My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands

OH, SHUT UP ALREADY!

ONE OF MY best friends in the world is Shoniqua. She is black. She's also six feet tall and has an ass the size of a medicine ball. I call her "Hammer Toes."

Shoniqua is the only person I know who can actually make me look shy. She has a huge personality. She can walk into a room full of people and within seconds take over. When I'm with her I just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

We've been friends for ten years, and all the while she has been with the same man-married to him for the last five. He is a true African, from Nigeria, who I'm pretty sure is capable of Voodoo. He'll take one look at someone and before even speaking to them decide that they are no good for Shoniqua. I was scared when I met him because I knew my insides were flooded with alcohol and I was sure he would take that as a bad sign. Fortunately for me he thought I was a good seed, just confused about where my life was headed. His analysis sounded a lot better than being a "slut," so we grew to be fast friends too.

I met Shoniqua while I was performing stand-up comedy at some hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in Alta Dena. She ran a comedy room filled with only black performers and black audiences. She wasn't opposed to whiteys coming to patronize or perform, but this wasn't a section of town with a surplus of Caucasians.

I knew that Shoniqua's place was the perfect platform for my comedy. Black audiences always seemed to have a better sense of humor than white ones. Their laughter is hard to get, but once you have it, they really let go. I enjoy challenges, and so the next step in my comedy career was to ingratiate myself with the brotherhood.

The first person I met at the club was Shoniqua's mother, who also happened to be black. When her mother questioned why a blonde, blue-eyed Jewish girl would make her way to that part of town, I wrote her a check for one hundred dollars and asked her to please be nice to me. She took the check and told me to buy her a Corona. Why they sold Corona at a coffee shop was unclear to me, but as the person behind the counter pulled an ice-cold Corona from a portable beach cooler, I realized businesses in this neighborhood were clearly subject to different regulations.

I was extremely nervous before going onstage but the set ended up going well, thanks to a 350-pound black woman who hooted and hollered at every joke I told. There weren't many people in the audience, and I couldn't hear anyone laugh over this woman, but I decided it had been a positive experience and asked Shoniqua if I was allowed to come back. She told me that she liked white people but didn't have any close white friends and asked if I was interested in cross-pollinating. I told her we would see how things went but not to put the chicken wing before the egg.

We grew to be fast friends, and a couple years later we made plans for a weekend getaway to the Big Apple.

We booked separate rooms at the Peninsula Hotel because Shoniqua didn't like sharing a room. I, on the other hand, love sharing rooms with anyone, especially girls. It reminds me of childhood sleepovers, where you would talk into the wee hours of the morning and put the fingers of the girl who fell asleep first into hot water to make her pee in her sleep. I did this once to Shoniqua, but it wasn't as much fun without anyone else there to witness it. The next morning, when she realized what had happened, Shoniqua came very close to bitch slapping me. She was physically superior to me in strength and I had to outmaneuver her for almost thirty minutes. With her long arms and legs coming at me from every direction, it felt like I was fending off a real live octopus. It took a while before she would speak to me again after that. Reluctantly, I agreed that all future trips together would be in separate rooms. I was not happy about it, but I was working my way back into her circle of trust.

On the second night of our trip to Manhattan, the concierge told us about a great new restaurant called Tao. He tried to make us a reservation but it was completely booked, so Shoniqua took over.

She called the restaurant and informed the hostess that we were the executive producers of the television show Friends and that there was a possibility Monica and Chandler would be joining us. I reminded her that those were not their actual names, but she was already hanging up the phone. "We're in," she said.

"Oh, really?" I asked. "And where do you suppose we're going to find Monica and Chandler?"

"Listen, bitch. They're not gonna fuckin' care when we get there."

She was right. They didn't care. But they did take a long hard look at two twenty-seven-year-olds, wondering how it was possible we were the executive producers of anything beyond a half-hour segment on the Nickelodeon channel. I kept my head down and avoided eye contact with anyone. Shoniqua, however, milked it for all it was worth.

"Hello, nice to see you this evening. Is our table ready?" she said with a big cheesy grin that reminded me of a billy goat in heat.

When we were seated, she told the hostess, "Please make sure we get a complimentary round of drinks. We had a long flight. I'd love something sweet."

"That's okay," I told the hostess. "Just ignore her."

"Fuck off, ho!" Shoniqua snapped at me, then looked up at the hostess and sternly commanded, "Just ignore her."

The hostess gave us an uncomfortable smile and walked off.

"Cut the shit," I said. "Why do you have to be so embarrassing?"

