My Love Betrayed

by April Lynn Kihlstrom

  We stood at the base of the moon pyramid, and I remember thinking that it was as impressive as the mountains that rose in the distance behind it. Even in the hot sun, I felt a chill as I wondered at the men who had built such a massive monument.

  Rick’s voice broke into my thoughts. “It’s almost obligatory to climb the pyramid of the sun, so we won’t climb this one.” I must have looked horrified at the thought of doing any climbing, for Rick grinned and added, “C’mon, girl, you can do it!”

  Okay. So sometimes I was too stubborn for my own good. But after that, I wasn’t going to tell Rick I couldn’t climb the pyramid. Instead, I promised myself I would do it if it killed me. And I started taking very deep breaths as we headed toward the sun pyramid, with its many steps.

  It wasn’t a bad climb. Rick stayed with me every time I stopped to rest and kept encouraging me. The view from the top was magnificent, and I turned to point something out in the distance. It was then that I realized Rick was gone. Quickly, I looked around, trying to spot him. And couldn’t. First panic, then anger, chased through me. I would not let myself get upset just because Rick thought he was being funny! No doubt he expected me to come running down the steps and practically collapse in his arms.

  Well, I wouldn’t. Let him wait for me. Deliberately, I walked around the top of the pyramid. Slowly. Several times. I pretended a continuing interest in the view. I even struck up a conversation with a young woman from Australia. Then I slowly descended, taking lots of rest stops. Rick wasn’t waiting at the base, but then I didn’t really expect him to be.

  Feeling a bit worn out, I sat on a bench, thinking over exactly what I intended to say to Rick when I saw him. Only, I didn’t. See him, that is, although I must have waited close to an hour. Eventually, I gave up and headed back toward the car. Now I really grew worried. What if Rick’s car wasn’t where we had left it? And where was Rick, anyway?

  I would have forgotten my chess set if the young boy at the stall had not reminded me. Somewhat impatiently, I paid for it and waited while he wrapped the pieces, one by one. The boy eyed me oddly, finally saying, “You look to see senor, senorita?”

  “Si!” I said quickly.

  “Here soon,” the boy said firmly. “No reason for the senorita to worry. You drink something cold, yes?”

  I nodded warily, not sure I trusted the boy. But I did take his advice. One of the stalls sold cold soda and mineral water. After the climb, I was tired and thirsty and hungry. It was well past noon by now. And it did help, the mineral water. I felt much better afterward. If I couldn’t find Rick, and if his car was gone (presumably with him in it), I could probably find someone who would give me a ride back to Mexico City. And if Rick’s car was where we’d left it, and he didn’t show up soon well, I’d look for some sort of security guard and ask his help in finding Rick.

  The car was where we had left it. So all I had to do was find Rick. In the end, he found me, nervously leafing through postcards as I debated if he’d been gone long enough for me to ask for help.

  “Hi, Ellen,” he said as if nothing had happened.

  “Rick, where-” I began shrilly.

  “Ellen, let’s go,” he said pleasantly as his hand closed hard on my arm.

  I put back the postcards and went with him. Without a word, we strode to the car. Once inside, I said, “Did you have fun? Was that your idea of a joke? Abandoning me up there? Listen to me, Rick, I didn’t come all the way from Chicago for you to act like this!”

  I went on like that for a while. Rick listened to it all very patiently. When I ran out of breath, he said quietly, “Ellen, nothing could have happened to you up there. And I knew you had sense enough to take it easy coming down.”

  “But why?” I demanded. “Why did you leave me like that?”

  Rick flushed and looked very uncomfortable. Finally, he said, “Have you ever heard of Montezuma’s Revenge?”

  I stared at him for a moment before I understood. I had heard of Montezuma’s Revenge it meant his stomach was bothering him. “But-but you’ve been here several months already. I just thought it hit newcomers.”

  He grinned wryly. “I know. After a while you get careless, I guess. I ate some fruit in the park the other day, and now I’m paying for it.”

  “Oh, Rick, I’m sorry,” I said. Then I remembered the scene I had made, without even giving him a chance to explain. “Rick, I must have sounded like a shrew!”

