A day in the life.

That’s all they really want. A day in the life of the wealthy.

This is what I think: People would rather choose money over fame any day. I know I’d do it again and again and again.

I stand here in front of the floor to ceiling window in one of the luxury hotel suites Budapest boasts. I’d cover up my naked body if I actually cared. Besides, who doesn’t want to see this perfect specimen of a man? She certainly did. The drunk brunette in my bed. How much do I need to pay her again?

I shake her awake, pay her what I owe– just because I’m that nice. “You have to go now,” I tell her. First she looks at me uncomprehendingly and then she spits venom at me in a language I will never want to learn or understand. I gesture with my hand to the door.

The harlot gathers her clothes, dresses quickly in her skimpy ensemble and slams the door loud enough to wake up the entire floor as she exits. She has quite an attitude, doesn’t she?

So, what now? Since I’ve slept my whole day away, what else is there to do but get drunk, get hungover, get hungry, get a meal, and end my day with a bang by going to bed so that I can do it again the next day.

I think I’ll get lunch first, so I wander to the bathroom and rinse, instead of thoroughly wash, all the grime off my amazing body. Tonight I’ll wash the filth off me. Tonight will never come though. I say that every night. Do I ever do it?

When I’m done showering, the phone rings but I take my time to reach it.

“Hello?” I ask, but I already know who it is.

“Hello son, it’s… your mother,” says the breathy voice over the phone. It isn’t my father speaking, it’s the new wife.

“Oh,” I say. I didn’t expect her. She threw me off guard. “What do you want?” I ask almost harshly, but there is a mellowness towards her.

“I wanted to find out how you’re doing.”

“Okay…” I say and nothing more.

The line is silent. “…Well, how are you?” She finally says.

Awkwardness starts to creep in, “Oh, well I’m fine thank you,” I say hurriedly, as nicely as possible. On the other end of the line there’s silence. What time is it now on the other side of the world anyway?

“Listen, Maude, I have to go.” I say and quickly hang up, avoiding another word.

I’ve only been in Hungary for a week, but it really feels like a lifetime. I would’ve done anything to get away from my overprotective father who has been so far away since my parent’s divorce. Anything to escape him and that snake of a stepmother – a pilot from Italy, with the most westernized of accents.

I mean, sure my father loves me but I’m sick of how he just isn’t there anymore. I can take care of myself though. I’m an adult. Young adult. When I asked him for the funds, there were a million questions in return. Obviously, I don’t actually want to get away from my father, but from his new wife and the craze of emotional attachment.

There are three main reasons I don’t like her. She’s a horrible excuse for a human; she’s a gold-digger who doesn’t need the gold, and she isn’t my mother. She isn’t my biological mother. Maude will never be my anything, let alone my mother. Maybe that’s the only reason I don’t like her. Because she isn’t my mother. In fact, she is the reason they divorced.

I resent my mother for leaving me and I blame my father for being so easily seduced. It was on a trip just like this. One vacation in Milan. The next thing, he was telling my mother he wanted a divorce because he’d met her, the woman who flies aircraft.

“I can’t believe her,” I say as I place my cell phone back on the glass coffee table.

Why did I come to Hungary? Of all the places I have never seen, I choose Budapest. I could’ve gone to Africa, adventured in Egypt… Namibia… South Africa. Or maybe even Santorini or Mykonos… Japan.

I barely know anything about Budapest except that the structures are really cool-looking.

It’s a little past three, so I figure I should dress for the night in my black blazer with my dynasty blue shirt of which I always roll up the sleeves despite the weather. I wear that with my dark wash jeans.

The perks of being rich: Having the best of everything and still getting what you want.

I take the elevator to the restaurant of the hotel and choose a seat by the bar.

On the polished wooden floors of the restaurant are black tables with straight-back chairs. The walls are painted white all over reflecting the dim firelight glow of the lamps.

The bar section has a single wooden wall a few shades darker than the floor. The bar stools match the dining chairs: White with black legs.

I take a seat furthest from the door, closest to the television that only ever plays sports. It’s quite a cliché.

I order my first drink. It’s a julep. It’s always a julep.

