Unlimited Credit

By Bob Chabala

Unlimited Credit is the story of a young man, Bobby, who decides to travel to Italy with a friend from the States. The two of them end up in Rome, and settle down at the Hotel Monte Carlo. A stranger, named Hamedi, comes into their lives. Hamedi, has had a run of bad luck. The three of them strike up a friendship. Hamedi comes to Bobby for a favor, which Bobby reluctantly grants, ultimately taking him to North Africa..

Unlimited Credit is the story of how one person falls into the hands of a professional con artist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 1, 2005
• ISBN: 9781465318039

Bob Chabala

Bob Chabala lives in Long Island City, NY, where he shares an apartment with his two dogs, Chestino & Sophia. He is currently at work on his second book entitled, “Stealing Michelangelo”. He is now 45 years old, and no longer uses an American Express Card.

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Copyright © 2005 by Bob Chabala.

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This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

NEW YORK CITY

LONDON

OSTEND

HEIDELBERG

MILANO

ROMA

FIRENZE

MILANO

GENOA

TUNIS

SUISSE

HAMMAMET

TUNIS

HAMMAMET

SUISSE

TUNIS

ROMA

NEW YORK

This book is dedicated to all of those people who were a part of this tale. They didn’t know it at the time, but they contributed to one hell of an adventure. It is also dedicated to American Express, which made the whole thing possible to begin with.

I would like to thank the following people for their help in making this book a reality.—Arlese McDowell for allowing me to use the office computer when I first began to write this story, my dear friends John and Corey for their support and love throughout this process, Susan Ruddick for her author and cake photo’s—they were fun sessions!, Art O Polis Bakery Patisserie for the jacket art—you guys did an amazing job & it was tasty too, and Xlibris Publishing without whom this story might never have been told.

NEW YORK CITY

By this time, I was more than a little annoyed. Why was it

that the one flight that I was going to take was so incredibly delayed. Now, I know everyone has their own little horror stories concerning airlines. I even had a few. But up to now, all of my nightmarish experiences had been confined to the now extinct People’s Express. Even then, it was basically a matter of getting what you paid for. But this, this was an international flight, on a major international airline. And the reason that they were giving us for the delay? . . . Engine trouble . . . Big deal! So what if one of the engines wasn’t functioning properly? What was the worst that could happen?

All around us, passengers were beginning to line up for the shuttle bus to the Hilton, where a dinner would be provided by the airline. They thought that if they fed you, you wouldn’t mind the wait as much. Not that a meal wouldn’t have been appreciated. We would have gladly joined the rest of the grounded for the ride to the restaurant, except for one minor detail. In order to get on the bus, you had to show your plane ticket, and the travel agent still hadn’t shown up with ours. She was caught in traffic, we were told.

Maybe we should go back to my parents house, Jed said, looking at me very seriously.

Are you out of your mind! I was a bit excited by this point. Hey, you can do what you want. I’m staying put. I am gonna get out of here tonight if it kills me.

I couldn’t believe that he would even suggest going back home to me. Christ, it was his idea to come along with me in the first place. I would have been more than happy to be going alone . . . Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I was just upset about the delay, and angry at him for even considering turning around and giving up so quickly.

I’ll never forget the day that the phone rang. I almost died when I got the phone call. I remember I was sitting in my apartment in Kew Gardens, Queens, when I heard the telephone ring.

Hello.

Hello, Bobby?

Hi, who is this?

It’s me, Jed.

Jed. Hi, how are you? I assumed that he was calling from Vermont, which was where I’d seen him last.

Actually, I’m not doing so good.

What do you mean? What’s happened?

Your never going to believe this, but my wife threw me out of the house.

Your what did what?

My wife, she threw me out.

Wait a minute. What wife?

I knew you were going to react this way. My wife. The one I didn’t tell you about because I thought I’d never see you again once you went back to New York. Look, I’m sorry this is all a surprise to you. Think how I feel.

Yeah Jed, your right. This is certainly a surprise.

Think about how I feel! I’m the one who is having life changes forced down my throat.

I had nothing to say to that. I waited a minute, and then I asked, So, what are you going to do?

She said that she wants to keep the apartment, and the dog. I basically just lost everything I had up there. There was nothing left for me. I couldn’t stay. Burlington is just too small of a city. So, I quit my job.

Yeah, and . . . .

And I drove down to Conn. I’m staying with my parents for now. It’s not the perfect situation, but until I can get my head straightened out, it’s for the best.

That sounds sensible.

Listen, I’m not far from the city. When can I see you?

Just like that, he was around again, with his dark, handsome features, and confusing depressed playfulness.

We agreed to meet in Manhattan the next day.

We met. We met again, the day after that. And the day after that. As a matter of fact, I saw him quite a few times.

