy style to cowgirl then you suck my dick until I cum on your face. After that we’ll relax for twenty minutes and move on to the next completely impersonal and hollowed-out sex scene.” Vanessa played against type. I wasn’t sure if I’d just gotten lucky by choosing her or if all escorts were as amazing. I had a hard time believing the latter could be true, but if it was society has been looking in the wrong direction for virtue.