Man, this place had it all. Three pools were built into the cliff in front and to one side, each cascading into the next with waterfalls. Stairs cut into the side of the cliff spiraled down to a protected cove and a private marina just big enough for Grant’s vintage motor yacht and a slick red speedboat. There was a sauna, steam bath, and gym; the whole place was wired for surround sound. Why anybody would want to work there I have no idea, but it had a business center conference room. Servants’ quarters and a four-car garage were landside. As if that were not enough, it was of course, an Italian villa with five bedrooms, all of which had balconies with awesome views of the Pacific and Cabo itself. The sun set beyond Land’s End. The living room had a huge teak bar that opened up to a large veranda with a fire pit and a Jacuzzi next to the pool and a trap range for shooting clay pigeons out over the ocean. Believe me, this place kicked butt, and would be the kind of spread anybody with Grant’s money would be crazy not to own. All it needed was an airport, though I suppose the private helipad and sleek helicopter across the street sufficed.
He had named this place Villa del Destino Ganado, and these words were carved into the bleached stone arch of the villa’s entryway. I stood looking up at the arch as the Mexican caretaker carted our luggage into the villa.
“That is most interesting.” I pointed at the words. Gina stepped up next to me with a shopping bag. She’d shopped in the airport for clothes. Most women take a day to buy a simple blouse that makes them look fat. In ten minutes Gina threw together a wardrobe of tourist beach crap that on her looked like a million bucks.
“OK, so why is that interesting, Morty?”
“Destino Ganado is written in my family’s crest. It is carved into the fountain that is in my villa in La Paz. It means—”
“Earn Destiny.”
“I must ask Grant about that.”
“Where did he go?”
“He and Dixie said they had some errands in town and that they would see us back here for dinner. I suppose that gives us time to freshen up. Those lines at customs are brutal.”
“Think they put us in rooms near each other?” Gina grinned and began to walk backward into the villa.
I grinned back at her. “Could it be far enough?”
“Far enough?”
“To keep me from coming by to check for spiders?”
“Uno más?”
The camera looks down from a balcony and captures me pursuing Gina into the villa. The shot widens to capture Purity on the villa balcony, spying on us. Gina and I had our mischief, Purity had hers.
“That takes care of them for a while,” she whispered and pivoted back into the villa.
Let us do a traveling shot and follow Purity as she jogs her way through the villa. The screenwriting manual says this can be done with a Steadicam, which allows the cameraman to jog directly behind her and follow her wherever she goes without making the audience feel like there is an earthquake. The use of a Steadicam will allow us a delightful view of Purity jogging from behind, those pigtails bouncing and her compact shape swaying splendidly. It might also be an excellent way to relate all the information above on the opulence of the villa without a Hawaii Five-O montage.
Purity jogged down the upstairs hall, through a beaded curtain, and down the steep and narrow back stairs, into a pantry. She opened the refrigerator and removed a large fish from a platter. Purity turned through a side door and went around a garden path and past a bespectacled gardener, down some rock stairs next to a waterfall, and around the base of one swimming pool. The blue Pacific was spread out to the right, rays of late-day sun streaming in behind her. On the left, she passed the entrance to the sauna and steam bath, both built in under the upper pool. Beyond was an intersection with a stairway going down and a promontory containing the trap range hut and shooting stations. Down the stair she went, steeply, the frothy ocean crashing on the rocks below and to her right.
Curving left around the cliff face, she came to a rock landing, the protected cove, and the top of a long aluminum staircase down to the private marina. Below, the vintage motor yacht and slick red speedboat bobbed gently at the dock. Purity stopped and looked up to the left, as does the camera. Mounted on a bracket bolted to the cliff face was a security camera pointed down at the boats below.
Purity took the large fish and speared it onto the bracket under the camera, but without letting the camera see her.
A flock of terns mobbed the fish, and their feasting obscured the camera’s lens.
Purity jogged down the stairs, sunlight dappling the far wall of the cove.
Jumping down the last few steps onto the dock, she stopped to look behind her, sweat staining her shirt, her breath coming fast as much from the jog as from excitement. Satisfied the birds were still blocking the camera and that nobody had followed her, she turned and hopped aboard the wooden motor yacht.
Purity ducked into a passageway and then immediately went down some steep stairs into the bowels of the yacht. She hit a light switch and followed a series of caged bulbs that illuminated a low paneled passage. Past a stainless steel galley and vented teak doors, and at the end of the passage, was a door bearing the brass plaque ENGINE ROOM.
Opening the engine room door, she flicked the light on. The room gently gurgled to the sound of the bilge pump. Dimly glimmering in the center of the narrow room was an engine the size of a coffin. Various pipes and conduits ascended from the coffin to the ceiling on a column.
Let’s go to a series of close-ups.
Her hand coursed the length of a small aluminum pipe as it twisted along the ceiling and down the column until it turned away from the column and came to a gap in the pipe bridged by a black rubber hose. Purity twisted the hose until one end slid off its aluminum counterpart. Gasoline spurted from the detached hose but trickled to a stop.
Next: Purity’s hand plucked an ignition wire from the top of a spark plug and tucked it next to the engine block.
