Our visit to Rio started with the drudgery of location scouting for a low-budget film shoot. But after a few weeks of dealing with production schedules and flaky extras, a day off for sun, wind, sand and bare skin was too tempting. I had worked as Brad and Adam assistant for ten years, helping them run for their small production company. By the end of our evening meal on the hotel patio, some of us had imbibed a few too many margaritas, while others had engaged in too much flirting. Every time I looked over at Brad and Adam, they were conversing intensely and then even more intensely as Brad downed more drinks. I was having such a good time with some people visiting from Switzerland that I let it go. Stay out of it, I reasoned, "What am I married to either of em?"
I went off with the Swiss tourists for a boat ride, and it was dark when we returned . Exhausted, they were at least 20 years older than I was, they headed straight back to the hotel. I said good-bye and opted to stroll along the beach for awhile.
A slight mist hovered over the beach vaporous clouds shielded the moon like silken spiderwebs. The surf was unusually heavy, and every time a wave rolled onto shore, it sounded like a train barreling toward the beach. After a few minutes, the waves died down and I heard loud, combative male voices growing closer as I walked. It was hard to distinguish in the darkness, but I became aware of two figures underneath the surrealistically full moon, pointing and shoving each other. I couldn't understand what they were saying, or even what language they spoke. Panic struck me like a shot through my veins. What if they were druglords having some kind of argument? And here I was, the innocent caught in the crossfire.
Oh, if only I had been so lucky.
"Fuck!! What the hell are you doing here!" Adam stared at me, his face bronzed from a week in the sun, his voice gruff and commanding, his t-shirt spotted with blood.
"Adam, where did this this come from," I reached up to touch the spot of blood on his shirt when Brad walked up from behind him. Blood dripped from Brad's patrician nose, not a lot but just enough to be scary.
"Ramona, go back to the hotel. "He whispered gently. "This is something we need to settle ourselves. It doesn't concern you."
"If two of my best friends are beating the shit out of each other, I'd say that concerns me." Two men whom I loved dearly yelling at each other. One ex-lover and one friend I had flirted with on occasion. They were business partners and were always at odds about something or other, but their yelling now chilled me to the bone. I ran barefoot and half-clothed up to them.
"You and your fuckin' new age bullshit β do you know how much money that's lost us?"
"Well, at least I'm not living in the past. At least I don't waste all my time chasing after skanky strippers."