I felt it in my bones.
CHAPTER TWO
“Are you ok?” Janice asked me for the third time.
The printed papers fluttered down the busy streets of Acapulco, lost to the wind. Here is where my journey would begin, at the Playa Del Mexico Hotel, a thousand miles from home, from James, and from the life I had built.
Somehow I found my voice, “Yes, I’m all right.” Our taxi pulled away from the curb, leaving me and my suitcase behind. I dumbly reached for it.
Janice put her hand on my arm, “Let the bellboy get it. He’s bringing the cart around now.”
Yes, the bellboy. We were on vacation, staying at a posh hotel. No need for me to schlep my heavy suitcase.
I turned away from the street and the papers blowing away. I pasted on my widest, happiest smile. “So, what do you say we get a couple of Tequila Sunrises and get this party started?”
“Now you’re talking!” Janice cheered.
Linking her arm with mine, she led me through the huge glass entrance doors at the top of a wide stone stairway.
*
“Can you believe this room?” My traveling companion plopped herself down on the suede sofa in our expansive suite. She leaned over and whipped open the mini-fridge grabbing several tiny bottles of vodka and two containers of orange juice.
I stood right inside the door. The view mesmerized me. Far below us blue water extended as far as the eye could see and beyond that a brilliant sky filled with a few puffy white clouds. I wanted to dive into that water and lose myself in its clear depths—close my eyes, hold my breath, and let the powerful tide sweep over me.
“Did you see the flyers all over the elevator?” Janice’s voice brimmed with excitement.
How could I have missed dozens of bright orange flyers pasted to the inside of a gold-plated, mirrored elevator? “Yeah, the ‘Welcome Fiesta’?”
“That’s the one. We are so going to be there.”
“You got it.” I wanted to make Janice’s vacation the best ever, even if I had to be willing to put up with a few dozen drunk men and several rounds of limbo in order to achieve it. “It’ll be kinda funny to go to a ‘welcome’ party half way through our trip.”
“Who cares what they name it? Guaranteed fun—and an open bar!”
I smiled as she mixed together the drinks in two of the plastic cups sitting next to the ice bucket. She seemed so relaxed and happy here. This trip would do her a world of good.
“Here,” Janice handed me a cup. “We can go down to the cantina later, but it looked like you needed a drink right now. Must have been a rough week at work.”
I gratefully took the cheap cup from her hand, half-filled with orange juice and vodka, and turned away from the view. Without saying a word, I took a large gulp. First beer, now vodka. I hoped I didn’t get sick from the combination.
“Guess I hit the nail on the head, huh?” Janice asked with a tweak of a smile on her face.
“You could say that.” I took another big swig, leaving only a trace of juice and vodka in my cup. I waited for my stomach to rebel, but it had calmed since the plane trip.
“Right back at ya.” She raised her cup to me in a sort of salute, and then downed half of her drink. Giving a satisfied smack, she said dolefully, “I’ve had a rough six years at work.”
“Hard to believe it’s been that long.”
“Straight out of law school. God, I thought I’d never pass the bar.” Janice slumped back against the couch cushions, as if she were reliving the stress of the exam. “The first few months on the job were murder.”
“At least you passed the first time you took it. Not everyone’s that lucky.” I took a seat in a comfortable-looking wingback chair.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Before I passed it, I felt as if I had the life sucked out of me—working, studying, working, and studying some more.” She took a long sip from her plastic cup. “But looking back on it, I’m not sure why I bothered.”
“What do you mean? You’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. In fact, I can’t remember you not talking about it. I seem to recall you were going to work for the best law firm in Chicago and make partner before you turned thirty-five.”
“Thirty. Make partner before I turned thirty.”
“All right, make partner before you were thirty.” I waved my hand at the minor discrepancy.
“Well, maybe I had been a little ambitious.”
The tired look on her face prompted me to ask, “Are you happy there?”
“Sure, I’m happy,” Janice said in the most unhappy voice ever. Even the usually crazy, tousled hair on her head drooped at her words.
“Doesn’t sound like it. In fact, when I saw you in the airport you looked as if you’d just escaped from prison or something. As if you haven’t seen the sun in months.”
“I haven’t. Remember, I live in Chicago? Winter lasts almost all year long up there.”
“Ha, ha.” I curled up in the oversized chair. “But you have your dream job, and you’re great at it. Plus, you’re making the big bucks, and that lets you do things, like invite your best friend to Mexico.”
“I know, I know. But for the past year or so, I’ve been in this funk. I’m not quite sure what it is. First, I thought it was all the stress, so I squeezed in a psychiatrist every other month. After dumping a few thousand dollars into that, I actually started to feel worse.” She took another gulp of her drink. “Then, I finally figured out what it was.”
“What?”
“I wanted what everyone else had. What you and James have.”
“Oh.” I looked down into my cup at the dregs of my screwdriver.
