Friday night turned into Saturday morning. Boozing with the expats slowly began winding down and one by one the group said their goodnights and filed out into the night. It was approaching midnight when I realized only Stephen and Elizabeth remained seated across from me.

Meeting Elizabeth the first evening was at best, tenuous. She was one of those “I don’t need a man” women, which is fine, but she flaunted it like it was the motivating force behind her existence. I can appreciate independence and self-reliance, but when people work so hard to prove that point continually, I wonder to whom they are trying to prove the point more – themselves or me.

She maintained a consistent aloofness the whole evening that brought me around to wanting to smack her on more than one occasion, yet when Stephen finally said his goodbyes and hit the road I found myself facing her icy stare from across the table.

“Are you turning in with all the kiddies too or can you play a little longer?” she asked. She was rolling an empty pint glass back and forth along the tips of her fingers. The residual foam bubbles at the bottom of the glass slowly ran along the inside edge.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’m sure two half-inebriated grown-ups can find all kinds of fun things to do.” She leaned her arms over the table and took my hand, adding mockingly, “If you’ll have me, that is.”

Elizabeth was the type who had to have the spotlight on her at all times, and the attention had to come from somebody, anybody. If I had left at that moment I’m sure I would have heard through the grapevine that she’d latched onto a different group or found her way to the stage to belt out a karaoke tune before a crowded room of watching eyes. Elizabeth craved the attention and it drove her. I’m surprised I didn’t take more notice of it then.

Toronto had plenty to do at night. If you were willing to brave the extreme cold whipping around after hours, the city would reward you with bustling night clubs, filled bars, and crowded restaurants. We left Elephant and Castle and made our way west towards the Little Brazil section of town, Elizabeth leading me by the hand. Soon we were standing outside a bar blaring the heavy drum and bass melodies of salsa. I looked up. The name “Lula Lounge” was stenciled out in large, ugly metal type and attached to the brick façade of the building.

“Here?” I said aloud to nobody.

“Yeah, it’s a cool joint. I think the bouncer remembers me. We won’t have to pay the cover.” We walked up to the front and totally ignoring the line, went straight for the bouncer.

“Oye Rico,” Elizabeth began. They speak Portuguese, not Spanish, I said under my breath. They talked for a bit and looked like they knew each other. After a few moments she motioned me over.

“He says it’s cool.” She flashed a smile that was exhilarating and exuded confidence. I’d have followed her anywhere at that point. “Proyecto Charanguero is playing tonight. Let’s go.” As we ducked behind the velvet curtain blocking the doorway I caught a few people towards the head of the line shoot us dagger-filled stares. It happens. Life is unfair.

The room felt hot and sticky, and not a soul was standing still, be they the bartenders behind the counter running back and forth frantically filling drink orders, or the throngs of people on the dance floor rhythmically pulsating in response to the beat. Even those sitting at tables seems to be tapping or bouncing in time with the music. I felt hot, dehydrated and slightly hungry.

“How are you feeling, you’ve got a faraway look in your eyes.” She gently ran her tongue along a chapped area of her bottom lip.

“Me? I’m in my prime,” I lied, edging closer to her along the bar.

“Good, then I know just the thing we need.” She stood up on the bar rail to stand apart from the crowd and signaled a bartender with two extended fingers, yelling what I thought was “Patron.” Minutes later it was confirmed; we were doing shots.

The first round made me aware of the bead of sweat along my hairline, the second made the room appear to bounce a little more with the music.

Then came the kicker. “Here, take this,” Elizabeth yelled into my ear, depositing a round white pill with a diamond design carved onto its face. “As good as you’re feeling now, you’ll soon feel a lot more…just more.”

“Ecstasy?”

“Don’t tell me you’re mommy’s little church boy,” she said.

“I'm here with you. How many church boys do you know who'd do that?”

I looked at the pill a moment longer, than popped it into my mouth. “Help it down with this,” she said, handing me another shot of Patron. I started gulping and she held the base of the shot glass, lifting it up and up as the liquor slid down my throat. When I was done I noticed some tequila running down my side of my mouth and onto my chin. When I lifted my hand to wipe it Elizabeth grabbed my wrist.

“Uh uh,” she said, forcefully pushing my back against the brass rail protruding from the bar. Leaning me back, she licked along my chin and up the side of my face towards my cheek. A few onlooking people let out whoops and volleys of “all right man!” and “do it.”

When she was done she released my arm. “Never waste Patron,” she said. She smiled and grabbed my arm, leading me onto the dance floor.

“I don’t salsa!” I yelled as we cut a wake through the dancing crowd.

“Neither do I,” she responded, “just move along to the rhythm with everybody else.”

The floor was packed so doing any full on salsa was out of the question, and that was a good thing. The air was stifling, like a thick fog blanketing the room of some Marlowe-inspired gin joint. It was as if this place was the only one open after hours in Toronto, and everybody knew.

Elizabeth was intoxicating. I could smell a mixture of sweat, perfume, and unwashed hair rising from her. Salsa suited her body and every curve bucked and twisted in time with the beat. Everything was moving fast, then slow, then fast again as the X started to make its way around my body. I was surrounded by people moving at light speed, yet I could feel the slowness of my own breath as I exhaled against the thick, stagnant air of the club.

