We order bottles and bottles of Brazilian rum, whisky, the works. We load up my room in the Ring, but it’s not long till the drinks are flowing. This will only last so long, of course, what with tomorrow marking exactly one week till the pre-season test. And yeah, we can’t have any of the good stuff in our bodies after this last hurrah. Alcohol, as Celina likes to say, is nothing but reward for exceptional performance once the season starts. Either you do well and you get to drink, or you suck and you have to go dry for months.
‘Who the hell bought this?’ I raise a can of Smirnoff that Idefinitelyhadn’t ordered.
‘Me,’ Miguel offers, shrugging carelessly. ‘Remember that extra duffel bag? The one with my spare crash helmets?’
‘Ah, the helmets,’ I recall. I nod in acknowledgement. ‘That was definitely way too heavy to be helmets, dude.’
Our fourth and final guest to arrive, Shantal, tentatively walks through the open door and into my room full of liquor with a smile and a roll of her eyes as she takes stock of everything we’ve procured. ‘This looks like a uni fresher’s room.’
We all turn to Henri immediately.
For all his childishness, he’s absolutely slamming back a redSolo cup ofsomethingthat will undoubtedly come back to get him tomorrow. I lean in and take a whiff. ‘Bro. What is that?’
He just looks at me, totally clueless. ‘Some of Miguel’s stuff and then, like, Pepsi? Or the Brazilian version?’
‘I have to ask again.’ My eye twitches as I regard Henri with as much deep thought as I’m capable of in the moment. ‘Can you evendrive?’
‘Well … I just graduated high school last June,’ he says with a tipsy smile. ‘I’ve never even been to college.’
‘Oh, he’s a baby!’ Miguel whines, ruffling Henri’s pale brown curls before popping the tab on the nearest Smirnoff and taking a swig.
In a move swifter than I’d have anticipated, Shantal grabs a bottle of rum and uncorks it, filling herself a cup. She catches my watching gaze and meets it with a raised eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘What?’ I shake my head for a little extra emphasis, even though it’s definitely not working. I could say I’m staring because she has these goofy blue and gold tinsel clip-ons all up in her hair, or because she’s wearing nothing but a bright green bikini top and booty shorts, and she never fails to shock me with all these parts of her personality (not to mention she’s drop-deadgorgeous) but I decide to tell a little white lie. ‘I didn’t know you liked rum.’
‘We love rum in the Mangal family,’ she retorts with a scrunch of her nose that makes her gold hoops swish. If I were a man with less impulse control, I think I’d pass out, although the impulse control isn’t keeping me from going hard as we speak. I have to do an awkward little cough and turn towards my makeshift bar to pour myself another drink so she doesn’t notice.
Many, many drinks in, we’re all decidedly loose enough to head out to Ipanema – without the usual security entourage, tomy excitement. I’m not exactly sure what strings Katrina and Demir might have pulled, but I’m relieved we get to enjoy the holiday without additional attention. It’s just the beginning of the festival, the first day, and midday at that, but the first day is all we’ll have. We’re on the grind tomorrow – which means we have to soak in whatever we can now.
The boardwalk is already crammed shoulder to shoulder with people dressed in bright colours and as little as conveniently possible. I’ve tried my best to get us all to blend in as well as possible en route to the parade. The three of us drivers are nowhere near identifiable, with sunglasses, bandanas tied around our heads, and the most common T-shirts and board shorts I could find. Either way, everyone’s way too plastered and occupied to notice anything which, in my opinion, is the beauty of going out at Carnaval.
‘Parade’s not till way later.’ Miguel lowers his sunglasses and waggles his eyebrows at us as we walk. ‘How we feeling about hitting a bar or two, dancing? We all dancers here?’
I clear my throat. ‘Yeah, actually, I think we should go for it.’ I sneak a covert little tip of my head at Shantal as if to say, ‘Dance, right?’ She just lets out a laugh.
‘Oh …’ She throws her head back, looking up at the sky with a groan. ‘Give me one reason this will be a good idea.’
‘You’ll be so drunk later,’ suggests Miguel, ‘that you won’t even remember this!’
Shantal gives that a moment’s thought, but eventually she sighs. ‘Probably true.Just. This. Once.’ She wags a finger my way with each word.
Henri, Smirnoff in hand, raises it eagerly. ‘Let’s go, guys!’
It’s only half an hour before we’ve found ourselves at the first outdoor bar of the day on the beach. It’s clearly makeshift, with the enormous dance floor coming off the bar area itself,but it ispacked. Shantal bobs her head to the beat as I return from the bar with a margarita for each of us.
‘Thanks.’ The guarded look on her face starts to fall away, making way for curiosity as she glances at the floor full of tourists and locals who are mingling over the blaring tones of modernized samba. She sips at her drink. ‘Ooh, this is good stuff.’
‘As it should be.’ I raise an eyebrow at her waist swishing ever so slightly side to side. ‘Did you wanna go dance? I don’t know how much good I’d do you, though.’
‘I couldn’t,’ she shoots back immediately. Looks like I’ve found the defensiveness. ‘Why don’t you go for it?’ she suggests. ‘No shortage of dance partners around here.’
She’s making a valid point, I guess. There are a lot of girls in this club. They’re really pretty, but I just shrug impassively. Maybe a month ago I’d have thought about it, but they’re not Shantal.
I turn back to her, and I say, ‘I won’t go for it unless you do.’ I take a sip, no, a gulp of my margarita for courage. ‘You deserve to have some fun.’
‘Fun.’ She echoes the word like she’s never heard it spoken in her life. ‘Well, like Miguel said.’
‘We’re going to be too slammed to remember anything,’ I recite, extending a hand to her. ‘So. Dance?’
