Mexican Nights

by Jeanne Stephens

  "Over a year," Mike told her readily. "That's longer than most of his amores last. I was beginning to think it was off, until Derek got that phone call from her. I don't think he's seen her in several months. Now it seems to be on, and it must be serious."

  "We probably shouldn't speculate on something we really know nothing about," Jack put in a little uneasily.

  Terri was ready to change the subject, too. She couldn't care less how serious Derek and his beautiful Mexican actress were! She began gathering up her camera equipment, which she had dropped on the floor next to her chair. "I have to go up to my room now."

  "What about tomorrow?" Jack asked.

  "Sounds like fun," she said, straightening up, her purse strung over her shoulder, her camera and camera bag clutched in her arms. "Call me in the morning— after eleven, because I plan to indulge myself and sleep late. We can make more definite plans then."

  Jack got to his feet as she pushed her chair back. "I'm going up, too." They bid goodbye to Mike and left the coffee shop together. In the elevator, which they had to themselves, Jack said, "I don't care how tired you are, you have to eat dinner. Will you have it with me in the hotel dining room?"

  "I don't know—"

  Jack's blue eyes clouded. "Did he tell you not to go out with me?"

  "Who?" Terri was puzzled by the sudden suspicious narrowing of the clear blue eyes.

  "Derek."

  "For heaven's sake, why would he do that?"

  Jack shrugged. "Earlier today I said something to Mike about asking you out. Derek overheard and it seemed to irritate him. He said we were here to work, not traipse around like tourists on holiday."

  Oh, he did, did he? Terri thought mutinously. If she had needed more prompting to accept Jack's dinner invitation, that did it. "He didn't say a word to me about it, but if he had I'd have told him to mind his own business. I'll be happy to have dinner with you. Shall we meet in the dining room at seven thirty?"

  Jack, too, got off on the fourth floor. Where two hallways intersected, he turned right. "Mike and I are at the end of this hall," he told her. "Not so very far," he added with a grin, "if you should get lonely."

  Terri laughed. "I'll remember that." Where, she wondered as she separated from Jack, was Derek's suite? On this floor as well? She turned left and left again before reaching her own room. It seemed probable he would want to be near his two assistants. She hoped his accommodations were in the wing with Jack and Mike's. Then she wouldn't be likely to run into him in the hallway. It might be better, she concluded as she fitted her key in the lock, if she didn't learn the exact location of Derek's suite. What she didn't know couldn't bother her.

  She closed the door behind her, tossed her camera, bag, and purse on the double bed, and dropped into a comfortable armchair next to the large window that looked down upon a busy Mexico City street. There was a small park across from the hotel with cars racing by on either side. At one end of the park stood a huge monument that commemorated the centennial of Mexican independence. A terraced base supported a tall column, atop which stood a golden angel of liberty. Terri had been told by one of the hotel employees that the monument contained the remains of several revolutionary heroes. Narrow walks crisscrossed the park and benches were scattered about on the close-clipped grass. Several couples walked there slowly, arms entwined, or lounged on the benches, touching and kissing. From her first foray into the streets of Mexico City, Terri had been struck by the public manner in which courting couples displayed their affection.

  Don't they have houses to go to? she thought now with a trace of cynicism. It was hardly possible to venture into the streets without bumping into these young lovers. She sighed heavily. She ought to be happy for them, she supposed, instead of feeling this dull ache of resentment. Maybe it was only that she felt wrung out already and this assignment had barely begun. Or maybe it was her anger at Derek's suggestion that she and Jack and Mike (the underlings!) would have no time for socializing, while he planned to spend plenty of time with Margarite Lopez. Was it really coincidence that Derek had scheduled this trip to Mexico City just now? The fact that his actress lived here was certainly a fortuitous coincidence—and the trip was at the publisher's expense, too!

