Live Fast Die Hot (16 page)

Charlotte shrugged. “You see, Fifi belongs to the king's grandmother. That is my friend. We are all friends of the royal palace. You understand?”

“Completely.” I nodded knowingly. I didn't understand at all.

When Fifi's chauffeur arrived, she jumped in the front seat and I was relegated to the back. I could see Charlotte and the boys on the rooftop, waving.

“You are fine! Nobody is going to rape you!” she called out. “The king knows you're here!” Her words reverberated off the narrow alley walls as the car reversed down the cobbled street and into the sunset.

That night, I googled the king of Morocco. He seemed chill. And I felt safer having met Charlotte. I was grateful for her hospitality. When you're traveling with another person, you're inevitably cut off from certain experiences. People don't invite you to coffee at their
riad
s or notify the king of your presence. They assume you and your companion want to be left alone, even though you're screaming at him because he can't take a single picture of you without making you look like your dad in a wig. On your own, the possibilities are limitless and only the most flattering pics get uploaded to your iCloud.

Before bed, I sent Dan another e-mail confirming that we were still seeing each other in the morning. He responded and told me he'd meet me in my lobby at eleven. I gave him the address and notified him that Randolph and Brandon would be getting in around the same time. Once we were all together, the plan was to get in a car immediately and drive out to the Atlas Mountains. I hoped Dan understood that “immediately” meant “immediately after stopping for coffee and snacks.” His demeanor made it hard to tell if he was someone who, like me, needs to eat every couple hours, or if he was a robot.

I woke up early the next morning, buzzing with excitement. Knowing Randolph would crucify me if I walked into the lobby looking like Jesus of Nazareth, I toned down the scarves and tried for a subtler look. I still had my army-green pants that I'd worn on the plane. They were dirty, but I figured where we were heading was dirtier. I paired the pants with a suede leather jacket I brought in case it got cold and a large brimmed hat. Now instead of looking like I'd dreamed of Jeannie I looked like Crocodile Dundee. Downstairs, I wandered around the foyer, admiring the tapestries and waiting for Dan and my gays.

“Jenny?”

I turned to find a lanky white guy and a young Moroccan girl walking toward me.

“Daaaaaaan!”

He was exactly how I'd pictured him: athletic, aloof, low-maintenance. He seemed like the type of guy who eats that sugar-gel shit they sell at the checkout counter in outdoor adventure stores. I'd bet my house he owned a pair of web-footed running shoes and a Dave Matthews
Live at Red Rocks
CD.

“Hey, happy you made it,” he said in a tone that suggested he still had zero interest in falling madly in love with me.

Before I had a chance to meet his companion, Brandon and Randolph appeared. Brandon looked disoriented and dizzy, like a runner-up on
The Amazing Race,
but Randolph was unruffled in his seersucker shorts, silk shirt, and Hermès ascot.

“Ugh, I have the worst service in here.” Randolph tore off his cat's-eye sunglasses and whisked his bangs from his face. “We were trying to call.” He banged on his phone, then looked up at me quizzically.

“Why are you dressed like John Wayne?”

“Am I?” I feigned ignorance and changed the subject. “Hi, I'm Jenny,” I said, extending my hand to the young Moroccan who'd accompanied Dan.

“I'm Dan's partner, Tifa. I think we spoke on the phone.” She blushed, making it impossible to tell if “partner” meant business or romantic. If Dan and Tifa were having sex, I pictured it to be the way fish do, where they just circle each other, chest-bumping.

With introductions out of the way, our group was assembled and ready to go. We took our bags outside and waited for our car to arrive.

I pointed out the park to Randolph. Sitting on a bench was Ussama. He saw me and I waved.

“That's Ussama. He tried to
Take
me on my first day, but now I think we're cool. Apparently, Marrakech is totally safe. Also, I think the king knows I'm here. It's a whole thing.”

Randolph tried to focus, but he couldn't get past my outfit.

“I just don't understand—” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun with an arm wrapped in Cartier love bracelets.

“Me neither. It might just be a figure of speech.”

Capitalizing on the few extra minutes, Brandon sneaked back inside to the restroom to wash his face and apply a cucumber eye gel. Dan and Tifa stood in the road and waved down a Mercedes adorned in vintage stickers that looked like it just rolled off the set of a Wes Anderson film.

The car stopped in front of us and I waited for Bill Murray to pop out. Instead, a man named Doud appeared. He was built like a bouncer, with a black turban and a large bristly mustache that covered the majority of his face. He didn't speak English, just grunted and scowled.

“Everybody ready?” Dan said cheerily.

I could already tell Dan was on a different planet when it came to simple comforts. He and Tifa hopped in the front seat with Doud, while Brandon, Randolph, and I squeezed into the back. When all the doors were shut and the car started moving, I turned into the person I turn into on airplanes: a ravenous trapped animal.

“Did anyone bring snacks? I just got hungry.”

Brandon, the only other Jew in the car, shared my concern. He revealed a small packet of Marcona almonds.

“I brought these from London, if you want some.”

“YES.” I reached over Randolph and took a handful.

“We're gonna stop at, like, a deli or something, right?” Brandon inquired nervously.

There's nothing more disconcerting than not knowing when you're going to eat again.