"Listen, bitch, they don't know who the fuck we are, let's get some free shit. I'm not a Jew like you, okay." Shoniqua thought being a Jew meant that I was born with a trust fund and received direct deposits into my account from the Bank of Abraham. I explained to her, on many occasions, that my family was the Sanford and Son of our neighborhood and the only trust fund my father had in store for me was a 1985 Yugo with a missing radiator. She chose to ignore this information and instead focus on the fact that we had a summer home.

The dinner was fantastic. I introduced her to foie gras, along with Kobe steak and yellowtail sashimi. Shoniqua was a walking oxymoron: She never bought a handbag or a pair of sunglasses that wasn't Prada, Gucci, or Chanel, but she couldn't pronounce filet mignon or, for that matter, pick it up with a pair of chopsticks. I'm not the most sophisticated girl in the world, but my brother Ray is a chef, and it didn't take me long to figure out what was worth eating and what was worth skipping for more alcohol.

Shoniqua and I always had a great time when we went out, and this night was no different. She was regaling me with a story about one of the 107 children her mother fostered when, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my hot piece of Peruvian ass.

He was at the bar, leaning up against a glass partition, watching us. He was tall, with olive skin and wavy black hair. His nose was a little crooked but not enough to ruin his face.

I told Shoniqua that there was a beautiful specimen right behind her but not to look right away. "Heeeeeeeeeeeey!" she screamed in what she thought was a flirty tone and knocked on the glass like we had been dropped onto the wrong side of an aquarium. The billy goat was back.

Every person within twenty feet of our table was now staring in our direction. "Hey there!" she shouted, rapping on the glass again. I slid lower in my seat and contemplated using my dirty napkin as a burka. Shoniqua is great for introductions to new men since she is married and doesn't give a shit what anyone of the opposite sex thinks. "I got a husband," she would tell me if I ever asked her to tone it down. "I'm fucking trying to get one for your ass too." Shoniqua and her husband have the greatest relationship I know of; I can only assume it's because they don't have kids. They're constantly surprising each other with weekend get-aways and showering each other with gifts. They talk on the phone close to ten times a day. Lately I've realized I need a man just like him for myself. Except white.

Men love Shoniqua's straightforwardness and always seem to be charmed by her. She's a great partner in crime because I don't have to do much except be humiliated. We had perfected our "one-two-punch" technique on several occasions. Shoniqua would talk to my prey about religion, their homeland, and her husband who was a banker. I would jump in every once in a while to reinstate my position as his future sexual partner, commenting about how National Geographic's exposes on the wild were starting to look more and more like an episode of CSI: Miami.

"Here he comes," Shoniqua said. "Try not to fuck this up."

My Latin lover rounded the corner and took a seat next to Shoniqua. He was at least six feet tall, with dark brooding eyes and a flirty half smile. I knew for sure I had to have sex with him.

"Hello, ladies," he said in his Antonio Banderas accent.

I don't know what it is about accents that makes me want to get undressed and high-five myself. I'm helpless against any accent-except a British one. My ex-boyfriend's British accent was charming for the first two months, mostly because I couldn't understand a word he said. (It was very similar to the Crocodile Hunter guy. The first two episodes, you're thinking, This guy is great! Two more episodes and you want to dress up like an alligator and bite his hand off.) After the initial honeymoon phase wore off with my ex, I was ready to scream, "Stop talking like that, damnit. Talk like me. Just try!" Not a fair trade for someone who wasn't even circumcised. I've never understood why they don't circumcise men in European countries; most of them end up here, anyway.

My little Don Juan's accent was sexy and thick. At times, his words were barely decipherable. But this may also have been due to my failing eardrums, which were aligning with my failing liver, which was, no doubt, wondering why I had to keep torturing it. "Liver," I would say, "you only live once, or at least I do, and you should be grateful to be along for the ride."

He was visiting New York from Peru, where he worked as a mechanical engineer. That didn't interest me as much as my visions of him capturing anacondas on the Amazon, so I chose to stick with that mental picture instead.

He kept making eyes at me while Shoniqua and he were chatting, which was sweet and reassuring since we would be the ones having sex. In her characteristic and persuasive way, Shoniqua mostly dominated the conversation. She found out that this was his first trip to the States, and his name was Lupe. I had always believed that Lupe was short for Guadelupe, which is, I thought a woman's name. To avoid bringing this up in conversation, and thus postpone the moment when people would just stare at me with disappointment in their eyes, I excused myself from the table to take a breather.

I went outside to bum a cigarette. On the corner, just beyond the door, I saw another adorable face. My seven margaritas instantly took over. "Hey, you. Come over here. Will you come inside with me and pretend you're my boyfriend? There's a guy at our table who won't leave and I want him to think I'm taken," I lied. It was time to bring in reinforcements. I had to let Lupe know what a hot piece of real estate I was.

I shimmied back to the table, holding hands with my new boyfriend.

