Three to Tango

Olga Campbell

"...tender is the night"

John Keats. Ode to a Nightingale

It was the most extraordinary night in my life. Its peculiarity, among other things, was in the fact that there were two of them – those fabulous guys whose attention was focused entirely on me alone during that never-ending and ever-unforgettable night…

I encountered them in the bar where I dropped in being not in the best of mood. The girls, my Russian friends that I was planning to spend some good time with, were busy that night. It was the end of December. Christmas and the New Year’s Eve were approaching, and everybody had their own plans in the city that I was visiting. I had come to Dubai from afar a few days before – from the country I was living in since I got married last. Yet another marriage of mine had separated me from friends, and I was missing them and the city where I had lived for almost ten years before relocating to the Great White North.

So, with my husband being involved in a new project and unable to join me, I had arranged a trip to the UAE but turned out to be the only idler in the city that was preparing for the upcoming celebrations. The end of December, because of the anticipated festivities, is a big deal in Dubai, due to numerous foreigners living there, despite the fact that the Emirates are a Muslim country, by the way. 

It’s OK, I was trying to convince myself - let them do their chores, we are going to get together soon. Meanwhile, I decided to tour the nightspots where our foursome bunch – my three girlfriends and I - used to revel famously. Actually, I don’t go to these places on my own. I consider myself a decent and presentable lady - not your randy type - who just happens to love dancing and socializing a lot.  “Party animal” – that’s how my Canadian husband defines me.

I stopped by the Rock Bottom Cafe in hope to meet someone we used to mingle with, but didn’t spot any of the old regulars. Though the crowd that was clubbing there was, as usual, large enough to get lost within. After exchanging greetings and pleasantries with the bartender and waitresses, who still remembered me, I ordered my traditional gin and tonic. Close by, at the bar counter, there was a guy standing, with his back turned to me, talking to someone. Suddenly, he turned around and looked at me, and I saw those eyes – large and moist, olive-like, framed with exceptionally long eyelashes. They looked so familiar – the outer corners of the eyes were slightly drawn down, and because of that, the stranger’s face looked a bit sad.

Those were like my Italian ex-boyfriend’s eyes. We broke up three years ago. A clown with a rueful smile would apply a make-up with the same - slanted downward - eyes to acquire a grieving countenance.

We struck up a conversation. The stranger introduced himself as Franco and happened to be an Italian, too. He told me that he had come to Dubai from Milan for several days and, quite unexpectedly, had bumped into his former classmate, Patrice, who was French and used to be a student at the same college in England where Franco had studied years ago. The two agreed to meet that night and go for a drink. They chose the Rock Bottom Cafe where Europeans liked to flock. And there he was, standing next to Franco, an athletic young man, with a Latin aspect, to whom I was immediately introduced. Both Franco and Patrice had been in Dubai before, but I, undoubtedly, knew this city much better. 

We were chatting all along until the bar was about to close, which was almost at three in the morning, and didn’t feel like going apart, so exciting and stimulating our conversation was. Franco and Patrice were very gallant. They were treating me with drinks, while listening, with great interest, to my tales about Dubai and my past life there. After I had said that Franco reminded me of my ex-lover, he seemed to have fallen for me, and the sad look vanished from his face. 

The music was over, and the security guys were politely telling the people still hanging around that it was time to leave.  Franco took my hand and said, “We are going to the Lebanese restaurant which is open till six in the morning. Would you like to join us?” I knew that restaurant very well; it was located in a very lively and vibrant area – Deeyafa Road. Nobody was waiting for me that night. The hubby was far away over the ocean. My friends were peacefully sleeping, I assumed. And I definitely didn’t feel like coming back to my lonely hotel room. The new day was being born; I was enjoying the company of two brilliant young men – extremely good-looking, vivacious, smart and witty - who were eager to continue our communication. Of course, I joined them, and we went on chatting and indulging in the atmosphere of friendliness, mutual attraction and excitement.

