The crowd gradually grew and around 5:00 two very pretty and very young ladies walked over to us and said hi. These were the girls that Fabs had met on the shuttle. Becky (the redhead) and Jennifer, a blonde, joined us at our table. We ordered more drinks. The crowd thickened - Rick’s was enveloped in a party atmosphere. We swam in the pool and slowly got plastered. At one point there were four Patrons with lime slices lined up on the pool deck. Then another round appeared. Like a fool I forgot my vow to stop drinking Tequila shots and pounded them back.
As the afternoon wore on a flotilla of sunset cruise boats arrived below the cliffs. Their passengers jumped into the water, swam over to the cliff-side ladders and climbed up to join the party – the place was packed. People were lined up at the diving platform to jump into the sea. The Rick’s cliff divers passed their red collection buckets and jumped from ridiculously high perches, much to the amazement and delight of the assembled masses. The band played on and the sun slowly sank in a cloudy western sky.
We kept buying drinks for Becky and Jennifer. It was a great time; everybody was laughing, splashing, and smiling.
At one point a couple of guys tried to elbow into our quartet. They were attracted by our young, bikini clad friends who were dancing arm-in-arm on the pool deck in the orange rays of the setting sun. The girls did their best to ignore the guys, but one dude hopped up onto the deck and positioned himself between Becky and Jennifer. He put his arms around their shoulders, started to dance between them and then motioned for his buddy to take his picture.
Fabs, who was in the pool, stealthily moved up behind the guy. His buddy, standing with the camera on the promenade below him, counted down, “Three, two . . .” and as he said “One!” Fabs grabbed the guy’s shorts and yanked them down to his ankles. I started to laugh so hard I fell off my chair into the water. The girls didn’t realize what had happened until the dude reached down to pull up his shorts, then they quickly moved away from him. Quite a few of Rick’s patrons had witnessed the ‘panting’ and were pointing and laughing at the guy. It was a great moment.
I would love to have seen that photo, the orange light of the setting sun, the big smile, the dude’s wedding tackle suddenly exposed and hanging out there for all to see. Priceless.
Eventually the sun set, but we were so blitzed by then we hardly noticed it. Suddenly, Becky and Jennifer were nowhere to be seen. Yeah, they stiffed us for the drinks, but it was worth it. We’d had a blast.
Fabs and I made our way out to the gate along with the departing throng and managed to snag a taxi. I rode shotgun and Fabs had the back seat to himself.
When we got out of the car at White Sands, I realized that I was barefoot; I’d left my sandals up at Rick’s. Fabs was missing his tank top and his designer sunglasses.
We met a little while later and walked up the road to ‘Best in The West’ for chicken. I ordered a quarter, Fabs his usual half with extra bread - this in spite of the recent toilet-plugging incident. We brought the foil packs back to the beach and ate at a table under the sun deck. We had a few beers to wash the chicken down and keep our Tequila-induced buzz going. Then Fabs sparked up a fatty and we sat there for the next hour or two and just zoned-out.
It got to be late. I was thinking about going up to my room when a couple of hookers came up to us.
I find many of the hookers on the beach (and at the concerts) to be pretty good looking girls – and that’s just a comment, no ‘flesh’ judgment or criticism implied.
But these two girls were not even remotely attractive (sorry, but that’s just the way it was). They gave us the usual spiel, “Hey, baby – yada, yada, yada.”
We were pretty toasted and it took Fabs a while to focus on one the girls. He did an exaggerated double-take and blurted, “Dude! You look like a dude!”
Well, she got peed-off right quick like – as if maybe it wasn’t the first time that she’d heard such a comment. She walked up to Fabs, raised her foot up onto the table in front of him and yanked up her skirt.
“Do I look like a dude!?” she demanded.
Turned out she was flying commando – and she definitely was not a dude.
