Lost in Hotels (23 page)

I settle into my Ibiza uniform of white pants and my barely buttoned white linen shirt that billows in the whistling wind of the road as I pull into the driveway of Alejandro’s farm, or enormous plot of land that will be a farm whenever they get around to planting something. Alejandro is an ad executive from Spain but lives in London, and she is a former something-or-other who may include trust funder or call girl or model, but today she is simply Chrissie. As the headlights draw parallel lines through the misty evening, I see wobbly legs in a black dress dart across the yard and to the side of my car.

“David, David, David!” she pounds on the car windows as I stop the car, fearing I’ll run her over.

“Let him get a foot out the door, Chrissie!” Alejandro yells from the porch. He’s in all white, his usual uniform, with a fading tribal tattoo around his upper arm that shows his commitment to another time.

“David, I’m so, so, so happy you are finally here! Summer is not the same without you, darling.”

Chrissie speaks with a posh London accent that likely conceals her true heritage in the Midlands or Manchester.

“David, my man, where’s this lovely lady we have heard about?” Alejandro shouts out.

“Oh, she doesn’t arrive until tomorrow, so you’ll have to settle with just me for the night.”

Stepping up to their porch, the interior house comes into view much as it did last year; a few all-white chairs and a new cluster of über-modern art sits in the corner, likely acquired on the island.

“Well, I see your farm has grown in quite nicely,” I say, referring to the barren land that surrounds the house that’s supposed to be overgrowing with organic vegetables and fruit trees by now.

“It’s coming, it’s coming, I swear. We are going to start next season; this year we wanted to focus on the house,” Alejandro says, even though the house hasn’t changed at all since last year.

So many people come to Ibiza with lofty dreams only to find themselves lost in a sort of hedonist party scene that envelops the island in June and then comes crashing to a halt toward the end of September.

“Plus, we’ve started thinking it’s a yoga center and restaurant we really want, so the farm can come later,” Chrissie chimes in.

“Oh, so is that the latest plan?” I say with a laugh.

“Well, sort of. I know it sounds mad, but it’s amazing how busy you can be in a place where you really have nothing to do but have fun.”

“We don’t care really, David; one summer you’ll arrive and we’ll probably be drinking our own wine. You’ll see,” Chrissie says with a wave of the wrist.

“But at least you’re living your dream; I have to hand it to you. As I was sitting in Berlin, all I could think about was our long lunches at Blue Marlin and sitting on the porch until four a.m., talking about whatever it is we seem to ponder endlessly at that hour.”

“And now, we’ll have Catherine to make it all the more interesting. We are dying to meet her, David. Am I going to like her?” Chrissie pouts, with lip out like a small child.

“I think you’ll love her as much as I do.”

However, I also realize the connection between the two women won’t be an obvious one, Catherine an intelligent modern woman and Chrissie a runaway party girl fully immersed in the Ibiza lifestyle.

“We’ve never really known you all settled and loved-up.”

“Well, do I seem any different to you now?”

Chrissie circles and studies me from head to toe in a stare before returning in front of me.

“I can’t really tell, the outfit still very much says fun David though.”

Behind her, I can see I’m interrupting the evening. Wine bottles emptied on a glass table surrounded by burnt black chairs by Maarten Baas that look like they were hauled off the set of a Tim Burton movie.

“You mean you started drinking without me?”

I downplay her jested observation. After all, I’m incredibly different since meeting Catherine, even if it’s not obvious on the outside.

Chrissie grabs a bottle of Rioja and gives a hefty pour before handing me a heavy black-crystal goblet.

“So, tell us more about this Catherine,” Alejandro adds from across the living room.

“She’s smart, sophisticated, and beautiful. I have no idea why she’d ever be interested in a man like me,” I say with a smile as I settle onto the white leather sofa.

“But Davey, you always have so much fun here. I don’t want you to get all
daddy
on us. She’s fun, right? We’ll still be able to party and be crazy with her, right?” Chrissie asks before plopping on the sofa next to Alejandro.