I’m already good friends with the bartender, a big brute of a man with a black beard streaked with grey and a receding hairline. Sometimes I can’t understand him because of his accent.

We get along. He pretends it is happy hour every hour and I pay him generously.

He taught me something, too. If she doesn’t speak your language, just smile.

It’s worked at least twice this week, and if one should ask me, going home with two out of six ‘drinking’ ladies on two different nights isn’t at all that bad.

Five shots later, a tall beauty walks toward me. She’s classy enough to stay in the hotel, but her clothing suggests she’s just another… Worker…

I’m tired of prostitutes. So when she asks me what I’m having, I don’t reply. Then she says something in Hungarian, and leaves a few seats open between us.

“She just called you a rude thing. But instead of saying ‘thing’ she said the F-word” says the bartender.

I smile: “You must teach me the phrase sometime.”

“So you can use it on every other person that pisses you off?” He asks with a smile.

“Not just anyone… Maude… And then some.”

“I don’t recall you ever speaking of a Maude.”

“No? Maude is the woman my father cheated with, then they got married!”

“So she’s your stepmother?” He asks, pouring me a drink.

“I refuse to call her that” I say as I tip my head back and prepare for the alcohol to burn my throat.

“Tell me, what was it with that girl? She was prepared for… you know…” The bartender waved his hands suggestively.

“I didn’t want that tonight. I don’t think I want that ever…”

“Bull.”

“It’s the truth, man.” I say as he pours another shot for me. I look at it. Waging the pros and cons of drinking. I have no real problems so I’m just damaging my liver. But I take the whiskey down anyway. “I should really stop drinking.”

“But then I’d be out of a job” the bartender says with a laugh and walks away to serve the other alcoholics.

Before I leave, I pay him the money I owe him and head to my hotel room.

Maybe I’ll wake up early tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll close my tab tomorrow.

I know I’m lying, because just like I know I should wash the grunge off my body tonight, I won’t.

Maybe I’ll bathe clean tomorrow.

The world is full of empty promises and I am no exception.

***

I wake up the same time I always have. A little past two in the afternoon.

Well of course I’m waking up late. I was drinking, and on top of that, I went to bed late.

I feel sick so I rush to the bathroom and throw up bile in the sink. I don’t see why I should throw up in the toilet when the sink is more convenient.

Now my throat burns. Burns with the intensity of a thousand suns. I make a sound of displeasure and clear my throat to spit.

That was disgusting. I am disgusting.

I run the water to clear my vomit, and take the opportunity to gargle my throat and rinse my mouth.

I really, really need to stop drinking alcohol.

Today I’m staying in. No drinking and I’m going to get a good shower. It’s probably best for me, too.

I lied about staying in. And no drinking. But I did get a good shower. I feel cleaner than ever. Or at least I feel cleaner than yesterday.

Not far from the hotel is a tavern. An actual tavern with cheap dark, dark beer. Real beer.

“One beer please,” I order as soon as I sit down.

The bartender fills a tumbler full of golden beer. This looks almost clichéd. I hope it doesn’t taste clichéd.

“What’s a dapper man like you doing in such a lowbrow bar?” the lady next to me asks. She isn’t from here. She has a western accent. She looks western too. She’s definitely no older than twenty-two.

I smile¬, which is a key move when flirting, and say: “I wanted to get out.”

“Oh, not from Hungary, are you?”

“Clearly not.” I reply, “What’s your name?”

“What’s your name?” She asks, avoiding my question.

I smile, slightly annoyed at her. “Oliver.” I tell her anyway.

“Oliver…” She plays with my name in her mouth. “It has a nice ring to it… I’m Jennifer.”

“Where are you from, Jen?” I ask. “Or is it a little too soon for nicknames?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think that you’ll ever be seeing me again.”

“But you’re not from here, are you?”

“No.” Jennifer says quickly. Could you be any shadier?

I smile at her. “Since I’m a gentleman, I’m going to ask what I can get you. After that we’re going to spend a few hours just speaking to each other, pretending not to like each other. Then I’ll take you back to my hotel room and we’ll see where it goes from there, okay?”

Jennifer laughs, “Quite the gentleman you are,” she says, but I don’t sense objection in her voice. “At least buy me a drink first. I’ll have a beer.”