Like sometimes even just going to bed at night stresses me out. I stared out the window, on the lookout for a modest but authentic kebab place.

Dan looked back at us, then said something I couldn't hear over the blaring Berber folk music blasting from Doud's crushed velvet speakers.

“Apparently, dinner is going to be waiting for us when we arrive,” Brandon relayed giddily.

We drove for five hours straight. At one point I asked if we could stop the car to pee, but Dan wasn't receptive. Doud mumbled a few words in Tamazight, his native tongue, then shook his head no. Dan explained that stopping to pee in rural Morocco was never a good idea. You might feel like you're alone. You might not have seen a single soul for miles. But the minute you walk behind a bush to relieve yourself, there is almost always somebody standing behind you, watching.

“That's what makes these mountains so safe. They are actually swarming with people. You just can't see them.” The way Dan described it, it sounded like there were families of Berbers living under every rock. I couldn't decide if these new insights made me feel safer, but out of respect, I held my bladder.

At last, Doud stopped the car on the side of a cliff near a sign that said
GITE AZOUL
. I looked around, confused. There was nothing but a vast red canyon with a single minaret far in the distance and a creepy expressionless man holding a sickle standing behind a bush watching us. I tried not to make eye contact as I looked out at the green valley flanked on all sides by picturesque alpine peaks. The air was crisp and clean and confusing to my Angeleno lungs.

“We're here,” Tifa said.

“We are?” I could tell Brandon was already on hold with American Express in his mind.

“It's just a small hike down,” Dan said, smiling and waving at the creepy man with the sickle.

“Do you know him?” I inquired.

“Yeah, good guy. He's hilarious.”

Doud pulled our suitcases out of the Mercedes's cavernous trunk and smiled at us with a mouth full of silver before getting back into his car and taking off.

“Wait,” I cried. “Are you sure we don't need him anymore?”

It was too late. Doud was gone in one direction and Dan in the other.

Sliding down the rocky cliff in UGG boots that were meant for sitting in the Coffee Bean on Sunset, it started to dawn on me that when Dan said something was a small journey away, he actually meant that if you had any preexisting health conditions you probably shouldn't follow.

Dan was pumped when, after what felt like four miles of rock jumping but might have been four minutes, we arrived at our destination. A man he called Danger walked out to greet us. He nodded hello as a clambering rooster writhed in his arms. The three-story concrete home was an impressive departure from the surrounding structures and, according to a later Zillow search, the most expensive home on the mountain.

“What's for dinner?” Brandon asked, salivating like a Labrador at an outdoor café.

“Probably one of those.” Dan pointed toward a small pen containing an emaciated cow and a small goat.

“So it isn't ready yet?” I panicked.

Inside the concrete compound, a woman and her two sons stood in an open kitchen, brewing tea. It was dark save for a single lightbulb that swung from the ceiling. Danger escorted us down a long, dilapidated corridor that smelled like a soaking wet suit forgotten in the trunk of a car. Looking up, I could see twigs and branches peeking through the newly plastered roof, vestiges of a more provincial time. Danger beamed with pride as Dan explained to us that when he first started visiting the valley years ago, Danger lived in a hut like everybody else, but after four years of opening his home to travelers, he had saved enough money to build the palace we were standing in.

We were escorted into a room where I imagine Osama bin Laden had at some point been hidden. In a corner of the empty, carpeted space was a pile of rugs and two large pieces of foam.

“Oh, yeah! I get so excited when I get a bed.” Dan looked at Tifa, extending his hand for a high five. She obliged, but I could tell that part of her hated Dan.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I knew I was looking for a test of my bravery that I could share with my son, but I wasn't expecting to do an overnight at what looked like the honeymoon suite at a Taliban training camp. Brandon's face lost all color as he peeked around the corner at the bathroom.

“Guys? There's no toilet.”

Dan and Danger exchanged a few words.

“Yeah, they still use squat toilets. Oh, and I guess the water isn't working right now, but hopefully in the morning.” I realized that Dan guaranteeing something was pretty much a sure way to know it was never going to happen.

“I once used a toilet like that in China and ended up shitting on my feet,” I confided to Randolph.

“Brandon doesn't know I shit,” Randolph replied matter-of-factly.

After being shown our rooms, Tifa, Randolph, and I settled into the main salon just off the kitchen. Large picture windows showcased the lushness of a land untouched by time. Randolph waited until Dan was out of earshot before interrogating Tifa.

“So are you guys like a couple? Or did you ever have a crush on each other or—”

“I have a crush on everybody I meet,” Tifa cut in. “I even have a small crush on you.” She looked at him and giggled.

“Aw, I love this girl!” Randolph gently patted Tifa on the back as though she were a puppy he found in a box on the side of the road and that probably had rabies.

Dan entered the room with Danger trailing behind him.

“Dinner is ready! And I think we got the cow!” He took his laptop off the table and a small
tagine
was placed in its center.

“There isn't any silverware, so we all have to use our hands.”

Tifa grabbed a triangle of bread out of a straw basket and scooped up a bit of olive and onions. Under the blanket of vegetables hid a small pile of bones. I think they might have belonged to a chinchilla. I laid claim to the largest section of flesh I could find and quickly stuffed it in my mouth to establish that I was the pack leader. “Are we
sure
this is the cow?”