The Gentleman’s Guide to Visiting a Brothel – Chapter 6

6. The Problem

The evening was not turning out the way I wanted at all. First Maria didn’t want to dance with me, then she implied something about lesbians, but didn’t explain what she meant, and now, there I was, running down a hallway, having to go help some drunkard who couldn’t hold his liquor and somehow managed to hit his head. Need I remind you that, though I am the perfect embodiment of gentleman who will someday become a famous doctor, I had no medical training at the time, plus I was a little drunk myself. Overall, it seemed like the evening could not go any worse. Naturally, I was mistaken yet again, because, when we finally reached the other room, I discovered that the drunkard was none other than Charles.

The Gentleman’s Guide to Visiting a Brothel – Chapter 5

5. The Room

As we were heading to the room, a rainbow of sensations seemed to pass through me. The exact feeling is impossible to describe, but it was almost like having a fever, coupled with the excitement one feels when opening a gift, followed by a sinking sensation, all of which mixed with nausea and fear. When Maria opened the room door and we walked in, all of the sensations from before seemed to be multiplied by ten. It was odd, because the room itself was quite nice, being decorated quite differently from the lobby. The hard wood floor was left uncovered, exception being a few small pillows scattered about; there was a large window, covered by the same purple drapes as the ones in the lobby, in front of which there were two large armchairs and a table with a glass vase on it, filled with white lilies; the dark-red wallpaper, along with the paintings of naked women and the ten or so lit candles – all around the room – created a sensual atmosphere; the large bed, covered in silk sheets and surrounded by thin, see-through curtains, was placed right below the skylight; finally, opposite to the bed, there was the bathroom door. I know some might be curious about the bathroom, but there are things a gentleman must never speak of.

The Gentleman’s Guide to Visiting a Brothel – Chapter 3

3. La Zizi

If you would be so gracious, allow me to start off this chapter by saying that there are various rules a gentleman has to respect when interacting with women. These rules differ depending on circumstances. For example, if one were to greet a lady at a formal gathering, said man must bow his head and kiss the hand of the lady, then take a step back, as he is moving his torso in the upright position, and compliment her on the way she is dressed. This simple greeting changes if you are at a masquerade ball, in which case the man must bow, tip his mask, kiss the hand of the lady, then, as he takes a step back and moves his torso in the upright position, he must also tip his mask back to its original position and only then can he compliment the lady on the way she is dressed. It is imperative to remember that women spend hours, days, even weeks preparing to look their best for these events. As such, a man cannot be a gentleman if he does not recognize all the hard work women do to make themselves seem more appealing to us.

The tale of a story OR How I learned to start fearing for my life – Chapter 7

7. The explanation

As I drove down the streets of Bucharest, it felt like I was on autopilot. Nothing made sense in my head, but I knew I had to get away from the gunfire sounds. Soon things started to clear up and I noticed that, Andreea, George and myself were all breathing heavily and cursing fate for this night. After a while, Andreea just started laughing, George was thanking God for being alive and I was just surprised we managed to escape. And even though I still hated the death trap we were in, at least it was useful in our hour of need. I think the fact that it was such an old piece of crap is the reason why it deflected most of the bullets fired at us. More modern cars aren’t built completely from steel, but this one was, which, in a way, made it feel less like an iron maiden, and more like a shield. That, in turn, made me think more about all the times I made quick assumptions about decrepit things, how I thought they were automatically useless, when, in reality, they might have had something unexpected to offer.

The tale of a story OR How I learned to start fearing for my life – Chapter 6

6. The heist

After Stephan finished giving Michael all sorts of instructions, we followed them downstairs and exited the building through a different way then the one we came in. I found myself standing in a parking lot where Dave, just as Stephan told him to, had prepared two cars for us. Now I use the term “car” very loosely here because the objects in front of us, which we were supposed to drive, could only be described as “death traps”. Dave had prepared the two most rundown, beaten, excuses for cars that ever existed in this world. I swear, the doors on those things couldn’t open properly because of the sheer magnitude of rust and dents in them. It felt almost inhumane to even keep those things, much less have someone drive them. I didn’t know if I should get inside one of them or take it out back and put a bullet through it.

The tale of a story OR How I learned to start fearing for my life – Chapter 5

5. The plan

Speechless is a poor substitute for how that number affected my state of mind. To say it put a damper in my negotiations would be like saying that your house burning down is making your living arrangements difficult. There was nothing that came to mind as an appropriate response. George was more clear minded then I was, so he responded on my behalf.

The tale of a story OR How I learned to start fearing for my life – Chapter 4

4. The price we pay

Now here’s the thing, I like to think of myself as well articulated, somewhat good looking individual with a possible bright future in writing. HOWEVER – please take note of the capital letters – none of that really qualifies me as a negotiator. Not even a bad one… come to think about it, I’m not that good when making any sort of deal.

*Note to self: learn how to negotiate business deals, possible bright future in hostage negotiations if writing never picks up (sorry, but like I said earlier, I tend to lose track of my thoughts sometimes, which is what a lot of people tell me, but it happens rarely, so it’s not like I have ADD or something like that… wait… were was I going with this? RIGHT!).

Having that said, here’s what happened next:

The tale of a story OR How I learned to start fearing for my life – Chapter 3

3. The scary, yet surprisingly arousing car ride

It was around 12:30 A.M., Andreea, George and myself were just exiting the bathroom – after helping George regurgitate the tequila he drank – when I realized the music stopped and the bar was empty with the exception of the bartender and two men I didn’t recognize. One of them was walking around the place, he seemed to asses the damage done to the bar, while the other was standing in the middle of the bar, just staring at us, until he said:

The tale of a story OR How I learned to start fearing for my life – Chapter 2

2. The bar

Like I said, I had never gone to many bars before, much less one called Iron Vikings. I could almost smell the testosterone fueled, motorcycle-loving, kick-your-ass-if-you-even-look-at-them-in-a-funny-way, kind of people that hanged out in bar with a name like that. As such, I knew I had to dress accordingly. I put on my only pair of black jeans, my black winter boots (it was summer by the way), a black T-shirt that had written on it: “Anarchy in the European Union” (that used to belong to my sister) and my dads old, black leather overcoat (seriously, and I can’t stress this out enough, IT WAS SUMMER, 32 degrees Celsius during the night and 43 during the day). Before leaving my apartment I practiced a few angry faces in the mirror, I wanted to be prepared for anything. On my way to the bar I also stopped at the local pet shop and bought one of those chains that are used instead of leashes (you know, in case your dog turns out to be a bear in disguise). I hanged the chain from my jeans, stopped to see my reflection in the store window and that’s when I knew I was ready for anything.

The tale of a story OR How I learned to start fearing for my life – Chapter 1

1. The idea

Some of the greatest stories ever told start with the words: “Dude, you are not gonna’ believe what happened to me last night…”. Okay, so maybe not the greatest stories, but some pretty good ones begin like that. It’s the dudes equivalent to: “Once upon a time…”, and yes, usually the person who uses this sentence is exaggerating about what really happened, but in my case, it’s all one hundred percent the truth. The funny thing is that all of the crazy shit I’m about to tell you happened because I wanted to write a great story. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, let me start at the beginning.