by SJ Cavaletti
Angelica did sleep like a rock, she often took sleep aids so I wasn’t too concerned that she would awaken when I slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom. I had a quick shower and popped into some clothes that I had strategically placed there the night before.
Taking the 5 block walk to my local tea shop that day, I was filled with butterflies and wonder. One thing that being a dancer does to a woman is take away a lot of life’s mystery. When you ARE the mystery, it does take a bit of fun away, already knowing the answer to the conundrum that is human relationships. Perhaps this was why so many dancers had relationships in which they argued… it was the only adrenaline rush available. I looked at the overcast sky and felt so lucky to have that little piece of paper in my hand. The most fabulous unsolved mystery I could have come across:
Abby Arias (800) 567-2189
Just a woman’s name and toll free phone number.
I pushed open the door to the cafe and was acutely aware of the tinkling bell and it’s fairy-like sound. The smile of the teamaker had never looked so warm and I waited without anticipation. For once, I was fully present. The whole world took on a different hue. I carefully took my steaming hot tea and sat in an armchair in front of the gaslit fireplace. It was 9:30am and my cinnamon flavored elixir was doing a great job evaporating the mist on my jacket. I took the card Carlos had given me from my purse and looked at it again. It seemed like the Golden Ticket.
And a lot like Charlie, I knew that there were a lot of unanswered questions about this unknown character called Carlos. While I was happy to let those wait to be answered, others disrupted my bliss. The questions suddenly flowed quickly and freely. How could I possibly just call this Abby lady? What on earth would I say? How would I explain why I was calling? Surely Carlos wouldn’t have said that I was some random stripper? Who was Abby anyway?
And then… Should I even be calling him? Do you really like him, Ana? Why are you even considering meeting a guy outside the club? Isn’t this a disaster waiting to happen? What does he want from me?
Finally, the most surprising question of all: what made Carlos think I would be awake before noon?!
In the end, I found myself staring at my cell phone. I took a deep breath. One, two, three, dial.
“Good morning, this is Abby,” a serious voice said of the other end.
“Hi, Abby, this is Ana, I…” didn’t have to continue.
“Yes, Ana. I’ve been expecting your call. I’ve been instructed to tell you that you will need one change of clothes, evening wear, and other bare necessities to be packed in a case no larger than a carry-on you would fit in overhead. You will be picked up at noon today but I will need your address to arrange the car.”
What was I getting myself, into?! I hesitated. There was still time to hang up. But deep down inside I was intrigued and the truth was, I wasn’t afraid and really did want to see this man again.
“Yes, of course,” I said, “It’s 1369 Hyde Street.”
“Perfect. Thank you. Any further questions, please call me.”
“Ok, thank you.”
“Good day,” she said and hung up.
I put my cell into my lap and stared at the fire opposite my table. Overnight? Did I just agree to an overnight date with a man I only sort of got to know in the span of an hour at a strip club? Why was he worth such an epic breech of my own personal contract?
I wondered if I should call back and explain to Abby that I wasn’t able to be away for an overnight and to ask if there was an alternative. But that wasn’t a possibility without raising concerns with her… she would have to consult Carlos, he would have to explain why his instructions were met with negotiation. Ugh. That was it; I was heading home to pack a bag.
And the explanation for Angelica wasn’t going to be easy. I took nanosips of my tea contemplating excuses and passing time so that I could be in a hurry when I returned to the apartment.
Staring at the fire, I saw it’s dancing flames and wondered how this all transpired between me and Carlos. Fire is started because there is a fuel source and oxygen and they together come into contact with something that ignites a chemical reaction between them. We all have that fuel and oxygen inside of us. We all want to be loved and we all want to love something- fuel and oxygen. But what ignites the actual flame in coming into contact with a match, friction, lightening… something that is already burning. I wondered who provided the initial heat between me and Carlos?
