Acapulco Nights

by K. J. Gillenwater

  I pushed her hand away and straightened up, embarrassed that I had been caught sleeping.

  Joaquin leaned against the side of his car, squinting at me in the late afternoon light. I looked out the open window and saw a small wooden kiosk with a colorfully painted sign above it—TORTAS, TAMALES, LICUADOS. The hot pink and fluorescent yellow lettering glowed as brightly as any neon sign.

  “Quieres?” Joaquin questioned me again.

  I got my first good look at our driver. He was physically imposing, leaning there. Broad-shouldered and muscular with a brilliantly white smile—I had a hard time resisting him.

  Mercedes waited in the short line in front of the torta stand.

  “Sí, por favor,” I reached for my money in my purse, as did Janice.

  He put up his hand in protest, “No, no, I will pay for it.” He lazily pushed off from the car and joined Mercedes in line.

  He knew I was watching him, arrogant bastard. But a fine-looking bastard.

  I had never encountered a man with so much self-confidence—as if he expected me to be attracted to him. For a moment, I wanted to brush off his charm and ignore his flirtations. But why not have some fun?

  Here Janice and I were in Mexico, an exotic foreign country with an exotic foreign man. No one back home would ever have to know about him. Why couldn’t I put aside my doubts about his intentions and have a good time with it? Who cared if I was another girl in a long line of girls? Sometimes you had to let go and let things happen.

  I got out of the car and held the door open so Janice could slide across the seat and follow me. My eyes stayed on Joaquin’s back.

  “God, I’m starving.”

  Janice interrupted my wayward thoughts.

  “Me, too,” I said distractedly.

  The focus of my concentration was not hard to notice.

  “See! I told you he was gorgeous,” Janice smiled triumphantly.

  “When you’re right, you really get it right.” Smoothing back my hair and straightening my clothes, I walked up to the two of them standing in line. Janice followed hot on my heels.

  “I don’t feel right about you buying us dinner after giving us a lift into the city. Here,” I pressed some pesos into his hand, “Please take this.” That small gesture gave me the opportunity to lightly brush his palm with my fingers, a lingering touch. He took the heavy coins from me.

  “You know what this means,” he said. “Now, I will have to buy you and your friends a drink.”

  “What do you think, girls?” I smiled at Mercedes, “Should we take him up on his offer?”

  “We might be able to meet you tomorrow night,” said Mercedes.

  Janice beamed. She’d wanted to make a trip to the Zona Rosa in downtown Mexico City ever since we arrived. The Zona Rosa took up an area several blocks long in the center of the city where nightclubs and discotheques thrived.

  Joaquin directed his words at me, as if I were the only one standing there on that street corner. “Club Azteca. Nine o’clock?”

  I hesitated.

  Janice poked me in the back.

  “Why don’t I give you my number, and you can give me a call if you decide to go.” He grabbed a napkin from the small counter in front of the torta stand and looked to me to provide the writing utensil. I reached into my purse and pulled out a pen. “My friends and I usually meet there on Saturdays.” He scribbled some numbers down.

  I took the paper from his hand and tucked it in the back pocket of my jeans.

  “Why don’t you two wait in the car? We can get the food,” said Mercedes.

  I twisted my hair into a knot at the back of my head and let the evening air cool my sweaty neck. I nodded, and Janice and I went back to the sedan. From the backseat, I watched Joaquin and Mercedes as they shared the burden of carrying our food. They looked good together, their dark heads touching as they added more chiles to their tortas and grabbed extra napkins.

  Then, Joaquin turned and caught my eye, his face spread with a glorious, white smile. I had never seen a man more handsome than that very moment on the side of the road outside Mexico City, the dust blowing around our feet.

  *

  “Hola, bonita. Bailamos?” A tall Mexican approached me in the dark at Club Azteca.

  Flashing, colored lights dipped and twirled above the dance floor, but the ambient lighting near the bar and tables was almost non-existent.

  Even in the dark, I recognized the tilt of his head, the wideness of his shoulders. Joaquin. He had come, and I didn’t see any friends with him.

