Recap: Indigo was picked up by Colombian drug traffickers after he abandoned the cruise ship and stole a life boat. He had a choice between being fed to the sharks, or serving as a drug mule. Of course, he chose the later, seeing as how it meant free drugs and a free ride to Ibiza. He landed in Ibiza and waltzed past harbor security with a suitcase full of blow, looking like Naomi Campbell strutting into a diamond mine…
As soon as Indigo had made the transaction (aka drug deal) and had received his cold, hard-earned payout (and, of course, after powdering his nose in the men’s room), he thought of the most expensive, posh hotel he could think of in Ibiza. Indigo had one of the waitresses at the cafe call him a car, and made his way to the Sir Joan Hotel, a five-star luxury hotel, where he booked a master suite for the next four nights and paid in full, using cold, hard, drug-cash. He’d never been in such a luxurious establishment before… he felt so posh it was almost like he was in a dream…he felt like Posh Spice, actually. He just needed some platforms and a bob.
After checking into his hotel room, he proceeded to call room service and order (and subsequently guzzle-down) a bottle of the finest champagne. He then took a 15 minute power nap, and when he woke up, he snorted a couple of lines in order to wake up more fully. He couldn’t possibly go out in Ibiza wearing the Bermuda shorts he’d borrowed from Fernando, and so he had the concierge order another car to take him shopping. If you’re wondering where his newfound wealth came from, let’s just say he got compensated very well for the drug transaction, darling! But don’t ask how much he made… that’s just uncouth. Let’s just say it’s enough to afford a luxury hotel suite for four nights, and have a little left over spending money for shopping and ecstasy.
Indigo bought some white linen tunics with embroidered yokes, and the tiniest denim cut-offs he could find…. his legs did look great after all, from days of not eating. He also bought some leather, Italian-crafted booties, Gucci sunglasses and some leather jewelry to adorn his tiny, emaciated wrists. He felt like a million dollars once he was fully dressed, and he was ready to have some fucking fun. Indigo gave himself a once-over in the mirror of his hotel room, snorted a few more lines for good measure, and then headed downstairs to the hotel’s bar/lounge area where he proceeded to park himself in front of the bar, making eyes at any man, woman, or child he thought might buy him a cocktail.
No one was taking the bait, or the queer bait for that matter, and so he bought himself a glass of champagne, and asked the bartender for a pickle back after he finished the champagne in three gulps. The bartender didn’t know what a pickle back was, and so Indigo had to explain it’s when you do a shot of whisky and wash it down with a shot of pickle juice to get rid of the aftertaste. The bartender had to send the bar back to the kitchen to ask the chef for pickle juice since no one had ever requested such a drink before in this establishment. Indigo was getting bored of the hotel bar – it was mostly rich older couples, a handful of younger couples on their honeymoon, and a few families eating dinner at the tables near the windows…. AKA BORING AS FUCK. Since he had no phone, he couldn’t even get on Grindr. Indigo decided now was a good time to bounce, and so he asked for his check. When the bartender turned his back to print it, Inidigo sprinted right out of there as fast as he could and out of the hotel’s main doors into the night. He was far too beautiful to be spending money on his own drinks. Fuck it.
Indigo hailed a cab and went to Amnesia. There was a line of botoxed posers and anorexic model-wannabes waiting to get in outside, but Indigo didn’t do lines (apart from the white stuff), and so he sashayed straight to the doorman to work his magic charm. Indigo looked pretty fucking hot in his daisy dukes and tunic, and he slipped the doorman a lil’ baggie of blow when he shook his hand. The doorman let Indigo right in, no questions asked. He turned around to acknowledge the losers still waiting in line, and strutted his tiny ass through the entrance.
Once inside the club, he scoped out the scene… when who should he spot but Lily Von Fustenburg! His arch nemesis – also the one woman Indigo went straight for. He had loved this woman for the past 10 years that he knew her, but she had rejected him in the most public of ways after a year of casual sex. Lily was a trust fund baby who had been cut off of her family fortune due to her rampant drug use, multiple stints in rehab, terrible public behavior that had been documented repeatedly by Page Six, and multiple arrests (including, but not limited to, shoplifting, drug possession, DUIs… you name it). Lily was rolling ballz and also spotted Indigo. She made a wobbly beeline through the crowd to him, her eyes flitting back into their sockets, and a permanent smile plastered across her face. God, she was hot. She was bleach blonde and about 90 lbs., wearing black denim cut-offs, platform boots, and a sheer crop top. She was the most perfect woman Indigo had ever had the pleasure of meeting – and right now, she was higher than a fucking kite.