  “Yes, but a lovable shrew,” he said.

  As he put the car in gear, I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I did have a big foot to stick in my mouth, didn’t I?

  We arrived back in town about three P.M.Rick dropped me off at the hotel. “I’ll be back about seven-thirty to pick you up for dinner,” he said. “Dress warm. We’ll be eating outdoors!”

  And with that strange comment, he drove away. I entered the lobby, rapidly considering my wardrobe. Rick hadn’t said whether pants would be appropriate or not. But I’d take a chance on my green pantsuit with a cream turtleneck. With a coat over that, I should be warm enough for anything.

  I was so deep in my thoughts that I almost bumped into someone. The elevator girl seemed slightly amused as I gave her the number of my floor.

  Rick knocked on my door a few minutes early that evening. I was still trying to decide whether to wear the earrings he had given me. I asked his advice.

  “Honey, that’s what I gave them to you for,” he said, with an easy laugh. Then, more seriously, he added, “You look beautiful, tonight.”

  “So do you,” I said. Then I laughed. “I mean, you look very good. Handsome.”

  Rick merely cocked his head, with a smile. He was always good-looking and I think he knew it. “Where are we going?” I asked as Rick helped me on with my coat.

  “Hotel de Cortes,” he replied. “Right across the park. Watch your purse, the park will be crowded, tonight.”

  I nodded, not really understanding what he meant. So when we got downstairs and stepped outside, I was caught unawares. The park was full of lights and laughter and people selling balloons. Duck balloons, turtle balloons, balloons of all sorts of complicated designs. Watching my face, Rick laughed with pleasure and, hearing his laughter, I laughed too.

  Rick took my arm, promising, “We’ll come back through the park, but right now I’d just like to get over to the restaurant, okay?”

  I nodded and we walked around the park. I could see Rick’s point. There were an awful lot of people in the park. Maybe later it would be less crowded.

  From the outside, the Hotel de Cortes was hardly impressive. But then, it was a seventeenth century building, Rick said. Inside was a beautiful courtyard, with flowers and plants, a lighted fountain, and even a Christmas tree. Tables filled the courtyard, but without crowding it. We sat in a corner and chatted quietly as we waited for the menu.

  Eventually, it came and, as Rick ordered things like avocado stuffed with shrimp, I wondered if his choices were wise. After our waiter left, I said something of the sort to Rick, who grinned and said, “Don’t worry. I stopped at a drugstore this afternoon and got something for my problem.”

  Well, the druggist would know. As the waiters moved among the tables, I leaned forward. “Rick, thank you for bringing me here. I love this place.”

  Rick smiled and took my hand. As he leaned forward, I froze. “What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously.

  “Nothing,” I said, but I leaned back.

  Seated at a nearby table was Senor Whitford, from the hotel. He had just raised his wineglass to me, with a mocking grin. Tossing my head slightly, I said to Rick, “Tell me about your work here. It must be fascinating setting up a new division.”

  Rick looked puzzled and not at all pleased as he answered, “Well, first I have to check over the hardware. I’m no technician, of course, but I’m more familiar with the stuff than most of the people who are supposed to be. Then I’ve got to work out the software. And you know what a problem the different computer languages c
an be.” I nodded, and he went on. “Well, I’ve also got to train the people here to understand what I’m doing or they’ll never be able to cope after I’ve gone. Plus, I’ve got to see that there are keypunchers, etc.”

  “About what I expected,” I conceded. “So you’re pretty important here. Craig wasn’t sure if it would really work out that way.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Rick said, leaning back. “I can pretty much come and go as I want. And the other guys work under me. Only trouble is, the natives don’t really respect my authority. They know that when I go back, they’ll be able to do pretty much what they want, and they aren’t willing to wait.”

  “That could be a problem.”

  “Sure is!” he flared.

  “But it’s nothing personal, is it?” I asked, unable to understand why he was so angry. “I mean, they probably just don’t like Americans. Maybe they’re jealous, that sort of thing.”