I sat down next to Lupe and made the introductions. Shoniqua glared at me and kicked me under the table with one of her massive feet. Meanwhile, I was looking back and forth between my two options, trying to figure out who was cuter. My new boyfriend didn't have an accent and looked about twenty-one. My Peruvian still had his accent and looked about thirty-five. Then the newbie mentioned being a rave promoter and the battle was over. "Are they still doing those?" I asked. I hadn't been to a rave since I was eleven, and from what I remember, staying up dropping acid until six in the morning was no walk in the park. I figured I would be better off with La Bamba.

I told the young boy to scram, as he had nobly fulfilled his commitment to me.

Lupe said he was going to the bathroom. To ensure he'd come back, I asked him if he wanted another drink. He requested a whiskey on the rocks. I've never bought into the whole soul mate thing, but after hearing this guy order the one thing I love to see a man drink, I considered getting my tarot cards read.

"Who the fuck was that other guy, you shithead?" blasted Shoniqua. "Now you're just getting cocky."

"Sorry, I'm drunk."

"Listen, I'm sitting here slaving over this fuckin' guy trying to get you some booty, and you're running around cockblocking your fuckin' self. He likes your skinny monkey ass, I don't fuckin' know why, but he does, so don't do anything stupid." I bit my tongue. Not on purpose. I actually bit my tongue.

"Ow, shit, I just bit my-"

"Shut up. Here he comes. Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!," squealed Shoniqua. "Lupe, you ready to get out of here, I've got a jammin' party for us to go to," she said with more enthusiasm than a QVC representative after a six-pack of Red Bull.

One of Shoniqua's friends was releasing his new hip-hop album and we were scheduled to attend the party. Ordinarily, it would have been fun, but I definitely wasn't going to let Lupe see me dancing next to black people.

"Why don't we stop by the hotel and freshen up?" I said, giving her the "pay attention" stare.

"Okay, okay, sure," she said, catching on.

We got the check and Lupe offered to put in some money, but I wouldn't think of it, considering what I had in store for him. "You can pay for me too, bitch," Shoniqua said. I'd have had to be Helen Keller not to have seen that one coming.

As we stood up to leave, Shoniqua whispered to me, "It's taken care of, you're gettin' it, and I'm going to the party without you."

"Fine," I said. "Just pretend you're coming back to the room to get us, so it doesn't seem so obvious." I always assumed anyone with an accent was automatically slow on the uptake, when in actuality the only one a few pom-poms short of a pep rally was me.

The three of us climbed into a cab, with Lupe in the middle. I turned and said, "I think you're really gonna love America."

"Copy that," Shoniqua said.

"Two such beautiful women, I am very lucky," Lupe said.

"Well, Lupe, that's just how we fuckin' roll,'" Shoniqua said.

When we got back to the hotel, we bid adieu to Shoniqua and I asked Lupe to come up with me to my room. Once inside the elevator, he said, "We are not going to the party right away, are we?"

"We're actually not going to the party at all," I replied.

He had a big smile on his face and I was glad he was happy with this decision. "I was hoping to get some time alone with you, to talk," he said, gazing at me with his big bedroom eyes. "You were very quiet at dinner. But you have beautiful smile…" He hesitated. It seemed as if he was searching for the right words to say. I didn't have all night, so I made my first move.

We were making out in the elevator and it was hot-just like in the movies. And it was a pretty nice elevator too. I had never had sex in an elevator, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"Do you have a condom?" I whispered in between kisses.

"A who?" he asked.

"A condom… protection."

"Oh," he said, "no, no, no, I do not own condom."

This was very cute to me.

"It's okay," I said. "We can run out and buy some."

He stopped kissing me and held my face in his hands. "I would rather spend the evening with you talking and having nice time. No condom necessary." He paused and then followed it up with, "I don't feel comfortable spending our first night… together."

"Listen, Lupe," I said, "this is our last night! Don't get your hopes up. It's cold and I'm tired, so get out that pinata and let's get this party started."

I didn't understand what was happening. This had never happened to me before. I had been denied sex on certain occasions, sure, but they usually involved a three A.M. phone call.

"You are upset, are you not?" he asked.

Upset? I was stark-raving mad. I couldn't understand why a traveling man would come to the United States and not jump at the opportunity to be manhandled by an American girl.

I knew that I couldn't physically overpower Lupe, but there was a chance of him losing some strength after a couple more drinks. I wasn't a huge fan of being on top, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and it looked like I was going to have to ride him like a pony.

"I'm not upset," I told him, "not at all. That's very sweet. Let's go have some drinks in my room."

I got a water glass from the bathroom and poured Lupe a nice long whiskey straight from the minibar. "Let's do a shot," I said.

