CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
2009 - Bayfront Bacchanal
It was now our last full day in Miami.
Doe started blowing up my texts around 11:30.
Bro, you up?
Yo, I’m hungry.
Pierre. It’s 12:30, let’s get a move on.
Fuckin Cabrón. I’m down by the pool.
I got us a cabana.
Wake the fuck up, pendejo!
I decided to let Olmando stew a little bit, so I took my time taking a leisurely shower and finding the perfect cabana chic ensemble to attire myself in, then topped it off with my Mets hat and Timberlands, just to be an asshole.
Mundo had said “No Bitter ‘Brón this weekend,” but he’d forgotten about Petty Pierre.
I finally joined him poolside at 1:15. Doe was sprawled out on the cabana bed, a Macbook Pro at one side and a burner phone at the other. He was on his non-shady iPhone- from the looks of it, he was getting an earful from Gianina about all of the Carnavales events he’d blown off.
Doe was so lucky Gianina and I didn’t know each other yet, because I truly would’ve snapped a picture of him lazing around, poolside and sent it to her. Just to stir the pot a little more for my bredda.
The second the call ended he threw the iPhone into a Goyard Ambassade briefcase that was unzipped by his feet, then sucked his teeth loud.
“Yo, fre’m,” I said, startling him. “Mwen grangou anpil, anpil. Ou te manje deja?”
Having been my best friend for a million years, Mundo knew exactly what I was saying.
“Yes, motherfucker,” he replied. “I ate hours ago. Alone!”
“Okay, good.” I replied. “I’m hungry. Can we get some service here?”
While I waited for my mushroom and swiss omelet, brioche bread basket and extra-large Bloody Maria to arrive, I reminded Mundo about the evening’s festivities.
“Don’t forget, Doe, you bought us VIP passes- that means we can be a little late, but not too late.”
“I know, I know,” he crabbed at me.
“No, bro,” I reasoned, “my point is Bayfront doesn’t stay open late anymore. They’re gonna shut this party down no later that 12:30 tonight. 1am if we’re lucky.”
“Oh, okay,” he conceded. “You’re right. We kinda need to get there on time, more or less.”
“Yeah. More or less. Let’s aim for an 8:30 ETA. What do you think?” I asked, knowing that would mean we’d be leaving here by 8:45 at the earliest.
“What do you want to do for transportation tonight?” I asked. “I’m fine with just getting a cab in front of the hotel. You know that shit’s gonna be gridlocked to rass tonight. And there’s always cabs hustling for fares at the end of the night.”
“I don’t know ‘Brón,” Mundo said, all cranky and shit. “I’m tired of organizing shit. You decide.”
“Now is not the time for Mopey Mundo, Olmando,” I deadpanned. “Let’s book a car through the Delano to get there and take our chances on a gypsy cab on the way back. My treat. I have that dominoes money burning hole in my pocket.”
“Lucky fucker,” Mundo grumbled. “What time is your flight tomorrow?”
“5:30,” I replied. “You?”
“4:30,” Mundo said.
“Okay, we can head to the airport around two. That means we can’t get too fucked up tonight.”
“Watch me,” threatened Doe.
“I’d rather not,” I replied. “I’m going swimming. Let me know when my food shows up.”
