Fool's Gold

by PJ Skinner

  Long after midnight, the party started to wind down. Even the hardened veterans of Calderon nightlife had finally given in to the combined excesses of drink and coke that formed the backbone of any decent fiesta in the capital. Some people left. Others crashed where they sat, their necks at grotesque angles on the low-backed sofas. Everywhere, the full ashtrays leaked lipstick-stained cigarette butts onto tables and floors. Cut crystal whisky glasses glinted from under the plants on the veranda. Outside, the crickets deafened those who had ventured out into the starry, early morning. Sam sat on the stone steps amid the cacophony of competing insects and frogs. She had wanted to go back to the flat for over two hours now but had been unable to persuade anyone to take her. Gloria was no help. It was simple to get her to go to a party but persuading her to leave was a different proposition. She had been vomiting in the bathroom most of the evening and kept coming out to refill herself with the same fluids she had expelled.

  Sam stood up in the garden in the moonlight and gauged her ability to balance on the wobbly garden steps. She staggered back into the house to look for Gloria. She was surprised to find her in the bathroom snorting coke with Alfredo, who had emerged from his self-imposed exile and was fumbling with Gloria’s outer clothing in a way that suggested that he had never undressed a woman without help before. He was looking at her shirt buttons with disgust and seemed to be contemplating ripping the blouse open. Gloria was oblivious. As usual, she was puffy-faced with large, damp circles of mascara around her eyes. There was vomit on her sleeve, and her jeans had a big, red wine stain at the crotch.

  ‘Hello, Gloria,’ said Sam. ‘Are you ready to go home yet?’

  Gloria was leaning against the wall and had temporarily lost control of her head, which hung from her neck like that of a strangled chicken. She twisted it enough to see who was talking and smiled malevolently.

  ‘Not yet, Sam. Another half hour.’

  This was what she had said every half hour for the last two hours, and Sam knew her well enough now to be sure that Gloria was staying on to spite her. She developed a malicious streak when she drank. The more Sam wanted to go home, the less Gloria would feel like going. Sam had returned to wandering around in the garden when Gloria appeared in the doorway and said, ‘So, let’s go, then.’ She spun on her heel and walked into the doorframe before staggering towards the front door. Sam was a bit alarmed by her friend’s drunken state but couldn’t bear to stay any longer. She would try to make sure they drove with care. Slipping out of the party and into the dark yard, she saw that Gloria was already backing out of her parking space. Alfredo had taken possession of the front seat of the car, so she slid into the back seat where she was enveloped in a cloud of whisky fumes and cigarette smoke. Gloria took a swig from a half bottle of scotch, which she dangled over her shoulder offering it to Sam. Sam refused as politely as she could. Gloria passed the bottle to Alfredo in the front seat. Grasping the bottle, he manoeuvred his seat into a supine position so that he could leer at Sam. He winked at her and gave her a lovely crinkly smile. He was the definition of a caution. Sam couldn’t help beaming back.

  ‘Me llamo, Alfredo,’ he said, seemingly unaware that he knew Sam quite well.

  ‘Y yo, Sam,’ she answered, and as an afterthought, ‘Seatbelts everyone.’ Gloria obeyed immediately as she was used to Sam’s bizarre obsession with seatbelt wearing. Alfredo started to fumble with his in a confused manner.

  Gloria set off for Calderon and was soon shouting drunken abuse at no discernible target. The car swerved alarmingly around the potholes on the rural road. Soon, it was rising up the s-bends that led up over the tops of the peaks that surrounded the main area of the city. There were a lot of road works near the top of the hills. The steepness of the terrain, the rape of the forests and the torrential rain had all contributed to constant landslides, which were apt to sweep the roads and houses away like a child knocking down a sandcastle at a beach. The present roadwork was a result of the old entry road disappearing down the valley, taking with it a couple of buses full of people during rush hour a few months before.