Lily screamed above the thumping bass, “Oh FUCK ME RUNNING! You dirt-bag! A) What the fuck are you doing HERE, and B) Give me all the drugs!” Indigo was swept off of his feet, yet again. His knees went week and his stomach got butterflies as his heart raced and his palms began to sweat. How could one woman be so perfect? He emptied his pockets and handed over two vials of blow to Lily’s waiting hands. He would walk across hot coals for this woman…fuck, he would go sober for this woman. He would hold down a 9-5 job if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with this woman!
The last time Indigo had seen Lily, they’d had a marvelous night on the town, ending in the bathroom stall at Tao. Lily was going down on Indigo, when the stall door flew open. “Holy shit! Indigo?!” A scrawny Guatemalan boy stood in the door way, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Raymundo!!!! I thought you were working tonight!” Indigo exclaimed. Lily stopped what she was doing and recoiled. This was the last fucking straw. She wasn’t about to be Indigo’s fag hag. “You’re fucking the Guatemalan busser from Delicatessen? Dude, I know he gives you the best blow, and possibly blow jobs, but I don’t want to be your fag hag. I’m fucking done! This is it.” Lily got off her bony knees and marched out. Indigo stood there with his 9-inch rod fully exposed, his size 0 leather pants around his ankles (side note: Indigo is very well-endowed and known to be a very generous lay… in case you’re wondering and in the market). Indigo was in shock. His heart shattered into a million pieces. Meanwhile, Raymundo had gotten down on his knees and proceeded to gargle Indigo’s member. Indigo disassociated.
Indigo had went home with Raymundo that night after several more lychee martinis. He blacked out, HARD, and may or may have not been sexually assaulted. He woke up the next day in Raymundo’s top bunk bed, in a 6-story East Village walk-up with no AC, sweating like a whore in church, coming down from the blow, hungover from the martinis, and in the midst of a serious panic attack, wondering where he went wrong and wishing last night had never happened. He called Lily later that day, but she had blocked him on her phone and all social media. He sent an apologetic email, professing his love for her, and letting her know Raymundo meant nothing to him – he was only in it for the coke. Lily never answered his email. This was two years ago… they hadn’t spoken or seen each other since. Until this night…
Indigo embraced Lily in a warm bear-hug and kissed her forehead tenderly. She smelled of expensive perfume (Acqua di Parma, Oud), cocaine, and stale cigarette smoke. “Lily, do you have any more pills? I need to catch up to you and your friend there.” Lily was swaying, arm-in-arm with a dapper looking gentleman who must have been about 60, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a Patek Philippe watch – he was also rolling ballz. This time, it was Lily’s turn to empty her pockets and hand over the drugs. She gave Indigo a large pressed pill, which he swallowed whole and washed down with a sip of her margarita.
Indigo blacked out momentarily and the next thing he knew, they were all naked in a hot tub – on a yacht. The yacht belonged to the older gentleman who was with Lily – a Spanish real estate tycoon named Rodrigo Espinoza IV. They were all still rolling ballz when Rodrigo hopped out of the hot tub and said he was going to the bar to get them all drinks. Indigo had to use the bathroom, and so he hopped out of the hot tub as well and followed Rodrigo inside. The bathroom was adjacent to the bar, and when Indigo came out of the bathroom, he saw Rodrigo still standing at the bar. He watched silently as Rodrigo dropped something into one of the drink glasses.
Sure, he and Lily weren’t as close as they once were, but he certainly couldn’t sit around and watch the love of his life get roofied by this douche bag. He quickly hatched a plan. Indigo stepped out of the bathroom doorway. “Hey, Rodrigo! How those drinks coming?” Rodrigo handed Indigo a drink, and said “here, help me carry these.” Indigo made sure to keep his eye on the drink that had been roofied, as fucked up as he was, he wasn’t fucking around.
When they got back to the hot tub and into the water again, Rodrigo handed Lily the drink that was in his left hand. Lily took one sip and set it in the corner drink-holder. Indigo waited until the moment was right, and quickly swapped his drink with Lily’s. He downed the roofied drink as fast as he could…. he had to take one for the team tonight. He didn’t mind, he’d been roofied twice before – once by some bear at a gay bar, and another time, voluntarily by himself, just for fun. After 30 minutes had passed, Indigo started to feel very, very, EXTREMELY relaxed. More relaxed than he’d felt rolling balls.
