Songs for Perri

by Nancy Radke

  "Come on," he called, climbing aboard and handing the driver the handful of pesos necessary for their fare. Perri clambered in after him, following him down the aisle.

  The seats were full so they stood, hanging onto the overhead rail as the bus proceeded down the street, leapfrogging with other busses to pick up the most passengers. The song "Eres Tu" played on the driver's tape recorder, loud enough so all could hear, the emotional words stirring Perri's heart.

  "Ever ridden these before?" Hugo asked.

  "Yes," she replied. "As long as they're going where I am." In fact, Perri preferred riding the busses in Mexico. They came often and stopped at the end of each block, so it was no inconvenience to ride them. Many tourists used them, as the fare was only a few cents.

  Her escort had to duck his head every so often to watch for landmarks. The route wound through the Golden Zone, where most of the hotels were located, and then into old Mazatlan. Before they had progressed very far, he pushed the overhead button to get the driver to stop.

  Quickly they stepped out the back door and he led her more leisurely down a narrow side street and into a cafe consisting of seven circular tables.

  Her companion's manner was bold and masterful—qualities Perri viewed with suspicion. They were qualities she approved of, but only if tempered with kindness. They could be the mark of a leader...or of a tyrant.

  Perri found his cocky confidence welcome at the moment. She might regret it if she had a hard time getting rid of him later, but at the moment his air of dauntlessness bolstered her spirits. And she was going to get food.

  She had eaten nothing today. With the smell of food came overwhelming hunger.

  Evidently the restaurant personnel were used to him, for the waiter immediately brought two coffees, black, along with a handprinted menu. "Ah, you have a lovely señorita with you tonight, Hugo," he teased in Spanish. "It's about time. A man like you, should have a different querida every night."

  "Gracias, Miguel," Hugo answered easily. His deep musical voice was even more beautiful while flowing over the soft Spanish words, and Perri's well-trained ear noted how fluently he spoke. "But you must watch what you say. This señorita speaks Spanish well. ¿Verdad?" He gazed meaningfully at Perri.

  "Sí. Es verdad," Perri admitted, switching to the Spanish tongue. "It's the main reason I got my job. I speak several languages fluently." But how did Hugo know I speak Spanish? I don’t remember using it since I got here.

  "Miguel knows I like my coffee black, but is that what you want?" Hugo asked.

  "I prefer the Mexican version, with lots of chocolate," she said, and Miguel immediately replaced hers while they looked at the simple menu.

  They ordered and Hugo tilted his chair idly back in nonchalant relaxation, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world. Perri frowned, irritated that she couldn't figure him out. He was displaying little of his earlier obnoxious behavior. What had happened to change him?

  Did he have her credit card or not? And was her brain up to finding out?

  Perri knew she looked tense and frazzled...like she had worked three shifts without stopping. She was worn out, hungry and frustrated by the mystery surrounding him.

  She stared at him fixedly for a full minute before realizing what she was doing. Hugo stared back at her, full lips quirked in that cocky grin he sometimes wore, having the advantage of the anonymity of dark glasses.

  "Well?" he prompted, his lip curling ever so slightly, as if something about her amused him.

  Perri stirred uncomfortably on the hard chair. She was tired of looking into a one-way mirror. "Take off those stupid glasses," she demanded crossly.

  "Why?"

  "So I can see you," she muttered, too weary to fence with him and in no mood to behave herself with the conventions required for polite manners. If he ignored them, so could she. "I don't like talking to a blank wall." He was so good at guessing everything else about her, he should have known that without her telling him.

  His grin widened, suddenly mischievous, and he pulled the offending glasses down slightly, peering over the top for a brief moment. He had a slight scar that lifted one eyebrow. "Boo!" he said softly, clipping the word short, before settling the glasses back on again.

  It wasn't enough time to really see what he looked like, but Perri gained an impression of power in his dark eyes, just barely restrained. His gaze had seared her with an intensity that left her shaken. No wonder he wore dark glasses, if he looked at everyone like that. She almost preferred the mirrors.

