by L. Duarte
“When I was a young boy, I lived in a farmhouse,” he says, tasting the cognac. “Growing up, I was fascinated by a wasps’ nest in the barn. It was so well constructed. Genius engineering.” He plays with the tumbler in between his thumb and index finger. “My father warned me many times not to touch it. Told me the dangers of it.
“When I turned twelve, I decided to poke it. I wanted to see the interior, discover its secrets. Rattle the lives of its inhabitants. ”
He drags another puff of the cigar. The smell is nauseating.
“You can imagine the result of my quest.”
“Please make your point, Mr. Cahan.”
“Oh, you want me to be direct. Youth. Tsk-tsk.” He shakes his head. “Always antsy, impatient, and unwise. Fine. Let’s get to the point. You’re staring a nest of wasps in the eye, son. The question is. Are you going to poke it?”
“I still don’t follow you, Dad.”
“You will.” He tilts his head back and tosses down the remainder of his drink. “When Charlotte informed me of your wedding, the first thing I did was hire a private investigator.”
My muscles coil. What the hell has he discovered? Since I haven’t been arrested yet, I can hope he hasn’t found out my real identity. The buzz inside my head is like the sound of a colony of mad wasps.
“See, I needed to know what kind of person you were. A criminal, an opportunist, a gold digger? My children seem to attract the latter.”
Hot, liquid anger surges through my body when I realize he must be speaking of Luna. I grind my teeth and close my hands into tight fists. I’ll just listen to the fucker. See what he knows about me.
“The PI just e-mailed me detailed information about you.” He waves a few pages my way and settles them on the desktop.
“There isn’t much of a record prior to your eighteenth birthday,” he tsk-tsks again. “Makes me wonder what kind of family you came from. But that’s beside the point.”
Relief makes me dizzy. Adriana had one of her clients create my new identity and wipe out any information before the age of eighteen. It was easier if my record was sealed to avoid questions about my life prior to my adulthood if I ever got into trouble with authorities.
He drums his fingers on the oak desk. “Regardless of what you have hidden in your past, we’ll focus on the present issue at hand.”
He sifts his fingers through the pile of papers. “To my surprise you have amounted a small, yet remarkable fortune. Not surprising when your rate is four grand minimum, for two hours of labor.” He continues to flick through the pages.
He knows. Shit.
His eyes lift from the papers and zoom in at me. “Now, I pride myself in resolving issues in a diplomatic way. I suppose it’s a trait I acquired from being a judge. Therefore, I’m ready to offer you a generous deal. ” As if we were having a leisurely conversation, he pauses to take another drag of his cigar.
“For whatever reason, perhaps social escalation, you married my daughter. I honestly don’t care to know your motivation. What I am interested in is resolving this issue with the least amount of damage to my family’s image.”
I force myself to remain silent as he blows another nauseating puff of smoke in my face.
He continues. “You were hired by that low-class cunt that professes to be friends with my daughter. You must have done your homework, found out Lottie’s a girl with family ties. Pedigree, if you will. You saw in her a young, gullible, and vulnerable girl. A perfect opportunity to get yourself into a prominent family. It’s understandable. Your career as a whore is coming to an end as you’re aging. Your looks are dimming. You have a new company that is promising. If it continues to go well, it will be a multi-billion dollar business. A wife from a prestigious family would make you look good at business dinners.” He pauses and an indentation forms in between his brows. “You must be greedy and ambitious to continue to sell your body to the highest bidder. Money obviously isn’t much of a concern any longer. You have a considerable income from His Secret.
“Anyway, that’s irrelevant. Let’s focus on the problem at hand. We can resolve this in one of two ways.” An evil glint fills his eyes. “Both my ways. The first option, you leave this office and never approach my daughter again. The second option is I leave this room and tell my daughter about the low life you are. I’ll reveal that you were hired to have sex with her, that you are using her to climb the social latter. I guarantee you, she’ll never want to lay her eyes on you again.”
I wonder why he’s so generous as to offer option number one. Apparently all he cares about is the “family’s image.” Why didn’t he go ahead and tell Lottie before having this conversation with me?
“Tick-tock, tick-tock,” he says, tapping his fingers on the desktop.
“I’ll take option number one.”
“For a man whore, you’re not that stupid. Very well, then.” He stands up.
“But—”
“No buts. You must leave now. I’ll escort you to your car.”
“Before I leave I want five minutes. I need to pack, and Lottie deserves a goodbye.”
He frowns. Suspicion crosses his face. “I’ll escort you to her room.”
“If you want Lottie to suspect you’re behind my departure, be my guest.”
He pauses. I take advantage of his reluctance and add, “If you give me five minutes, all that will happen is that your daughter is going to believe I got tired of playing this game and decided to be on my way.”
His shrewd eyes narrow. “You are taking this better than I anticipated. I hope you aren’t planning revenge. If after you leave, you tell anyone what you do for a living, I guarantee you, you will not be able to sell your piece of shit of a body for two dollars. Ever again. Not to mention, I’ll use all my power and influence to destroy your successful business. You have no idea the leverage having generations after generation of family members in government will grant you.”