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting at the table in a small restaurant in the open air. The weather was wonderful – very typical for December in Dubai. The guys and I were relishing the tranquility of a very warm and windless night, which was a good backdrop for our invigorating interaction. There was no liquor served – at that time you won’t find a hard drink in Dubai, but we didn’t need any. We were drinking coffee, singing songs in all the languages we knew (I also tried to teach Franco and Patrice how to sing a very popular Russian song), laughing at hilarious anecdotes that Patrice was telling us with his amusing French accent, and even attempted to dance at this place which was not designed for dancing at all.

That night I was wearing a skirt with a slit on one side, and, all of a sudden, I discovered that the inseam of the skirt had been accidentally torn up. My left leg got erotically exposed, but I was not embarrassed. I thought it looked quite provocative and absolutely in sync with the spirit of this unexpectedly enchanting night. I even took the liberty to sit on Franco’s lap and then straddle Patrice’s, making them both laugh, and turn and twist, following my movements. Then we tried to imitate a passionate Argentine tango with Franco, who was a gifted dancer. There was not enough room to tango at the place, but we managed to move somehow. One moment I was feeling Franco’s hot hands around my waist, the next moment he pressed me to his chest and sent me spinning around, and it was so thrilling I didn’t want to stop.  Well, I was thinking - you never know what awaits you round the corner.  The night that I had expected to be lonesome and boring miraculously turned into a pure delight.

Dawn was coming over the city. It suddenly became chilly, and I started shivering with cold. Patrice hugged me with his muscular hairy arms, and it was so good to feel the warmth of his strong and well-built body, and absorb the heat that this hefty and very attractive guy was generating. I didn’t care much about what would transpire. I was having a ball with two cool dudes – they were mellow, relaxed and very sensual…

And that is what happened next: we found the restaurant empty, and the waiter said we were the last visitors expected to leave. Franco hugged me, very tenderly, and whispered in my ear, “In other circumstances, you know, I’d be happy to have you as my girlfriend”. And Patrice kissed me in both cheeks, waved to a taxi driving by, and in a minute I found myself alone in the car taking me to the hotel where I was staying. “What a fantastic night I have spent with those two gays,” - I was thinking when I finally reached my bed. 

And what were YOU thinking about my threesome night? Would you expect me to be so nonchalant and carefree if I was dealing with two straight hunks? If I, being uninhibited myself, had let heterosexual guys be unrestrained, hadn’t objected their hugging and smooching me, and had encouraged that very enjoyable ‘dirty dancing’, by the end of the day I would have probably been assaulted. But with two handsome guys of the “third sex”, I was absolutely safe and knew I could just cuddle up with the cuties, and they would have never harassed or insulted me if I had said I was not willing to get laid…

What a shame we all had to leave soon! But I could meet up with a couple of gay guys when I am back in Toronto, I was thinking. There are quite a few of them there, they say.

Very provocative! Вы - просто вторая Эрика Джонг.

Рабиндранат Гурин   22.04.2011 07:45     Заявить о нарушении
Ну, Раби, вы меня просто комплиментами закидали... (надеюсь, эти все сравнения - таки комплименты).

А вот "второй" как-то все равно быть не хочется. Пусть я буду - первая Ольга Кэмпбелл! :-))

Кстати, дамочек с таким именем и фамилией - пруд пруди, как ни странно.

Ольга Кэмпбелл   22.04.2011 10:07   Заявить о нарушении
Да, Кэмпбел фамилия - не позавидуешь.
Что касается титула "вторая", то это больше относится к хронологии, чем к таланту.

Рабиндранат Гурин   22.04.2011 17:32   Заявить о нарушении
Нет, отчего же – мне моя нынешняя фамилия очень даже нравится (досталась от мужа, как вы, возможно, догадываетесь). Я много чего интересного узнала про Clan Campbell. Например, что в Шотландии, откуда и происходит это «фамилиё», Кэмпбеллов не очень любят. Особенно их ненавидят МакДональды – история тянется аж с 14 или 15-го века...
As for your name (or nickname?) is there a story behind it?