  Faced with the complex one-way system, Gloria’s driving became a little more measured. There were no streets lights. A power cut had plunged the valley into gloom, which was exacerbated by an early morning fog that sat on the road like translucent meringue in the headlights. Alfredo was fast asleep, rocked in his seat by the constant cornering. The road became wider, and Sam relaxed. There wasn’t another car in sight. They were safe enough on this broad back road into town. She gazed up at the vertical walls of rock lining the road and tried to spot orchids, a trick she often used when travelling in Gloria’s car at ludicrous speed. Gloria started to brake for the next corner, but the car didn’t slow down.

  She shouted, ‘Jesus, the fucking brakes have gone!’ and swerved to the left throwing the car into a lower gear. She fought the car around the corner, but it started to skid. Sam grabbed the seat in front of her. She tried not to panic. They were going to crash. She braced herself for impact.

  The crash happened in slow motion. The car was thrown in the air and landed on its roof, which caved in on one side, almost knocking Sam out. The car spun elegantly across the highway and came to a stop on its roof in the darkness. For a moment, the silence was broken only by the car stereo playing ‘You’re So Vain’ by Carly Simon. Sam moved. She wasn’t dead. She knew this because her arm hurt and then she heard Gloria singing along to the radio as if nothing had happened. There was a pool of liquid in the roof of the car. Gloria started to giggle.

  ‘Are we dead?’

  Sam considered her answer with care before deciding on, ‘We’d better try and get out.’

  Gloria’s window was still open, and her side of the car was not as flat as the passenger side. They managed to get out of their seat belts and lower themselves on to the roof of the car without incident, and Gloria slipped outside through the window. Sam had to fold down the front seat and slide out over it to emerge out onto the road. They sat there dazed when Sam realised they were missing someone. ‘Where’s Alfredo?’

  ‘Jesus, I forgot. Can you look inside the car? I’m too drunk.’

  Sam lay on her front and slid back into the car. She was concerned that the warm liquid might be petrol and was sure that the car would explode like they did in the movies. She reached out and switched off the radio, causing a yell of protest from Gloria. She switched on the internal light on the roof. In the small space between the erstwhile roof of the car and the passenger seat, she spotted Alfredo’s jacket. He seemed to be still in his seat hanging upside down. She managed to grab his collar and pulled hard, but she couldn’t move him. His seatbelt was on, as she had demanded. She was amazed at his compliance since most men in Calderon took the wearing of a seatbelt as a challenge to their masculinity. She strained to release the catch, and as it gave way, Alfredo fell down onto the roof head first. Sam knew that she must be quite drunk to have forgotten about gravity. The fall revived Alfredo, who had been asleep.

  ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Where are we?’ He struggled to right himself enough to see Sam, who was sprawled on the upturned roof. She offered him her hand, and then pulling him with one hand, she pushed herself out of the car backwards through the whiskey onto the road with the other. Alfredo had a wiry build and slid across the inside of the roof with surprising ease.

  When they emerged, Gloria was sitting on the road smoking a cigarette and fiddling with her shirt. She was trying to work out which button went into which hole, a task that appeared to be an insurmountable puzzle in her state. She appeared totally unconcerned by their situation and apparently unsurprised to find herself sitting in the middle of the road beside an upturned car at four o’clock in the morning. Her heavily made-up face was screwed up in concentration as she tried to brush off the dust that had stuck to the blood on the material.

  She was used to being in trouble. The only daughter of the eldest son of one of the most powerful families in Calderon, Gloria had been protec
ted from the realities of life in Sierramar by a cushion of almost limitless wealth. She was prone to getting into a pickle and experienced at using her position to extract herself from it.

  ‘What happened?’ said Sam.

  ‘The brakes failed,’ said Gloria.

  ‘What are we going to do? We should notify the police.’

  ‘No. You must go now. I’ll deal with this. You can’t be here.’

  ‘But I can’t leave you both here. There must be procedures that should be followed.’

  ‘Yes, there are, but you can’t be here or, as a foreigner, they’ll blame you and try to make you pay a lot of money because you’ve been drinking. I’m the expert here, Sam. You have to trust me. You must go now before it’s too late. I promise you it’ll be all right.’

