“Cállate,” José said. “Grow up.”
The helicopter took off, and we watched it bank northeast toward Guadalajara. I couldn’t imagine that anyone was going to have much luck trying to identify the body. It’s not like they keep dental records down here. But even if they did, Winsor hadn’t been reported missing.
For all anyone knew, he was still perving around up in the States.
39
I walked the beach back to Sabanita after leaving Chuy and José to drink beer with their cop buddies—which made me a little nervous. It seemed like half the people in Jalisco were related, and the rest played fútbol against each other. Mexico was a small town. I made a loop around the plaza, and I could see that the locals were already whispering about what had washed up at Libros. Then I headed to the bar.
Meagan was making herself a margarita. The Wave of the Day opened at eleven for the morning happy-hour crowd. Meagan’s idea was to give the expat drunks a feel-at-home hangout, so she came in around nine to cook up a pot of Chicken Soup for the Liver.
We’d been open for a week but had served only nine customers—there was a lot of soup left over. But not as much tequila.
“The boys want Wi-Fi in here,” Meagan said. “Is that expensive?”
“It’s not free,” I said. “And you have to have a phone first.”
“Well, we need a phone, too. For credit cards. I can’t believe Winsor doesn’t have one.”
“Didn’t,” I said.
“And it’ll make the boys’ homeschooling much easier. They can do it right up here with me.”
“A homeschool on the barstool. Sounds quaint.”
“Smart people can learn anywhere. Dummies need to go to Harvard.”
I couldn’t imagine having that kind of self-confidence. I wondered when the last time was that Meagan thought she had gotten something wrong.
To be fair, Jade was smart as hell. That was for sure. And he needed the Wi-Fi thing because he had recently hacked into Stanford’s fifteen-thousand-dollar-a-year homeschooling program. He was getting all the lectures and taking the tests—and he was patiently walking his stepbrother through the prep-school curriculum, subject by subject. They were a heck of a team.
“I’ll look into it,” I said.
“Telmex said they could have someone here by two.”
I shook my head. Meagan smiled and then leaned over and kissed me.
“I could love you, you know,” she said.
“When?”
“When do I have to?”
“You’re such a romantic,” I said.
“You grow out of that,” she said. “How was the surf?”
“I didn’t go surfing.”
“No waves?”
“It didn’t matter,” I said. “I knew I wasn’t going surfing when I told you I was.”
Meagan looked up at me. “Okay,” she said, a little confused.
“I lied to you,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Meagan topped off her margarita. “Would you like one?” She wasn’t exactly rocked by my confession.
“I can’t. I’m back on meds.”
Meagan knew I couldn’t drink, but maybe she was testing me.
“Yeah, well, if you think I’m giving up reefer and margaritas, you are out of your mind. I have two thirteen-year-olds.”
“I don’t,” I said. “But I am sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”
“I know. You should always save lying for the important stuff.”
She handed me a Diet Coke.
“Winsor’s body washed up at Libros,” I said.
This slowed Meagan down. She dabbed a few grains of salt off the bar with her little finger and tasted them.
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Yeah.”
“Did it look like he had suffered?”
“He was dead before we dumped him overboard, Meagan,” I said. “But he didn’t look great.”
“He deserved to suffer.” Meagan poured herself a little more margarita. “Are we in trouble now?”
“I don’t think so. He was pretty hard to recognize. I only knew it was him because of that Livestrong bracelet he wore.”
“That he stole from me because he thought it was cool,” she said. “Cheap prick.”
I couldn’t blame her for hating on the guy. I was pretty low on fond memories myself.
“The chisme is, it was a murder—that the cartel is out for revenge in Sabanita.”
“Revenge for what?” Meagan asked.
“For nothing. That’s how rumors work. People make up whole fantasies out of tiny pieces of reality.”
“My modus operandi is the exact opposite of that.”
I couldn’t tell if she was being honest or making a joke.
“But I think it might make sense to get the boys out of town,” I said. “Junior Nationals are at El Tigre this weekend. We could surf Pacuinas on the way up—make it kind of a vacation. It would be fun for the family to get away. Don’t you think?”
I was suddenly thrilled by the idea of the four of us vacationing like a real family. Next year, we could go to Disneyland.
“I’m not sure it’s so great that when a body turns up, we close down Winsor’s place and head out of town. I mean, he’s still missing. How’s that going to look?”
“He’s not missing, Meagan. He’s dead.”
“Well, yeah, that’s what I mean.”
And then something pinged—just a blip.
“Why don’t you and the boys go?” Meagan continued.
“Just us?”
“They’d love it. I’ll stay here and run the Wave. I need the practice. Before you know it, it’ll be tourist season.”
“Will you be okay here all alone?”
“I’m an expert at all alone,” she said. “And it’s just going to be a couple of days, right?”
“Yeah, just for the weekend—maybe a day more if the boys make it through the quarterfinals.”
“They’ll make it—they’re my kids,” she said. “And you’re their coach.”
Meagan took both my hands in hers.
“I love this,” she said. “You and my boys on a road trip. It’s perfect.”
“Okay,” I said. “If that’s what you think we should do.”
