5 Days in Madrid

Fontaine sat in the cushy armchair next to the bed. The clock’s LED numbers reading 4:15 A.M. the only light in the room other than moon prodding helplessly at the heavy black out curtains in the luxury hotel room. The room was in slight disarray, but it was to be expected. He sipped on what remained of the red wine bottle that was left for them on the bed upon their arrival. Margot stirred every so slightly in the bed. Her back was to him. Her short blonde hair stopped mid-neck showing off her sensual shoulders and back which slimmed down gradually until it reached the valley which held the circumference of her waist, at which point the sheet interrupted his view. It hid the gradual rise to her hips and butt which sloped up gently under the sheet. ‘The most interesting thing about sex,’ Fontaine quietly concluded, ‘Is how quickly it can consume you. How we allow it to define us and just how little choice we truly have in the matter.’ He acknowledged that he’d known this long before this trip, but the gap between knowledge and wisdom remains vast for a reason.

He knew he’d made a grave error the moment he landed. This country and its hypnotizing women had always been able to get in his blood; into his spirit. The only women thus far that he would have agreed to marry were all born a few hours driving distance from each other and he’d landed right in the middle. Of course, he often toyed with the idea of marrying the mother of his children back home but for two completely different reasons, based on two different feelings. The women here were simply enthralling. The latest of those hypnotic women: Hana Perez. Her hold on him was something mythological; something spiritual. He could still hear her voice saying his name when he closed his eyes. He always made it a point to stay away from her whenever he traveled here. He’d stay out of whatever city she was in at the time and hoped she wouldn’t wander into his. He feared he wouldn’t survive another fall into her beautiful abyss.

In more general terms these trips have become an addiction for Fontaine for as many years as he could remember. It was his prescribed medication for the affliction that ailed him. Outwardly it was the stresses of a job that carried immense responsibility with little room for error, and the family that needed to be provided for with the high salary that job produced. But behind it all was a man who simply craved freedom. A philosopher and poet at heart, whose artistic nature was drowned out by the sea of mortgages, private schools, and credit card bills. A hopeless romantic that had been assassinated by obligations.

Nevertheless, for several years now he’s gotten on a plane in search of… something. Maybe the freedom? Maybe the artist he’d lost? He was never quite certain what it was he was looking for. Granted, most of the time there was a beautiful woman willing to help him find it. The unfamiliar gorgeous stranger would show him around the equally unfamiliar country. They’d speak of philosophy, love, culture, and art. Conversations life kept at bay during his normal day to day. He’d feel like himself again; an artist, a romantic, his soul would be risen from its slumber by the time night came. The beautiful stranger would kiss him under the moon while holding a glass of wine and he would convince himself that perhaps this time, he’d found what he was looking for. Of course, by morning he’d realize that he hadn’t. Most of his days were spent doing something adventurous. If he was lucky, he could find something slightly dangerous. He would see things he’d never seen before; eat things he’d never eaten; do things he’d never done. Hoping that somehow, in the act, he’d finally find what he’d been searching for. He wouldn’t. He would turn inward, solemn. Staring at the sea or a half full glass of gin. Until, alas, another beautiful stranger would come along and offer her assistance in the quest.

This had been the scenario so many times, in so many nations that he’d lost count. He’d leave confident that it was a lack of wisdom that prevented him from being successful in his hunt. So, he simply continued. The fact was he would learn more and more with each stamp of his passport. Exploring deeper and longer hoping to one day gain the wisdom needed to finally be successful with his unnamed search.

