The buzz surrounding Margin Call in Venice was at a high and after the premiere l decided to get buzzed. Also, Zach practically grabbed me from my hotel room and forced me to have some fun. The air was crisp which was surprising because there was a heat wave the past week. As we walked toward the club, Zach put his hand on my shoulder and said, "You need to get laid." He chuckled, and his Ray-Bans jumped.
"Ha. Let's just have a good time" l slowly to strolled to boat that would take them Il Muretto in Jesolo. The Grand Canal's surface shimmered in a dark lavender hue which was made visible by the glow of the old Venetian streetlights. l looked to my right as l was sitting down and saw a lone gondolier rowing a couple who was kissing.
A wave of jealousy washed over me and l was reminded when l drunkenly paid for a Central Park tour in Columbus Circle with my then girlfriend Jazzy. Her French-manicured nails touching my chest and her sharp canine tooth poking out as I made her laugh about how slow we were going are burned in my brain. That night would not have been particularly memorable if not for the cataclysmic-scale fight the next day; comparable to the vivid, crystal-clear recollection of the events that followed my mother's death (I ate cinnamon oatmeal, half-listening to CNN, then stepped into the drenched, heavy air; it had rained all night, a brutal storm, shops flooded, a couple of subway stations closed, the metallic trill of the phone on the table)
Anyway, my memory of Jazzy's and l relationship has always been divided into Before and After that day. It confuses me (and somewhat scares me) of how both of us went from fawning over kid's name and holding each other's hands in that cramped bike ride on 5th avenue to sending over our friends to get our stuff in the apartment so we would avoid each other. How could love just disappear in such a short amount of time? And when l told Ricky my thoughts, years later, he said, "Its baffling. Emotions are so fickle; they would hate themselves if they could."
l stared for a while as the gondola disappeared from my sight until Zach interrupted my thoughts and said, "What a beautiful sight. The europeans have their film and statues and ugly prime ministers". He held my shoulder and saw the look on my eyes and said, "You okay? Are you seasick? We are in a fucking canal?"
"Of course not. Give me a break."
"Well we are almost there." We went over the ramp and saw in bright lights il Muretto.
l had been pacing along the sun-warmed boardwalk of Jesolo, the Adriatic breeze hitting the edges of my linen shirt. The neon glow of beachside bars flickered over the cobblestones. Jesolo, so close to Venice yet different—lighter, louder, a little reckless—was intoxicating for Zach and l.
l spotted a line stretching in front of Il Muretto; girls in crop tops laughed, tossing hair back with glee while guys in skinny jeans and designer sneakers flicked cigarettes into the ground. A man with dark sunglasses—even though the sun had long set—gestured me over checking a list.
"Name?" he asked, voice casual but sharp.
"Stone. Ryan Stone," l said, walking into the club's heat, already feeling it seep into my skin. The bouncer checked my ID, nodded, and stepped aside.
Inside, Il Muretto was a storm of color and sound. Laser lights sliced through the darkness, painting the crowd in blues and reds. The bass rolled through the floorboards and up into my chest. l ducked past bodies swaying to the beat, catching glimpses of laughter, of bottles being held high, of a Middle eastern man throwing up a beach ball to the DJ box.
l headed toward the balcony:the club's signature overlook. From there, lights from the hotels and boats were seemingly endless. l leaned against the railing, inhaling the mingled scents of salt, cheap cologne, and fish.
A girl bumped into me, spinning to catch herself, and laughed—a bright, melodic sound. She had short, dark hair and a leather jacket over a white top. "Ehi!" she called over the music.
"Sorry," l shouted back. When I saw her oval face, the first things I noticed were her dark freckles and plump lips; a visceral rush of nerves entered my being. The club was dark and rowdy, but her presence seemed so still and natural that the people around her looked like mannequins in a store.
"Do you speak English?" l said in her ear as the EDM was shaking in mine.
"Yes. l am studying in America."
"Oh really, in which—"
I didn't need to be asked twice. We moved into the crowd, bodies instinctively swaying to the beat. Her hand found my shoulder first, then slid to the small of my back, guiding me as if she'd always known exactly how I would move. The rhythm of the music became ours, each sway and step sending little shocks of excitement through me. She laughed when I stumbled slightly, leaning in to whisper something in my ear. Her breath was warm, scented faintly of liquor and vanilla.
We pressed closer—cheek to cheek, shoulder to shoulder—the heat of the crowd amplifying everything. Every brush of her hand, every tilt of her head, seemed new as if no one had done it before.
The DJ shifted the track, slowing the tempo. The crowd pressed tighter, hips swaying in unison. She leaned in and kissed me. Quick at first, then deeper, pulling me into the rhythm of her. I tasted faintly of her lip gloss and I felt heat rush through my chest. The kiss was playful and it felt like l was back in high school behind the stairwell with my first girlfriend trying not get caught by Mr.Spez.
Around us, the club raged on—people shouting over the music, drinks spilling, lights flashing—but I barely noticed. I felt her hand slide along my arm, tracing from shoulder to elbow, then press closer, laughter vibrating against my chest. I leaned into her, my hand brushing against her waist, and the world outside that club didn't exist. She leaned in again, forehead brushing mine lips softly touching mine. l was surprised about how quickly everything was coming together but l knew it was the alcohol and the forwardness common around here. l didn't even know her name.
"What's your name?" l call out
"Adriana," she says.
l took a sip of Aperol and danced with her for what seemed like hours. Then, she looked over to another guy and walked towards him as if he was a lighthouse and she was a ship. l brushed it off and Zach who spawned out of nowhere pulled me aside and said that he wanted to leave and when l said l go with him he just nodded. The air was breezy and cold—a 360 degree change when we first entered the club much like myself.