  The music blared in Spanish. Tunes I did not recognize, but with an infectious beat.

  Janice encouraged me, “Go on, dance! Mercedes will be back in a little awhile.”

  Joaquin stood in front of me, waiting for an answer to his question: Would I dance with him?

  I looked up at him, his face shrouded in shadows, and nodded my assent. My breathing quickened in anticipation of his hands on my body.

  He grasped my hand and possessively curved his other arm around my waist. His touch burned, and I leaned into him, enjoying the feel of his body next to mine. Guiding me to the dance floor, we swayed to the Latin beat of the music.

  “Cómo estás, bonita?” His eyes were warm, his lips sensuous and full.

  “Bien,” My stomach bubbled over with excitement. “Y tú?”

  “Muy bien.” He drew out those two words, and his eyes sparked at me. The attraction between us was stronger than anything I had ever experienced.

  We shifted and moved to the music, song after song. An instant chemistry sparked between us. Something gnawing and fierce.

  We danced through a whole set of songs. I paid no mind to how long I had been in his arms.

  Someone touched my shoulder.

  “Why don’t you give someone else a turn?” Mercedes butted in.

  Instead of ignoring the rude interruption, Joaquin welcomed the battle over his attentions. A slight, sardonic smile appeared on his face. What red-blooded male doesn’t enjoy the possibility of a cat fight?

  He dropped his hand from my waist and stepped back, waiting.

  I wanted to shove her away, tell her in no uncertain terms that Joaquin had asked me to dance and not her. But a fleeting thought crossed my mind: once the weekend ended, we would be back at school sharing a dorm room. I had seven more months in Mexico, and I wanted to enjoy them. I stepped away from Joaquin.

  When Mercedes stepped into his embrace for her dance, I gave Joaquin a slow smile, letting him know I would be waiting for him once the music ended.

  They disappeared into the crowd of dancers, enveloped in mass of swirling skirts and dark heads.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Wake up, sleepy head!”

  I groaned and rolled over, covering my head with a pillow. Who wakes up this early in the morning on a vacation?

  “Come on! Kayaking class starts at nine, so we only have two hours to get ready and eat breakfast,” Janice announced, more chipper than any human being should be at seven in the morning.

  Uncovering one eye, I squinted from my pillow cave. “Five more minutes?” I begged.

  “No, no, no, Suze,” Janice scolded, pulling the pillow off me and folding down the covers. “We can’t be late for our very first lesson.”

  I turned over and propped myself up on my elbows. “Hey! You’re already dressed!”

  Janice wore her bikini top, a pair of khaki shorts, a stripe of zinc oxide on her nose, and her straw hat now bedecked with a small Mexican flag tucked in the band. “I’ve been up since five-thirty.”

  Although exhaustion weighed me down, I couldn’t help but be caught up in Janice’s enthusiasm. She was the bright light in a dark room for as long as I had known her. She had never been afraid to try anything once, with the exception of second dates.

  I swung my feet over the side of the bed. “All right. I’m up.”

  Janice beamed.

  “Give me coffee and fifteen minutes, and then we’re out the door.
”

  “Ten.”

  “Twenty!”

  She laughed. I loved her hoarse honk of a laugh. I smiled, rubbed my eyes, and scampered off to the bathroom for a quick shower.

  “There’d better be coffee when I get out of here!” I yelled.

  “A good dip in the ocean should wake you up!”

  Kayaking? I must be crazy.

  *

  “And that ends the safety portion of our course,” said our instructor, a short but well-built native with only a touch of an accent.

  During the half-hour lecture, Janice sat, listening intently. If she thought to bring along a notebook, she probably would have filled it with notes. She took her sports seriously.

  I, on the other hand, had a difficult time keeping my mind on the endless list of what-to-dos and what-not-to-dos, the details of the equipment, the demonstrations. I was more interested in observing the rest of our class: one man.

