Richard Bananarama, Part II

Temuco, Chile

We're on the train from heading Santiago down to Puerto Montt. We just finished the overnight section, and we should be arriving at our destination in about six hours. It's time to finish my thoughts about Richard.

We stepped out of the closing bar into the cool Santiago night, and hailed ourselves a cab. After we got in and sped off, Richard asked us where we wanted to go. Since we had tried but failed to find a dance-club earlier, I was still of a mind to go out dancing. We told our man that we wanted a place where we could find dancing and women. Richard started speed-talking to our cabbie, and his face brightened up. He pantomimed the international dance of the stripper and raised his eyebrows. Not exactly what I had in mind, but I am not averse to the naked ladies. Mike and I gave our assent, and we were off.
About twenty minutes later, we found ourselves a few levels below ground, in a musty, 70's era mall. It had clearly been closed for the night, but some dudes in leather jackets had let us in through a small door-gate, and down we had gone. This last store-front at the bottom with the tinted windows was the only place open, and it had some generic latin music pumping out of it. We handed over 10,000 pesos (~$20) for the three of us, and walked in.
The black room we found inside was filled with crappy, fading leather couches and poorly constructed wooden seating booths. There was also a "dance" floor and a bar of sorts, but these were clearly ancillary. The main draw for this particular location was supposed to be the dozen or so women strewn about the room. They were lounging in couches, and strutting around in high-heels and the shortest of skirts. They all seemed uniformly bored, and none of them were particularly attractive. Apart from these women, the club was pretty empty. There were maybe two bartenders and two or three other patrons, but that was it. It was a pretty depressing sight.
But Richard, undaunted, eagerly sheperded us across the room to a booth in the back, and we sat down. He smiled, lit up a cigarette, and we were Instantly swarmed by four girls. They squeezed into the booths with us, sitting on our laps and chatting away. I had no idea what they were saying. At this point in the evening, my spanish reserves were completely depleted, so I just sat there with a half-smile on my face, trying my best not to look uncomfortable. Mike seemed to be doing the same. Richard, on the other hand, was spurning the girls' attention altogether. Although he was the one who was the most eager to be there, he appeared to be completely uninterested in interacting with the girls in any way.
That went on for about half an hour. We just sat there, drinking some really shitty pisco cocktail, smiling and nodding to whatever the ladies said. Eventually, the girls realized that we weren't going to be paying for much, so they ran off. Then, there was a half-hearted strip-tease on the dance floor, and the club started closing. It was time to go.
As we were exiting the club, Richard kept insisting that we move on to another venue that he knew, and this time, he would pay. I was doubtful. About two minutes after he made the offer, he patted down his pockets and "realized" that his wallet had been stolen in the club. We offered to go back with him to find it, but he flat out refused, saying that we should just move onto the next club, on our peso, obviously.
At this point, I realized the night was over. Luckily, the club that Richard had chosen was two blocks away from our hotel, so it would be a quick walk home. It took a bit of convincing, but we eventually bid farewell to Richard. Since he had "lost his wallet" in the club, we had to give him 5,000 pesos for cab fare. Before we parted ways, he got my cell phone number with a promise that he would call me the next day so we could meet up again before we left Santiago.

Thankfully, he never called.