Images: S. K. Santos
In our pursuit of Roya, we came across a bar – with a girl standing behind it, manning the guests. Her perfect cleavage only meant one thing: her breasts were designed by none other than plastic surgeon-du-jour, Dr. Rezai.
As boob-girl kept herself in a state-of-constant-jiggle by mixing colorful drinks in what looked like Nambe crystal martini glasses - more girls made their way on to the dance floor. Dancing provocatively on every surface in sight, the girls stood covering every table top around.
It reminded me of Babylon in DC. The only thing missing were bottles of sparkling wine and Champagne being shaken and sprayed all over the room, followed by Alain’s napkin-confetti; made by tossing thick stacks of napkins at the air machine.
“Alright my lovelies, I’m going to meet some of Ross’s friends over there.”
“Roya!” Rob and I said in relief and shock from her sudden appearance. “Where were you?”
“Where were you?” Roya said while almost losing her balance. Ross grabbed her by cupping his arm around her wasit to avoid any disasters.
“We’ve been looking for you, Ro. You ready?”
“Ready? We just got here.” She said with a smile. “Come on poopy, not yet. I have to introduce you guys to Ross’s friends. We’ve planned trips to their villas in Shemshak and Shomaal (North/Caspian) and next month we’re going to Shahrzad’s flat in Marbella. We all have to go. Look, there they are.” Roya said to Rob and I pointing in the direction of some faint faces. The smoke clouds that filled the house, were accumulating. She was holding a lit cigarette so it made it easier to see what direction she was pointing to.
Ross looked at us and winked. He then took Roya by the hand and walked her across the room.
“I’m going to get a drink. What can I get for you love?” Said Rob, moving some hair out of my face. “I’ll have a shot of Grand Marnier.” I said with conviction. “Uh. What if they don’t have it? Shall I get you a glass of wine instead?”
“Yes, please lover. That would be perfect.” I said as I stepped back. I had accidentally stumbled into a wall corner, facing the dance floor. As soon as I realized this, I stood wide and claimed the corner as my own.
The place was full of people. I would have loved to see the space empty. One of my favorite things about my visits back to the motherland, is to go to people’s homes. Not just because Iranians are notriously polite, hospitable, and generous people - but because I’m always amazed by the architecture and style of their homes. An architectural guilty pleasure with each glance. Being such passionate people, Iranians have their strengths and weaknesses too (like everyone else) but one thing they’re really good at, is Art. All forms of Art.
“Would you like to dance?” Said a voice from my left. “My name is Bobby. I want to dance with you. Come on digeh. Let’s go.” He was now holding onto my arm and pulling it. He was gentle but persistent. He was trying to take me to the dance floor.
“No. She doesn’t want to dance with you. She would much rather dance with her husband. Whom, I happen to be.” Said Rob, as he lifted Bobby’s hand off of my arm.
“Oh, I’m sorry man. I didn’t know she was your wife. I’m sorry.” Bobby said, ostensibly frightened.
“No worries, just tell the rest of your friends to leave her alone for the remainder of the night too.” Rob said assertively.
“Sure man.” Bobby said in perfect English before he got distracted by some rays from the light show and disappeared.
“Oh, lover I think he was on something. He was harmless, but thanks for saving me.”
“Anytime babydoll, but why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring? Here’s your GM shot.”
“Thanks lover. Salamati (good health/cheers). I am wearing my ring, but just the band. You know how much I dislike showing off.”
“Wearing your ring is showing off?”
“No. But wearing a stone that big at a family affair like my cousin’s engagement party, is only going to create conversations that I would rather skip. Also, showing my ring at such a fete would ensure that by the time we come back next year for a visit, the girls will have my custom-designed ring and claim it as their own… maybe. So, clearly it’s not worth the risk of wearing it.”
“Got it. Crazy female dynamics. À votre santé babydoll.”
“À la votre my sexy husband.”
We both took a sip.
“Wow. This Russian Vodka-in-a-can tastes really good.” Rob said with a pleased expression.
“Yes, it is tasty but be careful. It’s also very robust. I know you can handle your liquor but, just keep in mind that this vodka is extremely strong in its effect.” I told Rob and gave him a peck on the cheek.
We were dancing in place and I tried to casually look for Roya through the crowds. I didn’t want Rob to feel like I wasn’t giving him enough attention. Somehow Roya always had a way of taking over the night, in most situations, with her wild and most-often irresponsible behavior. After scanning the visible area three times, I still hadn’t located her.
“Lover, do you mind if I go and search the place for Roya quick?” I asked.
“But it’s not even time to leave yet. Why don’t you wait another few minutes and if she doesn’t show up then let’s go and look for her together. I would really rather not have you walking the place alone. There’s no longer a single sober person in sight. I feel more comfortable escorting you on your search.” He said while he took a sip of his drink, which was now halfway finished.
“Fair enough, I’ll wait.”
As we stood in our little corner, I felt the alcohol moving through my system. I had to make a run to the bathroom.
“Lover, I’m going to go and find a bathroom. I’ve got to go really bad.”