  Our introductory sea kayaking lesson included three people: me, Janice, and a stocky fellow named George. I wasn’t sure if I should be worried (why did no one else want to take this class?) or happy. Less people meant more one-on-one instruction, right? Maybe we could get through all the basic maneuvers more quickly with only three participants.

  When the instructor handed me a life jacket, a helmet, and a paddle, I wished I’d listened more closely to his lecture. First, we were to practice paddling, and then, we needed to try rollovers.

  Rollovers looked to me as if they were paid underwater torture sessions. Our instructor had taught us to sit in the kayak, flip upside-down, and then right ourselves and our kayak in one smooth motion. I had not been known for doing anything in one smooth motion.

  Janice’s eyes lit up at the thought; my stomach heaved. Feeling lightheaded, I plopped down on the slick boards of the pier.

  “Are you all right?” our classmate, George, asked. He reached out a broad hand to help pull me up from the ground.

  Regaining my feet, I smiled weakly at him, “I guess you could say I’m scared out of my wits.”

  Janice threw an arm around me and gave me a reassuring squeeze, “Oh, Suze, you’ll be fine. You know how to swim, so what is there to be scared of?”

  “Getting trapped underwater and drowning?” I answered.

  George, who was fast becoming my new best buddy, slapped his helmet down on his head and declared, “I’ll go first.” Then, he winked at Janice and me.

  Janice’s face flamed red—she blushed!

  Our instructor assisted George in climbing into his kayak and getting him seated properly. Then, I prayed to God George would come back to us in one piece.

  Janice must have had the same thing on her mind: George, that is.

  “Mmm, he seems nice.”

  “Who? Enrique?” I squinted at our no-nonsense instructor.

  “No, silly!” Janice blushed again. She pressed one hand to the top of her floppy hat to keep the stiff breeze from blowing it away. I wondered what would happen to her hat when the time came for her to put on a kayaking helmet.

  “Huh?” My mind focused on the status of her hat rather than her statement about an attractive man.

  “George,” she whispered urgently, watching him practice his paddling. “He’s not quite my type of guy, but—”

  “Your type?” I had no idea this woman had any type at all. Then, I thought about it some more. “Well, he is a little on the short side.” And I was being kind. George stood about five-feet-five and had a barrel chest, your typical Greek-American.

  “Oh,” Janice answered, as if she hadn’t noticed that particular glaring fact. “I meant his interests. I mean, river rafting is fun and all, but is that really a sport?”

  River rafting? Did I miss something? How much zoning out did I do during that lecture, anyway?

  “Hmm, yeah, I see what you mean.” Good cover, Eisenhart. “But I think lots of rafters take it very seriously.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Wasn’t it one of those Olympic demonstration sports last summer?” Now I was on a roll.

  “It was?”

  “I think so.” So, Janice liked George, the short, Greek guy. Interesting couple they would make. Her, almost six feet tall and willowy as a reed; George much shorter and built like a tank. A match made in Acapulco heaven.

  “Hmm—”

  Time to push her out of the nest. “I think you should go for it.”

  “I should?”

  “Yes. He’s a nice guy, he’s adventurous—”

  “And he was very gentlemanly when he helped you up.”

  “Exactly.” I saw Enrique approaching us with a now-drenched George, and I knew what I had to do. Time for me to be as good friend to Janice as she had been to me. I stepped forward and boldly announced, “I’ll go next.”

  That should give those two plenty of time to get acquainted. She better thank me for this later.

  My legs were jelly, but I strode toward the kayak bobbing in the ocean. Strapping the helmet on my head, I kept moving, worried if I paused for even a split second, I would lose my nerve.

  “Now, if you need any kind of assistance, tap the top of your helmet twice, ok?” Enrique explained.

  I nodded my head, but wondered to myself, if I tapped my helmet when I was trapped underwater, who would notice?

  *

  “Wasn’t that a blast?” Janice asked me, her face still beaded with water from rollover practice.