“I was totally honest with Catherine and told her Ibiza is wild and crazy. But to be truthful, whomever I meet is going to have to enjoy letting loose and having a good time as much as I do. So it’s sort of an Ibiza crash course to see how she does, and I think she’ll absolutely love it. Or at least I hope she’ll love it.”

As I talk, Alejandro caresses Chrissie’s hair with a tenderness you wouldn’t expect of two people after so many years of being together. They’re the type of couple who’s constantly together and never more than a few feet apart, always close enough to grab the other’s hand or let the other know they are right there.

“So, what’s the plan, are we staying here or going out?” chirps Chrissie before I’ve even finished my glass of wine.

“You know, I’m sort of knackered. So if you don’t mind, let’s just have another glass, and then I’m probably going to call it an early night.”

Chrissie and Alejandro pause before looking at each other.

“Oh no, it’s happened. She’s ruined him already,” Chrissie sighs.

“What? What are you talking about?” I ask.

“You’ve gone all soft and squishy in love on us. Is this the David we have to look forward to in the future? You would never, ever have wanted to go to bed early on your first night in Ibiza.”

“Really? I’m just tired. Plus, I kind of just want to catch up with you guys. I haven’t seen you in almost a year.”

“Has it really been a year?” Chrissie asks.

“Well, almost; it was last September for the closing parties.”

“Ah yes, that was quite a way to shutdown the season,” Alejandro adds, alluding to the day I overslept, missing my flight back to London that had me knee-deep in trouble at the office.

“And my liver, I must say,” Chrissie laughs.

“We really are happy to hear you found someone you really like. We were starting to worry for you, man,” Alejandro says in unexpected earnestness.

“Worry? Why would you worry about me?”

“I mean, at a certain age you pretty much have seen all the women you’re going to see in life, and if you can’t make it work with one of them, you’re probably not going to make it work. You know what I mean, man?”

The clarity and simple directness of Alejandro’s words make me feel like it’s a thought he’s honed over time.

“I don’t know if I quite see it that way; I simply do what feels good, and for most of my life, that’s meant dating a lot of different people. Right now, it’s about getting to know one person, getting to know Catherine better without any distractions.”

“So you’re telling us that you’ve been totally faithful to this woman?”

Chrissie and Alejandro are the type of friends I can be completely open with; laying out every truth of the relationship without having to worry one of them will slip up with Catherine or judge me in anyway.

“Yes, well, mostly faithful,” I say.

“Now, that’s the David I feared … so you haven’t been faithful?” Chrissie asks, staring dead into my eyes with a certain disappointment.

“No, well, there was this time in LA that I came very close to messing up, but then I walked away from the situation. So yes, in essence, I’ve been faithful.”

Chrissie lingers in thought as Alejandro speaks, as if for both of them.

“Okay, okay, that’s fair. I mean, you’re talking to a man who isn’t even sure he can get hard for another woman; I’ve been with Chrissie for so long. I mean, at first, you smell every girl who goes by, and then over the years it just feels natural to be with only one woman. And I’m Spanish, man … we fuck anything.”

“But that’s also why I wanted to bring Catherine here. She needs to see the world you live in and know it’s still fun and exciting after all these years. You aren’t that boring married couple; you’re living life to its fullest every day with and for each other. I want her to see how fun life can truly be.”

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s that idyllic, but it’s a compliment all the same,” Chrissie says. “But you know, our life isn’t all party, there’s an equal amount of quiet nights at home when it’s just us making dinner and talking in front of the telly.”

“Yes,” adds Alejandro. “There are always loads and loads of talking with my baby.”

Chrissie scowls at Alejandro. “Someone once told me the best relationships are kind of boring. They simply work and life follows,” she says.

“But David, you have to lighten up on the whole work and travel thing if it’s ever going to work. Long distance just doesn’t work.”

“Then I need to change professions, Alejandro, because that’s impossible in my line of work.”