“It’s exactly what I think you should do,” Meagan said.
40
We left Sabanita an hour before dawn. There wasn’t much traffic on el 200 heading north, and during off-season, Puerto Vallarta is pretty much a turista-free zone. So we blew right through it and were already on the other side of Bahía de Banderas as the sun rose.
Meagan had still been sound asleep when we left, but I’d made each of the boys kiss her on the cheek and leave an “I love you, Mom” note next to the teapot. I’d left one, too.
Pacuinas was going to be about a six-hour drive. But we’d be driving during daylight so it should be cool.
“This is a real guys’ trip,” I said. “There is nothing more special.”
“Why?” Jade asked.
“Well, first,” I said, “zero chicks. So our whole world is going to be like a tree fort. No girls allowed.”
I looked at Obsidian in the rearview mirror as he shrugged at his stepbrother. Jade was riding shotgun. These guys didn’t know what a tree fort was.
“When I was your age,” I said, “guys had their own places—where females weren’t allowed to go, like locker rooms and fraternities. Girls didn’t sue the school so they could play tackle football. And you’d hardly ever see them in a surf lineup.”
“What happened?” Obsidian asked.
“The Supreme Court said that girls get to do all the cool shit, too,” I said.
“But that’s good,” Jade said.
“In the long run,” I said. “But for the next few days, we can do whatever the fuck we want.”
“So we can swear?”
“Fuck, yeah,” I said.
I was planning that our surf trip might end up being a
little bit of a facts-of-life tour, too. I was guessing that Jade and Obsidian hadn’t had too many man-to-man talks—at least, not with the right kind of men.
“Here’s all you need to know about cursing and swearing,” I began, lecturing a little. “First, there is only one word that is off-limits—sometimes even with men, but ALWAYS with women. It’s the nuclear-option word. The one you only use when you want to get expelled, get punched out, or permanently end a relationship.”
“Which word is that?” Jade asked.
“Guess,” I said.
“Bitch,” Jade said.
“That word is, like, a two. I’m talking about a word that’s, like, a thousand,” I said. “Do you know the word I’m talking about, Obsidian?”
“Cunt,” Obsidian said. He said it a lot easier than I would have liked, though, to be fair, I had asked.
“Bingo.”
“I’ve heard that word,” Jade said. “What does it mean?”
“Well, that depends on who you ask,” I said. “But usually somebody who’d cheat on you and steal your money and then beg you to take them back.”
“Who’d ever want someone like that back?” Jade asked.
“You’d be surprised,” I said. “But don’t use words like firecrackers, just for the shock factor. Some people freak out about f-bombs and crude talk, so out of respect, don’t use profanity when they’re around. And make sure you know enough about a swear word to use it in a sentence—so you don’t just look like a kook with a bunch of bad words who doesn’t really know what they mean.”
I wasn’t sure if Jade was getting my point, but it looked like his stepbrother was. He had that wise-guy gleam in his eye.
“All women are cunts except for my mother,” Obsidian said. “But if you ask my father? He’s not so sure.” He was laughing at me. “You mean like that?”
“I thought your father was dead,” Jade said, coming to my defense. “And my mom isn’t a cunt.”
“I was being hyperbolic,” Obsidian said, showing off.
“Ooh, big word,” Jade said.
“Better than abandoned,” Obsidian said, just as Jade took a swipe at him.
“Guys, hey, that’s my point,” I said. “Words matter, and they can hurt.”
“What’s the second-worst word?” Jade asked.
“Probably cocksucker,” I said. “And that’s usually a guy who fires you from your job, or cuts you off on the freeway.”
“Or Winsor,” Obsidian said.
And I winced at the name that now sounded more profane than any of the words we’d been batting around. I looked over to Jade.
“I told him what really happened, but he doesn’t believe me,” Jade said.
“Why not, Obsidian?” I asked. “Jade wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Because then Mom’s made a big mistake,” Obsidian said.
“She did,” I said. “And I’m not big on secrets, but this is one we have to keep.”
“We do,” Jade said.
“Okay,” Obsidian said, and shook Jade’s hand.
“But, you know, guys,” I said, “sex is actually pretty fantastic.”
“And noisy,” Obsidian said, being snide—and reminding me how small my casa was.
“Do you even know what sex is?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Obsidian said.
I was sure these two had seen Internet porn, but I wondered if they knew that sex wasn’t usually about three guys and a cheerleader.
“What is it, then, big shot?” I asked. “Fill me in. Pretend I don’t know.”
“You mean pretend you’re Jade,” Obsidian said, laughing awkwardly.
“I know what it is,” Jade said. “Don’t lie.”
“So tell me,” I said.
“It’s what you do nude. With a girl,” Obsidian said.
“Not always with a girl,” Jade said.
“That is so gay,” Obsidian said.
“No, you can do it with just yourself, too, genius,” Jade said.
“He’s right,” I said. “And that’s called masturbating. Totally normal—and a single man’s best friend. Unless he has a fuck buddy. And then that person immediately attains best-friend status.”
“It’s also called jerking off,” Jade said, “which is easier to spell.”
I had to laugh. The kid was funny.