He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the water. His muscles relaxed, his brain stopped thinking coherent thoughts. Suddenly, Lily was slapping his cheek, “Indigo, INDIGO, What the Fuck?! Wake up dude!” Indigo just barely opened his eyes and gave a crooked, half-smile, “I saved you bitch,” he slurred. He couldn’t wake up, even though he tried… and he felt FAN- fucking-tastic!!! He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and stress-free. Rodrigo chuckled nervously at the sight of Indigo, who was at this point, clearly under the influence of the GHB he intended to drug Lily with. “Wow, your friend is a regular Lindsay Lohan, huh? A real piece of work!” Rodrigo said, before excusing himself to the bathroom. Now, Lily was super embarrassed – Indigo was about to blow her chance and therefore also blow her future with this billionaire/next meal-ticket.
Once Rodrigo had disappeared inside, Lily slapped Indigo hard across the face: “WAKE THE FUCK UP!” Nothing could be done now though… Indigo was fucking dead (hypothetically speaking of course). Lily was beyond frustrated, but also slightly worried for him. After all, they’d taken the same pills and the same amount of drugs, or so she thought… unless of course he was holding out on her, and had a secret stash, and had taken more drugs without her (in which case, she decided she would fucking kill him – “sharing is caring” – am I right???). When Rodrigo returned to the hot tub, Lily tried to save the situation as best she could, and informed him that Indigo wasn’t ‘feeling well,’ and asked him to help her get Indigo into a cabin for bed. Together, they hoisted Indigo’s emaciated, tanned, glorious frame out of the water and carried him into a bedroom. Lily decided it was best that she spend the night in Indigo’s cabin, to keep an eye on him….even though she wanted to raw-dog Rodrigo and risk getting prego. She knew in her heart that this was the end of any future she might have had with Rodrigo, since he wasn’t getting laid and therefore would give her the cold shoulder tomorrow, but her friend was more important.
Indigo woke up the next afternoon around 3pm, groggy as fuck. He didn’t remember anything apart from seeing Rodrigo spike Lily’s drink and making the executive decision to drink it before she could. Lily was already up and dressed when Indigo walked out of his cabin onto the deck. Hell truly hath no fury like a woman’s scorn – Lily looked furious, and grabbed him by the arm as soon as she saw him: “We need to talk” she said, as she hauled him down the stairs into another cabin. “You FUCKING blew my chances with Rodrigo! I was going to get pregnant last night and become a lady-who-lunches, and never worry about how I’d afford drugs, EVER AGAIN!!! AND NOW THAT DREAM IS DEAD!!! YOU FUCKING BLEW IT! I was supposed to be the one doing the blowing! WTF happened to you?!”
“Lily – I SAVED YOU! I watched that geriatric, FUGLY, Spaniard douche-HOLE spike the drink he gave to YOU with GHB – so I switched our drinks so you didn’t get assaulted.”
“Well what if I WANTED to be drugged? Did you ever think of that?!” Lily screamed.
“You know what?! FUCK YOU. I’m sorry I tried to help you – clearly you don’t want to be helped. That’s why you’re a fucking 90 lb coke whore who got cut off her inheritance and now spends her days peddling coochie on yachts in return for fancy meals that you THROW UP and drugs. Don’t talk to me anymore… I’m done with you. I should have been done with you a long time ago.” Indigo stormed off into his cabin. It was only another 18 hours before they were set to arrive in Mykonos. He could do this. He just needed some more drugs and booze.
Indigo stormed off to the bathroom. He was out of drugs, having given his coke to Lily the previous night. He HAD to find something… anything, or he wasn’t making to Mykonos in one piece. He knew on a yacht this grandiose, some dumb yacht whore must have stashed something SOMEWHERE. He frantically searched the bathroom and found a baggie of four xanax in the medicine cabinet. BINGO! It was gonna be smooth sailing from here on out. Indigo put the pills in his pocket, and went to the bar where he proceeded to order a Johnny Walker Black Label, neat. He threw all four pills in his mouth, took a big swig of his drink and that was that my friend!
Indigo started to feel pretty fucking good. He went back to his cabin in a state of total relaxation and bliss. He didn’t a fuck about anything – life was beautiful and nothing mattered. He stripped naked, and got down on the plush carpet of the cabin floor. Ahhh… it felt so good against his naked thighs and ballsack. This was bliss. He fell fast asleep, face-down on the carpet and slept in dreamless state for the next 18 hours.
The High Heeled C*ntessa 