Smoke Drink F*#k
Screw Eat, Pray Love!
Esme Oliver vows to Smoke, Drink, and Fuck her way to happiness.
Newly-dumped, staring headlong into the barrel of 40, and veering towards a nervous breakdown, Esme heads to Italy for two weeks of carnal excess aimed at distracting from a life that is crumbling all around her. It is there that she meets the much younger Fernando, an Italian stallion who appears to be just the diversion Esme’s looking for. Only problem is they fall in love. Or so Esme thinks.
Based on a true story, Smoke, Drink, Fuck, winner, Best Memoir, of the Southwest Writer’s Competition is the hilarious, outlandish and inspiring story of one fed-up woman’s journey from desperation to liberation. As she finds and loses love, uncovers what it really means to be independent, and discovers why no amount of praying does the trick of one great fuck.
He has a cherub face, wide brown-black saucer eyes, a little bit of scruff on the chin. Preppy yet edgy—an untucked, cobalt blue gingham shirt and dark blue tailored jeans, no socks, navy penny loafers. His hair is curly jet black and a bit greasy. He rubs his fingers through it over and over again pushing it from his glossy forehead to the back of his head.
He pulls my arm—pulling me to the small tall wooden table with two chairs right outside the restaurant. I immediately stand up and shift back and forth a bit on my heels and toes and pull at my hair nervously.
But I can’t seem to stand still. There is just something. Pulling me toward him like a magnet. I can’t stop looking at him. Yet, I can’t imagine I am seeing this situation right. I really look like utter hell, and I am so incredibly tired. Is this really happening? How could he possibly be interested in me?
He grabs the very top of my right wrist, pulling me into his chair, and kisses my fingers. “You are so beautiful. You are so, so beautiful. What is your name? ”
I stare back at him. Saying and doing nothing.
“What is your name?” He whispers it again pronouncing each syllable.
“Esme… that is a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.” I smile.
“I am Fernando.”
He extends his hand, and I take it feeling a jolt surge through my body.
“Hello.” I smile again.
I have no idea what to say. I can’t even believe this is happening.
“I love your eyes. Your blue eyes.” Wow. At least he got the color right. The last two men I dated thought they were green.