  "Satisfied?" he drawled, bringing his chair down with a thump and leaning an elbow casually on the table.

  "Partly." She helped herself to a steadying breath before continuing. "What's your name...besides Hugo?"

  "Brandt. Hugo Brandt.”

  “How did you know I spoke Spanish?”

  “You told Anna on the way in from the airport. You said you spoke several languages fluently. Which ones?"

  "Oh...Spanish, French, German, Italian. And a smattering of other dialects I've come across. I've always had a knack for languages. My...my mother spoke both French and German and she used to talk to me in different languages as I grew up. And then—” She stopped short.

  Her mother...Crystal...gone, her love forever lost. Unwanted tears formed in Perri's eyes and she had to bite her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

  She had gotten over the shock of her mother’s death and the period of denial and had now entered the emotional stage. The pain of her loss cut sharply across Perri's emotions at unexpected times, leaving her vulnerable to whoever was watching.

  And this time it had to be Hugo! Annoyed, Perri fought her grief. She wasn’t going to break down in front of this overwhelmingly confident man.

  Hugo stayed quiet, his large frame at ease, slouching indolently, the only sign of emotion being the tightening of his lips into a hard straight line as she wiped her eyes dry with a fingertip. He was probably deciding he really didn’t need to share a meal with a weepy woman.

  "Better?" he asked, after she regained her composure.

  "Yes.” She stiffened her back, lifted her chin. “We aren't always as strong as we think we are."

  "You're right." A moment of silence rested between them before he spoke again, more slowly. "I want to apologize for my behavior this afternoon." He shifted his weight on the chair and leaned forward. "You caught me in a bad situation. I...uh, have been trying to discourage Anna Meyers."

  "Why? And what does that have to do with me?"

  "Nothing, except Anna’s been coming on strong ever since she arrived; taking my picture, following me, inviting me out. I don't mind a woman letting me know she's interested, but I do want her to back off when I don't respond."

  "You must have given her some encouragement."

  "Not that I know of. I've run into her kind before; hints are ignored. Being rude is the only way to discourage them."

  Perri smiled as her memory re-pictured the scene. "And I invited her to share the cab."

  "That you did. I had to keep acting like a jerk or have her start chasing me all over again. I'm sorry."

  "Maybe you ought to figure out a better way to rid yourself of unwanted attention."

  "I'll work on it. But my method does have results. She's leaving me alone. Kindness only encourages."

  At that moment Miguel arrived with their meal. It was excellent fare, hot and spicy, and Perri ate heartily, making up for not eating all day.

  Hugo seemed deep in thought, for he made few comments during the meal. Perri cleaned up everything she had, and finished off his Buñuelos when he said he didn't want the crisp fried cookies.

  Finished, he scraped his chair back and stood up and she stood too.

  "Look, love, I've got to go. I've business to attend to. I'll see you back to the hotel."

  "What kind of business?"

  "Phone call."

  Since she had to return to the hotel, Perri agreed, only slightly bristling at the endearment he had
used almost absently. He paid the bill and joked briefly with the waiter before they walked back toward the hotel in the now moonlit night.

  The air was warm and mellow and with the right man, under the right circumstances, it would have been very romantic walking up the narrow street.

  So why did it seem so right to be walking beside Hugo?

  There was a charisma about him that attracted her...and probably other females too, which was why he had trouble with Anna. It was the challenging attraction of the rebel, the anti-hero type who defied good manners and soft ways. She must be careful to recognize it for what it was.

  A yellow bus approached and he waved it down. It was overcrowded, yet they squeezed in, Hugo placing her one step above him while he stood in the open door, indifferent to the pavement streaking just beyond his feet. The protective gesture was reassuring, advancing him one notch upward in Perri's estimation.

  As they entered the hotel lobby, he stiffened slightly, muttered a quick, "I'll see you around," and left with a flick of his hand.

