Traveling Bug

by Curry, Edna

  Diane shuddered, hating the thought of someone eavesdropping on anything she might say.

  "Then about the meeting tomorrow morning. I have the orientation speech up to date. I'll announce our schedule for the week, except for the surprise entertainment for the last night."

  "Surprise?"

  "Delaying tactic." He grinned. "It's not worked out yet, because the entertainment that the hotel staff had lined up was canceled. So for now, we'll tell them it's to be a surprise."

  "I see." She smiled at his duplicity in spite of herself.

  "The next thing we need to discuss is the city tour in the morning. I have you scheduled to go with the tour, and I'll take care of the luggage. Okay?"

  "But, Jeff, I don't have anything to wear," she objected. "I can't wear this suit again. It's filthy, and it's much too hot, besides. Please. You go with the group, and I'll go to the airport again to check on the luggage. I'll take Pedro with me," she added quickly to prevent his objection.

  "All right." he agreed reluctantly. "And dinner tomorrow night is to be on their own, one of the free nights we scheduled, so tell them they can explore the town on their own or whatever."

  Just then the phone shrilled. Diane jumped, and walked over to pick it up from the table beside the bed.

  "Diane?" She recognized Esther Christensen's motherly voice. "Did you find the luggage, dear?"

  "No, I'm sorry, but I didn't, Mrs. Christensen," Diane said. "I was just about to call you. There was no one we could check with at the airport; they'd all gone home. We'll go out again first thing in the morning."

  "That's perfectly all right, my dear. And please call me Esther. Mrs. Christensen makes me feel too old. It's not the first time this has happened, you know. Why, I remember on one trip to the Bahamas a couple of years ago, my friend's luggage didn't arrive for a week after we did. Her husband was furious, but she bought a whole new wardrobe. But I'm rambling. And what I called about, anyway, was that Cathy Jorgenson, one of my young friends, is about your size. She offered to loan you something to wear until our luggage is found. Would you prefer shorts and a top, or a sundress?"

  "Oh, thank you! That's so sweet of you. Just shorts and a top would be fine. I can wear the sandals I wore today with those. Thank you so much. What room is she in? I'll stop up and get them."

  "Sixteen oh three. We'll see you then."

  Diane hung up and looked at Jeff.

  "So, you solved the 'what to wear' problem?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Cathy Jorgenson will loan me something she thinks will fit."

  "Good. Then we'll go back to the original plan. You go on the city tour in the morning, and I'll go to the airport." His tone left no doubt that it was an order.

  "I'll go pick up the outfit for you, while you make the phone calls. You look beat."

  "Thanks," she said dryly, thinking that she must, indeed, look a sight. But he didn't have to rub it in, did he?

  "Cathy's in room sixteen oh three."

  By the time she'd finished the telephone calls, he was back carrying a white pair of shorts and a pretty red top. "Give me the claim checks for the missing luggage," he said. "I may need them to convince the guys at the airport that I have authority to pick it up, or so they can put a tracer on it if it's not there."

  She rummaged in her purse, and handed him her own and the cards she had collected from the other people earlier.

  He reached out to take them and once again, she felt as if an electric charge jumped between them as their hands touched. Their eyes met, then his arms reached out and went around her. She couldn't move, as his lips came slowly down towards hers. The kiss was soft, yet more sensual than any she had ever experienced. His arms tightened and her lips parted in response. She lifted her hands from his shoulders and caressed the curly hair at the back of his neck as she had been longing to do ever since she had first met him. His large warm hands slid over her back and waist, then moved sensually over her breast, his thumb sliding lightly back and forth over the nipple. She sighed softly in pleasure, then his hand slid inside her blouse to explore.

  The kiss deepened, and a warm throbbing sensation spread through her, centering in her lower midsection. She wanted him as she had never wanted a man before.

  He tipped his head back a bit, smiling at her.