  Alfredo nodded sagely, or maybe drunkenly. Sam was unconvinced.

  ‘But it’s the middle of the night. Will you be safe?’

  ‘Sam, my father is a powerful man in Calderon. I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand are a foreigner and a target for fines and corruption. You must leave now.’

  Gloria, who appeared to have sobered up in an instant, was adamant. She flagged down a passing cab.

  ‘Can you take this woman to 2256 Avenida Miranda, please?’

  ‘But she’s been in an accident. I can’t take her. What will the police say?’

  ‘The police will not know the difference. I’m the daughter of Hernan Sanchez. You should do as I tell you.’

  ‘Señora Sanchez! I didn’t recognise you. Of course I will.’

  ‘Good man, take this for your trouble.’

  Gloria gave him a twenty-dollar bill, a fortune, and Sam got into the cab. The driver left. Sam was in a state of shock. She couldn’t believe that Gloria had managed to get her to leave. Gloria had been persuasive but Sam had not been able to understand why the taxi driver had agreed to take her. It was nice to know that someone cared about her. She turned around in the seat and peered out through the back window. Gloria was smoking a cigarette with Alfredo beside the upturned car. She looked perfectly calm and leaned in for a kiss.

  Chapter XIII

  Sam woke with a start. The sun was forcing itself through the sheets that she had wrapped around her head. She sat upright in the bed. It was as if someone was shining lasers in her eyes, dazing her for a moment. Then she remembered the crash. She examined herself carefully but found no bruises. Had it been a bad dream? If so, it had been very vivid. Dragging herself into the shower, she discovered that there was a piece of skin missing from her elbow when the water flowed over the wound and made her yelp. She felt for it with her finger. It was wet and sticky and made her feel sick. She dressed at a snail’s pace, frightened to emerge out of her bedroom into the apartment and face the music. She wandered into the office, she met Marta, who was worrying her quiff with a round brush. Sam kissed her hello and wished her good morning.

  Mike sat at the dining table eating a slice of toast with a thick butter covering. He looked up. ‘You all right, Sam? You look a bit rough, girl. That Gloria will kill you one of these days.’

  Sam looked straight into his eyes, which stung like hell against the bright light of the window behind him, but she could see that he wasn’t joking or angry.

  ‘I feel pretty rough. Have you heard from Gloria this morning?’

  ‘No. I guess she’s still snuggling up to Alfredo under her pink eiderdown. She’ll arrive in her own sweet time. There’s no hurry.’

  She had been the only one who didn’t know about Gloria and Alfredo. Not for the first time, she wondered why everyone else had such an easy time pairing off. She also noticed that Mike was conversant with Gloria’s bed linen, but she didn’t comment. Shuffling to the table, she helped herself to some toast. She tried to figure out why no-one knew or cared about the crash but decided not to say anything unless she had to. Some dry toast and black tea quelled her urge to vomit. She noticed Tati hanging around the kitchen door, staring at her as if she was naked. Maybe Gloria had already told Tati what had happened? Why didn’t Mike know yet?

  When car crash was not mentioned all morning, Sam assumed that it was another example of the odd culture in Calderon and got on with planning the trip to Riccuarte. Mike was both meticulous and miserly with his funds. The trip was being planned to the last cent. Sam, who remembered her shared room with Wilson and did not want to repeat the experience, decided to bring extra cash to fund the inevitable shortfall. She got Marta’s cooperation to raid the petty cash fund.

  ‘What do you mean he’s not paying you? Are you married to him or something?’

  ‘It’s a long story Marta, not one we have time for now. Can you help me?’

  ‘Sure, give me the receipts later and I’ll add them to the accounts. He won’t make a fuss. It’s not his money and it’s a genuine business expense.’

  Gloria swanned in at lunchtime acting like she always did. There was no sign that the accident had affected her in any way. She obviously didn’t intend to tell Mike anything about their mishap. Sam caught her eye and eventually managed to get her into the kitchen without Marta, who hated to be left out of any gossip.