One afternoon, I told him about my plans to go to Europe. You see, I was a musician, a vocalist, and had just been signed by a record producer, who wanted to record with me in England. After I had finished filling him in on my plans, he looked at me and asked, Why now, Bobby?

Why now? Why not now! I have to be there in January to record anyway. I think it’s better to go over a little early. Besides, I need to get away. It’s time for a change.

Jed shook his head. The problem is, I don’t know how much money I can get from my parents. And I don’t have any savings.

"I’m not asking you for money, Jed. Why would you even think that?

No, you don’t understand. The money is for me. I’m coming with you.

You are?

He did.

Now, before I go any further, I just want to let you know that everything that you are about to read is true. It really happened, as insane as it may be. Certain names have been changed to protect people’s privacy, but other than that, it’s all true.

Jed invited me up to Connecticut to have dinner with his mother and father, and then the following day they drove us to the airport. His father was a scientist of some sort. His mother, an artist. Their home—right on Long Island Sound.

Are you boys sure that you know what your doing? . . . This is a very sudden decision . . . Running away does not solve problems . . . Jed, are you sure you don’t want to see the dentist before you go? You know, the ones over there might not be so good . . . If you get into any trouble . . . You boys be careful . . . How much money do . . . .

They were just doing the typical parent thing. It wasn’t so bad as long as you didn’t take it seriously.

Both of us being musicians, Jed thought that it would be a good idea if we took along some small portable recording equipment. You know, just in case we were ever hit with a sudden inspiration. I was against the idea. I had heard enough horror stories about British Custom Agents, and since we were flying into London, didn’t want to chance any problems. I just thought that we’d be asking for trouble bringing that stuff in with us. In the end, I gave in to him, but only after making it clear that he was the one who was actually going to carry that stuff into England. That way, if they stopped anyone, it wouldn’t be me!

So, that’s how we came to be waiting for a ticket agent, at JFK. The hour was now 6:30pm. The bus was scheduled to begin bringing the others back from dinner at 7:30pm.

I was tired. I was hungry. And I was incredibly frustrated. I was in the process of preparing myself for the trauma of never even seeing my plane ticket, less yet getting on the plane, when who should walk in the door but our trusty ticket agent.

Sorry guys. You wouldn’t believe the traffic out there. I called the airline from the office and they told me about the delay, so I left just a hair later. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. Here, let me give you your tickets. She pulled out two tickets and boarding passes, and handed one to each of us.

We made small talk for a few minutes, and then she was gone. We were left standing there, alone and hungry. But, we did have our tickets.

You’d think that with all of the complications and problems up to this point, that I would have seen it as some sort of omen, and changed my plans. Maybe traveled alone, or found a new destination. But no, I persevered. Brave soul that I am.

We eventually did board the airplane. And not long after that, flight 407, from Kennedy International Airport to Heathrow took off at last.

LONDON

I don’t recall much of the flight from New York to London.

I don’t remember what they served us for dinner, or the name of the film that was shown, much less what topics Jed and I conversed about. The one thing I do remember though, is that when we finally landed, my muscles were sore and I was very eager to get off of that plane.

It was 10:00am, London time, on a Friday morning. We didn’t have to wait for our luggage, as we had made it a point to travel with carry on only—recording equipment and all! So, we were able to beat most of the crowd through the endless corridors to the customs agents, where long lines soon formed behind us.

I was standing in front of Jed, so I was the first one called before an agent.

Passport, please.

I handed over my passport, along with the form which we were given to fill out on the plane.

May I see your return ticket, please.

I took a deep breath, and then began to explain. Well, you see, I don’t have one. A work visa is being processed for me in January. I want to travel a bit before then, and I’m not sure when or where I’ll be returning from. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jed stepping up to the next agent, a few feet to my left.

I see, the officer in front of me, said. How much money are you bringing with you?

I have two thousand in travelers checks, plus an American Express Card.

May I see your wallet?

Sure. I handed it to him.

Two thousand dollars won’t last very long, the agent said.

If I need to, I can always wire my family for more.

I watched, my heart slowly sinking, as Jed’s agent came over and whispered to mine. I tried nonchalantly looking at the floor until they were through with their conversation, at which point my agent turned back to me and said, You and that gentleman over there are traveling together?

You mean, that gentleman at the desk over here to the left?

The customs official nodded.

Yes we are.

It seems he’s carrying recording equipment.

I let out a sigh of relief. Oh that, you have to understand, I begged him to leave that junk behind, but he thinks he’s going to get inspired over here, and maybe for once write some beautiful music. If you ask me, he’s never written anything decent his entire life. I told him that I refuse to help him carry any of that stuff.

Do you mind if l have a look in your bags, the agent asked, as he began to open the first one he could reach.