This time however, he was sure he’d made an error. Seduced by the idea of experiencing the country that he adored, he was persuaded to join a last-minute business trip by a stunning co-worker. Margot was arguably beautiful by any standards. Short blonde hair, fashion forward wardrobe which highlighted her large breasts. She was very slender but not to the point of being skinny. She boasted to him about free love and multiple partners. Told him how they’d turn heads and pickup like-minded strangers. She was shamelessly aggressive and brazen. Ten years ago, they would have said she talked like a guy. Even now she’s viewed as intimidating and ballsy. She intoxicated him with tales of revelries and sexual freedom. They would end the trip with passes to the annual music festival. It was the perfect plan. But by the time he’d reached the rental car booth, he felt that in the haste of the moment he hadn’t thought it through. Every voice around him sounded like Hana’s; sweet with just enough deep notes to be sensual and just high enough notes to raise your pulse when they spoke your name. They all had hair down their back. Dark, thick, and flowing. Eyes that sparked with ember and curiosity. Smiles that sucked the oxygen right out of the room.

He was reminded of Hana at every corner. Reminded of how he used to think it was Hana that he was searching for. A part of him still does. He’d been to every city in this country except the one that he thought she’d be in. The one he was in now.

“Welcome Fontaine,” the pixie at the check in desk said. He savored the way she said his name, the way Hana used to. The accent, the emphasis on the wrong syllable, the extra drawl in the middle. It’s the only country where they said it like that.

Fontaine shook his head as he took his bags towards the elevator. It certainly had all the tell-tale signs of a bad idea.

By the time Margot arrived, the city had been singing a soft melody in ears. Gently caressing him, pulling him in. He’d met a dark-haired woman, Daniela, on the street after the workday was done and spent the next several hours with her until he had to head back to the airport to pick up Margot. They'd gone drinking from bar to bar while her full pouty lips told him, in broad strokes, the history of the city. Daniela had lived there since she was six years old. Originally from Cali, Colombia she stood out slightly due to her Colombian body possessing more curves than any European could believably insist occurred naturally.

His mind was still on Daniela when Margot emerged from the terminal. The sight of her reminded him why he’d come. Fontaine’s friends often wondered why he hadn’t made a more official play at her. The stunning, ambitious blonde who’s perceived cold heartedness matched his own. She tried to hold in a smile when she saw him. Fontaine being here was her idea and she liked when she got her way.

At the hotel she went to change for the evening. She emerged from the bathroom after showering in her lingerie, as she had conveniently left her dress draped across the chair at the desk. The bar could wait.

He grabbed her and pulled her to the bed. Thinking to himself this might not be too bad after all. It wasn’t too long before the grand scale of his error in judgement was realized.

Fate saw it fitting that she would be as equally aggressive and confrontational in bed as she was out of it. Something that outside of the bed interested and enticed him, in the sheets he struggled to keep himself excited. He couldn’t imagine a more un-arousing scene. To an onlooker it might have seemed like two buffalos locked in a fierce battle of strength, resistance, and seeking one’s own pleasure. It appeared to him that perhaps in some psychological reversal, somehow she believed that by doing this she was taking pleasure instead of receiving it. The thought almost made Fontaine lose his excitement completely. They finished the rough, awkward encounter to her saying:

“You’ve never met someone who loves sex more than me.” After a kiss, she added,“Good warm up.”

She grabbed her dress and slipped off into the powder room to finish getting ready. It was clear as day: he’d made a grave error.

The brown liquor always helped Fontaine focus. When he drank, that which he truly desired in that moment came to the foreground, as the rest was flooded out by the bourbon. What he wanted most was a way out. There was none that he could see. At least none that wouldn’t leave him ostracized at work and on unstable ground. The only other colleague who knew they were there was Margot's friend and mentor, which just so happened to be the Managing Director. The one man who had a say over his bonus and his employment.

Fontaine tried to shake off the feeling. He reminded himself of the date. The motivation for the trip landing on that particular weekend was the great Music Festival that was to occur on Sunday. He would just need to survive until then, he thought.

He kept drinking, hoping to blame his uninterest later on jetlag and too much drink. It had the desired effect.

The next morning he made up a story about meeting an old friend's mother for and went to lunch with the Colombian.