We started kissing again, standing up, and then fell onto the bed. After a good thirty seconds, I reached for his penis, but he stopped me. "Slow down, slow down," he said.

This guy was really pissing me off. What was the story? I appreciated the idea of taking our time in bed, but not beforehand. After I got him naked, I would gladly roll around for hours if that was what he wanted.

"Are you seriously not going to have sex with me?" I asked.

He pulled me to him into a sort of cuddling position, which suspiciously felt like a full nelson.

This guy was gonna drive me to drink… more. I lost my steam, grabbed the remote control, and found the Animal Planet channel.

The next hour consisted of us snuggling and watching eight morons compete in different challenges with animals. I had heard about men getting blue balls before, but didn't know it could happen to a female. At that very moment, my vagina was turning a deep shade of navy.

"Do you want to go to that party?" I asked him.

"Not really, this is nice," he said and burrowed his face into my shoulder.

This guy was a hot mess. Who on earth behaved like this? What was the point of traveling if you wanted to sit in hotel rooms and watch TV? He must have grown up in the wild, with no civilization at all, to think this was a good time. I was struggling to come up with ways to get him to leave, but I was too exhausted. I tried to fart, but nothing came out. Then he started to snore.

I fell asleep shortly after I resigned myself to the idea that I was, in fact, sharing a bed with someone who wouldn't put out. This was not the ending I had envisioned for the evening. Instead of steamy South American sex, the entire night was spent with Lupe holding on to me for dear life like a koala bear to a tree branch. Being cuddled while awake is nice, but when I'm sleeping, I need space. I kept waking up every hour, trying to nudge him toward the other side of the bed, but he slept like a big dead log. My shoulder started to ache from lying on my side, but there wasn't any other choice; whenever I turned around all I got was hot breath in my face. I was close to tears and thought about calling hotel security, but I didn't want Lupe to end up in the clinker.

At around seven A.M. I picked up the hotel telephone, went into the bathroom, and called myself on my cell, which I had placed next to Lupe's head with the ringer on high. I ran out of the bathroom in a fit of panic to answer my cell and saw his eyes open slightly. "Hello?" I answered inquisitively. "Oh, no, we do? Oh, of course, I'm just, I'm just aaaah… okay, I'll be here." I hung up. "Shit!" I screamed.

Lupe bounced up. "What is it?"

"I have a meeting in ten minutes, and it's in this room. You're gonna have to go. I am sooooo sorry."

"It's okay, it's okay, what kind of meeting is it?" he asked.

I wasn't prepared for his English to work first thing in the morning and was thrown off guard by the question.

"It's with the manager of this hotel, actually. Shoniqua and I are thinking about buying it."

"Oh, I didn't know you were into real estate. Shoniqua told me you were a professional ballerina."

This was news to me. "I am… a ballerina… but I also buy buildings… hotels mostly… and then fix them up and sell them." I said this with about as much believability as Pamela Anderson as a lifeguard.

"Oh, okay… when do you think you'll be done?"

"It's gonna be a long one," I said. "Why don't you give me your cell number and I'll call you tonight."

"I thought maybe we could go to the zoo today," he said.

This came as no surprise to me, considering his affinity for things in captivity. "Probably not, but I'll call you later," I said. He told me he had no cell phone and asked for my number. I gave him Shoniqua's.

He got dressed and came over to kiss me good-bye, grabbing my face for what felt like an hour. He just kept staring into my eyes. "I had a beautiful time last night."

"Yeah, it was a real hoot," I said.

After he left, I locked the door, slept for another three hours, then put on a robe and went straight to Shoniqua's room.

"What's up?" she asked as she opened the door.

"What's up? What's up? Not Lupe's penis, that's for fucking sure."

"What happened?" she asked.

I got into bed with her and told her about my night of torture. "Well, bitch, that's what you get when you fuck with a sister and make her piss herself."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Magnum P.I.," she said, with a big smile on her face. "You white bitches aren't the only ones who can plan some shit. I told Lupe that you only had three months to live and that this trip was our last hoorah. I explained that you had been treated terribly by men in the past and your dying wish was to be adored emotionally, not sexually." She paused and added, "I also told him you had herpes." Then she burst into maniacal, uncontrollable laughter.

"That's not fucking funny," I kept saying, all the while trying to control my own laughter. When I couldn't any longer, I decided to go up to my room and laugh in private. I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me entertained by my pathetic circumstance.

"Fuck off," I yelled as I left her room. "By the way, he wants to go to the zoo today!" I shouted as the door swung shut.

Lupe called Shoniqua several times after our trip to New York to check on my status. "I'll be honest with you, Lupe," she said on their last call, "it doesn't look good. It doesn't look fucking good."