Mariachi Meddler

by D. R. Ransdell

  “Maybe you didn’t expect company,” Mrs. Sfirakis said on her way out.

  I set the pitcher on the coffee table hard enough that drops of milk popped out. “What the hell do you want?” If she hadn’t awakened me from such a sound sleep, I might not have been so grumpy.

  “You know what you did.”

  “If you want to play games, you can stay here. I’ll leave.”

  She patted the cushion next to her, inviting me to sit, but instead I chose the armchair opposite the couch. “You made me jealous! I couldn’t sleep all night. The way you fell over that white woman was nauseating.”

  “It doesn’t matter if she was white or orange or purple. All we did was talk.”

  “You flirted with her in front of me, and everyone knew what you were doing. How did you think I would feel?”

  In retrospect I can’t believe how slow I was to catch on, but it wasn’t until that moment that I realized Yiolanda had a serious problem. She didn’t crave attention. She absolutely needed it. Or rather, what she needed was therapy. “Yiolanda,” I said slowly, “you’re married to Rolando. What difference does it make whom I talk to?”

  As she sighed, she tapped a long, red nail on her knee. “I don’t feel passion for him anymore. I wish I did. I wish I hadn’t spent all last night thinking about you in bed with that woman.”

  “I barely met her.”

  “I expected to find her right here. That’s why I had to come over so early in the morning.”

  The wall clock over the TV said ten a.m. I could hardly accuse her of coming at the break of dawn.

  “Andy, you do something for me. I can’t explain what it is. But you make me feel.”

  “Feel what?”

  “Alive!” She leaned forward until I thought she was going to fall off the couch. “Being with you has made me feel alive again. Do you have any idea how important that is?”

  I wanted to believe that I could be the one special lover that could please her more than all the rest, but I knew better. I could see the doors of the trap coming down all the way around me.

  “It’s not me that makes you feel alive,” I countered. “We dodged bullets together! Naturally our emotions were heightened.”

  “Are you saying you don’t normally find me attractive?”

  “Of course I do, but….”

  “But what?”

  When she started unbuttoning her blouse, I looked away. “I can’t.”

  “Afraid you’re not up to it this morning? Maybe you made love to someone else last night while I lay awake next to a snoring bear.”

  Yiolanda came over and perched herself on the edge of my chair before sliding into my lap. She tugged at her pants and snapped the elastic band. Then she tossed her hair so that it fell in slender waves.

  “Do I have to do everything myself?”

  Her hips swayed as she advanced to my bedroom.

  I followed but stood as far from the bed as the room allowed.

  While I watched, she dropped her blouse on the floor. “Yiolanda, you’re married to my boss.”

  “So?” She said it lazily, stretching. Then she sat up and drew the sheet around her. “You’re thinking about that damned woman from last night! You want to be with her!”

  I sat at the foot of the bed. “Yiolanda, that woman is halfway over the Atlantic by now.”

  “But you wanted her! There’s no use denying it.”

  “I didn’t have time to think that far. Last night Pablo and Sergio and I were enjoying our music and the customers. Most nights no one pays us that much attention.” I sat a little closer. “Besides, why shouldn’t I flirt? You couldn’t be mine even if we both wanted it.”

  “I already told you, I am yours.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want to possess me by a piece of paper?” She rubbed her ring finger with the thumb of the same hand. “By a metal strip? Possession comes from feelings. From what's inside.”

  I got close enough to twirl a strand of her hair in my fingers. “I can’t be with you. You know that.”

  “That’s what you said yesterday. As you see, it isn’t true.”

  “If we were lovers, we couldn’t even spend the night together.”

  “You are concerned about lying next to a person for eight hours, asleep?” She sprawled out, turned her head away, and feigned snoring before returning to her original position. “Do you care about that?”

  “It’s beautiful to hold someone in your arms.”