  That knowing smile was what did it. It reminded her just how good at lovemaking he was. She quickly drew back, arching away from him and straightening her blouse.

  He frowned, but let her go. "What's the matter? You didn't like it?"

  "Of course I liked it. You're obviously very expert."

  He'd known exactly how she would react, perhaps how every woman reacted to his lovemaking! But she had no intention of joining the list of his conquests.

  "But I'm not Bob, is that it?" he asked angrily.

  "No, you're certainly not Bob," she agreed. Nor was he warm, pleasant or familiar. No, indeed. He was all red hot danger and electricity. And from that she had to flee, or she knew she would be lost. Already her will to resist was weak, and her legs felt like strings without starch to hold them up. If she didn't get him out of here, she would be in real trouble, more from herself than him.

  "I'll see you at breakfast," she squeezed out, in as close to her office voice as she could manage.

  "All right," he agreed coldly. "Goodnight."

  She closed the door behind him and put on the safety chain. She leaned against it for a moment, her eyes closed to hold back the tears. Then she walked back into her room and threw herself across her bed and let them come.

  Finally, she got up, splashed her face with cold water, and took a shower.

  Rinsing out the lingerie she had worn that day, she spread them out to dry. For a horrible moment she remembered the time in the Bahamas that she had done that— and found it still wet in the morning.

  But the humidity here in Mexico didn't seem to be as high. Anyway, she had no choice; until her luggage arrived, it was all she had. She took one of the bath towels and rolled her panties and bra in it and squeezed out as much water as she could to speed the drying as much as possible. Then she spread them out again and went to bed.

  She avoided Jeff at the group breakfast the next morning. She sighed with relief to see that he was already sitting with his father and Arlene and another couple whose names she didn't remember. She sat with the Christensens and lingered over her coffee chatting as long as she dared.

  When next she glanced at his table it was empty.

  Excusing herself, she made her way through the lobby to the ladies room. To her dismay Arlene was the only other woman there. She was doing her lips with bright red lipstick in front of the long mirror.

  Diane merely said good-morning and slipped into a stall, hoping Arlene would be gone by the time she had finished.

  But she was still there, obviously waiting for her.

  "I see Jeff is sending you on this tour today."

  "Yes," Diane returned nervously, wondering what was on the other woman's mind. Whatever it was, she had the definite impression it would be unpleasant.

  Arlene's lips curled derisively and she added, "We're spending the day by the pool as soon as Jeff finishes some odd errand or other."

  "Really? I believe he has more than a few minutes work cut out for him!"

  "Don't get smart! Remember you're only an employee of ours on this trip."

  "As is Jeff," Diane couldn't resist pointing out.

  Arlene laughed. "Jeff is also one of Banning's stockholders. Don't be taken in by this silly whim of his to be a travel agent. Jeff is boardroom material. His father and I intend to remind him of that on this trip. You'll see, he'll come back soon. No man can resist the money and power of a big corporation for long. It gets in their blood."

  "But he says he loves to travel." Could Arlene be right? Did Jeff intend this to be a last fling before settling down in his father's office?

  "So what? Don't you think he could travel all his heart desires as a corporate office
r?" The look of dismay on Diane's face as she realized the truth in that, made Arlene laugh in triumph.

  "He'll be back in Milwaukee at Banning Corporation before another year is up." Arlene predicted, a knowing sneer on her face. Then she swept out of the bathroom as another group of ladies entered.

  Diane swallowed the sharp words of protest which rose in her throat, and which she longed to scream after the arrogant Arlene. But she dared not. And anyway there was no time now.

  Realizing she was late, Diane hurried down the hall to the hotel's side door where a group of people waited near her table.

  By ten o'clock most of the people who were going on this tour were on the bus. Although their Mexican guide spoke English well, the driver seemed to know only a few words. He grinned at whatever anyone said to him and nodded, then went right on doing whatever he had been doing.

