Free The Paradise Guest House by Ellen Sussman Page B

path back to his table. Even among Westerners, Theo stood out. He was tall, blond, and more arresting than some of the women in the crowd. Gabe wondered for a moment if Theo had ever been a serious journalist—hadn’t he written about pop culture? Maybe he just went to social events and reported on the lives of the rich and famously depraved.
    Christ, Gabe thought. Two years in über-serious Ubud and I’ve become a snob.
    “You’re a mountain man!” Theo roared, and threw a hearty arm around Gabe’s back.
    My beard, Gabe thought. He liked the surprise of seeing someone unfamiliar when he happened to look in the mirror.
    “Good to see you, Theo.”
    They sat and Theo waved over a waitress, then called out for a large Bintang.
    “So you’re a schoolmarm?” Theo asked, turning his attention back to Gabe.
    “ ’Fraid so. Found my true calling.”
    “How the hell did that happen?”
    “I met a woman who started a school and one of her teachers got dengue fever. I said I’d step in for a week. That was a year and a half ago.”
    “You must be rooting the woman. No other reason for something like that.”
    “Rooting?”
    “Shagging, mate.”
    Gabe shook his head. He had slept with Lena a few times, but now they were friends. He wasn’t about to explain any of it to Theo.
    “Just a midlife crisis,” Gabe said.
    “Fuck that,” Theo said, and the beer appeared before him. He looked up into the face of the pretty Balinese waitress and a smile spread across his face. “Cheers, my friend,” he said to the grinning girl.
    “Cheers,” Gabe said, lifting his whiskey.
    The waitress glided away.
    “You writing?” Gabe asked.
    Theo shrugged. “Don’t ask.”
    Gabe laughed, then stopped. Theo’s face was dark.
    “Tell me about the waves, then.”
    Theo talked surfing for a while, and Gabe pretended to know about swells and bottom turns. Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to come to Kuta in the first place, why he wanted to get drunk with Theo and sleep on the guy’s scummy sofa bed. He thought of his small house in the hills outside Ubud. He could be sitting on his back deck right now, staring at a million stars.
    The restaurant was humming with loud conversation, Tracy Chapman songs, and wooden fans circling noisily above their heads. Gabe saw a hefty man moving from table to table, shaking hands, kissing cheeks. Must be the owner, he thought. Santo’s was a glitzier restaurant than most in Kuta, catering only to Westerners. It was sleek and modern, a little too cold for Gabe’s taste.
    “You gonna stay in Ubud?” Theo asked. Gabe had missed something—weren’t they just talking about swells?
    “For now,” Gabe said. “I spent the last fifteen years planning my life. Now I’m trying to spend a few years without a plan.”
    “I talked to Devon a few weeks ago,” Theo said. Devon was their mutual friend at the Globe .
    Gabe lifted his whiskey glass and poured what was left into his mouth. He looked for the waitress, ready for a second one.
    “He told me you were one of the best.”
    “Easy to say when I’m long gone,” Gabe muttered. Long gone . The words echoed.
    “Why’d you quit?” Theo asked. “I never asked you that.”
    Gabe lifted his glass to the waitress, who nodded her head. Then he turned to Theo.
    “You know what I don’t understand,” he said, and immediately he could hear something nasty in his voice. Theo was staring at him too intently. He took a breath. “Everyone comes here to reinvent themselves. We’re dropouts. We got sick of our lives back home or we failed or we got lost along the way. Bali beckons. We get here and discard our old selves like we toss those worn-out winter coats. But then what do we do? We talk about the past. Endlessly. Every fucking expat I know spends more time talking about his old life than whatever new one he might have found. Why is that?”
    Theo didn’t answer, but he looked amused.
    “Ignore me,” Gabe said, his head