“I feel awesome!” I yelled when she leaned in close and threw her arms around my waist.

“Run ‘til we come, until we be,” she replied.

Her words rocked me back into lucidity like a lightning bolt, throwing me off the music’s beat. I stood still. “What did you say?”

She repeated the line: “Run ‘til we come, until we be. It’s a line from a song.”

“I know,” I said. “Simple Minds. That’s amazing we both know that line.” I stood there stunned, wondering if this was all pre-ordained, wondering if this was not just some chance meeting, wondering if somehow two Americans from opposite sides of the country were supposed to be brought together like this. I wondered if there was anything beyond what I was reading into our knowing the same obscure song lyric.

The people around us noticed I had stopped moving and started moving in on my real estate on the dance floor. Elizabeth shook me and tried to get me going again.

“Big fucking deal. Don’t get all mushy on me now, Reed.”

We continued dancing until I gave her the Roberto Duran no mas wave with my head and tried to make my way back to the bar. The ecstasy was doing a number on me. I couldn’t find the bar – couldn’t see it even – as the room had turned into a non-stop streak of lights and bodies, each one blending with the next. I attempted to go in one direction, pushing through people and bouncing off others, but found myself getting closer to the stage. The bar was in the opposite direction. I yelled aloud at nobody in particular “bar!” and a wavy arm shot out of nowhere pointing me in the right direction.

Elizabeth soon found me. “You’re really fucked up aren’t ya? Ever done a love shot?”

“Wasssssss a lub shot?” I spit out.

She laughed, hooking her arm in mine. “C’mon.” She lead the way to the bar, pushing past most people, sometimes stopping to smile at others. Her skin felt cool and refreshing. I leaned in a little and caught a whiff of her scent as we walked. She still smelled nice.

We got to the bar and she poured me into an empty seat. I had a hard time battling gravity; every time I felt I could sit up straight, the world’s physics came crashing down on me and I slid a little deeper into the chair. The room was spinning, and I could feel every thump of the bass deep inside my head. People no longer carried faces with features, they were more a mixture of light and flesh, quick images burned into my head only to be released moments later. Each person began resembling the next.

Elizabeth returned with a single shot glass. The liquid was a brown chestnut color. Deep. Solid. Likely whiskey or jagermeister.

“Ready for your treat?” she asked.

“Nuhh, can’t srink nuh more,” I mumbled in an attempt to tell her I had my fill.

“Don’t be silly, this one we’re gonna share.” With that she quickly raised the shot and downed it, making sure the glass’s contents were fully emptied in her mouth. Then in one move she returned the glass to the bar, leaned forward and grabbed me by the back of the head. Pulling me forward she pressed her lips to mine, and within moments I felt the warm whiskey empty into my mouth.

When she had finished, Elizabeth pulled back and wiped some residual whiskey from the corners of her mouth. I swallowed what I could, coughing abruptly at the end as I sucked for air. Gradually I brought my gaze around to hers and saw her beaming with the biggest look of self-satisfaction one could muster. That’s the last thing I remembered.
____________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing I saw was sunlight, and I immediately needed to shield my eyes. It was too much, too soon. Its rays pierced me and for a moment I felt blinded. My head felt like broken glass, and though I thought that was bad enough it really didn’t get worse until I made the decision to sit up. Then it felt like I had a woman beside me drilling the point of her high heel into the side of my head. But there was no high heel, no woman. Where the hell was I?

I brought my feet around and planted them on the floor, giving me just enough support to sit up fully. I looked around the room, a white, sterile hotel room that was nicely appointed and orderly. The couch I had been laying on had alternating crème and white stripes, and a gold-embossed wooden flower ornament in the center of the upholstery.

But this wasn’t my couch. This wasn’t my room.

I heard the sound of water being shut off and moments later Elizabeth emerged from a bathroom. She was already dressed, her hair styled and her makeup applied. She looked over and acknowledged me.

“Oh good, you’re still among the living.”

“What am I doing here, what happened?” I asked.

“You went bye-bye late last night and I don’t know what hotel you’re staying at. You couldn’t give me any information either – you were like a wet rag - so I brought you up here to sleep it off. That was about 10 hours ago.”

“Jeezus! What time is it?”

“Almost three.”

I stood up slowly and made my way over to the mirror mounted above some dresser drawers. My eyes had deep circles under them, and my facial stubble was hidden by the fabric pattern of the couch which had been temporarily branded onto my face. I looked like crap.

“So, did we...” I started.

“No,” Elizabeth emphatically replied, quickly adding, “get over yourself. You’re not that irresistible. I dumped you on the couch and you didn't move.”

I shuffled my way slowly to the door, stopping to grab my coat and muffler from the hook mounted high on the wall. Giants must have built this place.

Elizabeth opened the door for me. “What hotel are you at anyway?” she inquired. When I told her she nodded and said, “that’s not too far.” She handed me a business card. “Hotel number and room number are on the back. Let’s do this again sometime."

I turned around slowly in an attempt to answer and found myself outside in the hallway being met by the smooth light birch wood of the room’s automatic closing door.

Hmm. Elizabeth. Okay.