“Five minutes, Mr. Cahan. I’ll even file for the divorce myself.”
“You need not concern with a divorce. I’ll have it annulled.”
“Five minutes. Pack. Say goodbye. Out. You and Lottie will never see me again. And you have my word I’ll never mention your family’s name.”
“Your time starts now.”
The chair screeches under me as I stand up. With purposeful steps, I leave the office without looking back.
I cross the living room, heading for my suite. From the open windows, the wind carries the sound of the rest of the family chatting on the back patio.
I stroll directly to the bedroom. I push the door open and flip up the lock.
Lottie is already in bed. Wearing skimpy shorts and tank top, she has her legs tangled in the crisp sheets. Her delicate features are bathed with the silvery moonlight filtering through the opened French doors that lead to a small garden on the side of the house.
I grab her cell phone that’s charging on the nightstand, unplug it, and shut it off. In the bathroom, I hastily bury it under the dirty clothes in the hamper. I quickly collect a few personal items from the sink and return to the bedroom. I yank the luggage from the closet and shovel the items inside as well as the first clothes my fingers touch. From my nightstand, I collect my wallet, our passports, and my cell phone and dump it all into the bag. I grab the keys to my car and slide it into my front pocket.
I pause for a moment. Lottie deserves better than this. Better than me. But for the first time in the last decade, I feel alive. I’ll be damned if I lose the person responsible for it. There is too many what ifs in my life as it is. I don’t need another one.
“Lottie,” I say, running my fingers through her hair. “Lottie, baby. You need to wake up.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
“Wake up, baby.” I gently nod over her shoulder.
“What? You’re coming to bed?” She stretches her limbs languidly.
“Listen.” I assist her into a sitting position. “Listen, baby. Som
ething came up. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
“What? What happened? Is everything okay?” Her face morphs from sleepy to alert.
“Yeah, yeah. Everything is fine. I don’t have time to explain right now. I just need you to trust me.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My eyes narrow. “Come away with me?”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
“Okay . . .” She looks at me. Her eyes are still hazy with sleep. But I identify utter trust in them.
“Here. Put this on.” I slide a pair of flip-flops on her feet and clasp her hand. “Let’s go.”
I retrieve the duffel bag and tug her to the back door.
Outside, the moonlight guides us through a narrow path around the garage onto the street where I parked the rental.
Voices and laughter drift from the back patio. I open the passenger door quietly and tuck Lottie in. I jog around the car. Inside, I turn the key and the engine roars to life. The tires skid on the asphalt as I speed away.
Only after I hit the main road do I exhale the breath I had been holding.
I glance at Lottie. Her eyes are wide and startled. Shit. What do I say now?
“Can you explain all of this now?” she finally asks.
“Hold on, baby. I need to make a phone call,” I say not only to buy time but also to form a plan to get us away from here.
Roberto answers on the third ring. I quickly explain my needs and give him my coordinates.
“Sure. I’ll see what I can do. Call you back shortly,” Roberto tells me and hangs up.
I head toward the airport. From there I’ll decide where to go.
“Now, can you tell me what this is all about?” Lottie enquires with a hint of impatience in her voice. I’m surprised she’s not upset about all of this.
“I asked you to trust me, Lottie. And I need you to continue to do so. As soon as we settle in a place away from your Dad, I promise I’ll explain everything.”
I drive for thirty minutes. We are both silent. Waves of tension are coming from Lottie. She might have given me the benefit of waiting, but her frustration is almost palpable. Questioning this stupid plan, I sigh. I make the decision to pull over, spill the truth to her, and let the chips fall where they may.
I signal to pull over to the shoulder of the road when my phone rings. I answer without pulling over.
“Talk to me,” I answer.
“Okay, great news. I just spoke to the manager at the Hotel Pousada Feliz. They’re filled. However, the manager has a cousin that handles renting a house on a private island a couple hours off the coast. The house is only available for two days. But it’s secluded and will give me time to make a more permanent arrangement.”
“That’s more than I could ask. There will be no way to trace me, correct?”
“Nope. We’re mint. I’m making all the payments, including a generous bonus to the guy who is arranging everything—in my name. All you have to do I show up at Pousada Feliz, and ask for Fabricio. He speaks decent English and will take care of you.”
“I owe you one, Roberto.”
“I’ll remind you at the time of my Christmas bonus.”
“Sure thing.”
“Lottie, grab a pen from the console. I need you to write down an address.”
Roberto tells me the address of the hotel, and I repeat it to Lottie.
“Thanks a million, Roberto.” I disconnect the call.
“Here, baby.” I hand her the phone. “Enter the address into the GPS.”
She does as she’s told. Her fingers remain clutched to the device as it tells us where to go. I reach over and take one of her hands in mine.
“As soon as we settle, I’ll tell you everything,” I assure her.
“Mm-hmm.” She links her fingers through mine, and we proceed in silence. Again, I question what this girl saw in me that has her granting me this level of trust.
When we finally reach the hotel, it is past midnight.
“Wait here,” I instruct Lottie.
In the lobby, before I reach the receptionist, a man intercepts me. “Mr. Seth Phoenix?”