For the first time ever, I became hopeful about my ability to love and be loved. It was possible even, that I possessed the flame. This filled me with a joy that I had never before experienced. The joy buzzed around in my body. My skin purred, my lips curled upward. I was happy.
Fortunately, when I returned to the flat at eleven, Angelica was still snoring like a man beast, which for me indicated that she had taken an Ambien to induce sleep last night. She always snored when she took sleep aids. This was usually bad news for me as the noise penetrated my dreams but today I was thankful. She slept right through my packing, my primping and my clinking breakfast dishes.
I wrote a note saying, “See you tomorrow. Mwah.” I had hoped she wouldn’t question anything as she had a dog so she usually headed back as soon as she woke around noon. It was going to be a near miss on the stoop.
I waited on my doorstep in the chilly, misty air at 11:55am. I came from a family where on time meant fifteen minutes early but having moved to California, adjusted my internal clock a bit. People were usually ten minutes late, or more for that matter. I hoped Carlos was different as my bare legs poked out of my southern California sundress and were covered in goosebumps.
At twelve 0’ clock on the dot, a black Bentley pulled up and behind the steering wheel was a man I did not recognize. He was about sixty and definitely not Carlos. Oh God, a whole community knows about me, I thought. Then I almost instantly reasoned that could only be a good thing. Surely if Carlos was a murderer (something surely Jamie would have told me to consider) the perfect crime would have been executed solo.
The driver got out of the car, tipped his head and said, “Hello. I’m Gus.”
“Nice to meet you, Gus. I’m guessing you already know I’m Ana,” I said and gave a nervous, short laugh.
He then opened the passenger door where I could see Carlos’ legs. I felt a huge sense of relief and comfort in seeing even a body part of this man. I hadn’t wanted to make small talk with Gus for more than that moment on the curb.
Getting into the car, there was a moment of uncertainty and I wondered if I would still be the same gal he remembered from the night before. I had hardly spent time today glamming up with fake eyelashes and bright red lipstick. In fact, I wasn’t one to wear a huge amount of makeup outside of the club or a night out. On a day- to-day basis a bit of lip gloss and mascara was my routine.
He instantly put me at ease, “Wow. You are even more beautiful bare faced.”
I crinkled my nose and blushed. “Thanks. I did actually wonder if you’d recognize me.”
He laughed. “I’d recognize you with my eyes closed.”
Tingly feelings returned. Gus got back in the front and closed his door. A privacy screen came out of nowhere. Once it was in situ, Carlos said, “There is one thing I should have asked before leaving last night though,” he said, “What is your real name?”
I shook my head, “You won’t believe me but it’s Ana. I use my real name in the club.”
“You use your real name,” he said with a bit of disbelief.
“Yeah. I know it isn’t status quo, managers give me a funny look when I fill out my paperwork. But, it’s better that way.”
“Why’s that?” Carlos asked curiously.
The car began to drive off and I took one last look at my apartment building. Bye, bye old life. I turned to Carlos.
“Well, it’s a funny story actually. When I went to my first club, to audition, I knew almost nothing about these types of clubs. I hadn’t realized that girls used stage names so
I hadn’t really thought of one to use. I sat in the dressing room with the house mom at that particular club, in New York, and she said she needed to tell the DJ my name before I went on stage; what was it? I had no clue what to say and a couple girls that were around me in the dressing room started to blurt out names I should use. There were only two suggestions: both not great names in my opinion. Fiona and Ursula. I chose the lesser of two evils: Fiona. Anyway, I got hired that night and as they were short on girls the manager asked me to stay. I was so unprepared for that night,” I paused and reflected on the hilarious experience.
“Anyway, every time they called ‘Fiona’ on stage, I was late because they had to come and find me; I just wasn’t listening out for this random name that supposedly belonged to me. I also struggled to remember this alias when customers asked who I was and the awful hesitation after they asked me what my name was… so amateur. This is not to mention the DJ was annoyed because he had lapses in entertainment. The managers of course were not happy about this and told me if I wanted to stay I would have to learn not to be late to stage. So after my night of follies, I decided I’d just use my real name. Makes messing up nearly impossible.”