“Most weekends you know where I am? In the office. And if I’m not in the office, I’m working at home.” She opened up the mini-fridge again, grabbed another orange juice and started unpeeling the seal around another tiny bottle of vodka. “The only time I go outside is on the way to a business lunch with a client or when I go for a run. You know what a big weekend is for me? Renting a DVD and making microwave popcorn.” She poured the orange juice and vodka into her cup, stirring it with her finger.
“Have you ever thought about finding a new job?” I held out my cup to her, and she refilled it for me. “Something at a smaller firm? Maybe moving away from the city?”
“How would that help, Suzie? I know I’d end up doing the same things: working my ass off, staying in instead of going out.” She took a little sip of her drink. “Maybe I would have more free time, but you know how I would spend it? Rent two DVDs and maybe throw in a pack of M&Ms with the popcorn.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Don’t patronize me, Suze. Don’t you think by now I know myself better than you do?” She tossed the empty vodka bottle into the trash.
“I didn’t mean—”
She held up her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off. It just gets so frustrating sometimes. It’s as if I missed the dating boat and now it’s too late.” She kicked off her sandals and tucked her feet underneath her lanky body. “How can I make up for all that lost time? I’m totally behind the curve.”
“It’s never too late, Janice. Never. Look at James.”
“Yes, let’s look at James,” she sighed.
“What do you mean by that?” I set my cup on the coffee table.
“Well, he’s adorable, he’s successful, he’s witty, and, of course, he fell in love with you at the drop of a hat.”
“Now, that’s not exactly true—”
“Okay, so he fell in love with you after one date.” She swirled her drink in her hand, watching the ice spiral around.
I couldn’t argue with that one. James had fallen completely head-over-heels for me before I even knew what hit me. I had it pretty easy. Time to change the subject before we started dissecting my relationship again. “There are men out there for you, I promise.”
“Where?” she said, exasperated. “At the gym? Tried that. At work? Tried that m
ore times than I want to remember. In my running group? Trust me. There’s no one out there for me.”
“There’s someone out there for everyone.”
“Who says? Have they done some empirical study? I hear it all the time, but how do we know it’s true? I haven’t had one steady boyfriend in my entire life. In fact, I can count the number of dates I’ve had on one hand. One hand, Suzie. There has to be something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“Because how, you are some expert on men and what they find attractive?” She set her drink down next to mine, plucked the Mexican equivalent of a bag of Doritos out of a basket on top of the refrigerator, and popped it open.
“No, but—”
“Let’s change the subject. I’m here to relax, not freak out about my man problems.” After crunching a few chips, she finished the last few drops of her drink. “That would take more than ten days to solve anyway.”
Janice got up from the couch and grabbed her sandals. She placed her empty cup on the small table near the windows and went over to her bags. “I’m putting on my bathing suit, grabbing my sarong, and we are out the door.” She unzipped her suitcase with a flourish.
The great thing about Acapulco is no one cared if you wore nothing more than a bathing suit to the bars, restaurants, stores, even the movie theater. And in a resort hotel like Playa Del Mexico, most of those things could be found right on site. It would probably even be acceptable to wear a bathrobe to breakfast.
As Janice dashed into the bedroom to change, I unfolded a luggage rack I found in the entryway closet, dragged my monster of a suitcase out of the corner where the bellhop left it, and tried to sling it on top of the contraption. After several unsuccessful attempts to land it onto the miniscule rack, I gave up in defeat and laid it on the tile floor. Unzipping it, I hunted for my bathing suit—a very modest two-piece.
Janice dashed back into the room, her short hair spiking up wildly from her head. “What do you think?” She modeled her beach wear for me, taking several turns, looking like Vanna White hopped up on Power Bars. Her aggravation over men, her job, and her lawyer life had disappeared for the time being.
“You look fantastic!” A riotously bright-green bikini showed off her slender figure with its barely-there curves and revealed how hard she worked to keep it that way. Her stomach was taut, her legs slim and muscular.
“Do you think so?” The body-conscious Janice had returned, and she quickly tied a flowered, flowing sarong around her boy-like hips.
“You know you do.”
Clearly wanting to stay off the topic of her bikini-clad self, she asked me, “And what are you waiting around for? Go get changed, missy! Happy Hour’s probably half over by now.”
“It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon,” I pointed out.
She focused a steady gaze on me. “Get your butt in there and change already.” She tapped her finger on her waterproof watch. “This is a ten-day vacation, and half-a-day is already over.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I picked up my swimsuit and a pair of shorts. Janice was right, we only had ten days to spend in Acapulco.
I closed the bedroom door behind me, grateful for a few quiet moments to reflect on my plan. Ten days. Not a lot of time. I slipped off my traveling clothes and pulled on my swimming suit.
A small, leather-bound book caught my eye by the phone on the nightstand—the hotel directory. Maybe I could find a phone number for the office or even the general manager. Tomorrow I could find some time to slip away and make a few phone calls, get some questions answered about Joaquin. Maybe the Internet article I’d found had been outdated. Could be he no longer worked here. That would be my first order of business. Couldn’t quite get a divorce, if I couldn’t track down my husband, now, could I?
I sat down on the bed and reached for the directory.