He sat opposite her tracing her god given curves wondering how she was in bed. It would be better than last night, he concluded. Though most of it was his fault. He sat quietly listening to her philosophies and opinions on life. He disagreed with most of it, but he let her continue. Her presence seemed to comfort him. Made things a bit better. His mind drifted for most of the lunch. Trying to figure out his situation. He soon corrected himself about there being no way out of his predicament. He knew there was. Just as he knew there was another side to him, a side… more sinister. A side that wouldn’t care about the consequences, would simply slap the truth down on the table, in a “take it or leave” final offer. Look her in the eye and explain: He would be everything to her except a sexual partner. There exists a school of thought among his peers which believes the reason his search has been unsuccessful was due to a lack of this type of ruthlessness in his nature. Who knew? He thought.

The Colombian was a naïve optimist, but he was able to enjoy a certain beauty seeing things through her eyes. Seeing the world in shades of innocence and faith. She hadn’t yet realized the bitter truth of life and he decided he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.

After dropping her back home, he found himself alone in a car in a strange country with only his thoughts for company. An oddly familiar place for him. Why was he in Madrid? He questioned. It certainly wasn’t to be trapped in a prison of aggressively bad sex or to be regaled by tales of naivety.

There must be, as is commonly the case, a motivation for this madness. He could have stayed home and done something with his kids if he wasn’t going to get any closer to the answers that have been plaguing him. His thoughts again lead him to Hana Perez. When he was with her everything else shut off. He wasn’t on a search. He was content.

Margot and Fontaine had a bit more fun the next night. He enjoyed her company and exploring the city with her. This time though, she kept an eye on his drinking ensuring that she wouldn’t have a repeat of the night before.

Sex was a bit better that night. He threw her around how he wanted her to be, held her down where he saw fit. She seemed to enjoy it more. Though that much was to be expected due to him simply being able to maintain his arousal despite a healthy dose of awkwardness. He wasn’t sure which Nicholas Sparks novel it was that gave women the asinine notion that men will remain erect through all of their oddities, but his arousals had little patience.

Neither of them went to bed satisfied. He noticed that she seemed to be unfazed by this turn of events, almost as if Fontaine was not the only one who has been in this curious position.

The next day was more of the same: brilliant by day, awkward by night. It wasn’t lack of desire he concluded, they both wanted each other immensely. They were just … dancing to different rhythms.

Fontaine needed to adjust. Refusing to let rumor spread that he was bad in bed. He felt trapped, forced to preform like a monkey in the circus; much like home. He hadn’t enjoyed sex with his wife in a really long time; probably since the kids. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the mother of his children was not the conclusion to his search. If not for the kids,he didn’t know if they’d still be together, in as much as they were.

He had the sinking feeling that his yearly hunting season was about to go to waste; feeling that what he’d been looking for was right around the next bend and he was going to miss it catering to Margot’s feelings.

He noted to himself; it was never a proven fact what he was searching for was sexual in nature. However, he tended to operate off the hunch that a female would be the gateway drug that leads to the ultimate resolution of his journey.

He started trying to formulate ways to break free again. His mind struggling against his restraints. ‘It would be amusing if it wasn’t so fucking tragic,’ he thought. Left a sexually lackluster relationship at home to fly halfway around the globe to one of the passion hubs of the world only find himself in a sexual prison. Fontaine began to instinctively fight against this premise. He thought, what series of words could evoke the right combination of emotions that would unlock her being ok with him taking someone else home.

Alas playing the asshole wasn’t his forte, he considered himself more a tactician, clandestine agent not a hammer. Besides, the festival was tomorrow. They were sure to lose each other among the throngs of people.

That night Karma saw her bartender heavy handed. Fontaine encouraged it. He let her be over served in hopes to carry her home, tucking her in quietly and skipping the awkwardness for one night. Alcohol had the complete opposite effect on her. Fontaine quickly learned “no” was not an option for him that night, he was relieved of his pants before he could mount a defense against it.

In the morning he’d woken up with a sense of clarity or the illusion of it, if nothing more. It had come from his dream. He couldn’t remember it but he had one clear thought: ‘It was Hana,’ he said to himself. Its always been Hana, he concluded.