Next: Purity’s hands held a gasoline can and poured gallons of fuel onto the floor around the engine and where the ignition wire was tucked next to the engine block.
Next: Her finger shut off the switch on the wall labeled BILGE PUMP. The gurgling stopped.
Next: Her fingers shoved rags into the door vent.
Next: Purity’s hand on the brass knob gently closed the door to the engine room.
Cut to Purity on deck, where she entered the bridge and removed her dangling diamond earrings. A St. Christopher’s medal hung from an electronic compass next to the ship’s wheel, and she hooked her earrings onto the chain.
Jumping down from the boat onto the dock, she jogged to the stairs but stopped to look back. Flash fantasy time, a quickie.
We see Grant in full yachting togs and white captain’s hat at the helm of the boat, Dixie by his side, lovebirds cooing at each other. Grant’s hand turns the boat’s ignition switch.
Cut to the engine room half filled with water, a gasoline slick on the surface, and then a close-up of the ignition wire tucked next to the engine block. A bright blue spark fires from the spark plug to the engine block.
Cut to a shot of the yacht from above as it erupts in flame, splinters of wood, and the white captain’s hat cast high into the air as the boat is destroyed by the fireball.
Back to Purity’s wild, excited eyes as she imagines this great moment. She turned and charged back up the stairs to the villa, the birds still flocking around the camera.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
IN TIME LAPSE, WE SEE the sun sink low over Land’s End from the veranda at Villa del Destino Ganado. Cabo San Lucas is in purple shadow, the festive lights of the resorts beginning to twinkle.
We must end the time lapse at sunset for some important action.
Gina and I stepped out onto the veranda, goblets of wine in hand. She was in a simple white cotton peasant dress that on her could just as soon have been something from a Paris runway. I was in a black collared shirt and my white suit pants.
“Beautiful!” Gina smiled at the sunset, the orange light dazzling in her blue eyes.
“Yes, very beautiful.” I said this looking at her.
“Now don’t go getting all smitten on me, Morty.”
“Do I look smitten? Nonetheless, I think you should know I appreciate your beauty almost as much as your cunning.”
She looked at me suspiciously, but laughed. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. A most passionate afternoon.” If I do say so, she was coming along nicely.
“Back at you.”
We clinked glasses.
My mood shifted as I looked back in the direction of the living room, and then led Gina to the veranda railing. “I have to show you something. It was in my room when I returned to change for dinner.”
I handed her a folded note, which she unfolded and read in a whisper.
“Meet me on the west end of the Ramparts at 9:00 P.M. I have something important for you, Purity. What’s this about?”
I shrugged. “I cannot imagine.”
“But you just left a note for Dixie to meet you at the helipad to lure her away so I could get at Grant.”
“Yes, now there are three notes.”
“Purity is trying to cozy up to my guy? And my guy is trying to cozy up to Dixie. And Grant is trying to cozy up to me.”
I began to say one thing, cocked an eyebrow at her, and said something else. “Three notes?”
“I got a note of my own, shoved under the door when I took a shower. Here.”
I unfolded a very similar piece of paper and whispered aloud. “I have not forgotten our kiss or swim, and wish to continue. Meet me on the yacht at 9:00 P.M. RTG.”
We shared a mutual moment of perplexity, holding each other’s notes and squinting. Or is it perplexion?
* * *
The camera is on Dixie as she enters the living room and sidles up to where Grant is pouring himself a Scotch. The audience can see Gina and me on the veranda in the background.
Dixie had a wary eye on us. “Cuddlekins, take a look at this.” She handed Grant a folded piece of paper.
Grant knitted his brow and whispered the note. “Querida, we must meet, the helipad at 9:00. 9:30, I have some important information about Grant you should know. Regards—Sr. MM. Information about me? Like what?” He probably suspected I was going to spill the beans about Gina’s stolen moonlight kiss.
Dixie looked vexed. “Robbie, Morty is merely saying that to get me to meet him. We’re in the home stretch here, so try to stay sharp.”
“Why would he want to meet you?”
“Why do you think?” Dixie wiggled her hips. “When you came in the other night, with Gina, I have to tell you, Morty was making advances.”
Grant scowled, his face red, his eyes turning to me on the veranda.
She patted his arm. “Now, now, sugar, nothing happened, and I’m only meeting him down at the Ramparts briefly to lure him.”
“He did something! What?”
“He felt my bottom.”
Once again, Dixie thought she was pulling Grant one way, keeping him focused and determined in the stretch. Yet at the same time she was pushing him toward Gina. Grant not only wanted me convicted of murdering Purity, but he also wanted to make sure I didn’t get Gina. His spite meter was in the red zone.
I know it may seem a little odd that he was angry at me for trying to cheat with Dixie when he in fact was intending to cheat on Dixie. Alas, this is the way men’s minds work sometimes.
* * *
Cut back to Gina’s and my thoughtful pause on the veranda.
Gina spoke first. “Imagine if I gave Grant a note—then there would be four notes and probably four meetings at nine o’clock.”
“I changed my appointment with Dixie to nine thirty. That should still keep her out of your hair so you can meet Grant at nine.”
