Lisa. The only person who discovered our location was Gigi.
Gigi and her daughter were in town while her new husband, Marco, conducted business in Europe. Meanwhile Gigi had started fixing coke; in fact, she seemed to fix it compulsively. Whatever money she'd had on arriving in Bombay had been spent on coke, and she now rushed from hotel room to hotel room hustling turn-ons. She looked disarrayed. Gigi had gone Coke Amuck.
It was amazing how coke crazies discovered sources and acquired coke whether or not they could afford it. Gigi's finding us in Bombay proved her mystery.
'John, you can give me a stash for later?' she asked on a visit to our room.
John did, but he turned down her request for a hundred rupees. John, Lisa, and I were short of cash.
Since we needed a chunk of money to finance the trip West with our product, the inevitable long stay in Bombay did materialize. For weeks John and I loafed in the room, eating Danish pastries from the Taj Mahal Hotel and reading Asterix comics that we rented from a comic book store on Marine Drive. Alas, Lisa paid a daily visit. For dinner John and I went to a Chinese restaurant in Colaba, and, of course, Lisa came with us.
'Stupid goddamn buffs, man,' Lisa would exclaim loudly—'buffs' being short for buffaloes, a derogatory term for Indians. 'I told the goddamn fucking buff to bring me ONE GLASS OF ICE and ONE BOTTLE OF CAMPA COLA. SEPARATELY! And look at this—every fucking time, man. The stupid buff pours the goddamn soda IN to the goddamn fucking glass! Now I'll have a goddamn watery fucking cola by the time the fucking food arrives.'
Once, while returning from the Chinese restaurant, we spotted Gigi through our taxi's window. We watched her run down the street with her little girl as if chased by demons. 'That reminds me,' I said. 'I have to pick up the movie of her wedding.'
Just as our taxi turn ed the corner out of view, we saw leap a curb, her legs opening like scissors. The little girl fell.
'Hey, John, she's probably on the fucking way to your room to hustle more coke,' Lisa speculated.
'Again? She was just there this afternoon.'
After a month of pastries, crispy wonton, Lisa, Gigi, and more comic books than I'd read in my life, money arrived from somewhere, and we were set to forge ahead.
I chose Portugal as my midway point, since I'd never been there and it seemed an innocuous country. I'd stop there for a new passport. We didn't have money for my entire trip, so the plan called for Lisa to arrive in the States first and cable me funds in Portugal. John would meet me in New York.
Arriving in Lisbon, excited over seeing a new country, I checked into a
'I'm sorry, look what happened in my bag,' I said. 'Nail polish leaked on my clothes too. Ruined everything.'
While waiting for the money from Lisa, I explored the City. I joined a bullfight tour and buried my head in my bag to snort dope. The Japanese tourist next to me never noticed.
A week later, my travelling stash of dope ran out. I had to break into the paint kit again. Luckily I had a supply of the green things to cover the hole. I'd learned that in Kathmandu. After another week, the money ran out. Where was Little Lisa with the funds? Soon I could no longer afford the
When I'd first gone to the embassy for the passport. I'd met two Marines stationed there. They'd invited me to visit the Marine House, an estate where they lived and threw parties. I accepted their invitation and heard about a bar frequented by American servicemen. Now I decided to visit the bar in search of someone to put me up. Maybe I could stay at the Marine House. Might be interesting.
Within an hour of entering the bar, I found myself an attractive Marine. For sure, he wasn't my usual type —hair only an inch long, jeepers—but something about him stimulated me anyway. Though his he-man attitude partly turned me off, I was also turned on. That night I went home with my Marine, and the next day I moved into his apartment.
Little by little I told him about of my life. India. The Freak scene. Drugs.
Soon, Marine realized he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for. 'You have WHAT in that paint kit?' he asked, a look of shock on his face.
Poor Marine.
But not long after that, the money arrived. I'm sure he was relieved to see me go.
Hair fashioned ladylike on top of my head, paint kit sealed with a new green thing, I boarded the flight to New York. Once upon a time I'd cautioned myself never to fly directly into the States, since that was my home country and that's where Customs would be hardest on me Oh, well.
On reaching the New York Customs table, I knew I was in trouble. 'Where are you coming from?' the Customs man asked.
'Portugal.'
He glanced quickly, without really looking, at my passport. 'You haven't been to India?' he asked next.
'No.'
Shit! He knew! He wouldn't have asked about India if he hadn't known I'd been there. How had they found out? They knew . . . about India, yes, but what else? Maybe not everything.
Try not to be the enemy, I told myself. I changed my story. 'Yes, I've been to India.'
He still didn't open my bag. A bad sign, since they were opening everybody else's. 'Why did you tell me you hadn't been there?' he asked.
'Well, uh, you see, I've been living in the East . . .' I scrambled to invent something plausible. 'My fiance works there. He's an entomologist. I draw his insects—want to see?' The inspector didn't look the least bit interested. 'Uh . . . well, anyway, every time I've come back to the States I've had a hard time going through Customs. I'm always detained for HOURS. So, since I had to get a new passport, I thought I could just skip that part about travelling in the East, so I wouldn't have to spend the whole day here.' I tried to look foolish instead of terrified. 'I'm sorry. I guess it was an asinine idea.'
I didn't notice him signal anybody, but guards suddenly flocked around me. He still hadn't touched my bag.
'You changed your passport in Lisbon?'
'No, no! My old one got destroyed. A nail polish bottle opened in my bag and ruined it. It ruined other things too. That's when I thought of the idea to say I came from Europe. Really, I know it was silly, but you've no idea how much trouble I have at airports when I say I'm coming from the East. Here, let me show you the insects.'
I didn't get the chance to display my art work. The Customs official handed my passport to a man in uniform.
'Take her to the back room. You go with him.'
Airport security officials surrounded me, and one picked up my suitcase. I followed them to an area most passengers never see, a room with a metal counter along one wall. My luggage was piled there and opened. One man and one woman remained with me.
Oh, shit—I was dead.
Be cool, I thought to myself. Don't admit anything until you absolutely have to. Maintain. Hold on to it. Don't lose it yet. See where it goes. Internally, everything trembled, but externally I managed to hold my pieces together. I had control over my body. It didn't shake. I didn't wring my hands. My face didn't look petrified. I looked apologetic, resigned and understandably concerned Sighing audibly, I made a wide gesture and placed one hand on my hip while leaning suavely against the metal counter. I shook my head, pursed my lips, and gazed at the floor, 'I did a dumb thing, I know,' I said.
'Where is he?' one uniformed person asked the other.
'He's coming.'
'Uh-oh,' I tried to say in a joking manner. 'Who's coming?'
'The Carver.'
They were joking back at me.
Half-heartedly the woman feigned a search through the luggage, but obviously the real deal would happen with The Carver, whoever that was. She ran her finger over some clothes and unzipped my make-up kit She moved aside a pair of shoes. She examined the outfit on my souvenir matador doll. Her hand encountered the
