"Like, you girls have to be careful with this powder," Steve said. "Like Laura and I, if we smoke one day, then we, likely won't do it for two or three days with that."
They and Sylvia and Patrick went through grumpy days now and then when they were "getting the powder out of their systems." None of us was sure where we stood in relation to it.
"I should stop too, sometime soon," I told Monica.
"Well, I'm stopping right now," she said. "I don't want to be too hooked. I haven't had any yet this morning."
"Good luck. How do you feel?"
"Fine. Come on, lazy bones, let's swim."
I snorted a hit of dope, packed a stash in my bag, and went to join Monica on her porch. Two guys sat there with her—Richard, my old friend from Goa, and someone sexy named Narayan. They were both American. Though Richard's hair wasn't very long, Narayan's was real short. On top of that he wore glasses. Not my type at all. But there was something in the way he moved . . . the way he leaned on his elbows with his legs stretched out and crossed.
I bent over to kiss Richard. "Where are you staying?"
"Down the beach. Why don't you two come by tonight for dinner?"
"Great!
How do we get there?"
"We'll pick you up. Listen, is it true you two are into smack now?"
I looked over at Monica tuning her guitar. "Yeah, well . . . now and then."
"You'd better stop that stuff, it's dangerous."
"I will," I said to dose the topic. "Hey, are we going to the beach?" Monica strained a chord. "Monnn—ica!"
"Okey dokey, let's go."
That night, Richard and Narayan came for us on their motorbikes. It seemed everyone had a motorbike, as it was one of the only ways to get around. The public himos (open vans) went by sporadically, bin if they had a fixed schedule, I didn't know it. I'd never been crazy about bikes. Though Richard didn't drive fast, I was still apprehensive.
"Please slow down," I told him more than once, imagining my knees colliding with asphalt.
A goose ran out to greet us as we pulled into the flowered courtyard of their house.
"Beware of the goose," said Narayan. "It bites."
As I climbed off the bike, the beastly thing followed me, honking and pointing its beak at the hem of my dress. I could hear Monica laugh behind me as I jumped backwards out of the goose's way, up the steps to the porch. From elevated safety I watched it turn around to snap at Monica's blue satin harem pants.
"Whoa . . ." she shrieked and quickly jumped up to the porch next to me.
The inside of the house had the old Goa look combined with Balinese batiks, a form of hand-printed fabric. We had several rounds of coke, and then a Balinese servant brought in the meal. Everyone ate with chopsticks—an "in" thing to do.
"Sorry," I complained, "I don't have patience for these things. May I have a fork?"
After a dinner swimming in soy sauce, Monica followed me to the outhouse in the yard. We had to run the last few feet to escape the goose.
"Let me have a hit of your smack," she said as we slammed the door just in time to evade the oncoming beak.
"I thought you quit."
She winked at me. "Maybe tomorrow."
Music blared when we returned to the house. I danced over by Narayan. During dinner I'd been impressed by his clever remarks. He wasn't just sexy, he was really smart. Though not my usual type, there was something awfully attractive about him—maybe it was his bright red Chinese pants that opened to reveal the sides of his legs. I smiled at him, and we danced toward one another.
"Want to see my batiks?" he asked.
"Sure."
We danced through the doorway and into his room, where, after a quick glimpse at the batiks, we sat on the bed. He opened a case of odds and ends and took me on a tour of his life.
"This is a picture of my ex-wife. You know Krishna? No? She fives in Anjuna. We both grew up in California, though I didn't know her then. Her name wasn't Krishna in those days, of course. Mine wasn't Narayan. Here, look at this shell. I found it on a beach in Australia."
We spent the evening browsing his memorabilia, until Monica sauntered in and said she was leaving. Richard leaned on the wall and rattled his keys.
"You're going? I'll go too then," I said.
"Stay a while," said Narayan. "I'll take you back later."
"No, I'm going." Part of me wanted to stay. I loved listening to his witty stories and had an urge to run a finger along his exposed leg. Another part of me, though, kept focusing on his measly two inches of hair.
"So," Monica asked later when we were alone. "You like him?"
I scrunched my face. "Not my type. That hair!" But I couldn't get him out of my mind.
The next morning, as I lounged on Monica's porch eating my usual fried chicken for breakfast, Narayan zoomed across the flagstone path that connected the bungalows. Patrick opened his door to investigate the racket and waved. Narayan waved back and shut off his noisy vehicle by our steps. Today he wore bright orange Chinese pants. To drive the bike he'd raised them around his waist, leaving his legs bare. He looked graceful as he swung himself off the bike.
"How come you're so graceful?" I asked him. "You move like poetry."
Monica rolled her eyes, groaned, and went inside her room.
"I used to be a dancer," he said, pirouetting over to me. "Do you always eat chicken for breakfast?" His red, flowery kimono opened, revealing a lovely chest, hairless and tan.
"No. Sometimes I eat steak, but they don't have it here."
"Meat! I've been a vegetarian for four years now."
"I hate vegetables. Never eat them. Ugh, they crunch." I pointed at the beautiful thigh Narayan held behind him in an arabesque. "I wish I could bend my leg like that." Monica slammed her window shut. Was she trying to tell me something? Did I sound retarded? "What kind of dancing did you do?" I asked.
"Ballet." He held out a book with Chinese lettering. "I came to your I Ching." After explaining the ancient form of fortune telling, he sat next to me and spread a piece of blue velvet material over the wooden boards of the porch. He handed me three coins with square holes in the middle. "Throw these," he said.
I tossed them on the velvet. He peered at them and drew lines on a piece of paper. I glanced at his short hair. It looked soft. Silky and soft. I resisted the urge to touch it. How could I be attracted to someone who looked so straight?
"Again," he said.
"Again?" I tossed, very aware of how dose he was. "Go on."
"More?" I noticed his pants had unwrapped from his legs again. "Keep throwing them."
I tossed. He scribbled. Somehow, the space between us grew smaller each time I leaned over to toss the coins and he leaned over to study them.
"Okay, that's enough."
"Aw, I was just getting into it."
He laughed. "Now let's see what your fortune is." He leafed through the book, matching lines. I leaned closer to watch. Our heads touched as we looked down at the Chinese characters and the English translation beneath. We maintained head contact, and I had trouble concentrating on what he said. To make sure he didn't move away I asked a few dumb questions. Yes, lust definitely made me sound retarded.
The warm days in Bali passed quickly. More and more Goa people arrived. As the summer progressed, the Freaks finished their business and looked for a nice spot to stay till the monsoon ended in India. Patrick and Sylvia got together for a few clays before deciding they weren't compatible. Steve and Laura continued their on-again-off-again dance with smack. And Narayan and I consummated our relationship.