“Yes.” I turn to face him.
He is a short and slender man with a goatee and receding black hair. “Fabricio Delgado.” He offers his hand and a broad smile.
“Hey, pleased to meet you, man.” I shake his hand.
“Mr. Roberto told me you need a house. My shift is finished. I take you to house.”
“You want me to follow you there?” I furrow my brow.
“I have boat. Everybody on the island has boat,” he explains. “You drive to boat. I put you in boat. I take you to house on island. Island close to here.”
According to Roberto, Fabricio is trustworthy. Even though I’m desperate, I worry about Lottie’s wellbeing.
“You work at this hotel?”
“Yes. Ten years.”
“Is it safe to drive a boat this time of the night?”
“For you, no. For me, yes.” He stretches his boney hand in front of me, palm facing up. “I know these waters like palm of my hand. I take you there with eyes closed. You safe with me.”
He beckons me to follow him. “Ocean calm. Moon bright. Good night for going on boat.”
At the hotel’s door, I tell him. “Fabricio, I need you to keep this between us. If someone comes looking for us, you can’t say anything.”
“I finish my shift at hotel, go home and sleep. I never see you,” he assures me with a smile.
“Thank you.” I can only imagine what Roberto is paying him for his service and silence. “That’s me.” I point to the rental.
Within five minutes, we turn down a small road lined with a row of similar-looking shacks.
Fabricio points to a small dwelling that is distinct from the others because of the madness of wildflowers in the front. “This my house. You park in back. I cover car.”
I do as he instructs. I usher Lottie out and get our bag from the backseat. Fabricio disappears inside a small shed in the backyard. When he returns, I hand him the keys. He drapes a green tarp over the car.
“Now, you follow me. We walk to boat.”
IN ABOUT FIFTEEN minutes, we reach the place where his boat is anchored. The boat is a hybrid of motorboat and fishing boat. A fading script on the side reads “Guadalupe.”
“Permission, señor,” Fabricio says, taking my bag.
I help a wary Lottie inside the boat and climb in after her.
Fabricio swiftly leaps in and hands me the bag. He yanks a life jacket from under a seat and hands it to Lottie. “For security, señora.” He enunciates his every word carefully. I have a feeling he wants to impress Lottie.
The motor coughs before roaring to life.
“Pronto? Ready?” he asks in both languages.
I give him a thumbs-up.
Fabricio turns the motor on. He jerks the lever down and the boat rumbles and rattles before jolting forward and cutting through the black water.
I drape my arm over Lottie’s shoulder. Though every muscle in her body is tense, she slowly melds her body against mine.
A thousand ways to tell my story run through my mind. I can’t settle on any of them. Some are mediocre, making me come across as the man whore that I am. Others make me the victim. And I am far from being the victim. I own every decision I’ve made.
Lottie’s breath becomes even. I glance at her face. Her lids are closed. I wonder if she’s fallen asleep.
After what feels like hours, Fabricio looks over his shoulder and shouts, “The island.” His hand motions in the general direction of a light flickering on the distant horizon.
“Hey,” I say, patting Lottie’s shoulder. “We’re here, baby.”
“Already?” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes in the familiar way she does every morning.
“Did you sleep?”
“I snoozed, I guess.”
Fabricio slows the boat. With skilled maneuvers, he places it parallel to a small pier.
I release the lifejacket off Lottie and grab our skimpy bag. We leap off the boat.
As we cross the pier and follow through a narrow stone steps leading to the single post with the light I saw from the distance, Fabricio gives us information about the house.
He pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the door. Once inside, he flicks on the lights. The interior is rustic. The ceiling is tall and round like a tepee. Whoever decorated intended to bring the ocean inside. The furniture is made of driftwood painted in a washed-out gray hue. The wood walls are bright blue. Seashells, sea glass, and driftwood sculptures are strewn throughout the space. A large beige sofa is placed in front of wide glass doors leading outside. An infinity pool, at odds with the rustic decoration of the house, sits between the house and the ocean.
“Ocean view in every room,” Fabricio explains.
“The fridge has bottled water, beer, and soda. But mañana, I bring food.”
“Thank you so much for your help, Fabricio.” I pull my wallet from my pocket.
Fabricio emphatically raises his hand. “No. Mr. Roberto pay good money. You no pay me.”
I open my mouth to protest but close it. In all honesty, I’m anxious for him to go. Now, that me telling the truth is eminent, I want to get it done and over with.
“Gracias, señor,” Fabricio says.
“No, thank you. You’ve been great.”
“I see you mañana.”
He exits the house, leaving nothing but silence behind him. Lottie strolls to the door leading to the pool and swings it open. A crisp ocean breeze shifts inside the room and rattles the chimes hanging by the door. Lottie stares out at the sea.
The boat roars to life, filling the quiet night. When it fades in the distance, I step closer to Lottie. My eyes follow her gaze.
A round moon casts a silvery light that glimmers on the black water.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask.
“Beer,” Lottie mutters.
I walk to the kitchen and pull two beers from a blue fridge. When I return, Lottie is standing outside before the pool. Her hair, cascading over her shoulders, shimmers in the moonlight.