  Rick stared moodily at the table. “Yeah, but it doesn’t make my job any easier.”

  I nodded sympathetically. The food arrived then, interrupting our conversation for the moment. The meal was magnificent. I’d heard how hot Mexican food was, and how full of refried beans. Well, the hot spices were there if you wanted them but the meals I ate in Mexico were lightly seasoned, with tender meat or delicious seafood. So much for rumors. Even the coffee and pastries were excellent.

  Carefully, I tried to avoid looking at Senor Whitford. But I couldn’t help noticing he ate alone. Anyone else, I might have sympathized with. There was something so lonely about eating by oneself. Besides, this was a perfect place for lovers. Like Rick and me, I thought as I sipped my coffee. Again, it was as if Rick read my thoughts, for he turned and smiled at me. His eyes glistened in the dark, and I shivered under the intensity of his gaze. In a way, it frightened me.

  But he only said, “I’ll get the check, and we’ll go, okay?”

  I nodded.

  A few minutes later, we left the Hotel de Cortes and crossed over to the park. It was almost like a carnival, I thought as Rick put an arm around my waist to keep us from being separated. There were several people selling steamed corn on the cob and others with peanuts. I even saw cotton candy, though not the man who sold it. There were plastic toys and balloons and men dressed as Santa Claus, who for a few pesos would pose with you in their sleighs for a photograph. And everywhere there were babies and small children, fiercely clutching their balloons.

  I laughed and Rick’s voice was in my ear, “Pleased, love?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Would you like a balloon?”

  I nodded, my eyes running over the possibilities. Then I spied a huge one, in the shape of a caterpillar. “One like that!” I said, pointing.

  Rick nodded. “Right you are. Let’s find out who’s selling them.”

  Eventually, we found the woman, surrounded by children and their parents. Laughing, Rick bought a balloon and waited while she detached it from the bunch. “Not as elegant as earrings,” Rick teased, “but I see it gets a wider smile.”

  Feeling very happy, we edged our way to the traffic light and crossed over to my hotel. Rick left me at the front door, explaining, “I have to be up early. I took off today to show you the pyramids, but I want to get some work done tomorrow. While the place is quiet. So I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  I was disappointed, for I’d hoped we might have a final cup of coffee together. But I smiled. “Okay, Rick. I’ll see you then.”

  The elevator girl laughed when she saw me with the balloon, and I grinned. But a rough voice said, in English, “Will you please make room for someone else, Miss Steffee?”

  I looked up to see Senor Whitford. “Certainly,” I said frostily.

  We glared at each other all the way up. Fortunately, he got off before I did, and the elevator girl smiled at me sympathetically. So my spirits were recovered by the time I got to my room. I decided maybe I’d write some letters.

  I was up early again the next morning. Christmas Eve. I decided to spend the day at the National Museum of Anthropology. If I walked the few blocks to the Paseo de la Reforma, I could catch a bus that would go right there.

  After breakfast, I left, carrying my coat against a possible late-afternoon chill. Half an hour later, I was entering the museum. The Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City must be one of the finest in the world; whoever designed the layout did so with impressive efficiency. Sections lead from one to another, with no doubts as to whether one has missed a corridor or not.

  But I didn’t realize all that at once. I was still browsing in the preclassical section when I heard a voice at my shoulder. “My, my. Amazing who one sees here, isn’t it?”

  I knew, even before I turned, whom I would see. “Well, Senor Whitford. Good day. Yes, it is amazing. I certainly would never have expected to see you here. I simply assumed you spent all your time at the hotel, sneering at other guests and interfering in their affairs.”

  He flushed. “And you, Miss Steffee, have abominable manners! I’m sorry I tried to help you!”

  He turned on his heel and started away. But I couldn’t let that one pass. Catching up with him, I demanded, “What do you mean, help me?”

  Senor Whitford looked at me. After a moment, he said quietly, “Suppose we tour the museum together? I know it fairly well, Then, perhaps, I’ll explain.”

  I stared at him warily, then shrugged. Whatever his motives, he could hardly assault me here. And, somehow, I didn’t think I had to worry anyway.