  So Diane felt doubly glad of her ability to speak Spanish, today. She settled into one of the seats towards the back of the bus and slid the window back to see better. The window, she noticed, only covered half of the side of the bus, so part of the passengers would have to sit next to an open window and half next to a closed one at all times.

  Sue and Mark Errington were seated just ahead of her, and Diane could hear Sue fussing about the breeze messing up her hair. Finally the Erringtons convinced another couple to trade places, and they were off.

  They traveled slowly down the rough cobblestone street, often coming within inches of another vehicle. But the driver merely squeezed through and went on. Evidently, she thought, close encounters were everyday occurrences. People hurried across the street with little regard for the traffic, yet always seemed to make it without incident. She held her breath on a dozen occasions, but finally concluded that the slow speed of the vehicles made them safer than it looked to her. She of course, was used to traffic moving at a greater speed, so her reaction time was probably off.

  She tried to concentrate on what the guide, standing at the front of the bus, was saying. The streets were narrow and crowded. There seemed to be construction going on everywhere one looked. It was once again a gorgeous, sunny day, with temperatures already in the eighties. But the heat did not bother her, and Diane realized that was because the humidity was so low. She remembered her pleasure that morning on finding her lingerie completely dry. She wondered what luck Jeff was having with the luggage problem. She didn't know whether to hope he solved it quickly so they would have their clothes, or to wish it would take him all day so he wouldn't have any time for sitting around the pool with Arlene in her skimpy blue bikini.

  Yellow dust blew in at the open window, coating everything. She noticed that the leaves of all the trees and bushes along the side of the streets were covered with it.

  As they rode along, they admired the street markets, noting places where they would like to come back to shop.

  The guide kept up a running commentary on the sights as they passed them. He pointed out "Gringo Gulch" where the many people from the United States who lived in Puerto Vallarta had homes.

  Proudly he showed them Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton's former homes and the walkway over the street which they'd had specially built to connect the two houses. Later they stopped to look down on Mismaloya Beach, the site where their movie, "The Night of the Iquana" was made. Above it in the distance they could see the buildings which had been used in the movie. He told them a developer was planning to make them into a resort hotel, but was having financial difficulties at the moment, so work had halted. "So," he laughed, "when will it be finished? Here in Mexico we have a saying. What is it? Repeat after me, 'Manana!'"

  "Manana," everyone repeated in unison.

  "What does that mean? 'Later. Who knows? Someday.'"

  Everyone laughed with him, ready to accept that relaxed philosophy since they were on vacation, and no one was in any hurry.

  He stopped at a little shop where they were given a potent drink of tequila straight in a shot glass, with salt and lime. Many of their group bought souvenirs there. There was a lot to choose from: lovely Mexican silver jewelry, onyx chess and checkers sets in many sizes, and brightly colored clothing with exquisitely done hand crocheted lace.

  From the familiar way the shop owners greeted and cooperated with the guide, Diane wondered if they were related. Perhaps one member of the family helped the other, she thought. It would be a smart business move for them if they were, she realized. There were so many shops here, all selling souvenirs so much alike.

  It would certainly be a big help for their store if someone could steer busloads of tourists to them instead of to their competitors. Though she could find no fault with the shop or the prices. Of course, the value of the peso had changed since she had last been there, but from what she remembered, and from the information they had collected before coming, she was satisfied that they were being treated fairly.

  They all climbed back in the bus. This time Diane found herself seated next to a young woman who introduced herself as Cathy Jorgensen.

  "Oh," she exclaimed with a laugh. "Then you recognize this outfit? Thanks so much for lending it to me."

  "Do you suppose they'll have found your luggage by the time we get back?"

  "I hope so. Otherwise, I'm heading for the shops to buy an outfit or two to tide me over until they do."

  "Will the shops still be open?"

  "Oh, yes, I'm sure they will. Here they all close for a couple of hours of siesta time at noon, then reopen until late in the evening."