  She raked slim fingers through thick, blond hair in a weary gesture, puzzled as to why she felt so depressed. She didn't usually have this lonely heaviness weighing on her heart. She was by nature cheerful and optimistic—ordinarily. If there was no lover in her own life, it was by her choice. She had been so busy the past three years getting established in her profession, there hadn't been time for serious relationships. Anyway, she hadn't met anyone with whom she could envision such a closeness.

  After several minutes, her head began to nod. Shaking herself awake, she got up to run water into the tub. Sloshing in a generous amount of bubble bath, she stripped off her shorts and halter and stepped into the tub, stretching out so that the aromatic bubbles came up to her chin. With her head resting on the back of the tub, she closed her eyes and gave in to the warm, relaxing lethargy that crept over her.

  A few minutes before seven thirty, Terri, dressed in a softly clinging green crepe dress, left her room. As she was pulling the door firmly shut behind her, the door across the hall opened and Derek Storm stepped out. Their eyes met, hers wide with surprise, his unreadable, as usual.

  "I—I didn't know you had that room," she stammered, her cheeks warm, her discomposure acute at the sudden meeting for which she had been totally unprepared.

  He was wearing an excellently tailored soft gray suit that fit his wide shoulders and trim waist to perfection. A muscle twitched slightly on one side of his firmly sculptured mouth. "Good evening, Terri." He did not seem surprised to see her. Had he known all along that her room was across the hall? His dark eyes swept over her. "Dressed for a night on the town, I see."

  "As are you," she returned, meeting his insolent gaze with an effort.

  His broad shoulders moved in a careless shrug. "I rather liked what you were wearing the last time we met." The glint in his eyes was teasing. She was sure he meant to insult her.

  "Fortunately, I don't dress to please you, so I won't have to dash in and change." She turned on one spike heel with what hauteur she could feign, saying, "If you will excuse me, I am meeting someone for dinner." Let him wonder who! She walked quickly away.

  She heard his measured footsteps, muffled in the hall carpet, but following her nevertheless. She did not look back, but when she reached the elevator, he was beside her. She punched the down button and stared straight ahead, aware of his unwavering gaze on her face. She examined her tapering fingernails intently and heard the elevator coming. When the doors slid open, several passengers stepped back to make room. As the elevator continued its downward journey, curious glances came Terri's way, as if the other occupants were aware of the strained atmosphere that had entered the cubicle with the newcomers. She stared at the control panel as the floor numbers were lighted, one by one. She knew, without looking, that Derek was still observing her, his eyes burning into her as if she were a bug under a microscope. Why did he have to watch her so much? Every chance encounter between them was becoming an ordeal.

  The elevator arrived at the lobby and Terri stepped out with a grateful sigh. Her relief was short-lived, however, because she was soon aware of Derek Storm walking behind her toward the dining room. She wanted to run, but knew that the mask of sophistication she hoped she was wearing would slip if she did. Besides, it would be just her luck to lose her footing on the polished floor and fall flat. Wouldn't that give him a good laugh?

  The dining room was crowded, but Jack saw her immediately and gestured her toward the table he was holding. He pulled out her chair and she sat down.

  "I hope I'm not late," she said breathlessly.

  "You needn't have rushed," he said, mistaking the cause for her shortness of breath. "You're right on time. Oh, hello, Derek. Are you looking for me?"

  Terri stiffened, as she realized De
rek Storm was standing beside her chair.

  Derek drew a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. "A few things I'd like you to take care of in the morning—in case I don't see you."

  Terri fumed inwardly. He'd known all along that she was meeting Jack. And why wouldn't he see Jack in the morning? Because he planned to sleep late? Or maybe he intended to spend the night and the following day elsewhere.

  Jack was still standing behind her chair. "Would you like to join us for dinner?" Terri could detect the reluctance behind the invitation. It must have been just as obvious to Derek, for he gave a wicked little chuckle before replying, as if he were actually considering taking Jack up on the offer.

  "No, thank you," he said after a brief pause. "I have a previous engagement, so I'll say good night." He glanced at Terri as if he were about to add something for her benefit, but he evidently decided against it. He left abruptly. He was probably meeting Margarite Lopez, Terri thought, and she hoped the actress was as arrogant and self-centered as Derek Storm. If so, they deserved each other.

