Black Jaguar

“Take a look at this”.

The guy waved me over. I’d been steadily sort of avoiding him for the whole trip, unsure whether or not he was one of those people I was supposed to know but had been too drunk to remember. Beer can in hand though: always a good sign. I was still half-cut from the night before. Been inflicting myself in the nicest way possible on the woman downstairs and her teenage daughter, but it was getting increasingly difficult to keep up appearances what with all those night me and their husband/father figure spent in girly bars in Patong.

A fellow drunk was more my scene. I wandered over to his side of the deck and stood next to him on the rail, watching the Singapore coast guard’s less-than-stellar attempt to come alongside.

“I could do a better job than that,” I opined, “And given current blood-alcohol levels that’s really not saying a lot”.

“Hell, so could I,” an American drawl came back, “And I’ve never driven a boat in my life”.

That answers that one then, I thought. At least I’m not supposed to remember you from last night.

We exchanged a bit of narrative: my sail to the equator, his golfing holiday; my life on the high seas, his days in the office. I began to feel the need to derail the conversation.

“I woke up in bed with someone twice my age this morning,” I commented.

“There’s hope for us all,” he said, or something to that effect.

We got onto tattoos, somewhat inevitably: how many have you got, the old get-your-tatts-out game. I pulled my shirt up a bit to show my backpiece, and he stuck his cold beer can against my back, hoping for the girly squeal that I wasn’t going to give him.

You got the wrong girl for that, mate, I thought. The guy I woke up with just put me to bed. You’re not getting any closer. One step forward, two steps back. One step forward, two steps back.

I’ve done this dance before.

But I gave him two kisses on the cheek, European style, in the spirit of drunken generosity. He tried for the lips, but I backed off, laughing.

There’s hope for you all, sure, but not all from me.

He shrugged: fair’s fair. It was worth a try.

Yeah, fair’s fair. It’s always worth a try.

The Singapore skyline came creeping up, and I started plotting the next phase of my escape: Indonesia to Phuket with no shoes and only a handful of soggy banknotes someone stuffed in my pocket shortly before I got thrown in the pool.

“I’ll give you a lift to the airport,” my new ally offered as we pulled into the ferry terminal.

“Alright,” I said, “See you on the other side of immigration, assuming they let me through”.

I played a little zigzag game with the barriers, smiling at the guards as they stared at my bare feet and feeling the universe still running with me: thank Dionysus, there was still enough alcohol in my veins to keep the world on my side.

On the other side of the gates my friend was nowhere to be seen: I was halfway to the taxi rank before he caught up with me.

“My car’s in the parking lot,” he said, “Follow me”.

“I’m sure my parents told me something about getting into cars with strange men,” I said as I followed.

“I’m not strange,” he replied. Pause. “Yeah, ok. You win that one”.

I just smiled. “Join the club”.

“You forgot your shoes,” he commented, pointing to my feet.

“Ah, they found a new home somewhere near the equator,” I replied, “They’re now an Indonesian fisherman’s pride and joy”.

We crossed the car park, me picking my way gingerly over sharp stones and wondering why they don’t make pavements smoother.

“That’s my car over there,” he said, pointing to a black jaguar sat shiny and imposing across the way.

I thought he was joking.

He pulled out the keys.

I slipped into the passenger seat, grinning. Yep, the universe was definitely still on my side.

There was barely a whisper as the engine fired up, and soon we were shooting through the streets of Singapore, en route to the airport and the next phase of my plan.

“Wow, silent running,” I commented as he put his foot down on the accelerator.

“Company car,” he replied, “I wouldn’t usually be so nice, but the airport’s pretty close. See?”

He pointed to a plane flying low overhead.

“I wonder if they sell beer at the terminal,” he mused.

I sat in silence for a while, watching the streets of Singapore roll by.

“Nice car,” I observed.

“Isn’t it?” he replied. “Watch this”.

He took his hands off the wheel and the car kept a perfect line, hugging the road, driving itself. Sitting on the cream leather seat I reflected on how easily one could be seduced from the path of eco-righteousness. But not this girl. Not today.

“Famous last words, isn’t it?” I said, “Look mom, no hands!”

“You may have a point there,” he replied, smiling and resting his hands back on the wheel.

The airport spun around in minutes and it was time to say some sort of goodbye.

“Do you have a business card or something?” I asked him.

He looked but couldn’t find one.

“Pen and paper?” I tried.

Again, no.

I pulled a blunt pencil out of my bag and tried sharpening it with my army knife, to little avail.

“Facebook?” I asked finally, figuring karma was already stacked against me ever seeing this guy again.

“Sure,” he said. I told him my name, suspecting he wouldn’t remember by the time he sobered up.

Our goodbyes said, I shook his hand and then opened the door, promising him a page or two in the story of my life, should I decide to write it.

Fair’s fair, after all.