Heitor Casanova I
- You called me a "disqualified asshole"? Who do you think you are? – He came towards me, furious and I walked back, scared.
When he got close, I put my arms in front of my face, afraid he was going to hit me.
A long silence hung between us. I slowly withdrew my arms, feeling his eyes on me.
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I... I won't hit you. - He said stunned.
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I... I didn't think it was... - I lied.
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Call the security guards and have her removed from here immediately. And demand that they throw her out of the club. Certainly a paparazzi in disguise. - Said the woman.
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Papa... Papa... - the word wouldn't come out. The drunkenness prevented me from thinking very well – I'm just a frequent user of this shit... It was an accident... I entered the wrong place.
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And who guarantees me that you won't spread to the four corners of the world what you saw here? - He said with cold eyes.
He wore a white shirt, open a couple of buttons. There were lipstick marks on his collar and chest. I looked up, staring at him and he was sarcastic:
- Does anything here interest you? He passed his hand over his chest.
"Of course not… Des…" The voice died on my lips.
- I think you would say "disqualified". - Answered for me.
'So you understand…' I turned, staggering.
"You're not going to let her go like that, are you, Thor?"
- Look at her... She must barely know her own name. It hurts... Or maybe he just wanted to see me...
I turned immediately:
- See you? Who do you think you are? Why would I want to see the middle pole dancing girl give you a blowjob? Do you think it's important? It was just the wrong door... And I walked into this fucking maze of hallways and...
It was then that my eyes met his: "Bon Jovi." Yes, there was a picture of him on the wall, along with Richie Sambora, David Bryan and Tico Torres. They were sitting at a table full of drinks, in that club, with... My God... That man who was in front of me next to them.
My heart almost came out of my mouth. The peroxide blonde kept talking, but my eyes were so fixed on the image that I couldn't hear her.
- John... - I pointed to the photo - Richie... David... And... - I looked at the man a few steps away from me - You.
He arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms curiously.
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I… I love them – I heard myself confessing – Have you… Been with them…Personally?
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Years ago – he shrugged – Shakira – He showed the singer's photo with him, at the club.
I noticed that he was in all the photos. I was in front of the fucking owner: Heitor Casanova. He looked different in magazines and interviews. Or maybe I never paid much attention to him. But he was still an idiot who was lucky enough to be born rich and he snubbed everybody. A cocky asshole who thought he was better than everyone around him.
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Outside! - Said the woman, standing face to face with me, with her finger raised, almost in my face.
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I'll even go ... But I need help. I don't know how to get out of this fucking place.
She took the cell phone out of the man's pocket and called someone. The three of us stood there, facing each other: he with his arms crossed, she with her arm around his shoulders, to prove to me that I was her match, and me trying to balance my body and not pee in front of them, every now and then looking at my beautiful idol stamping the wall.
A dark-haired man arrived, with shaved hair, wearing a black suit with a shirt of the same color under the coat. It had a kind of earpiece and was no less than seven feet tall.
I looked up, meeting his dark, expressionless eyes.
- Get her out of here immediately. - The man ordered him, with a firm voice.
The security guard took my arm, not too hard.
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I need to go to the bathroom. – I told him as I walked down the hall.
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Hey, wait! - The man who I imagined was the owner of the club spoke, making us turn towards him.
It was then that he came over to us, his eyes locked on mine, holding out his hand towards me.
I squeezed his hand, gripping the fingers in confusion, and turned away.
- The card, “Madame Bongiovi”. – He said, with his hand still outstretched, sarcastically.
To hand over the card was to sign my best friend's resignation. On impulse, I put the card, until then kept under lock and key in my closed hand, and put it inside my bra, feeling the plastic on my hot skin.
The three of them stared at me while I spoke emphatically:
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If you want, you'll have to remove it from here.
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You... - the woman tried to advance towards me, being stopped by Heitor Casanova and making the security guard take me a step back – Bitch...
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Do you want me to remove it, sir? – Asked the security guard.
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Whoever touches me, I will accuse of sexual harassment. – Threatened.
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Slut... - The blonde looked at me with disdain.
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I'm sorry ... But I don't want to fuck up anyone's life.
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Destroy her, Thor. – She looked at Heitor, her voice soft and at the same time firm.
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Throw her in the gutter? – The security guard asked.
His eyes locked on mine. I begged for pity deep inside without even saying it. I knew the power he had. I was like an insect, ready to be stepped on or released depending on his order.
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On the street... Outside Babylon – he said firmly – Don't come back here... Or I won't be so merciful next time.
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What did I do anyway? It was an accident... That's all.
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I don't want to see her in front of me. Never again in life.
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Thank you... For your mercy... My lord! - I bowed mockingly in front of him.
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Anon, get this crazy girl out of here immediately or I'm going to have an outbreak. - Said the woman who made me have to look up to face her, tapping her golden heel on the floor, arms crossed.
I turned my back and let the man take me without question. Soon we turned in the corridor and went straight, without going down the stairs where I entered.
- Hey, Anon... Could you please let me go to the bathroom? I'm going to pee my pants... Or rather, my dress. I had three beers and I urgently need to empty my bladder.
He looked down on me, because he was a monster of a man. Without saying anything, he followed the path until we stopped in front of a door, marked “employees' women's restroom”.