  "Thanks for the meal," she responded, but even as she spoke he was turning to go. She knew she hadn't been a good companion, going all emotional as she had.

  It was probably just as well, Perri realized, as she waited for the elevator. She couldn't afford to get anyone else involved in helping Owen. It could be dangerous... although Hugo looked able to take care of himself.

  "Hi." Anna walked up, looking curious. "I saw you with Hugo. Did you go out with him, after all?"

  "Yes." And I bet he saw you, too. "But I don't think I made much of an impression." The doors opened and they entered, Anna punching the floors for them both.

  "Did you want to? He's the rudest person I've ever met."

  Anna looked disgruntled and Perri decided that Hugo's ploy had worked. "His manners aren't all that polished ...but he did know a good place to eat."

  "A free meal—like I suggested? Was it worth it?"

  "A question I asked myself," Perri said with a laugh. "But I don't think he'll be hanging around. I sort of dampened things down."

  "Serves him right. See you." Anna stepped off and Perri continued to her room, a smile on her lips as she recalled the unconventional "date."

  Hugo intrigued her — his lazy manner and dark glasses hiding a personality the power of which she had briefly glimpsed.

  Hugo. She liked the name; probably because her mother had often talked about a man called Hugo Donnelson...the one who had given her the ivory pendant. Perri had never met him, but her mom had described him, saying he had the most beautiful gray eyes she had ever seen on a man.

  Hugo’s were dark brown. And his voice...did he practice talking like that or was it natural?

  Shrugging off her wandering thoughts, Perri changed leisurely into her champagne-colored full length dress, sleeveless and draped from the shoulders. With time to spare, she pinned up her hair. It made her look older, although still not her age.

  How had Hugo guessed she was older than "Junior?" Even the age-guessers at the county fairs never came close.

  Tonight was the night. Tonight she would meet her contact and find out about Owen.

  She could hardly wait. Although it was early, she went down to the lobby, checking at the desk for messages. There was one, an envelope with her name on it.

  Hurriedly she tore it open. It was unsigned, but the handwriting was Walt's.

  Perri. Urgent you return home immediately.

  Confusion encompassed Perri as she stared at the message. Had Owen made it back by himself? Why didn’t it say so?

  She laid the letter on the countertop alongside the envelope and studied it again. The wording of the message made her uneasy. Why was it so brief?

  She could call the airlines and have them contact her credit card company for the fare, but that still left her without taxi money. It would be fastest to telephone Walt and have him wire her some. She wasn't going anywhere on three dollars and twenty-two cents.

  Taking out her cell phone, she texted Walt, wondering why he hadn’t sent her a text. When there was no reply this time, she left him her room number.

  Hanging up, she re-examined the envelope. There was no postmark, no return address. All it had on it was her name and room number. So he already knew that.

  Puzzled, and beginning to worry, Perri showed the two clerks the envelope. "Do either of you know how this was delivered?"

  One of them took a closer look. "Yes, a young boy brought that in, about fifteen minutes ago."

  "Not the mail man?"

  "No."

  "Did he come down the elevator?"

  "I don't know. I was working; just looked up when he spoke. But when he left, he went outside. Is there anything wrong?"

  Yes. Everything. she wanted to say, but replied, "I can't tell. Do you happen to have a room registered to Walt Putman?" She spelled the last name as the clerk checked.

  "No. Sorry. Are you expecting him?"

  "Sort of."

  "Do you want to reserve a room for him?"

  "No...not unless you're booked solid."

  "We've always a few rooms. Except during the week of Mardi Gras."

  "Then I'll wait. Thanks."

  Opening her phone again, Perri called her neighbor in Arizona, asking her to check the house to see if Walt was there. She waited while the woman walked over to look.

  He wasn't there, but the lady promised to call Perri if either he or Owen showed up. She also offered to check the Phoenix hospitals.