  "Oh, yes," Cathy laughed. "That's what the guide meant by saying there were so many babies, because they 'loved' their siesta time. I didn't realize he meant literally made love."

  Diane laughed. "He was probably right. There certainly are lots of children, aren't there?"

  "The guide told us the percentage a while ago, I forget what he said it was at the last census, but it was high."

  "They certainly look loved and well cared for! I've never seen so many children in white blouses, have you?"

  "No, I haven't. With all this horrible dust from the cobblestone streets, how do they keep them so white? They must have a better bleach than we do," Cathy said. "My mother is always fussing that she can't get things white again, and we have an automatic washing machine and dryer. These women obviously don't even have electricity. Or even clotheslines and clothespins."

  Diane stared at the clothes draped over fences outdoors. "I think the answer is the strong tropical sunlight," she said. "Sunlight is a very good bleaching agent."

  "But how do they keep from tearing them when their clothesline is barbed wire, for Pete’s sake?" Cathy exclaimed.

  "I don't know. Care and practice, I suppose."

  The guide was explaining the presence of so many children on the streets at the middle of the day. "There are too many children for the amount of classroom space we have," he said. "So they have split-sessions, one group goes in the morning, and the other in the afternoon. This saves building costs."

  "Too bad they didn't think of that solution back home," Diane commented, thinking of the fuss her father had made the previous spring when they'd gotten a huge increase in the taxes on their house because of declining enrollment.

  "Dad says his taxes are so ridiculous now because they overbuilt when there was a short time rise in enrollment. And since it has now dropped, so has state aid, since it is based on the number of pupils. So the high cost is left for the local school district to bear. They could have taken a lesson on that from down here."

  "I believe some schools in California use the shift system, too," Cathy replied.

  They traveled once more along the ocean. They admired the arches, huge rock formations out from shore, one of which was large enough for a boat to pass under. There were many people on the beaches, enjoying the surf. All along the coast were hotels and condominiums, though the beaches were public property and so could not be fenced in or become anyone's exclusive area. Always the fences or gates or stone walls ended before the s
and of the beach began.

  They turned away from the coast and drove into the mountains, winding around and up and down on a far from good dirt road, in fact, Diane thought, it looked as though it was not a road at all in the sense of having been especially built. It looked more like it had just been cleared of vegetation and the soil had been graded up a bit.

  At least, the road and the ground around it all looked the same to her. She was glad it was dry, since she suspected the road would turn to red mud when it rained. But she had to admit the scenery was beautiful, the lush foliage green and less dusty than it had been in town, and the mountains were lovely.

  They came to a lovely clear stream with a rock-strewn bed, then sighted the restaurant where they were to eat lunch. It was situated in the side of the tiny green valley. Just beyond the restaurant, Diane caught the glint of sunlight on a splashing waterfall.

  The bus driver pulled into a parking area where the road ended in a wide spot to turn around in. They all climbed out, glad of the chance to stretch their legs. The rocky shore led to a path, then to a swaying wooden-slat bridge which they gingerly walked across. Tables were set out on the large natural rock ledge, and the restaurant itself was built back into the cliff. Railings had been built to protect people, since the cliff dropped down fifty feet or more to the creek below.

  Flowering bushes in brilliant reds, yellows, and orange hues were everywhere, mixed with the lush growth of green trees and bushes in the background, although whether they grew there naturally, or had been added as clever landscaping, Diane had no idea.

  Whichever it was, it was certainly a very beautiful spot. She took many pictures, so that she could tell her family about this spot, wishing they had found it the last time they had been in Puerto Vallarta.

  Thinking of her father brought tears to her eyes. She wondered how much traveling he would be able to do now. And he loved it so much!

  Across the creek there was evidently a much deeper pool of water, since some young boys were diving down into the rocks, showing off for the guests. She snapped some more pictures of them, hoping to catch one in mid-air as he dived. What a shot that would make!