“So,” I said, “how do you get a girl pregnant?”
They just sat there.
“Okay,” I said. “You guys should have had this talk when you were about ten—so now I’m just going to be blunt and burn through it.”
“Is this going to get weird?” Jade asked.
“You’ll see,” I said.
I caught Obsidian’s eye in the rearview, and then I looked over at Jade. They looked ready.
“Men have cocks,” I said, “or dicks or rods. Doctors and gym teachers call them penises. When you get sexually excited, your cock gets hard. That’s called an erection. If I were having this talk with you guys when you were ten, we’d call it a stiffy. When it’s stiff—and you have permission—you can put it anywhere you want. In your hand, for example, like Jade said.”
“Masturbating,” Jade said.
“Exactly,” I said. “Or you can put it in someone’s mouth or their vagina—or even in their butt, if they’re into it, too. It’s always better to do this with someone who is about your own age.” I took a breath and let all that sink in.
“When you have an orgasm, sperm comes out. That’s called cumming—spelled with a U and an extra M—or ejaculating. And, as you probably know, it feels fantastic,” I continued. “If cumming happens when you’re inside a vagina, your partner could get pregnant. If you’re inside their mouth, they might get pissed off.”
I looked in the rearview mirror. Obsidian was mesmerized.
“It’s basically okay to do whatever feels good as long as everybody agrees and nobody feels like they’re doing something they don’t want to do,” I said. “It’s always better if they’re digging it as much as you, and when you like them a lot.”
“Boys or girls?” Obsidian asked.
I couldn’t tell if he was fucking with me, but it didn’t look like he was.
“Yeah,” I said. “Boys or girls.”
At this point, I would have opened one of the Suburban’s windows, but all of them were already open.
“So,” Jade said, “do you like my mom a lot?”
“I’m crazy about her,” I said, mostly meaning it.
“Is there anything else?” Obsidian asked.
I probably should have told them about how being a slut sucks and about condoms and STDs. But I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
“That’s all I know, Obsidian,” I said. “The rest of it comes down to style and attitude. The kissing and the warm-up and the wanting—that stuff? That’s going to be your own mystery.”
We pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant that was right on the beach by the break at Pacuinas. We could see good waves, and there were already about a dozen surfers out.
It was midmorning. The tide was rising. We had timed it perfectly.
“It’s big,” Obsidian said.
“That’s why we drove all the way up here, dude,” I said.
I was feeling confident. Maybe it was the Epilim, or maybe it was because these kids needed a role model and I was happy to do it—or maybe I was ready to admit how much I’d missed being a dad.
I turned off the ignition and opened the Suburban’s door.
“Follow me,” I said.
41
A lot of Aussie watermen were in the lineup, so we had to be polite. Maybe Qantas was having a winter’s-end sale. Pacuinas is a bucket-list break for a lot of serious surfers so there are always people in the water when it’s on, and it’s competitive as hell. I have sat out there all day and never had a chance at a decent wave.
But on this day, for some reason, the cosmic surf calculus was in my favor. I must have been exactly the right we
ight, and my Red Fin precisely the right shape, for this particular wave. I was killing it and doing my stepkids proud.
Obsidian was stalking Pacuinas’s big slabby lefts—which are heavier and meaner than the juicy pigs I was snacking on. A small crowd had gathered on the beach, and a few people were even taking vids of Obsidian’s stoke and show.
Jade was having a tougher time. There was a big, sweet wave that showed up on the right side about every ten minutes, but Jade kept getting snaked by this Muscle Beach bully. No matter how far inside Jade sat, this idiot—who had a pretty impressive rendering of The Last Supper tattooed across his back—would go even deeper inside and steal the wave.
The rule is that the deepest surfer, the guy closest to the peak, gets the wave. But there were plenty of waves today. And it wasn’t a fair fight. Jade was thirteen and maybe 120 pounds, wet or dry. The inked-up Aussie looked like a retired pro. He could have let Jade have a wave once in a while. But he wouldn’t.
So I paddled over and sat next to him and watched as he snagged another one of Jade’s waves. The guy could surf, no doubt. My kid was pissed. He punched the water and bit his lip.
“Let me handle this, Jader,” I said quietly.
The prick from Oz paddled back out. I smiled. He didn’t. He was all game-faced and grim.
“That’s a heck of a tattoo,” I said. “The Last Supper. Wow. Incredible work.”
“Tattoolicious in Waikiki,” he said. “In the winter I’m on the north shore. Mostly at Pipe.”
For a guy so core, he seemed to drop a lot of names.
“So you travel a lot,” I said.
I could see Jade smiling out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m a messenger for Jesus,” he said.
“That’ll do it,” I said.
“I surf for Christ.”
“Okay, then, what about a little Christian charity for the grommet here? Let him make a wave, okay, pal? You’ve had, like, ten. He hasn’t had any.”
“Charity is a Catholic lie, mate,” he said. “Good works are a trap. Accepting Jesus as your savior is what matters. If your grom can’t make his own waves, it’s God’s will.”
The guy was a nut—and a wave hog. He started to paddle for another set wave, but I motioned for Jade to go for it.
Pirata Page 14