  My opinion of Senor Whitford began to go up a little. He was a charming and witty guide. As he said, he knew the museum fairly well. Certainly he was more interesting than the guidebook I had purchased outside. By the way, Senor Whitford was not really senor, but mister. That is, he was an American. I was simply in the habit of calling him senor because the desk clerk at the hotel had addressed him that way. Senor Whitford seemed amused that I did so. At one point, he asked me why.

  I shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “I suppose because it puts a distance between us.”

  He laughed then, drawing a frown from the security guard. “You think there’s not enough distance now?” he asked, amused.

  I frowned and shrugged and turned away, pretending to study a statue behind the glass. I could feel him standing at my shoulder, though he said nothing, and it made me uneasy. Then, reflected in the glass of the case, I saw him frown as he studied me. A little too brightly, I said, “What’s over there?”

  Smoothly, he answered my question and we moved on.

  By early afternoon, we still had not seen everything on the ground floor. “Perhaps we should take a break for lunch,” Senor Whitford suggested. I hesitated and he said impatiently, “Come on. I don’t intend to go any further now. I’m hungry, even if you’re not.”

  “Okay, I am hungry.” I nodded.

  The cafeteria at the museum was quite crowded, but we managed to find a table. It was in the back, and a little quieter than some of the others. I pretended to study the menu as Senor Whitford openly studied me. “Shall I order for you?” he suggested.

  “No!” My voice was clipped.

  He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he continued to study me. Eventually, a waitress came and took our orders and Senor Whitford spoke again. “Well, will you tell me a little about yourself, Ellen?”

  I stiffened. “How do you know my first name?”

  He shrugged. “The same way I know your last name. The clerk at the desk told me. Mine, by the way, is Charles.”

  It wasn’t really an answer, of course, but then I hadn’t really asked what I wanted to know: Why? I decided his reasons for finding out didn’t matter. “I’m surprised that’s all you know about me,” I said sarcastically. “Want more for the dossier? Well, I grew up and went to college in Indiana, but I live in Chicago now. I’m a computer programmer. I like parks and museums, skiing and swimming, cooking and traveling. What else is there to tell?”

  “And balloons,” he added, with inexplicab
le irritation.

  “And balloons,” I agreed.

  “You are very young, aren’t you?” he asked, with the same puzzling anger.

  “Twenty-five,” I challenged coolly.

  “I, on the other hand, am thirty-five,” he commented. I shrugged and he went on. “What’s your relationship with this Richard Kemmler?”

  I stared at him. “How do you know about Rick?”

  “I’ve heard him paged at the hotel.”

  We continued to stare at each other and finally I said, “I’m engaged to him.” Charles raised an eyebrow and I said, defensively, “Practically…maybe. Oh, hell! Rick wants to marry me and I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.”

  Charles nodded coolly. “I see. And you will refuse. Right?”

  “No! I mean, maybe. I mean, it’s none of your business!”

  Charles frowned. The waitress arrived with our food, a diversion for which I was grateful. When she left, I said, “Are you going to tell me anything about yourself? Or is this all one-sided?”

  Charles raised an eyebrow, but answered casually, “I am, as I said, thirty-five. I grew up in San Francisco, attended Berkeley, and now I’m a…business executive. What else is there to tell?”

  He mocked my words, and I retorted, “Well, you dislike balloons, young women, young men, and probably dogs and cats as well. Not to mention children.” He seemed to look at me with pity and, stung, I said, “And you have an overinflated opinion of yourself!”

  “Perhaps. But at least I am aware of it. And I have not made quite the study of rudeness that you have.”

  I flushed. “Why do you dislike me so much? And Rick?”

  Charles looked away for a moment. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. Contrary to your assumptions, Miss Steffee, I do not dislike you. I dislike your friend Rick.”

  “Why?” I challenged. He was silent and I went on, “Because of what we saw the other day? Rick with some other woman?”

  “If you wish.” He shrugged.

  “Well you’re wrong! You misinterpreted what you saw.”