“But David, there are other options. You could do anything your heart desires, so it’s a sort of choice you’re making,” he continues.

“You make it sound so easy, living for the day and just doing exactly what your heart’s desire,” I contend.

“I love this woman, man; I would rather be homeless with her than the king of any castle without her,” Alejandro says, placing a kiss on Chrissie’s lips that leaves me missing Catherine even more.

On the drive back to the hotel, their words linger in my mind, but I also feel that Catherine and I are more evolved, and we can handle the demands of a long-distance relationship.

The hotel feels better on my second approach, like a welcoming home that I’m more emotionally ready for after the evening’s conversation. Candlelit lanterns line the path to my room even at this late hour that makes me feel as if there’s someone out there watching, thinking, and looking out for me. The room door opens to a familiar space. My clothes I had tossed on the floor perfectly folded on the chair, the bed turned down, and pillows tucked with a lavender sprig that I hold to my nose. Without brushing my teeth or even going to the bathroom, I tug off my clothes and dive into the cold linen sheets still stiff and aromatic.

The night is longer than I hoped, awaking throughout the night, but appreciative to take in the sounds of the country and smells of the room, fragrant from the blossoming rosemary in full bloom. At 8:00 a.m., I do what I’ve never done in Ibiza. I pull on my running shoes and hit the roads for a long run that I hope will fill the time ahead of Catherine’s arrival in two hours.

Ibiza is the kind of place where locals sometime stop and ask you if you need a ride if they see you running along the side of the road, so with no shirt and a mind for a sprint, I take to the road for a sweaty, exhaustive jaunt.

Normally in Ibiza, people are going to sleep at this hour, not waking up to take advantage of the early day. There is no one on the roads at 8:00 a.m., and you want to be wary of those who are, as they are most likely returning from Pacha or Space, fully loaded.

The area is teeming with new farms, more obvious on foot than in a car. Families are growing their own vegetables and raising their own livestock in a human experiment that’s intoxicating to dream about. Young, glamorous women are out hanging laundry while guys younger and more in shape than even I am, work on fences and houses, chores that seem to never be done.

I round back to the hotel by 9:00 a.m. I notice my terrace has come to life with one of the most spectacular breakfast settings I’ve ever seen. Not one to indulge in food, I can’t help but sit and pour coffee from a silver-plated carafe and nibble on hand-formed scones with marmalades made from fruit trees that line the property. There’s also a small note from the owner’s cousin who operates a new farm up the road about the selection of meats and cheeses. Birds chirp, lavender lingers on the wind and best of all, Catherine arrives in less than an hour.

I’m dressier than I’d normally be for Ibiza, making my way to the airport a full hour early not wanting to be late and corrupt her first moments here, this place I’ve beckoned her nearly halfway across the world for a mere few days. It takes less than twenty minutes to get to the airport, a clear blue sky with a temperature that’s already hot for our first day at the beach. Radio on Ibiza is a nonstop mix of techno that in recent years has gone away from the hard-core, all-electronic sounds to a more a pop scene with djs like David Guetta and Bob Sinclair who have exploded across the globe. These days, it’s not only the nightclubs that lure the top djs, but also the new day clubs at hotels like Ushuaia that host weekly summer parties by Swedish House Mafia and Luciano, along with David and his wife Cathy, who are currently the hottest Ibiza music export on the scene.

And with a hum that drops in from the sea, I see a reflection of steel wings on an approaching plane, and I imagine somewhere inside Catherine sitting, looking out the window, and not knowing what to expect. She might be nervous; I hope she’s excited, or maybe she’s sleeping, but shortly she will be in my arms again. The British Airways planes are never the new ones of the budget competition—no fancy winglets or jetted noses. The old carcass thumps to a landing and then vanishes from my sight behind the terminal. It is quiet at the airport; only a handful of taxis pull in queue as sliding doors stay shut, almost appearing locked with their mirrored coating.