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I was angry that the world works the way that it does. After a nap, I walked to the Dunn Hotel, and the curtain of dusk had already fallen.Men filled the street corners, stood in the shadows of the buildings’ eaves.
The streets were beginning to fill with the madrugadas, early morning workers.
They whistled at me as I passed, calling out to me: “.” I hurried by, looked at my shoes. I knew I shouldn’t be walking through the streets of San Jose alone at dark but wished I didn’t have to shrink at the catcalls of men. “I’m in for whatever.” In the bathroom of the salsa club, I stared into the mirror. I said this: Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, as if anyone ever talked herself out of something in a bathroom mirror.
We hugged hello and then each had a glass of wine, and it was obvious the bottle had been open for days if not weeks. He told me about his life in San Jose, if he would ever return to the States. “And to tell you the truth, I can’t see it.” We then went to a tapas bar, split a bottle of Rioja, and shared two plates of tapas. I went back onto the dance floor and after one spin, my resolution was broken.
The manager had his hands cupped over his chest, saying “Grande, muy grande.” “What’s he saying? I wanted these women to have better choices, the ability to make money without selling themselves to disgusting men.
The Hotel Inca Real.” I told him in my strained Spanish that I wanted to go to the one I had already picked out. In the rose-scented lobby, the hotel manager was talking to two American surfers. If we hadn’t just toured the prostitution hotels, I wouldn’t have understood, but I got it, and it made me feel the same anger I had for the beet-faced man.
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As girls, and then women, we are taught these small gestures, so that we can lure in a man. Nobody tells us to make sure that’s what we really want. To decide on our own terms, and then once we have made the decision, to go forward with none of the usual shame. “And your hotel lobby smells like fake perfume.” “It’s gross,” I admitted. ” “Okay,” I agreed, though I already knew it would come to this, despite the chit-chat. Milk and whiskey.” He poured himself a shot of whiskey and mixed mine with pink lemonade.