“OK. Just be careful, and go to the one behind the bar. I’ll watch. We’ll go look for Roya when you come back.”
It wasn’t easy walking through the crowd. I’m not the tallest girl around, so walking through crowds can become quite dangerous sometimes. I turned to the first guy I saw with a cigarette in hand and asked for one. He gave me a cigarette and lit it for me without even breaking away from his conversation. It sounded like he was talking a mile-a-minute. He must have been on cocaine. Attending mandatory “Drug Education” seminars all throughout High School, has taught me that talking at lightning-speed is a tell-tale indication of cocaine use.
I took a couple of quick drags of my cigarette to make sure that it was lit, lifted it over my head and used it as a guide through the tall bodies surrounding me. (The many uses of a cigarette. Fascinating, I know.)
I made it past the dance floor and ended up in front of a few doors. One of them had to be the bathroom. I grabbed the first doorknob, and tried to open the door. No luck. The doorknob wouldn’t budge. It must have been locked. I hoped that it wasn’t the bathroom. The next door cracked slightly open as soon as I touched the doorknob. It wasn’t the bathroom either but I could hear people talking. I pushed the door open a little more, so that I could take a peak without being noticed. It was a relatively small room full of smoke, men, and to my surprise, Roya. They were all sitting on an unusually large and modern looking round and white low-bed with a big gold drug-adorned tray. I couldn’t make out what their preferred substances were. They seemed to be focused on one guy, whose back was to the door where I was sneaking a peak from.
After giving it some thought. I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to get her out of that room alone. Crap. I had no idea how to get her out of this one. I was going to have to get Rob to pick her up and carry her out, even if it is to her chagrin. I closed the door slowly, making sure it didn’t make a sound.
The music blasting from the big speakers dispersed all around the house like a well-executed rave, ensured my quiet get away.
I rushed through the pulsing bodies, too much PDA, and steamy crowd back to the corner where Rob and I had been standing. He wasn’t there. So I looked towards the bar to see if he had perhaps gone to get another drink or come after me. I hadn’t gotten to the end of the bar with my optical hunt before I spotted him. I speed-walked towards the bar and Rob as unassuming as I could muster to make it appear. I walked up behind Rob and grabbed his firm butt.
“Hey babydoll. I was getting worried about you. Did you get to use the bathroom? Where is it? I thought it was here by the bar. I think I need to use the bathroom now too.” Rob said and tipped the bartender.
“You don’t have to tip him lover.” I said without hesitation.
“I know. I like to tip.” He said lifting his eyebrows in unison twice.
“OK. Whatever works. How did you know I was standing behind you? Do you have eyes behind your head?” I asked.
“I got a whiff of your perfume.” He said with a sexy grin. His fiery magnetism distracted me for a second.
“Did you get to use the bathroom?” Rob asked again, bringing me back to reality.
“No, I found Roya though, and we need to get out of here. I had an idea that this was a drug party. But, I had no clue it was going to be this crazy. It’s far more intense than what any visionary-dollar-sign-eyed Hollywood producer could conjure to depict a drug-party scene. She was in the room with a group of people sprawled on a bed with their own personal tray of narcotic goodies. Let’s go to the door together, and I’ll go in and get her.” I said persuasively trying not to worry Rob too much. I didn’t want him to see her in the situation that I saw her in. The description was incriminating enough. I didn’t want him to lose all respect for her.
“OK. I’ll be standing right behind you.”
The collection of intoxicated people now felt like a video game. Everyone was an obstacle to pass. I was safe though because I was holding Rob’s hand and following his footsteps, behind him. We’ve perfected this move over time. We arrived at three identical doors. I came up around and in front of him. I went to grab the doorknob when the door swung open and a tipsy Roya stumbled out of the room. She made sure to keep the door shut to ensure her new friends’ privacy.
“Hey, where were you guys?” She hardly managed to slur before she almost collapsed. Rob grabbed her arm and lifted her up and put her on his back. He was now carrying her on his right shoulder and holding my hand to guide me to the door with his left hand. He led us to the door and let my hand loose, as we stepped on the bumpy sidewalk. He put Roya down and tried to get her to stand straight. I was looking to locate the driver through the mass of cars and SUV’s overcrowding the narrow side-street. It was almost suffocating just to look at. Nevertheless, I had to locate the driver soon.
I could hear Roya mumbling something in the background as we were making our exit. I wasn’t sure what she was saying but she sounded adamant. It sounded like she was trying to warn Rob of something.
The driver was no where in sight. The only way we were going to get out of this mess was for us to just walk back to the main street. The driver will probably be sitting in the same gridlock.
I looked at my watch, to my surprise we had only been at the party for a total of twenty minutes. This was good. We could definitely find the driver now.
“Lover, I can’t find the driver anywhere but, we’ve only been gone for twenty minutes. And I bet if we head back towards Jordan Street, we’ll be able to find him. I doubt the traffic has made any progress.” I said trying to catch my breath from pacing the sidewalk in four-inch Gucci heels.
“Komeeteh (moral police)!” Roya said this time more coherently before Rob had a chance to respond.