The festival was crowded. Exactly how he liked it when he was alone. The more people the more chances that he would find some new interesting person who'd show him something new. Or perhaps a beautiful stranger would volunteer to keep him company. Currently, with his hand holding companion in tow he doubted, either of those as a realistic possibility.

If nothing else she was a phenomenal drinking partner. They tag teamed every kiosk that dared to serve alcohol. Fontaine genuinely enjoyed these times with her. Margot and her type was indigenous to where Fontaine was from. Yet, ‘exotic’ was defined by where you were. Here Margot was the most exotic thing walking. She got more looks than he did, and he got his share and then some.

“Is it just me or-“

“It’s not,” Fontaine said cutting her off, “We are the rarest things walking around here,” He said laughing. “You’re like a white tiger on display at the zoo.”

She laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. Her eyes glistened in the sunlight as her perfect teeth bared. In that moment, when her smile mixed with the booze, Fontaine feared that he’d once again missed the point. He enjoyed the majority of his time with her. There was only one thing off and getting better. Maybe just honesty was needed. Perhaps, he could explain to her their faults in bed and they could fix it. He suddenly felt like they could work it out.

“Hey, … Umm… Let me ask you.” Fontaine started tentatively.

“Wait!” Margot stopped him with a smile and a hand up. “Your whole face just changed. So I’m feeling this is not a story that we need to have empty handed,” She said beaming with energy. Fontaine knew she was on the verge of being tipsy. “Don’t move! Two more whiskeys coming up.” She said giddy and scurried off to the nearest kiosk. He smiled after her watching her hips swish back and forth trying to keep up with her pace. Maybe it was all in front of him the whole time.

“Fontaine?” He heard his name yelled. The tone, the pronunciation, the octave- He turned. At first, he didn’t see anyone. Then, she was all he could see. Hana. His first thought was dread as he moved his eyes away and refocused on the figure. He checked her social media, he remembered, she was in Barcelona, he was supposed to be safe. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

“What are you doing here?” She said giving him a hug. Fontaine looked behind her to the group of girlfriends that she just left. The new guy from her pictures wasn’t there. Just the elite model squad of Spain; some of the greatest specimens he’d seen on this trip.

“I- I thought you were in Barca.” He stammered.

“Just got in this morning,” She answered. “So what are you doing here?”

Fontaine fought through the haze of the liquor and the overwhelming fog her presence brought about in his mind. He remembered the feeling he’d had when he woke this morning. He felt it again now. He realized that it was only a matter of time before Margot returned. Not enough time for finesse, but enough time for truth.

“Looking for you, if I’m honest.” Fontaine said soberly.

“What?” She laughed.

“I’ve been looking for you since the day you left.” He said honing in on her, “In one way or another.”

“I, um, I don’t-“ Hana seemed more confounded than curious.

“Listen, I have this … err … “ he realized condensing this amount of internal, spiritual rhetoric to a thirty second monologue drunk at a music festival was a Goliath task , “I’ve had this… void that I’ve been walking around with. It’s not because of you or anything, its always been there. I learned to kind of ignore it. Adjust. Live with it, you know? But lately it’s.. uh… been aggressive.” He looked over his shoulder to see if Margot was closing in on him yet. She wasn’t. He went on, “I’ve been on this search. Hunt, if you will. Trying to find what it is that is missing, what’s this piece of me that I lost … or never had. And I keep coming to something, maybe something that I didn’t realize at the time or perhaps I realized it and didn’t know what to do with the knowledge.” Fontaine's eyes were forced to the ground for a momen twith the weight of having lost what he’d searched for ever since, “but I know now.” He quickly rebounded after another glance behind him. “What I realized is that… it’s you. It was you before I knew you and it’s still you now.”

Hana’s face always revealed when she was processing new information. Like a watch with a glass back, you could see all the gears turning to make the hands move. A smile grew very slowly but widely across her face as she shook her head rhythmically.

