My last hoorah in Barcelona before I departed for my late summer / fall travel was an absolute Jetsetter / Rockstar night with a slightly bittersweet ending.
This was my first time in life being invited out with a few other girlfriends by an NBA superstar, who was kind, friendly and the opposite of what the tabloids would lead you to believe of him. However, being the only American girl in the group, I also had my guard up as towards the ways of the world, or at least the ways of his world and that of his entourage.
When we met up in the VIP section of Eclipse, still one of my favorite clubs in town, it was a relief to just have a bit of room to dance, breathe and sit if I wanted, without being bumped around by the overcrowding college student set that now seems to overtake the Barcelona late nightlife scene. I couldn’t help but have a huge smile on my face, more from that relief of not getting a drink spilled on my Herve Leger bandage skirt, but I realized that I was probably coming across as an overeager gold digger.
The night was full of never ending Ciroc vodka and sodas as well as shot after shot of this concoction and that concoction, mixed in with a bit of dancing here and there. The guys were actually a ton of fun and in general really decent, inquiring about my work and life and of course curious why a single American girl was living in Barcelona if her job did not demand that. Was my guard starting to go down as these fellas were opening up about their lives back in The States and actually seeming interested about mine? Who knows…that kind of judgment is always hazy with mass quantities of alcohol.
So as the group started to disband quite a bit and the clock had long since struck 4:00 am, I decided that it’s not in my best interest to take one of the gentlemen up in their offer to hang out in their room downstairs at The W afterwards. I was more concerned with proving that I was not interested in being another notch on their belt or really, in my mind, having to worry about picking something unsavory up from one of their last notches on their belt.
One lovely and innocently naïve friend of mine did not see it the same way. She felt a connection with this superstar of the athletics world and that was enough justification on her behalf. Well, I wasn’t trying to be anyone’s mother that night so a simple “Be safe” was all that parted my lips as she left to go downstairs.
Strategically, as high profile types do, he hung around for a few more drinks to make it less obvious to the surrounding crowd of what exactly was going on. We chatted and joked a bit more, shared a little American college style humor and then it was time for him to make his escape.
Knowing their master plan for about an hour now, yet allowing my sweet friend to go blindly downstairs in the hopes of true romance, felt just like “looking down the jaws of a shark and dropping my friend in”.
Not wanting to be “that annoying friend” or come across as a “cock block” in any way, to someone who had more or less been a super decent person and gracious host all night, someone who I could actually see myself being friends with, I still felt like I needed to say something.
As he was about to get up and head out, in the most discreet and chill way possible, I merely said, “She’s a sweet girl, and is nothing like the type of girls who’s life goals are to hook up with an NBA star, so remember that and be kind to her.” His response, first with a bit of a smirk, then more serious, “Gypsy, This isn’t my first rodeo, but I’ll take care of her, don’t you worry.”
I had stuck my hook into his dorsal fin and got it in deep enough to actually trigger a caring response, or at least for him to act like it, and that was enough to call it a night.
*Inspired by my travels to Barcelona, I’ve teamed up with Braccialetti Cruciani to create the perfect wrist look for this destination. Gypsy Love’s Cruciani, “Accessorizing my way around the world, one Cruciani Bracelet at a time.”