Winter charged its way into our lives again, sucked away all the sun and blanketed our world in darkness. Except for when it snowed, all was gloom. That was around the same time I received a call from Deman.
Sitting across from me at Iguana café, he started with his special English.
"The police call'd me last week, man. They say they take me to jail if I come near her, even if I call her I have to go to court. Can you believe that?"
He shuddered and started sobbing with convulsing gasps. I'd never thought his eyes were capable of shedding a tear -- those raw eyes with an unflinching look as I had come to know them.
"Try to take it easy. Time will ease your pain," I said.
"But I love her, man. You know I never loved anyone," he said.
"It's difficult."
"You know how many girls I had. Maybe more than thousand. Still she had more experience than me. She knew how to fuck. Even when she was model she had two men at same times. One time she pea on me and I drink her. She make me lose my mind.
"She called me last night, ask-id me to come over. What am I supposed to do?"
"Did you go?"
"Yes."
"So what happened?"
"She just say to me 'I wanted to see if you would come if I ask you to. Now get out or I call the police.'"
"This girl can get you in trouble. I know it is tough, but try to control the situation. Just stay with me. Sleep over at my place."
"She knows how to play me man." He lit what was perhaps his fifth cigarette of the hour.
"You've been through so much shit in your life. You've been homeless, scavenged the trash for food. I know you -- you're a fighter. You'll get over this. Just try to keep yourself busy for now and you'll be OK."
He sat up and said: "I tell you one thing. Am 'ma never gonna fall in love again. Trust me. I have never felt so sheet in my life. And I want to die alone. I cannot wait till I become an old man. I wish my hairs will all go white." Those last words seemed to lift his fractured sprit.
A few days later, he dyed his hair grayish white but that did not make him look much older for he still maintained a boyish countenance, though ever so contemplative that look had become. I walked the streets with him unable to digest that he was not chasing women anymore. It was understandable, of course, only unfitting. What used to be a walking, talking hormone, the embodiment of pulsating testosterone in its purest form, a sperm that grew hands and legs and head and could walk and talk, now became a numb fig. Together with his paled out hair and resigned eyes, he felt to me like a different person. Something warm and appreciative started to take shape in him. In the past, a ruthless fire burnt through his wildness. Now he seemed somehow gentler.
"Never get attached to anyone or anythings," he said.
It didn't take much to convince him to join us on our outings, for even though he was clearly not in the mood for party, he would do anything but be alone. That night we were having our typical drinking session at Vishnu's place before going out. Joe joined us as we got all pickled and boisterous, save for the quiet Deman, and the four of us charged towards the club.
"You're not going to make me wait in line," Joe said to the bouncer.
"Joe, just wait a few minutes on the side here and you will get in," the bouncer said.
"Come-on, you know how much I love you. How can you make me wait in the cold," Joe said and started giggling. He then looked at a girl standing in line.
"Don't be jealous." And he helped himself and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.
The people standing in the long line threw at us disgruntled stares as we bypassed them and entered the joint.
At the coat check, I spotted one blonde girl in white stockings, a white skirt and white high-heels, and passed a primitive "Hola... que passa," then slid downstairs to the dungeon -- swelling ceiling and voluptuous walls, convulsing to the pounding music; a large cave, a dug out black hole where people danced, drank at the bar and rubbed against each other when it got packed and sweaty, and it always got packed and sweaty.
'Lost-and-Found' is a Helsinki landmark; a retro bohemian club with an eclectic crowd - from grungy Rastafarians to painfully attractive girls, gays to punk rockers, trend setters, Finnish celebrities, hipsters, and those who never talked, danced, or moved out of the way.
Joe was talking to one girl after another, always engaging, knows no boundaries and never short of something to say.
I didn't go dancing in the small, flesh packed dance area but negotiated my way to a spot at the bar with Joe close by. It was dark and foggy from the haze machine and the music was pumping funky tribal beats.
"I'm going to leave man. Feeling tired. Will sleep at your place tonight," Deman said.
Vishnu decided to escort him so before I knew it they were gone.
When I glanced to my left, I noticed that blonde girl at the coat-check earlier, now standing tall right next to me, giving me a most obvious come-and-take-me look. The distance between our faces closed in and our mouths interlocked in a long kiss that breathed sweet life in me.
Joe got excited and glided towards us. He looked at us as if we were mere actors in a movie of his own making.
"Mm. This is how you kiss. Yes. Nice."
He seemed to want a piece of the action, not that he is needy of it more than anyone as he gets it almost every night. He touched her hair while she and I had our arms around each other.
Remember that Joe has no boundaries when it comes to other people. He defines his own territory according to his own discretion. His good looks and shamelessness are often a deadly combination.
"I know your type—you don't know what you want. You sometimes feel lost but deep down you're a free spirit that just wants to have fun. You're like me," he said, his large brown eyes peering straight into hers. I had witnessed his demagogical talent in the past, planting doubts in many a girl's head, leading them straight to his bed.
"What do you think?" He grabbed one drunken guy that he happened upon from the shoulder before breaking into his silly giggles. Then he started pulling some dance moves not too far away, and the problem was that he was a good dancer. The moves came to him naturally.
My ex-girlfriend—Johanna's look of dismay, when I had once attempted to keep up with her dance, surfaced from my repressed memories, but I denied the weakness any pleasure.
I tried to analyze why Joe was so bent on my girl. He could have tried with any other ihana and very likely succeeded. Perhaps there was something twisted and enticing about stealing a friend's girl. Or the challenge and competitiveness lured him. I discounted the whole thing, ridiculed it with a smile, a slight laugh and Vodka Cranberries that I ordered for us three, but kept a discrete watch on my blonde. I couldn't take these things or myself too seriously. Or at least so I told myself. One thing I quickly learned about the girls at night in Helsinki was how torturously capricious they could be. They lived in the moment which meant that in another moment, they were gone. Memories are short in the night club.
In this loose, many-for-many interactive jungle, the hot blonde seemed to maintain her loyalty to me. We went up to the coat check and she put on her white fur peacoat and released her silk smooth blond hair which made her look even prettier.
When we exited the club, we lost our balance on the slippery ice, fell on the ground and slid into each other's arms. Her skirt was pulled upwards, exposing her thighs through the white stockings. She gave out a high-pitch, frivolous scream full of femininity that only made me ache more for her.
A strange feeling of immense pleasure filled me. I realized that she could have been one of the girls I had fantasized about as a child, legs and heels balancing over floating pieces of ice. Luckily we managed to disentangle from zealous Joe, a wasp that would not shun away from the honey.
"You're not gonna invite me over?" the drowsy bastard shouted in the middle of the street, then cracked a laugh. "I might follow you soon, wait for me," he continued amidst more drunken laughs. We hurried towards my place while also looking for taxis.
When we stepped into my apartment, Deman was sleeping on the couch in the living room. As the bedroom is almost completely open, with only a semi-wall between it and the living room, when you enter my place, the first thing you see on your right is a bed.