Not at all. Help your self.

While the agent was looking through my things, I began to plot out different ways to kill Jed, yet make it look like an accident, when we got to the hotel.

Satisfied that the bags were clean, the agent looked up at me, and said, All right, fine. and closed the bags. We’ll give you a seven day visa. That ought to give you enough time to see some of the city, and make further travel arrangements. With that, he stamped my passport.

Thanks, I said, grabbing my passport and my bags, and then meeting Jed a few feet away.

What did I tell you?

Alright, you were right. But it was still no big deal. They let us in, didn’t they?

Barely . . . I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go change some money, before one of us gets arrested for murder, I huffed, not wanting to discuss it any further.

We found an exchange booth in the airport, changed some dollars into pounds, and then followed the signs for the train to Victoria Station.

The train was crowded, so the two of us stood in the doorway with our bags at our feet, watching the passing English countryside. Just traveling the short distance from the airport to central London, you could see the difference between their country and the US. Everything was so much more quaint in England. The yards in the back of the homes that we passed were all so precisely tended and full of colorful flowers. When the train would pass intersections, you could see the old painted signs hanging outside shops, or pubs. It was all just what one would expect England to be!

As the train rolled across the Thames, I tried to get a bearing on where in the city we were, but there was just too much to look at.

Once we arrived at Victoria Station, we grabbed our bags, exited the train, and made our way outside and into a waiting cab. I thought that it might be better to have someplace reserved to go to after traveling all night, rather than having to look for a room, so we gave the cab driver the address of the hotel, which was in the Covent Garden district, and off we went.

There is a certain excitement I feel when arriving in a new city. The best way to describe it is the urge to get out and explore. To see and experience for myself all that the city has to offer. I was definitely going through that now. But there was time enough for all of that later. First things first, and that meant checking in to the hotel.

The cab pulled up to a side street, blocked from traffic—pedestrians only.

Hotel’s down there, next corner, to the right, the cabby said.

We thanked him, paid and tipped him, grabbed our bags, and walked the short distance to the Inn.

I glanced over to see if Jed was awake. I couldn’t tell. He was facing the wrong way. Damn. I’d been awake for a few minutes already. I felt sufficiently rested. Ready to go. Two hours was more than enough time to nap for me, and now I was anxious to get out and explore London.

Jed, I said. Jed, are you awake?

I am now, he replied.

It’s good that we slept. I feel better now, don’t you?

Uh huh.

I’m going to get in the shower. I want to go out for a while.

Uh huh.

What about you? What are you going to do?

I guess I’m going with you, he said, sitting up. I don’t know why I’m so tired.

It’s called jet lag. You’ll get over it. The thing is, if you sleep all day, it’ll just get worse. You won’t be able to sleep tonight.

Somehow I doubt that. Are you going to take that shower?

Yeah. Right now. It’ll give you a chance to wake up.

I wrapped a towel around myself, and went out into the room to find Jed watching television.

You’ve got to see this commercial, he said to me. It’s too much.

As I looked at the TV screen, this kid was punching his mother in the head, saying I’m gonna knock yer block off. It was an ad for a board game. Imagine! I could just see all of these kids back home running to buy it so that they could de-stress by pretending that they were punching their parents.

Our first stop, since it was only a few blocks away, was Covent Garden. I don’t know what I expected to find there, but when we arrived, I must admit, I was disappointed. It was too much like a shopping mall trying to be quaint, for my taste. Sort of a British South Street Seaport without the sea or the port. You know, little boutiques selling overpriced trinkets that only a tourist would dare buy. I had hoped that it would be more like it had been years ago. The place that I read about in all of those books. The place where Eliza Dolittle stood in the rain, selling flowers, and singing of all of the chocolates that she would eat. But alas, time changes everything. The only place to find Eliza Dolittle now, I sadly realized, was in a video store.

From there, we made our way down to the river Thames. We walked along the banks of the river until we came to Westminster Abbey. The doors were still open, so we went inside.

There was definitely something awe inspiring on entering the church and hearing the choir rehearse for one of the services. Their voices just seemed to float in the air. The fact that you didn’t know just where the voices were coming from made the whole effect all the more startling. We sat down, and listened for a few minutes. It was so peaceful. So beautiful. Those glorious harmonies seemed to embody all that the word ‘heaven’ implied.

We left the church, explored a bit more, stopped at a pub for a bite to eat and an ale, and then went back to the hotel. Even though we’d had a nap, the jet lag still caught up with us, making us feel both tired and drained.

The next morning, up and out to the National Museum. While viewing this vast collection of artwork, Jed gave me a running lesson on how and why artists did what they did. How they drew your attention to an object or person in a painting by the use of light, or the positioning of other figures. He had obviously studied this topic a great deal, and enjoyed acting the guide and mentor. I was getting a chance to see a side of him that I never even knew existed. It was quite fun for both of us.