I buy her the beer and my plans go as I predicted, we speak. From what she tells me, I can tell she’ll be easy to get into bed.

Once she went through five boyfriends in high school in two months, she’s a party girl – which isn’t a good thing, especially when someone like her went through five boyfriends – and she’s really, as she calls it, ‘fun’.

Is it my wealth? Is it my good looks? My charisma? I guess I will never know what gets a girl attracted to me, will I?

I take her to my hotel room, stumbling due to vehement kisses on my neck. On her neck. On her shoulder. On our lips. This isn’t exactly why I came here. To screw as many girls as I could. I came here to escape. And this is not at all escaping.

She’s on my bed. Unbuttoning her blouse. I watch her. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, even in my intoxication. Do I sleep with her or take the high – but mostly extremely foolish – road?

“I can’t.” I say in a whisper that is loud enough to hear.

“Can’t what? Are you a virgin?” What? Who asks that? I smile in the dark.

“No actually. I just can’t.” Not that being pure would stop me from a few minutes of pleasure.

“Sure you can,” she says as she unclips her own bra.She’s easy and desperate.

“Why do you want this so badly?” I ask her?

From the little light that is in the room, I see her expression contort. “Okay. Whatever…” She mumbles as she puts her brazier back on and begins to button her blouse.

As she rises from the bed, I ask her, “Do you have means of transport?”

“Yeah, whatever. Screw you.” She says and leaves the room.

She slams the door behind her, loudly. I’m all alone now. I stand dead still in the dark of the night. “Screw you too!”

I did the right thing. I did do the right thing?

Did I do the right thing?

I’m too young for this. I should’ve just slept with her and risked the sexually transmitted infection I’ve been avoiding for this long.

I say so now, but I don’t chase after Jennifer. And even if I did, it’s not as if she would come back after being that embarrassed by me.

I undress and tonight, I actually decide to wear my pajamas. I haven’t worn these since I got here. They’re made of cotton and dyed stark black. They consist of a button up shirt with long pants.

I plan on waking up early tomorrow so I try to go to bed before four o’ clock. And I do in fact manage to do so. Just after one o’ clock I drifted off to sleep. I’m restless, but I won’t be hungover, so at least that’s something positive. I’m just a bundle of rainbows and gumdrops and sunshine and all that’s positive.

Today, I’m up too early. What do people do at seven o’clock?

I stand in front of the window. It’s a warm day today, so I think I’ll take a stroll in the city.

I dress in the same blue shirt I wore a few days ago and wear burnt sienna shorts, following a trend¬ – the older trend of shirts and shorts worn together.

I think I’ll brush my hair, too, and when I’m done dressing I’ll advance to the elevator, and head out into the open world.

I feel the warmth on my exposed skin immediately I’m at the entrance of the hotel.

I walk down the steps and glance back at the door as if expecting someone to follow me, but I really don’t want to be outside or even in a public store. No one does. Obviously no one does.

I walk past a series of office buildings, boutiques which I visit along the way. I purchased a series of cowl scarves and two pairs of boots. I also got a warm grey and black jacket and jerseys. Impulse purchases. These are going to be of no purpose to me on the other side of the world since it isn’t winter there. Not yet, anyway.

With two bags by my side already, I amble for a few blocks until another store catches my eye. A bookstore this time. I don’t read.

I walk in. There’s a stack of new books on a table to my left.

I don’t care for new books.

I look around the store until a classic piece of literature catches my eye.

A book with a pig on the cover. I’m sure I’ve read this book before but…

I’m taking it anyway. It’s been years since I read a book, let alone a classically good one like this.

I look around a while longer, and find another book that I’ve heard of but never cared to read. So what now? What persuaded me?

I buy the books without bothering with the price. I don’t have to bother with the price as long as there is money in my account. I shove the books in one of the boutique bags and continue down the avenue.

As I walk, I take note of everything wonderful for the first time since I arrived here. The sunlight which I have so taken for granted. The cold winter chill, the people, the buzz of traffic. It all says one thing: Welcome to Budapest.

***

Tell us: He seems to be dissatisfied with his life. Do you think being rich and carefree is as interesting as it sounds?