  “No! It’s nothing special. Maybe for you.” She pulled at my arm. “Lie down.” She snuggled against my chest, her right hand around my side. “Are you comfortable?”

  “Very.”

  “And me?” She wiggled her left arm from under her body. “I have to crush my arm. Let’s try again.” She twisted around, nestling her back into my arms. “You’re comfortable?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Look at the position of my neck.” She stroked it with her right hand. “For five minutes, this is comfortable.” She rolled into a sitting position. “But if I sleep like that, the next day I will walk around like this.” She bobbed her head up and down like a child’s toy with springs.

  We laughed, and she bent and kissed the top of my head.

  “Don’t be so silly. It’s nothing to sleep with someone. And Rolando, yes, he is my husband. So? Most people have a husband or a wife. Maybe they even love them. But they have lost the passion. Passion is like the cherry red of the bougainvillea. The flower is glorious before it dies and falls to the ground.”

  “So we would be like a bougainvillea plant?”

  “A bush. Strong.”

  She eyed me, but I got up before she could touch me again. “Speaking of horticulture, did you know I used to work at White Flowers?” I asked. It was an awkward segue, but I’d suddenly come to at least one of my senses.

  “In L.A.?”

  “In Vegas.”

  “I’ve haven’t been there in years.”

  “That’s odd. My cousin Henry saw you there.” I didn’t have a cousin named Henry, but it was the first name that popped into my mouth. I turned my back to her as I pulled on a shirt.

  “Your cousin?”

  “I introduced you about a year ago although you might not remember him. Anyway, he saw you at White Flowers a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Andy, you are so gullible. You believe everything people tell you.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. She was that skilled a liar. She’d had plenty of time to practice.

  I got out of bed. “My cousin said—”

  “I already told you. I haven’t been there for years.”

  “Who were you with?”

  “Andy! You sound like a schoolboy.”

  I reached for my white work shirt and took the cigarettes from my pocket. Generally I didn’t smoke during the day, but I needed to do something with my mouth to keep from saying things I’d later regret or at least keep from saying as many of them. “There’s no reason to lie to me. I don’t care if you were in Vegas or not.”

  “I wasn’t there, and if you say it again, I’ll scream.”

  “No! Mrs. Sfirakis will hurry over with more milk!”

  Inadvertently I’d broken the tension, and we both laughed.

  “Let me tell you something,” she said as she rested her back against the wall. “You wonder why I’m jealous, yet you are too.” She sighed. “It’s always the same with passion. It can’t be helped. The highs are very high. The lows you know all about.” She beckoned me back to the bed, but I ignored her. “I understand. Really, I do. But you won’t be able to resist me forever no matter how hard you try.”

  “I can’t even trust you to tell me the truth.”

  “Andy, you don’t have to believe me about White Flowers. You can go ask for yourself.”

  I reached for the small black ashtray on top of my dresser and sat at the far end of the bed. “Sure, I’ll pop over next weekend.”

  “I need you to go b
efore then.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been getting calls. Threatening calls. No one talks—I only hear scraping sounds in the background. It is a direct message. You remember what happened to the door of the office.”

  “But—”

  She got out of bed and stretched. “I need you to go to Vegas to pay off that debt I told you about. Otherwise there’s no telling what they might do. They’re ruthless. You should know that by now.”

  “So send them the money.”

  She reached for her blouse and made a show of re-buttoning it. “Andy, you send money to a bank. When you owe a loan shark, you go in person. But don’t worry. It will be easy.”

  “Send Rolando, if it’s so important.”

  “I told you before. I can’t bear to tell him.”

  “So go yourself.”

  “Andy, be reasonable. How much can the man believe?”

  “You mean about the CIA story?”

  She wrestled her hips into her pants. “Right. And then I had to make up a wild thing about going to a girlfriend’s house because I was so upset and pretend that I forgot to call him. Now he’s watching me.”

  “He wants to help you.”