Someone banged on the door.
“What’re you doing in there? Getting ready for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition?” Janice hollered.
Before I could even peek inside the pages, I set it back on the nightstand. I would have time to look at that later. Maybe once Janice fell asleep.
Although I wanted to do nothing more than pour over the directory and see if I could find Joaquin’s name inside, I dutifully finished slipping on my suit and slicking my hair back into a ponytail.
“I’m coming!” Then, a thought struck me. I should call James. If I heard his voice, maybe it would give me the courage to hunt down Joaquin and get this over with. I eyed the phone sitting on the nightstand.
*
James had been ‘the one’ with a capital “O” from the very first night I’d met him.
We worked for the same software company, but in different departments, so we had never crossed paths.
Late one Tuesday when I had worked overtime, my car had a flat in the parking garage. He’d stopped to help. He’d been driving through the garage, on his way home, and had seen me standing next to my car, tire iron in hand, car manual spread out on the hood of my Jetta.
He’d rescued me. He called it that anyway. To me, he had been a cute, but older man, most likely married or divorced with the standard two kids, stopping to help an idiot. I mean, who doesn’t know how to change a tire?
I thought he’d pitied me.
“Um, hey, do you need some help there?” James had asked.
I’d looked up from the grease-smeared pages of my Jetta manual. He had one hand in his pocket, and in the other he held a battered leather briefcase.
“Guess my mom was right. I should have joined Triple A.”
“Nah. It’s not all that hard. A monkey could do it.”
I gave him a look.
“Uh, well, it would be easy enough to teach a monkey—”
He dug himself a deeper hole.
“I mean, you’re a smart woman. I’m sure you can—”
“It’s okay.” I smiled. He had been so nervous and rumpled and adorable. I couldn’t let him suffer any longer. “I appreciate your help. I hate being a cliché.”
He gave me a questioning look.
“You know, damsel in distress? A woman who can’t change a tire? Pretty sorry in this day and age, don’t you think?”
“Not really. It’s a dirty job, and I can see why you wouldn’t want to mess up—uh—” He’d gestured helplessly at me and my smart business attire and office hair—my term for the twisted and clipped locks on the back of my head.
I touched my hair. “What makes you think I mind getting dirty?” I smiled.
He leaned over my shoulder and grabbed the open manual off of my hood. “First, you don’t need this. See this thingie?” He held up the jack I had left on the oily, dirty parking garage floor. “You put it together like this, stick it under here.” He clicked the jack handle into place and slid it under the frame of the car behind the flat. “And start pumping.”
I watched as he got down on that grimy floor and pumped. “My name’s Suzette, by the way.”
“I’m James.”
He finished jacking up the car, unscrewed the lug nuts, slid the flattened tire off, and replaced it with the spare from my trunk. By the end, his hands were dirty and his suit needed a good dry-cleaning.
“Well, that’s about it. You’re good to go.” I handed back his suit jacket, which I’d been holding for him.
“Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee or something? Or would your wife wonder?”
He wiped his hands on a Kleenex I’d grabbed out of my car, then took the jacket and hung it over his forearm. “I don’t have a wife, and I think I could spare a few moments for a pretty lady, a cup of coffee, and a piece of pie.”
“Pie? When did I say pie?”
“That’s the going rate for a tire change after hours.”
“I see.” His sense of humor put a smile on my face. “Any particular kind of pie?”
“Coconut Cream.
”
“I think I can manage something. Why don’t you follow me? Where are you parked?”
“Next level down. Wait for me at the gate.”
Our conversation over coffee and pie would have carried over into the next morning, if I’d had my way. But he had been too much of a gentleman for that. Instead, after an extra large piece of pie and two cups of coffee, he’d followed me to make sure I got home safely.
James had been much different than men I usually dated. I liked the brutes, tall and muscular with a history of playing football or soccer. These men were better with actions than with words, making them fantastic lovers, but terrible boyfriends. Once the physical attraction had run its course, the relationship soon faded or I became bored.
James had a very thin and angular frame. Not an athlete by any means. His deep green eyes were what caught me at first. They were quiet, soft eyes. His intelligence and quirky humor had been a welcome change, and we discovered we enjoyed the same things: foreign films and Dickens novels, muffins and strong coffee for breakfast, a tennis game at twilight.
James called it “love-at-first-sight,” which makes absolutely no sense when trying to explain it.
I knew he was older than I, but wasn’t really sure how much older. He had a bit of graying at the temples, which I found sexy, but his face was unlined and youthful. Even though it bothered him, James’s age hadn’t been a factor for me.
“What would your mother think, you going out with someone who’s almost forty?” We’d been dating for six solid months when he burst out with this question.
We sat in my driveway, the car’s engine rumbling. James held my hand and squeezed it lightly, waiting for my answer. This had been weighing on his mind for some time.
“She doesn’t care.” I leaned over to kiss his cheek.
“You’ve already told her about us?” James sounded nervous, as if we were sixteen and had stayed out past our curfew.
Acapulco Nights Page 2