Carlos laughed and smiled heartily. “You are so cute.”
“Is that cute?” I asked. “I have thought that night was my thickest moment ever.”
“No. It’s very cute. Says a lot about you,” he said
“Oh it does, does it?”
“Yes. You want to be seen,” he said.
We both paused, looking at each other’s eyes, a moment where most would look away but he was the headlights and I was the deer. I had spent so many years trying not to be seen but his statement shocked me out of that lie and into the truth.
I changed the subject, not ready for that conversation without alcohol. “So where are we going?”
“I used to own some circus schools, about twenty years ago. Before it became really stylish and fashionable. During that time I met a lot of would be Cirque trainers and performers as they came to experiment on our apparatus. Funny enough, Simon, who you spoke with last night used to be a high flying trapeze teacher.”
“Really? I can’t see that kind of recklessness in him. Huh. So, ‘Cirque’ as in Cirque du Soleil,” I said.
“Is there any other?”
“Apparently not. I’ve seen a couple shows… I’m a huge fan. In fact, I think in my wildest imagination I’d love to be the vocal lead for a show. They’re mostly operating in the background but gosh, the music really makes it.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Can you sing?”
“No. Not at all. I’m terrible really. Seriously nearly tone deaf. But I do love music… but we can talk about that later… I’d like to know where we are going, please,” I said, biting my lip in exaggerated anticipation.
“Yes. Of course,” he said, patting my thigh, “As I was saying, I have a few friends in the Cirque world and I’ve called to see if we can go to a preview of the show that’s opening in LA.”
“We’re driving to L.A. right now?”
“No, we’ll be flying.”
Oh. My. God. What am I doing? I’m about to get on a plane with this guy? But my hesitation was for only a millisecond because as crazy as it seemed, everything felt normal with Carlos. For the next hour we talked about circus and opera and the Arts (all things I had experienced completely alone) all the way to a private airport in San Rafael as though we did this all the time and flying around for a date was perfectly normal.
As we pulled up to a hanger and Gus parked up I looked out at a shiny, white jet with ‘Hugo’ written on the side.
“It’s a Bombardier Challenger 350. Not a big one. It’s my puddle jumper,” he said.
“Oh I suppose you have others then?”
He lifted his eyebrows. I guessed that meant ‘yes.’
“So, are you going to be flying today?” I asked him. I wouldn’t have put it past him to be a pilot.
“No. No. Not me. Now we really are joking. I can’t even drive a car! Otherwise I would have been a true gentleman and picked you up for our date myself.”
“You never learned to drive,” I said, somewhat astounded that a man who had the means to buy an airplane wasn’t able to somehow pass his driving test.
“Long story. If you stick around I’ll tell you them all.”
Gus opened the door for me and gave me a hand, which I took, trying hard to get out as elegantly as possible. I had chosen a skirt made of thin, wispy fabric that required attention to stay over my butt in the breeze. Carlos let himself out the other door, came around and offered me his arm.
The Cuban Unravelled
After stopping in the private airport checkpoint and what felt like a mile long walk to the aircraft, we settled into two comfortable armchairs. There were about eight seats in total and needless to say, there were no other passengers. I wondered who else had borrowed these seats to go off on a mysterious adventure. Gus fiddled around with our cases then brought us two glasses of champagne and put the rest of the bottle on ice. He then took a seat as far away from us as possible, swiveled it, turning his back on us. He picked up a newspaper.
The pilot came on the intercom, “Mr. Ferrera the skies are clear and we are in for a smooth ride. Welcome aboard sir, we’ve missed you round these parts.”
Carlos smiled at that and then took up his glass.
“Hopefully this is the first of many more,” he said to me.