“So you’re going to meet both Purity and Dixie?”
“I think I must. For all I know, Purity has something genuinely important to tell me. She is troubled, and I admit to feeling somewhat protective of her since I have saved her life twice.”
“Mm hm. Just keep it zipped, bubby. I know how charming you like to be.”
“Querida, you have my word. Three notes. Coincidences like this are like a tarantula in the bathtub. Obvious but unwelcome. You kissed Grant?”
“It was the only way to get him to cough up the ring.”
“The fake ring.”
“Are you saying I’m cheap?”
“I’m saying that you are cunning and yet beautiful.”
“You two arguing?” Purity limped out onto the veranda with a green margarita glass. She was in a blue patterned bikini and matching shawl skirt. “Morty, could you do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“I have some earrings, and I think they’re down at the yacht, down that path. I twisted my ankle. Could you go down and get them? I remember hooking them onto a chain hanging from the compass in the bridge.”
“At your service.” I smiled, set my wineglass on a table, and went off to retrieve the earrings.
Purity and Gina were alone.
“So did you and Morty fuck really hard this afternoon?” Purity said this as casually as if she’d remarked upon the weather. She sipped her drink.
“Hm.” Gina could give as good as she got. “On the hard-fuckness meter, I’d say it was about an eight. Night’s early, though. What do you have planned?”
“Vivisection, the usual.” Purity’s phone chimed, and she peeled away from Gina just as Grant and Dixie emerged from the bar area. Grant looked like he was ready to play tennis, with a sweater tied around his shoulders and a Scotch in his hand. Dixie was in a snazzy orange jumpsuit with a halter top and a glass of white wine.
We see her texts witten on the screen.
Skip: M here—hotel mar del cruz—CU n town?
Purity: yoyo [you’re on your own]
“Looks like we just made it in time for sunset over Land’s End!” Dixie tilted her head at Grant and then blinked at Gina. “We’re so glad you could join us here at Villa Destino.”
“I certainly appreciate you having me. This is quite a treat.”
Skip: ??? wrud [what are you doing]
Purity: OMW out
“Where’s our Mr. Martinez?” Grant asked, hoping that I had gone back to La Paz.
“Went to fetch something. He should be right back.”
Dixie adjusted her halter top. “He’s missing a nice sunset. Life’s too short to miss nice sunsets. We’re going on a romantic boat ride later to see the lights of the town. We’d invite you along but it’s just the two of us.”
Skip: with Morty?
Purity: he left me a note, wants me 2 meet him @ 9 @ ramparts
Purity was in the background and looked up from where she was texting on her phone. “You should take the yacht and do a hot tub.”
Grant shifted uncomfortably. “Not a bad idea.”
“A sailing yacht?” Gina sipped.
“She’s called Premiere.” Grant puffed with pride. “A motor yacht, a classic from the fifties, she was built by a shipbuilding magnate who had it custom built. Later it was owned by a Hollywood producer. He entertained many famous movie stars and personalities of that era on Premiere, in fact some even motored with him to Cannes.”
Gina acted impressed. “She sounds like a one of a kind.”
“She is.” Dixie grinned, and turned. “Purity, what are your plans this evening? You’re not planning on taking that scooter out on the local roads, I hope.”
Skip: Ramparts a bar?
Purity: CD9 [parents in room] VCDA [vaya con Dios, amigo]
“My plans are to chill.”
* * *
I may have been missing the sunset, but I was becoming more familiar with the geography. On my way back from retrieving Purity’s earrings, I became lost, which with all the paths around the grounds of Villa del Destino Ganado was not hard to
do. When I came up the stairs, I zigged instead of zagged, and found myself at the edge of the garden and property where the land abruptly returned from the lush plantings to an arid scrubland. I found a signpost there with an arrow marked THE RAMPARTS. It pointed along a path that wound down the cliff face to a small beach in the distance. Looming over this beach were towering pointy rocks that isolated the little beach from all but Grant’s villa.
I squinted, wondering about that note. Did Purity want me to service her on that little beach? Would I once again have to explain to her that I was not attracted to her sexually? If she wanted me alone, and it was not about sex, why would she want me to come all the way down that path at that little beach? I also had to think about Dixie. When I met her at the heliport, how was I to delay her there without attempting to make love to her? If so, should I? To be brutally honest, even though you may not believe it based on my roving eye, I have never been one to double up on my women. I simply do not enjoy charming two women back and forth. No matter which one I am with, I imagine I am with the other. I end up only half as passionate with both, which serves nobody’s purposes. Besides, what kind of idiot would I be to jeopardize what I had going with Gina, one of the world’s great beauties, for an overly mannered southern belle slipping past her prime? Yes, even considering her notable bedroom skills and that whole thing she did with the silk scarf. Besides, I was genuinely coming to feel Gina and I were on the same page, that after a couple weeks our relationship would not become a protracted shopping spree punctuated by afterthought sex, and that she would not attempt to lower my cholesterol or enroll me in a tantric yoga course. To many women, every man is a fixer-upper, and when they have him fixer-upped, they have no further use for him other than as the bearer of their shopping bags.
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