  “No. He’s suspicious. He watches from the balcony even if I leave the condo to buy a magazine. If I said I was going to Vegas, he would insist on coming along.”

  “It’s not a crime to owe money. Tell him the truth. He’ll forgive you. He always does.”

  She rearranged her bra. “Can’t you do me a favor? Please?”

  “You want me to fly to Vegas to run an errand?”

  Soundlessly she retrieved her purse from the living room. She plopped it down on the bed and searched through it.

  “Here.” She pulled out an envelope. “I bought you an e-ticket for tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m supposed to dash down to Vegas and return before work?”

  “I made a reservation for you at the Grand View Hotel. Room 929. That’s the room I always stay in when I go over there because it has a great view of the Strip.” She turned the envelope over to show me where she’d written “Grand View 929.” “It’ll be like a vacation. You run one small errand for me, spend the night however you want, and come back the next day.”

  I knew most of the Vegas hotels, but I hadn’t heard of Grand View. “You expect me to lose a night’s salary so that I can do you a favor?”

  “I’ll pay you twice what you would normally get. And certainly you don’t mind enjoying yourself in Vegas for the night.”

  I crushed out my cigarette, leaving a puddle of ashes. “I don’t know if Joey can cover for me.”

  “Leave that to me. If your brother can’t come, I’ll explain to Rolando that you called in sick at the last minute. He won’t question it. And really, Pablo can handle the music for one night without you.”

  I was surprised she had perceived that much about the music. She was right. Even though I disliked admitting it, the group could get along without me for a night because Pablo could play most of my parts on the trumpet. I knew a couple of other violin players that might be able to sub, but I preferred to use such favors judiciously for the times Joey and I went out of town together.

  “I live too close to the restaurant,” I said. “What if Pablo stops by the apartment to see how sick I am?”

  “You explain that you took some sleeping pills and didn’t hear him knock.”

  “And the money?”

  She rummaged in her purse and brought out a stack of twenties rubber-banded together. “This is for expenses.” She tossed the money on the bed. “You can pick up the cash once you get to Vegas. You simply go to my bank, Nevada Star Alliance. There’s a branch close to your hotel. I have a girlfriend who works there. Judy will be expecting you.” She steadied herself with my arm while she slipped on her heels.

  “Have Judy make the pay-off. You don’t need me.”

  “Judy would get scared. I need a man to take care of it.”

  “You’re expecting trouble?”

  “No. But when you’re dealing with tough people, you have to be tough.”

  “That’s why you’ve chosen me for your mission?”

  “Yes. If anything goes wrong, you’ll know what to do. Like the other night when we were in the office.”

  “I’m supposed to risk my life to pay your debt?”

  “Andy, no! It’s not that dangerous.” She caressed my head. “It’ll be easy. Trust me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  From McCarran International Airport I took a cab to Nevada Star Alliance. I got odd stares when I asked for a particular teller, but Judy waved me to her station as soon as she heard my name. She was about Yiolanda’s age; perhaps they’d been school chums. Judy had wavy hair and enough make-up to last a week. I didn’t have much time to study her though. Before I knew it, she counted out ten thousand in one-hundred dollar bills and handed them to me in a little bunch. I registered the other customers, worried I’d be jumped before I left the bank.

  No one seemed interested in me. I thanked Judy, who asked me to give her love to Yiolanda, stuffed the money in a shoulder bag, and headed towards Bally’s. Yiolanda had told me to go to the sandwich shop underneath the hotel, the one with bright orange umbrellas stretching out into the walkway. I was supposed to wait until the afternoon shift started at two o’clock, order a chicken sandwich with mustard, and ask for Jimmy. Jimmy would take the money off my hands and I could go on my way.

  It was almost noon by the time I strolled through the colorful entry to Bally’s. I decided to give myself a trial run. I wanted to spot the sandwich shop and have enough time to study the surroundings.