I took a small sip. Drinking in the daytime wasn’t something that suited me. The fuzzy feeling almost made me feel instantly ill when the sun was out. And moreover, it reminded me of my Mom’s worst side. I felt obligated but figured that with a whole bottle next to us, I should maybe stick to this particular resolution.
“I don’t usually drink in the daytime,” I said.
“You must get awfully dehydrated,” he joked, “Gus,” Gus turned around in his chair, peering over his paper, “Could you please bring Ana some water and a few soft drinks to choose from?”
He did as he was asked, politely, diligently, with a smile. He seemed delighted to work for Carlos; hardly bothered that he had only just opened his Chronicle. As if out of thin air, he seamlessly produced a Coke, Sprite, a smoothie of some sort and a bottle of water. I thanked him and off he went back to his sports page.
I guessed he was a trusted long-term employee but still, with Gus sitting only several feet away I was cautious not to mention last night. I couldn’t help but be preoccupied by what Gus thought brought me here. It made my stomach turn a bit as I questioned how many other women Carlos may have met in the very same way. But I put it out of my mind. The only time is the present. I needed to enjoy myself. I highly doubted I would ever sit in a private jet again in my life.
“So, will you be telling me the story of how it is you don’t have a driver’s license?”
He laughed his gorgeous laugh, “I knew you’d fixate on that. Oh dear. Yes, well, I grew up in Cuba as I already mentioned.”
“Yeah. Forgive me but I thought Americans and Cubans weren’t able to travel back and forth… sorry, I feel like an idiot admitting that I don’t understand how that works. Math major and all…”
“Don’t mind. I love playing teacher. So…Cubans could come here but not the other way around. In fact, there were a lot of migration opportunities for those seeking refuge in the U.S.. My family was allowed to emigrate through the Cuban Adjustment Act which basically allowed Cubans who stayed to reside for one year in the States and become permanent residents.”
I knew so little about this. Mental note to Google it.
“So back to the drivers license. Cuba was a strange place growing up, a bad place some would say. My family was educated, and my father actually fled when I was about five, in advance of the rest of us, my brother and two sisters and my Mama. He had hoped to set up a business in the U.S. before we arrived so that we did not end up as ‘common laborers,’ which was something he feared for us for whatever reason.
He was a proud man, too proud for his own good really. He shouldn’t have ever split up the family. But he did succeed in building a business only to find out that my Mother refused to move us until her own Mother died in the comfort of her homeland with her friends around her. We were in Cuba, fatherless, for twelve years without him because my Nana, although ill at the time when my Mother refused to leave, was the little engine that could. She just kept on going and going. An iron lady. My parents suffered more than they thought due to their independent promises; we could not really visit each other due to immigration laws on both sides.”
His story captivated me. Not long ago I had seen a photo in a magazine of the wall between Mexico and the U.S. The photo was of family members touching fingers through a fence there; they were allowed to do so by patrol officers once per week. It was heart-breaking. It brought out so many feelings within me. Not only sympathy for those at the gate but also wanting; how I longed for my father to want to reach out and touch my fingers with such desire for connection.
Just thinking about that article and hearing Carlos’ story was making my eyes melt. I had to hold back the tears that were forming in my bottom lids. He looked deeply at my face and we shared an empathic moment. He leaned over and caressed the tops of my hands that were sitting on the table between us and my body felt that sleepy comfort once again. The tears evaporated. Then he pulled his hands softly back to his lap.
“It was so hard on my Mother but she was a true matriarch. Hence she created hard rules that she believed would keep us all alive and well until we reunited. No driving was one of her rules. My sisters and I actually weren’t even old enough to care as it wasn’t an issue but my brother argued to no end!”
“She must be a strong woman,” I said.
He nodded his head up and down in agreement.
“So what then, Carlos? You moved to the States but still didn’t want to learn to drive?”
“Gosh America’s obsession with gasoline!”