  She pulled her wandering thoughts back to Jack, determined to enjoy their meal together. The food was good and Terri soon found herself laughing at Jack's lighthearted banter. What a relief it was to be in the company of a man with whom she could feel comfortable. The hour they spent over dinner passed quickly and pleasantly, but when Jack suggested they go for a stroll in the little park across from the hotel afterward, she begged off. It was one thing to enjoy Jack's company in a crowded restaurant; but the park where she had seen so many lovers earlier was another matter. She didn't feel that easy with him yet! He insisted on seeing her to her room and let her know subtly that he would like to be invited in for a while. She pretended not to take his meaning, however, and managed to extricate herself from him after a brief, almost brotherly kiss.

  In her room she changed immediately into a thigh-length, cotton knit nighty—the sort of thing that didn't wrinkle and took up no space at all in a crammed suitcase. Then she got into bed and read through a Mexico City tourist guide before turning out the light and settling herself to sleep.

  In spite of her exhaustion, she slept fitfully, awakening again and again to peer at the luminous dial of her wristwatch. She did fall into a deep slumber about dawn, but was wide awake again by nine o'clock. She got up, splashed cold water on her face, scrubbed her teeth, and ran a brush through tousled hair. There was a dull ache at her temple, no doubt the result of tossing and turning all night. She decided to go back to bed and order breakfast sent up.

  About fifteen minutes later a knock at her door signaled the arrival of her order. She hadn't brought a robe with her, and she hadn't wanted to dress because she was determined to pamper herself this morning— even if she couldn't sleep—by dawdling over breakfast in bed. She glanced down at her short nighty and shrugged. You couldn't see anything, after all, and she was as covered up as she was in shorts and halter. Besides, it was probably one of the waitresses bringing her tray.

  She padded barefoot across the carpet, disengaged the safety chain, and opened the door. "That was quick. You are to be congratulated on your service," she said brightly, reaching out to take the tray.

  "So I've been told." Derek Storm's maddening grin and raised eyebrows met her stunned gaze. He was holding her breakfast tray.

  Where had he come from? And that stupid remark about the service had certainly given him the sort of opening he relished. His amused appraisal set her pulses racing. She tugged uneasily at the drooping neck of her gown, aware suddenly that she was wearing nothing underneath and that her blond hair, before its usual morning shampoo, was in tumbled confusion.

  "May I come in?" Before she could reply, he moved past her and set the tray on the table beside her bed.

  She got back into bed, determined, in spite of everything, to have her breakfast warm. She tucked the sheet primly around her legs, and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the tray. "Sorry I can't offer you any," she said, enjoying the chance to put him in his place, "but there seems to be only one cup. Of course, I didn't expect a guest. What did you do with my waitress?"

  He pulled a sheaf of papers from the hip pocket of his close-fitting denim trousers. "The poor girl is overworked. I happened to step into the hall just as she was approaching your door. Since I was coming here anyway, I offered to take your tray." He waved the papers at her. "I even tipped her, for which you might show a little gratitude."

  Terri buttered a piece of toast and ignored him. He did not seem to notice that he was being ignored, nor that she was so scantily dressed. Probably he was used to seeing ladies in even less.

  "My article on the calendar stone," he informed her, sitting down on the edge of her bed and holding the papers where she could see the photograph accompanying the article.

  "Must we have lessons before breakfast?" she murmured crossly. "On Sunday, too."

  "Oh, is this Sunday?" He had turned to look at her with a false look of Innocence on his tanned face—false because an innocent would not have let his glance stray along her neck and across her upper body in that suggestive way. Terri looked down self-consciously at the thin knit material that seemed to be clinging to every curve and line of her body. Then she raised blue eyes to meet dark liquid ones.

  "You were going to tell me about the calendar stone," she quavered, reaching for the coffeepot once more, pretending that her mind was still on breakfast when all the time it was churning out shocking images like a runaway movie projector.

