Date with a Sheesha by Anthony Bidulka

Author:Anthony Bidulka
Language: deu
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Published: 2011-05-19T19:11:32+00:00

“It’s never too late or too early for a pint, old boy!” he chided. “I just thought, with it being your first weekend in the big city and all, you might fancy a look round the hot spots.”

Having an interpreter along tonight wouldn’t be such a bad idea, I suddenly realized. And it was much too late to call on Umar, our driver. “You know a little Arabic, don’t you Alastair?”

“Wee bit, why?”

“I would like to go out tonight. As long as I get to pick the place.”

“Absolutely. Whereabouts then?”

“Can you get yourself here? Then we’ll take a taxi.”

There was a short pause. He had sniffed out that something was up. “Just where is it you’re taking us, Russell?”

The jig was up. I knew he’d figure it out sooner or later. Plus, this was the Middle East after all. I wasn’t simply inviting him out on another night on the town. I was asking him to take on a certain degree of risk. He deserved to know. “It’s a party. For gay men.”

More hesitation. “I see,” he finally said. “No problem.” Pause.

“But on one condition.”

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D a t e w i t h a S h e e s h a

Alastair and I gingerly got out of the taxi.

The area wasn’t quite what I expected it to be. I thought when the cab dropped us off, we’d find ourselves in a dark and dingy back alley, with wild dogs and shady characters creeping around the edges of crumbling buildings. Instead, the street seemed pretty average-looking, and certainly safe enough. It was busy too.

Lots of foot traffic. Cars whizzing by. I wasn’t exactly sure what part of town this was. Neither was Alastair (which gave me some concern). But the area looked to be a bit of an entertainment mecca (no pun intended). There wasn’t rock music blaring from rooftops, or drunk and disorderly twenty-somethings staggering about from bar to bar, but there did seem to be a jovial atmos-phere, with a preponderance of young people.

Alastair poked his head back into the cab. “It’s okay,” he said.

Hema stepped out of the car. I think it was the first time since we’d left for Dubai that I’d seen her without her BlackBerry. When not tapping away at miniscule keypads, her hands looked small, like those of a little girl, and soft like toffee; tonight she’d painted her nails dark crimson. Her outfit and intricately mussed up hair hinted that she was not unused to going out dancing after midnight.

I paid the cab fare. Then the three of us stood side by side, looking up at the nondescript building in front of us.

“What is this place?” Hema asked in her hard, nasal tone.

“Don’t worry, my decadent beauty,” Alastair drawled as he attempted to lay one long, skinny arm around Hema’s tiny shoulders, a foot or so below him. “I will take care of you. Any sign of trouble, I will personally escort you home. Perhaps we could share a nightcap?”

Glaring up at him as if he were some kind of giant stick insect, she shrugged off his arm.

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