We had decided to stay on in London through Monday, when we would take a train to Dover, ferry across to Belgium, and then proceed to Italy, which was where I had my heart set on ending up. The easiest and most economical way of doing this was via a Eurrail Pass—a train ticket which enables you to travel through most of Europe for a limited number of days, all at one price. Since we weren’t sure of just how many stops we were going to make on our way to Italia, this seemed to be the most logical thing to do. Now, Eurrail Passes may be purchased from either a travel agent, or from special government Tourist Bureaus, and they are not good for travel in the country in which they are purchased. So, as we were going to purchase ours in England, we could not begin to use them until we reached Belgium. Fine. I could live with that.

According to the desk clerk, at the hotel, the closest place to purchase a Eurrail Pass was the French Tourist Bureau. We went there, waited in line, sat down with a representative, only to find out that they didn’t accept traveler’s cheques. British pounds or credit cards only. I didn’t want to be charging everything right away, so our only option was to find a bank. The French Rep directed us to the nearest one, where we waited in another line for forty minutes. Then, back to the French Tourist Bureau. Finally, about an hour and a half later, Eurrail Passes in hand, we emerged from the Tourist Bureau, and once again attacked the streets of London.

Saturday night in London. Sounds exciting, huh? Actually, we didn’t do anything special. We walked around for a while, until we found a trendy restaurant to have dinner in. It was a bit pricey, and the food was just adequate, but I do remember the waiter as being kind of cute!

After dinner was over, we decided to walk a bit more. Down on one of the side streets, not far from Covent Garden, thus not far from our hotel, we discovered a rather quaint pub. We went in, ordered ales, and then sat down at a small table. The place was fairly crowded. I think we took the last two chairs in the place. Anyway, there we were, at this pub and after the second ale, we were beginning to feel no pain.

Can I ask you something, I said, looking Jed straight in the eyes.

Sure, shoot.

Why are you here?

He smiled and shook his head.

Well, . . . I said, urging an answer out of him.

What kind of question is that?

I think it’s a fair one. What actually happened in Vermont? You never really explained.

You mean, between the two of us?

Jed, I know what happened between the two of us. I was there, remember!

So, what are you asking?

Well, I mean . . . What happened? Sure, we spent a lot of time together. I thought I knew you pretty well by the time I left. We had some pretty incredible conversations, mostly about your life. Yet, you never mentioned your wife. The sex between us was good. I found you extremely attractive, right from the start. It was nice. We were fuck buddies, but friends too. That was good. It was okay. You said yourself that you didn’t think that you could handle anything heavier. The next thing I know, you’ve been thrown out of your home, by a wife you never told me about. Your moving in with your parents, and then your coming to Europe with me! How did all of this happen?

It just did, was his answer. Bobby, we’ve talked about this before. I’m here with you because I care about you. A lot. There are times when I can’t stop thinking about you, some crazy thing you did, like the time you fell in the creek in the middle of the night. Keeping it light, mostly a friendship, I still think that that’s about all I can handle. Until I get my life in some sort of order. Yet, I couldn’t just let you go away to Europe, and not see you anymore.

I never had a problem with the friendship thing.

I never said that you did.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, and then he continued. Remember that day we went to the beach?

Yeah. I did. He took me to this narrow strip of beach along the lake up in Burlington. We had gone there for a picnic lunch, and another one of our endless talks. While we were walking, we ran into a friend of his, a guy he knew from one of his few trips to Burlington’s gay bars.

Remember that guy we ran into, Fred, he asked.

"Yes.’

Well, Fred used to hit on me. I wasn’t interested in him. He was too much of a queen. I guess, he got jealous when he saw us together. He went and told Robin, my wife, that he saw me with my new boyfriend from New York.

What?

They went to High School together, and have been friends ever since. Well, that just started everything. No matter what I said, she just wouldn’t believe that we weren’t sleeping together.

Jed . . . Wait, Jed, what do you mean? We were sleeping together. There might not have been any strings attached, but there was definitely sex.

"I know that, but I didn’t need for her to know it. Anyway, she blew up. She was throwing my things out of the window. I couldn’t stop her. As I’m putting my bags in the car, in front of all of the neighbors, she yells out, ‘I’d get an Aids test if I were you’ . . . It was too much. I didn’t know what to do. I guess my automatic response was to run home to mom and dad. Then, I got there, and was even more unhappy. Of course, I turned to you. You were the only thing left that made me happy. You made me smile. When you told me, over the phone, about Europe, it was strange, it just seemed as if of course I’d go with you. It seemed like the natural thing to do. Even afterwards, when I’d had a chance to think