“Funny,” Jose said, in a tone that was anything but amused. “Are we going to do shots, or are we just going to stand around?”
“I got the shots taken care of.” Martín turned around and escorted us to a small four-seater table outside of Dolly’s.
“Why are you here by yourself?” Jose asked after our latest shot of Cuervo. We’d taken six already, but who was counting? Certainly not my liver. I reached for the water.
“Because my girlfriend dumped me three days before we were set to come to this and I decided to come anyway.” Martín smiled brightly. “Good thing too. I wouldn’t have met these two. Or you, Jose.”
“You definitely won the lottery by meeting me. I’m not so sure about these two.” Jose chuckled when I nudged him.
“So, where’s the host?” Dee asked. “Does he walk around? How does he pick someone?”
“Haven’t you been to one of these?” Martín asked. “I know Penelope hasn’t recently, but she was the only weird one in that.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, pouring myself more water.
“Hey, no offense.”
“I’m too drunk to be offended.” I waved him off. “Where does the host pick someone?”
“I’ve only been to one Carnival and I was fighting with my boyfriend the entire friggin’ time. I didn’t even have fun,” Dee said.
“Ugh. Lawrence.” Jose rolled his eyes.
“Exactly.”
I personally liked Lawrence, but I wasn’t about to state that tidbit at a table full of Lawrence haters.
“So, the host is given the full list of attendees,” Jose said. “And there’s a competition. Sometimes it’s modeling, other times it’s just . . . a throne he’s sitting on and women come up to him. Most of the time they know who they’re picking before they get here though. No need for all the fuss. At least that’s what one of the tour guides said once.”
“Interesting.” Martín grabbed a handful of peanuts in the middle of the table. “I’m surprised they still serve peanuts here. In the States, you rarely see that anymore.”
“Yeah, well. It’s probably a good thing.” Dee grabbed a handful of peanuts as well. “I only like these when I drink.”
“It’s the salt,” I said loudly. The music was starting and the speakers sounded like they were right behind me and not a few feet away. “Also, I need to pee.”
“Already?” Dee whined.
“Dude, you’re going to break the seal if you pee now,” Martín warned. “You’ll be going all night.”
“I’m well aware, but I still need to pee.” I shrugged. “I have a small bladder.”
“You have a huge liver is more like it,” Jose said. “You took one extra shot.”
“I drank like an entire pitcher of water.” I stood up and grabbed on to the table as my surroundings began to sway.
“Holy shit.” My friends did the same thing. We all laughed.
“Let’s check out the tents. I bet the bathrooms are set up there anyway,” Dee said.
“Let’s.”
We all walked over, me linking arms with Jose, and Martín and Dee holding on to each other. We were definitely half past drunk, which was nice. I felt . . . happy. I felt . . . free. Those were very different feelings than anything I’d felt on the island before. When I lived here, I felt trapped underneath my family’s thumb. My parents were strict, but it was our last name that brought on the feeling of suffocation. Maybe it was the costume or the fact that I knew that even if the townspeople knew who I was, they’d never run to my grandmother and tell her what I was doing. She had too much on her plate to worry about yet another thing.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been to one of these since I was a kid,” I shouted.
“I heard Bad Bunny is going to be here later,” Martín shouted back, looking at me over his shoulder.
“On Pan Island?” Jose and I asked at the same time.
“It’s not surprising.” Dee shrugged. “The Calibans have deep pockets.”
“Yeah, but Bad Bunny deep?” Jose’s brows rose.
“It’s a short ride from Puerto Rico to Pan,” Martín said. The three of us nodded in agreement.
“Fortune-teller.” Martín pointed at a tent. “Let’s go see her.”
“No, thanks. I have enough fortune-tellers in my life,” I said. “I’m going to look for a restroom. You guys go ahead.”
“Keep your phone on you,” Dee said.
“I’m going to go see the tarot reader,” Jose said. “She’s so good.”
“Better than the fortune-teller?” Martín asked, their voices drowned out as the three of them walked in one direction while I kept walking forward.
I spotted a long line of women and nearly threw my hands up in rejoice. I didn’t love standing in line, but I didn’t want to walk around the entire place looking for a bathroom. Besides, I had something to do to pass the time.
Chapter Six
I took my phone out while I stood there to pass the time. I’d posted the pictures of the Devil’s Chair on my blog and had already gotten three million hits on it. With those follows, came comments and questions. Some questions were photography questions I was always willing to answer. Others were about whether or not the houses were haunted. Those were the ones that started entertaining threads.