  He cleared his throat. "Right—" The word was almost a growl. "What do you know about it?"

  "Very little," she admitted in a small voice.

  "You are aware, at least, that this is the face of Tonathiua, the sun god, in the center?"

  "Vicious-looking creature, isn't he?" Terri ventured. "With his tongue lolling out like that. No doubt he's thirsting for human blood."

  "Exactly." Derek brightened as if she'd said something intelligent for a change. "These four squares around his face probably represent the four seasons as well as the four different destructions that, according to Aztec legend, the world had suffered in the dim past—destruction by wild animals, wind, fire, and flood."

  Terri was becoming intrigued in spite of herself. "What are the smaller squares in the next circle?"

  "Those represent the twenty days of the Aztec month. The Aztec year consisted of eighteen months of twenty days each. That comes to 360 days, to which were added these five dots here—do you see?—which were sacrificial days."

  Terri set her coffee cup aside and indicated eight angles at intervals around the next circle. "And these?" She had momentarily forgotten her self-consciousness—until, in gesturing, her hand brushed against Derek's long fingers. The effect was galvanic—invisible sparks sizzled between them, causing her to snatch back trembling fingers.

  "The sun's rays at the eight points of the compass." He continued, but his tone was overly pedantic, as if he were mocking her. Of course, he knew exactly how unsure he made her feel. What was he doing sitting on her bed, anyway, and she still in her nightgown? Angrily, she tugged the sheet more tightly about her waist. Jack had wanted to come in last night, but she had been fully dressed then—and he had at least waited to be invited.

  "The Aztecs had a perfect conception of orientation and built their cities according to the compass." Derek sounded abruptly serious, one long finger touching the bottom of the monolith where two ferocious serpents' heads faced each other. "These snakes were called in Aztec 'Xiuhcoatl.' You see, they have trunks like elephants and front legs like jaguars. Those are flames carved along the snakes' bodies, which is why they are called fire snakes. Some scholars think the flames represent fifty-two-year cycles."

  Terri measured out her breath slowly, trying to concentrate on what he was saying. It was well nigh impossible to think about the calendar stone when he was sitting so close to her, smelling so deliciously of a musky after-shave—the world-famous writer and respected scholar. But it wasn't his
scholarship that was making her chest feel as if it were collapsing.

  "Amazing, isn't it?" Dark eyes gazed down on her. Could he sense the disturbing emotions he was rousing in her? Undoubtedly.

  "It's almost as if they were obsessed with time." Her words came out unevenly, and a vein throbbed achingly in her temple.

  "An astute observation."

  She brushed at a few toast crumbs on the sheet, aware that he was watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye. The papers held in his hand crackled. "These holes on the edge held horizontal sticks that projected their shadows on the figures of the calendar. The stone was also used as a sun dial."

  She continued to nod, wishing he would end this exquisite torture. He was so solid, so masculine, so full of a dark, mysterious force that seemed to reach out to Terri, calling to the deep throbbing in her blood. He affected her in ways that she had never felt with any other man, and she despised him for it! She wanted only to finish this assignment and go home. She realized suddenly that he was still talking, saying something that she had not heard. He was looking at her curiously.

  "There is something you don't understand?"

  How true! thought Terri, trying to appear studiously intent upon the article he held in his hand. She said the first thing that drifted into her mind. "You admire the Aztecs very much, don't you?"

  "Of course," he said, as if he were thinking, "doesn't everybody? Their knowledge of astronomy and mathematics was amazing for the era in which they lived."

  "Yet you could hardly call them civilized!" For some reason she felt a need to disagree with him—about anything.

  "Oh?" He paused, the knowing eyes caressing her face, her tousled hair, the hollow at the base of her neck. When his gaze returned to her flushed face, he shrugged. "It depends on your idea of what is civilized, I suppose." He made a sudden movement and she started violently the second before she realized he only intended to lay the folded article on the bedside table. Oh, why was she behaving like such a shrinking violet? She wished for the earth to open and swallow her.