  I should have guessed she would learn kayaking with little trouble. I, on the other hand, coughed up sea water. I passed the basic skills exam at the end of class by the skin of my teeth. But I think Enrique let me pass because he felt sorry for me. My hair hanging in wet ropes, my limbs rubbery, and my waterproof make-up most likely smudged, I probably looked like a drowned rat.

  From behind, I heard the slapping of feet on the wet boards of the pier. “Hey, ladies!”

  It was George. He’d wanted to talk to our instructor after class, so we’d left him behind to get some lunch. Now it looked as if he wanted to join our little group.

  My ploy worked, I thought, not without some satisfaction.

  Janice used a towel to wipe the remaining drops of water from her face and then fluffed her short, damp hair with her fingers. I’d never seen Janice primp before. Usually she couldn’t care less if she were sweaty or mussed up. She must really like this guy.

  George caught up to us. “I’m taking you two to lunch.”

  “You are?” Janice asked.

  Why did this girl have to answer statements with questions? He was a guy, he was cute—the answer should have been a resounding yes.

  “We’d love to,” I interjected. Might as well skip the hemming and hawing that would inevitably ensue if I left Janice in charge of the conversation.

  George smiled broadly and crooked his arms, giving us each one to hold on to. “Then, shall we?”

  Janice linked her arm with his, and I did the same. As he led us in the direction of the hotel, I had a brilliant idea.

  “Oh, no!” I gasped, doing my best to sound disappointed.

  “What is it?” Janice looked at me.

  “James. I told him I would call again today. He’ll think I forgot all about him.” This actually was true. We got home late last night after our dinner with Joaquin, so I’d never even bothered to check if he’d left a message. This morning, Janice got me out of bed so early, my brain only thought about coffee and a shower.

  “Yes, James,” my friend echoed sadly. “Guess we should go back to the room instead.”

  “Huh?” I couldn’t believe she didn’t take the ball I was handing her and run with it. “No, no! You go ahead with George. I’ll catch up in a bit. All right?” Good thing I was around to help her out. This girl had almost no instincts when it came to men.

  “If you’re sure—” Her eyes lit up, and her pencil-thin mouth turned up in a slight smile.

  “Of course I’m sure.” I pulled myself out of George’s grasp.

>   “Good, it’s decided then,” George said. “We’ll meet you in the café later?”

  “You got it,” I grinned back at them, an oddly well-matched couple.

  As they strolled away, I watched them together for a moment. George with his swarthy appearance and stocky, but muscular, build; and Janice with her pale complexion and slight, athletic figure. A light appeared in Janice’s eyes that I had never seen before. I would make sure to take my time joining them for lunch.

  I made my way toward the north entrance of the hotel and the banks of elevators. It worried me I may have missed James’s call. And what would he think when I didn’t contact him by this morning? It was now well past noon, and he would be in the middle of his conference. I could try his cell, but he usually got so caught up in the computer displays and gadgets at those types of events that answering his cell phone would be the last thing on his mind. I’d be lucky if he even remembered to charge the thing.

  Standing in the elevator, I decided to call his cell number first, and if there was no answer, call his room and leave a message. I could imagine him forgetting to check his cell phone for messages, but a red flashing light on the phone in his hotel room would certainly get his attention.

  The elevator stopped on our floor. I headed toward the suite. Someone tall in a finely-tailored gray suit stood outside our door knocking quietly. At first, I didn’t recognize him from behind. Then, I heard his voice.

  “Suzie, are you there?”

  Joaquin, his broad shoulders straining at the fabric of his suit, leaned forward and knocked a little more loudly.

  “Joaquin, are you looking for me?”

  He turned, surprise reflected in his hazel eyes.

  “Suzie, there you are.” He straightened his perfectly-straight tie. His eyes slid over my bikini-clad body, and he raised an eyebrow in an appreciative gesture.

  Suddenly aware of my stringy hair, damp with seawater, and my smudged make-up, I rubbed under my eyes with my towel and then wrapped it around my waist. Why did I care what I looked like in front of Joaquin? I didn’t need to impress him anymore.

  He cleared his throat. “We need to talk about last night. There are things we need to discuss.”