  ‘What happened after I left? Did the police arrive? Are you in trouble for driving drunk?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. The police wouldn’t dare. My father has dealt with them in his own way. They won’t make any trouble.’

  ‘Okay, that’s great,’ said Sam not understanding how this had been achieved and not wanting to ask as she suspected that she already knew the answer and wouldn’t approve. ‘Doesn’t the car belong to your father? Wasn’t he cross?’

  ‘My father is glad that I’m safe and not at all worried about the car. He has lots of cars and he’s given me another car to replace it.’

  ‘Are you going to tell Mike about the accident?’

  ‘No, I’m not, and you can’t either, in case he fires me for nearly killing you both. If Alfredo had died, the treasure hunt would have died, too. Can you imagine Mike’s reaction?’

  Sam could imagine all too clearly.

  ‘I won’t tell him. Are you sure everything’s going to be okay?’

  ‘Everything will be fine. My father’s so relieved that I have a job, he’s prepared to pay anything for me to keep it.’

  ‘That’s great news,’ said Sam. ‘Your father’s a legend.’

  ‘You have to stop me from drinking so much. I feel awful this morning.’

  ‘Sure, and get stabbed with a cocktail stick.’

  They laughed. Then Gloria looked perplexed.

  ‘It’s weird, though.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The garage changed the brakes and refilled the brake fluid in my car last month. They shouldn’t have failed so soon. I gave the mechanics a severe talking to this morning. They promised to check them today and get back to me when they find the problem.’

  ‘Hmmm. With my limited experience of customer service in Calderon, I’m sorry to say that I don’t think it’s that weird,’ said Sam. This witticism did not induce a smile. Sarcasm was lost in translation in Sierramar. Gloria left the office with Marta to buy the final supplies for the trip. Alfredo arrived soon afterwards. He was still drunk and not making a lot of sense. Mike made him lie down in the spare room and shut the door.

  ***

  Wilson came into the office later that afternoon and found all the obvious preparations for a trip. He was surprised to find Alfredo in the kitchen drinking some strong coffee but covered it up by making a coarse joke. He saw the boxes of provisions in the back kitchen and his heart quickened.

  ‘What’s happening here?’ he asked. ‘Are you going on a trip?’

  ‘It’s all very exciting...’ started Alfredo but was cut off by Mike.

  ‘We are financing a dig for Alfredo. He wants to know if the Incas ever got to Esmeraldas Province.’

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ said Wilson. ‘I can organise workers and canoes and transport for you.’

  ‘Can you
help Alfredo get set up in Riccuarte? He won’t need you after that.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure.’

  ‘Okay, then that’s settled. Marta, can you budget for another on the trip, please?’

  Marta nodded, avoiding Wilson’s searching glance. He joined the dots in his head. Bingo! Something was going on, and now he was involved.

  ***

  Wilson and Alfredo were sitting at the kitchen table together when Gloria and Marta came back from shopping. When Wilson saw them come in, he stood up suddenly, scraping the chair on the kitchen tiles and stumbling backwards. He grabbed the counter to stop himself from falling. He had gone a funny colour.

  ‘Are you all right, Wilson?’ said Alfredo.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. I thought I saw a vision.’

  Alfredo, who knew all about Wilson’s appetite for women like Marta, accepted this as the fine art of exaggeration for the sake of effect and went on drinking his coffee. Wilson appeared unsettled by this incident, and after a couple of circuits of the office space, he left, muttering excuses.

  ‘What’s wrong with Wilson?’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh, un coup de foudre, I think,’ answered Alfredo. ‘He likes Marta. Well, actually, he likes all women, I think.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Sam, who tried not to show her alarm at this turn of events. On one hand, she was relieved. Their little chat seemed to have convinced him that she had no interest in him. On the other hand, she was horrified that he had focussed his attention on his next victim already. Marta giggled and flicked her hair from side to side, glad to be the centre of attention.