“What?” Rob asked.
“The Moral Police. They’re here. We have to go now.” Roya said and almost fainted to the ground. Rob caught her before she hit the ground. He picked her up and threw her on his back.
We were off.
As we walked the uneven sidewalks, I felt my heart start to race. I usually end up with a racing heart after spending too much time with Roya. This time it only took her twenty minutes.
And unexpectedly a slew of men dressed in dark-green army fatigue with stomping boots were running through us as if they were heading to battle. Almost stepping on us to get to their destination, one of them stopped abruptly and stood in front of us.
“Where are you coming from?” He said with a big frown, making his uni-brow even scarier.
“We’re headed to a funeral at the main mosque, Sir. My cousin here has lost her father. She is having a very hard time dealing with the grief. I asked my husband to carry her to the car. We are actually running a bit late.”
“Oh Daddy!” Roya said sounding garbled.
Rob and I shared a look.
“Oh.” He said to Roya’s feet as she was still hanging from Rob’s shoulder. “May Allah bless his mercy on you, and may it be your last last sorrow. Have a good night.” He said and ran off, joining the running herd.
We kept walking without looking back for a while. We were almost at the intersection before I decided to turn around. Oh no! Ross was being dragged out of the apartment along with some of the boys from the room. They were all handcuffed. I recognized them from their hairstyles: every single hair strand standing perfectly in place a la’ Jay Manual.
“Lover, I think we made it out of there just in time. I just saw a bunch of boys being dragged out from the party. They all looked like they were handcuffed. I think they’re headed for a rough journey at the local prison.” I said trying to calm myself by breathing slower through my mouth.
“Are you serious?” Rob said with a worried look.
“Yes, but at least we’re fine. That’s the risk you take when you throw or go to such soirees. Hopefully they have an inside connection to help diminish the number of lashings they’re going to receive tonight. It’s out of our hands though, and we need to find the driver and go to my cousin’s engagement before that party gets raided by the moral police too, although I’m sure amoo-Nader (uncle-Nader) has paid the proper people to elude a raid – but maybe we should drop Roya off first?” I half-asked Rob in a softer voice.
“No. I’m not going to miss my cousin’s engagement. Put me down.” Roya said tugging on Rob’s favorite light-blue Ferragamo shirt.
“OK. OK. Here you are.” He put her down slowly but she jumped down and landed firm on her feet. She must have had a strong burst of energy out of the blue.
“Roya joon (dear), just let Rob carry you eshgheh man (my love). We need to get out of here and find the driver.” I said in a motherly tone in an attempt to warm up to her current personality of choice.
“He’s waiting at the traffic light on the right hand of the street.” She said with certainty.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I sent him a payaamak (text message) smarty-pants. It’s the year 2006. Hello? Have you heard of a mobile?” She said laughing, like any excessively-under-the-influence person would. Then she fell to the ground again. She was out cold this time.
“I swear we were in a movie tonight. Maybe a Guy Ritchie flick, minus the Madonna infused soundtrack.” Rob said as he picked her up off the ground and put her over his shoulder, again.
“Like ‘Lock Stock & Two Smoking Barrels’, but without the gambling twist. Seriously though, we have to drop her off. I can’t let the family see her like this.”
“Yes. But we’re going to be very late aren’t we?” Rob asked genuinely concerned.
“Lover, we’re on PST (Persian Standard Time) here. That means we can arrive as late as we want, and they will have expected it.” I said with a smile.
“Oh yeah, I learned a little about that when you purposely ordered extra wedding invitations and inserted an early-arrival time on the invites going out to your family so that they would show up on time. And it worked. Alright, then let’s grab some Redbull from your grandmother’s refrigerator when we drop Roya off.”
“How do you know my grandmother has Redbull?” I asked amused.
“I went and checked it out when you were in the shower. I was searching for your grandmother’s famous lavaashak (home-made fruit roll-ups) that I’ve heard so much about, and came across the Farsi-Labeled Redbull. I thought Iran was under certain trade sanctions…” Rob managed to say before we both noticed the driver honking at us, trying to get our attention.
He pulled up right in front of us at the intersection of the still-lively main road. The driver stepped out to help Rob place Roya in the back of the car.
“Shall I take you directly to your Amoo’s (uncle’s)?” The driver asked as we all stood on the side of the car with the door wide open.
“No. We need to take Roya back to the house. She’s not feeling well.” I said quickly, trying to reveal as little as possible.
“We can’t take Miss Roya back to the house in this state. Your grandmother will not be pleased to see her like this. May I suggest for me to go ahead and take you to the party, while I wait in the car with Miss Roya, until she feels well enough to join you inside that is.” The driver said.
“Bloody brilliant!” Roya lifted her head up to say, and fell right back down. She was out again. We all looked at each other and began to laugh. It was the hardest I had ever laughed after such an activity-filled night. Just another one of my Tehran Nights.
Tehran Nights: Part I — Tehran Nights: Part II — Tehran Nights: Part III — Tehran Nights: Part IV — Tehran Nights: Part V — Tehran Nights: Part VI