“God, your stupid,” She said her eyes never leaving his. When she did this you felt encased in an energy, so to speak. Like you’d suddenly been given a supernatural gift the moment she bestowed her gaze upon you. You were the chosen one. It was like a drug, and like any drug you chase the high.

“Intelligent men are still men I suppose.” She sighed, “And men can always be counted on to miss the obvious.”

Fontaine paused, truly not knowing what she was referring to. She smiled again sensing his confusion.

“It's not me you’re looking for. It’s not anyone … or anything. For you the search is the goal.” Her voice sounded confident and self-assured as if this was a well-known fact that was she reciting from a book no one had bothered to lend him. “How many people have you met; in how many countries? How many experiences have you had that your friends back home can’t even imagine? How many women- oh the women,” Her devilish grin appearing again as she gave him a playful nudge. “How many women Fontaine? In how many of our strange foreign towns? For you, the search is its own accomplishment. It will never stop.”

“It stopped with you.” He said plainly; truthfully. “I wasn’t looking for anything or anyone else.” Fontaine countered.

“I know, that’s why I left.” She replied matching his sincerity, “I loved you too much to watch you change into something else.”

Hana's face suddenly flashed with her own somberness.

“You know I cried for the first time, when I heard about the kids?" She looked up at him, her soft brown eyes covering him in warmth, “Not because I lost you, but because the woman after me, she loves you with her. If you were to leave, she would hate you. I cried because I felt the you I knew was gone. I loved you- I love you, despite of who you are with. You are most beautiful when you are just like this. Searching for something you’ll never find.”

Fontaine had no response. No debate. For all of his traveling and so-called wisdom-gathering; all of his unorthodox philosophies, he never bothered to consider that for him, the journey was its own answer. Perhaps, the only answer. The more he turned the idea over in his head trying to find its flaws the more it abnormally made sense. His happiest moments were like this, among strangers, in a strange land, speaking a strange language. Fontaine stubbornly tried to formulate a counter as Hana just smiled at him. She sensed, correctly so, that he’d never pondered that idea.

“What can a man hope to find if not himself?“ Hana continued, “What external goal do you have that is tangible enough to hold through death? You have you kids, your legacy… and you have your purpose. As unfortunate as it may seem to you. Your purpose is to wander, to grow, to explore. There is nothing on the other side of it, nothing on the other side of you. Nothing on the other side of any of us for that matter.” She said with a slight chuckle, “You wanted me because I make you forget that. Which is precisely why I left.” Hana looked deeply into his eyes. He saw something he’d never seen before: hurt. “Being faithful to me would mean cheating on yourself.”

Her girlfriends in the background called after her to hurry up. “Listen, I have to go.” Hana said and kissed him quickly on the lips. She tasted familiar. Her girlfriends cooed loudly at her. Hana blushed and ran off to rejoin her group, she stopped halfway and turned around, “The funny thing is; while you want to be them… They’re all jealous of you.”

Just that like, as quickly as she came, she was gone. Leaving chaos in her wake; as was her tendency. The festival turned quiet all around him. Like a very distant chant from ants. The offered knowledge ended with no utility, no function, just the prospect of there being no end to the road. The road itself was his only destination and he’d reached it sometime ago. What was he to do with that information?

Hana’s words followed him to the airport where he dropped off Margot to her flight the next morning. He had another seven hours until his flight boarded. He thought to just return the rental car and hang around in the airport until his flight. Hana’s words, however, plagued him. He turned the rental car around and pulled out his phone.

The Colombian opened the door to her apartment wearing a robe with her lingerie peeking out underneath.She wore a look that left no room for misinterpretation of her intentions.She opened the door just enough, so that he had to brush his body against hers to slide through. Her excitement rose at his mere presence. She’d promised herself she wouldn't sleep with him before he arrived.Now that he’s here, she felt that goal was a bit ambitious on her part.She closed the door behind him and turned the bolt with a quiet click. Quite ambitious indeed.