  "That would be wonderful. Thanks," Perri said, adding, "Call and leave a message just as soon as you learn anything."

  Hanging up, Perri stared once more at the envelope. Everything pointed to Walt being in Mazatlan. But if so, why didn't he come to the hotel? She felt like a spinning needle on a compass surrounded by metal; without purposeful direction. What was going on?

  Had he found Owen; or was he just trying to get her out of the way? Why hadn't he said more in his letter?

  Should she go home? Or stay?

  Indecision fled as Perri remembered her contact. He might be able to tell her if Owen and Walt were okay.

  A large crowd of around three hundred people had gathered and Perri joined them, sitting down at her reserved table. The honeymoon couple was close by and she waved cheerily to them.

  Most of the audience was young, most were tourists, most were looking forward to the evening. Just before the room darkened she spotted the car salesman, Carl Freedman, entering, and right behind him the young man she still thought of as Junior. Both were wearing suits and looking around the crowd for a place to sit. By now it was standing room only.

  Not wanting them to try to sit with her, Perri turned toward the stage. The next moment the room darkened completely, the colored spots turned on as the band members came out.

  They were greeted with loud clapping and cheers, but when the star of the show appeared, the screams became deafening. Leaping out onto the center of the stage in a cloud of artificial smoke, Donegal posed dramatically, then raked his hand across the strings of his electric guitar, causing the audience to scream even louder.

  His teal blue brocaded vest was partly open, displaying a muscular chest full of curly dark hair. Hundreds of sequins sparkled as he moved with the grace of an athlete. A semi-transparent white shirt, collarless and cuffed with lace, bloused out from shoulder to wrist.

  He burst right into his first song, dancing to the music as he sang, a deep grin creasing his face as he caught the crowd together with him into the rhythm and mood of the music...and soon had them swaying and clapping and cheering along.

  Perri's table was right in the front row, which seemed to her a poor location for a private meeting. The loudspeakers, placed halfway back, were turned away from her, but still the vibrations were intense, and she felt herself responding to the primitive beat of the music...so close to the beat of her heart.

  The entertainer knew what he was doing. A satisfied smile flicked across his lips as he enticed t
he crowd emotionally along with him. Perri had to fight off the hypnotic effect. Worry had already clouded her mind enough.

  Four songs later, she began to fret. No one had joined her at the table. Self-consciously, she fingered the ivory pendant, trying to draw attention to it, determined to wait. Perhaps the person didn't plan to talk, but just wanted a means of spotting her. Or perhaps he hadn't come because Owen was now safe. If only she knew.

  By the sixth song she wondered if it would look too rude or obvious if she put her fingers in her ears. They were beginning to hurt...they hadn't been previously dulled by noise, and the ache in them let her know she was losing some hearing. The seventh song was quieter, a love song—a simple ballad—and she breathed easier. This one her ears could stand.

  Donegal came to the front of the stage, shoulders back, his body held almost formally erect, a slight strut to the way he walked. "We are on a voyage of discovery...you and I; through turbulent seas frothed with ivory...you and I. Searching, seeking, sighing for the love we lost in days gone by...in days gone by."

  His voice didn't need amplification although he had used a mike for the rest of the program. With this song, he had picked up a classical guitar and left his microphone off. Hushed, the audience listened intently, spellbound by the man's artistry.

  He had black hair—thick, long and curly—that came down past his shoulders, teal blue eyes, a slightly pale face and sunburned nose. When he stopped in front of Perri, sitting down on the stage just a few feet from her table, she had a difficult time looking impressed. The singer's attire was hard to take, even though she did like the song.

  "We are on a voyage of discovery...just us two; and where it takes us we cannot see...me and you. Puzzling, probing, till the masquerade is past and ends the lie."

  "...ends the lie...ends the lie," the other singers in the band echoed. Perri focused on the square-tipped, heavily ringed fingers of the singer, wishing he would go away. She felt uncomfortable as he stayed, singing the tender melody as if just to her.