По поводу хронологии – ОК, I appreciate your comment… :-)

Ольга Кэмпбелл   22.04.2011 18:50   Заявить о нарушении
Фамилия Campbell часто встречается и в Европе, и в Америке.
Например, есть такой фильм Tango for three - прямо как ваш рассказ называется - в нем снимается актриса Нив Кэмбелл (Neve Campbell). (Какое замечательное совпадение!)
Я только сейчас заметил, что фамилия Campbell образована путем слияния двух слов - camp и bell. Означает что-то вроде "лагерного колокола". У меня возникла ассоциация с военным лагерем, в котором есть колокол, по сигналу которого воинская братия, обитающая в лагере, следует предписанному ей распорядку. Мне слышится в этой фамилии что-то декабристское: декабрист Петр Кэмбелл сослан в Сибирь, его жена Ольга Кэмбелл самоотверженно едет за ним.
Что же касается моего имени, то оно как бы вариация на тему "Назову себя Гантенбайн". Можно, конечно, рассказать, что-нибудь вроде того, что моя мама очень любила индийские фильмы, отчего все время ходила с заплаканными глазами, и поэтому своего сына назвала Рабиндранат, в честь великого Тагора - бенгальского поэта, писателя, музыканта и прочая, и прочая, и прочая. Но у меня просто язык не поворачивается рассказывать про себя такое. Вот и вся моя история.

Рабиндранат Гурин   23.04.2011 07:38   Заявить о нарушении
Раби, вы – прелесть! :-))) Гантенбайн – да, он самый... Ну то, что Рабиндранат Тагор был как бы любим вашей мамой, я с некотрым усилием могла бы поверить. Это ж необязательно должно быть связано в Болливудом. Мне вот помнится такая замечательная песенка со словами: Ты погляди, не осталось ли что-нибудь
После меня?…
В полночь забвенья
На поздней окраине
Жизни твоей
Ты погляди без отчаянья...

Я, когда ее слышала, замирала в восхищении и печали... Конечно, это и музыка, и голоса двух тех «сирен», да и больше тут, наверное, от переводчика, но все же, но все же...

Что же касается происхождения фамилии Campbell, то сamp и bell, вопреки устоявшемуся мнению некоторых российских исследователей (LOL!), никакого отношения к ней не имеют. И фантазия на тему декабристов мне кажется несколько надуманной. На самом деле, как гласит одна из версий происхожления фамилии: that of some others of the Highland clans, being composed of the words 'cam', bent or arched, and 'beul', mouth; this having been the most prominent feature of the great ancestor of the clan...
Так что если перевести на русский с гэльского, то будет нечто вроде Криворотов.. хе хе...
А про Neve Campbell сейчас все media трубят – она снова звезда очередного Scream’а.

Ольга Кэмпбелл   23.04.2011 13:27   Заявить о нарушении
Конечно, лапидарное интерпретирование значения вашей фамилии с помощью слов "лагерь" и "колокол" - дело весьма глупое, так как, понятно, что многие фамилии значительно старше тех слов, от которых они якобы образованы. Это я, можно сказать, просто похулиганил. Поэтому с удовольствием прочитал приведенную вами цитату об истином происхождении фамилии Campbell. Хотя, наверняка, найдется еще с десяток других мнений на сей счет. Все теории содержат в себе элемент бреда - принимать желаемое за действительное. Не стану комментировать причину моего крена от Кэмбелов к декабристам.
Упомянутая вами песня на стихи Тагора их кинофильма "Вам и не снилось".

Рабиндранат Гурин   24.04.2011 08:28   Заявить о нарушении
Да, я знаю и помню этот фильм. Даже повесть - по моему, с тем же названием - читала когда-то в "Юности" и прониклась...

Ольга Кэмпбелл   24.04.2011 09:20   Заявить о нарушении
На это произведение написано 5 рецензий, здесь отображается последняя, остальные - в полном списке.