+ cinco
"So...where are we going?" I asked hopeful, expecting him to take me to a fancy restaurant or maybe sight seeing even though it was late afternoon. It was what I expected from a man like Enrique Guzman, but in the end, I was mistaken.
He parked the car in a local, though high end, bar. My heart dropped into my stomach at the sight. For one, I wasn't one to drink much or go out partying, due to my upbringing in a strict catholic household. Also, I didn't picture him to be the kind of person who was too much into the bar scene. And then there was the fact that we lived in a very sexist society. The last thing I wanted was for people to think I was a woman of easy virtue because I was going out to a bar with Enrique Guzman.
I blinked quickly, taken by surprise at his choice of destination. I would have expected going to any other location in this city with him, but never a bar. I got out of the car hesitantly, a thought lingering in the back of my mind that maybe he was trying to play a joke on me. Perhaps he would soon laugh and ask me to get back into the car and he would take me to a museum or an art exhibit.
The neon sign above the entrance read The End of the Night and had a neon picture of the full moon on it. From inside, I could hear the blaring music that was in style at the moment. It sounded like rancheras sung by Mexico's most popular artists at the moment. I followed after him as he walked inside, looking as though he were urged to find something. He knew exactly what he wanted. There were two empty stools in front of the bar and we took them.
"Why are we here?" I asked with confusion.
He turned in his seat to look at me, eyes clearly upset. "This bar is a vital part of the Mexico City experience." He informed me in a very dry and sarcastic tone.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I told him, "Well if you plan on getting drunk, give me your car keys. I don't drink, so I'll be the designated driver." It wasn't just that I didn't drink, I couldn't drink. The legal drinking age in Mexico was eighteen, but in the US it was twenty one and I was still only twenty, had just turned twenty a little over a month prior. Legally, in my country, I wasn't allowed to drink.
"Do you even know how to drive?" He question, quirking an eyebrow at me.
I nodded my head in affirmation. "I don't have my license yet, but I've been driving since I was seventeen years old."
"You must be a rebel." He teased. Turning his attention to the bar tender, he said, "A tequila please."
"Tequila?" I scoffed. "Are you sure you can handle that?"
He smirked confidently as he was handed the shot glass of alcohol. "You must have never seen a real man drink before."
"If you say so." I admitted with a shrug of my shoulders. "But I never thought I would see my idol drink. I have watched all your interviews and you just seemed like the perfect person. I know your favorite movie, your favorite book, your favorite color, and your favorite food. How is it that you drink now? What happened to the Enrique Guzman everyone knows and loves?"
"He grew up and got married." He said bitterly, looking into his shot of tequila whilst contemplating. "There are a lot of things the media and the fans don't know about me. Sometimes, a lot of acting is involved in a musician's career, both in front and behind cameras. And to answer your question, I've always been the kind to have one or two drinks at parties. But I really started drinking when everything else just wasn't enough to get over my problems."
He chugged his drink down in one sitting. I could see his face contort as the liquid burned his throat. I leaned my elbows on the bar table, resting my head on my palms, "You know," I started, "I've seen many people go down that road before and its never ending spiral. It may erase your problems for a little while, or more likely it will fool you into believing it can, but when you wake up in the morning, the problems will still be there."
