Jet

backtracking a bit:
Thursday night Jenny and I went to Jet, a club out in Costanera, along the River Plate. El VIP was on a dock along the river, and you could see sailboats from the dance floor. It’s a cool club, but expensive. The cab ride there cost $25 pesos, and entry fee was supposed to be $50 each (for girls!) but Jenny and I thought that was ridiculous and almost went home (Martin, Fernando and his friend Jesus were going to be 45 minutes late, which in Argentine time meant another two hours.) The bouncer saw us debating and Jenny coyly asks “¿Hay un descuento?” and the guy said we could get in two for one, but he’d only give us one drink ticket. Whatever. At this point I realize I don’t even have enough money to get home with these prices, but Jenny’s so happy to have someone to go out with that she loans me money. And once the boys get there we don’t pay for our drinks anyway. So Jenny and I sit at one of the low white tables by the window sipping our one free drink and check out the crowd. Mainly older, 30+. Rich. Uninterested. Cliquey. After crunching the last few ice cubes (bars are about the only place you can get ice here) we hit the dance floor together. Still no sign of Martin, Fernando and the new guy Jesus. The music is fun, mostly electronica and of course, a techno remix of an Alanis Morissette song. (I had been tired and not sure if I wanted to go out but my gay neighbor Pedro told me “¡Ande, ande! La musica es buenisima,” and then something that roughly translated seemed to mean “grow another leg.” With Pedro, everything is either buenisima or mierda.) So Jenny and I are dancing and no one is hitting on us, which (I know this sounds snobby) but is kind of weird. Must be because the club is so exclusive. Argentines love their exclusivity… But we dance and check out the crowd. So many men. But not like at Rumi with gay night. Men in suits, a few women in short dresses. We look around. Eventually the man with the Gaston short ponytail who kind of reminds me of an Argentine Orlando Bloom, but older, approaches me. The music is too loud. I can’t hear a word he says. Eventually we introduce ourselves and within two minutes he’s asked for my number. I give him a fake one. I know it’s mean but after Ricardo’s sister Veronica called me that day, Ben told me to be more cautious. After all, our area code is known to be wealthy. Alex says maybe he will take me to the theatre or dinner and I immediately regret giving him a fake number, but it is time to get picky because here you can afford to be. I only switched the last four digits; maybe he can figure it out.

Eventually, we are greeted by Fernando and Martin, and Martin gives me a kiss on the cheek that is more than the usual kiss on the cheek but I let it slide because I am Jenny’s wingman for Fernando. We briefly meet Jesus and his girlfriend, then the boys run to the bar to buy a mini bottle of champagne. They are high rollers tonight. We dance as a foursome and then Martin takes me to the bar and asks me what I want, and I tell him I don’t want anything but he says he will share it, and I know he drinks a Redbull & vodka so I order that and the bartender brings out two. Martin then unrolls a fat wad of 100 pesos and pays the bartender. I usually don’t bring out more than 100 pesos each night. He’s easily got 1,000 with him in his pocket. This guy owns a chemical engineering company here. It’s insane. He tells me he told Jenny to invite me, that he wanted to see me tonight. He keeps trying to kiss me and I tell him no, that Jenny is my friend; I’m not doing this. (Jenny and Martin used to date. Now they are civil and she is making out with his friend, but still. Making girlfriends is much harder to do here than meeting boys. And besides that, I have been warned that Martin is trouble.) Basically the whole night was spent fending off Martin’s advances – I literally shoved his face away a few times. It’s sad really, because he’s a cool person and fascinating to talk to, but he’s got this idea in his head that I just don’t think I agree with. I basically have to stick with him though since he is our ride home. I figure it’s easier to deal with Martin than it is to hassle with another equally aggressive Latin boy. Ah, Argentina!

So around 5:30 am Jenny and I agree to head home (she has class in the morning at 8:30 am) and we pile into Martin’s VW Golf. But first we look out onto River Plate, and you can sort of see stars. I don’t know anything about the stars in the southern hemisphere. I should learn. So then Martin drives us back into the city and he drops Jenny off first. And once she is gone I practically have to take the wheel because he won’t stop trying to grab me as I firmly give him the directions to my depto. Eventually I just tell him to drop me off at the park, I will walk the rest of the way. “Here, I will walk with you.” “No, gracias,” I tell him, and walk through the Plaza alone just before the sun starts to rise. The hem of my white jeans is black with dance floor grit.