August 3rd, 1989
Hilton Hotel, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates
Back to the beach club today (yawn.) There’s really not much else to do here. After an hour or so under the scorching desert sun, my misery reached a new level. Thankfully Carl and Kimberly agreed that it was too hot to stay out so we came back to the hotel.
In a huffy tone, Kimberly asked, “What should we do now?”
“We could go into town and change our money,” Carl suggested.
“At least we can do that without being covered,” I said. “There’s no way I could wear a burka right now in this heat.”
We took the hotel shuttle bus into town but came back in a taxi. Most of the taxi’s are top of the line Mercedes models and super comfortable. I’ve yet to see a vehicle here that looks more than a couple of years old.
“How’d you get on with Toby last night?” Carl asked from the front seat.
A sound of pleasure escaped Kimberly’s lips. I didn’t dare look at Carl.
“He’s so sweet. I really like him,” she cooed.
There was so much I wanted to say but (for once!) I kept my mouth shut.
Tonight we ended up in Safari in more or less the same comic surroundings as last night, with everyone chasing the attentions of the wrong person. And just like last night, Carl and I danced for hours on end.
When the DJ played “Pump Up The Volume,” a slew of people filled the dance floor, one of who was Terry C. He was all smiles and did his best to keep up with the mad dancing frenzy Carl and I were in, but he soon lost interest.
I pretended not to hear him when he asked, “Maybe later?”
Carl shook his head and said Terry is harmless and I’m sure he is, but I’m just not interested in him.
The second I heard the not so dulcet tones of Richard Marx, I knew it was time to leave. I found Kimberly at the bar, talking to Toby. Well, when I say talking, I mean Toby was talking, but not to Kimberly. He was talking to Sherif, the Indian national from Carl’s crew.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
She threw me for a loop when she said, “Me too.”
“Bye Toby, bye Sherif,” we said in unison.
“Night girls,” Toby slurred.
Kimberly hesitated and I thought she was about to change her mind but she linked her arm through mine and we made our way around the dance floor, to the exit, where we walked straight into Terry.
“You’re not leaving are you?” he asked, looking at me.
I nodded my head. “I’m really tired tonight, I think the sun wore me out.”
He held out his hand. “Come and have a slow dance with me.”
I nodded my head again. “Not tonight.”
“Please,” he pleaded.
“Maybe another time,” I said, desperate to leave.
Once we were out of the club Kimberly burst into a fit of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Your face was a picture,” she chuckled.
“Was it really that obvious?”
“You can’t hide anything,” she said, still laughing.
“I can’t imagine anything worse than slow dancing to Richard f’ing Marx.”
Kimberly cracked up again and I pressed the button for the elevator.
“I like that song,” she pouted.
“Ugh, it’s awful,” I said in the most disgruntled tone I could muster.
She turned her back to me and wrapped her arms around her, so it looked like someone was hugging her.
“Oh Terry,” she breathed, running her hands up and down her back. “This is my favourite song ever,” she said, mimicking my accent. “I’m so glad you asked me to dance.”
I was doubled over from laughing when she started singing. “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you.”
She kept it up in the elevator and had me in absolute stitches. I was still laughing when I came into my room. What a trip this has been but I think it’s time to go home!