  Then I hit a snag. I walked through the entire string of shops and eateries without spotting a single sandwich shop. There was a take- out window for hot dogs, but it didn’t have a seating area. The closest to bright orange umbrellas was a set of red tables at a pizza joint. A coffee shop had tables that stretched into the walkway, but they didn’t have umbrellas.

  It took me ten minutes to calm down. I called Yiolanda’s cell without getting an answer. I called the house, but when Rolando answered, I hung up. I waited five minutes and tried again. No one picked up the phone.

  I rewalked the rows of shops, trying to rationalize the situation. In Vegas especially, establishments went belly up without notice. I’d witnessed it over and over again. No shop owners came to Vegas because they wanted to retire and kick back. It was the kind of town where you had to be competitive to keep up, and once you’d gotten ahead of the pack you had to fight to stay there. The strip of places underneath Bally’s was no exception. All the eateries advertised deals, and all the shops offered fake discounts on items they’d marked up. It was part of the game. The managers knew it, and so did most of the customers. But despite the tricks, few managers could stay solvent on the Strip for long stretches at a time. It was entirely possible that an eatery could have folded without warning.

  It was unlikely, though, that Yiolanda didn’t know about it. I wanted to overlook her actions, but she'd appointed me the leader of her wild goose chase, wasted my time, and stressed out my brother. I tried to understand her reasoning. This was another way for her to vie for attention. She wanted to show me up, show that I was under her control, jerk the marionette strings above my head for her own entertainment. You’ll be laughing about her little prank next week, I told myself. It’s rather clever. It’s a good practical joke even though we’re miles away from April Fool’s, like the birthday party your friends throw a week early to catch you off-guard.

  I was on the sky train bound for Grand View Hotel when I realized I was wasting my time; even if the hotel existed, there would be no reservation in my name. I did the next best thing. I made a reservation at Hotel Farfalla so that I could view Leonard’s folly for myself.

  With ten thousand dollars still on my shoulder, I marched to Moonlit Nights, a restaurant overlooking a corner of the Southern Strip. I’d never worked there, but I’
d often visited to hear a couple of buddies. More than once I’d left at dawn, teetering rather than walking straight.

  The restaurant had hit prosperous times. The outside had recently been painted, and full pots of geraniums hung out of the window boxes catching the late afternoon sun. Inside two boys straightened tables while a young hostess wiped off menus in the calm atmosphere of steady work.

  The young woman rose to greet me. “We’re not open until six p.m. Would you like to make a reservation?” She wore dark slacks and a white blouse with a frilly collar. She’d showered so recently that her hair was still damp.

  “Good afternoon,” I said, approaching her table and extending my hand. “I wasn’t looking for dinner. I’m here on business.”

  “The manager will be here in an hour or two. May I help you with something?”

  “It’s a silly problem,” I said slowly, trying to sound casual. “I dined here on the 7th. I paid with a credit card, but I threw out the receipt before I wrote down how much I spent.”

  “You need to know the amount?”

  “The information would help my accounting.”

  “That shouldn’t be so hard. Follow me.”

  She led me to a side room that served as an office. The central feature of the room was a metal filing cabinet bigger than the woman. I guessed her to be about twenty-five, and I remembered the owner’s daughter would be that age. Her cheerfulness at my mundane request reflected such an identity.

  The receipts for the week of July 3-9, a good-sized stack, were stapled together.

  “Your name?”

  “Rolando Díaz. But I was here with my wife, Yiolanda. I’m not sure which of us signed the card. I’ll have to blame it on the strength of your house wine!”

  “That wine affects me too!” She tried to pull the receipts apart, but they resisted.

  Slowly I bobbed my head up and down. “I think she’s the one who signed the card. She was ready to leave, but I was still finishing my last glass.”

  The hostess smiled at me, patiently listening to my domestic details as she struggled with the receipts.

  “The real reason I’m here is that my wife is mad at me. She was trying to balance the books, and she says to me, what about when we had dinner at Moonlit Nights—and my mind went blank.”