Love Drugged

by James Klise

“Are either of you hungry?” Dr. Gamez asked. “We can ask Fabian to send something to your rooms.”

  Celia glanced at me. Suddenly it was true: I was starving.

  “He’s hungry, I can tell,” Celia said. “And so am I.”

  “Order something then,” Dr. Gamez said. “I will leave you to enjoy it on your own. Celia, you will please remind Jamie about the importance of bottled water, yes?”

  She said that she would.

  He said, “Okay then. My plan is to rise early and get to work. I’ll see you two in the morning.” He kissed Celia on the forehead. “Sleep well.”

  “Thank you!” I called after him. “Thank you so much.”

  Celia spoke to Fabian, the porter. Her Spanish was perfect. Fabian was tall, with broad shoulders and tight black pants. Looking at him, I remembered why I needed to get my hands on some pills.

  Celia told me, “I ordered two plates of fish tacos and two bottled waters. They’ll go to your room.”

  “Great,” I said, looking away from Fabian and down at my key. “I can’t believe I have my own room. It’s so generous.”

  “Are you disappointed?”

  Knowing the correct answer, I opened my arms wide. “Devastated!”

  “My dad’s not an idiot. He wasn’t going to let us sleep together.” She took my hand, and I followed happily.

  My room was large, with a high, beamed ceiling and a floor covered in painted tile. The humongous bed was made of dark wood and covered with a fluffy white comforter. Everything was made of wood or stucco. On the table next to the bed was a bottle with an orange ribbon, and I tried to read the label.

  Celia watched me struggling with the translation. “See those gigantic mosquito-looking things, hovering on the wall near the lamp?”

  I refrained from jumping. “Holy Moses.”

  “That spray will keep bugs away from your bed.”

  “Good to know.” I set the bottle back on the table.

  “Check out the bathroom,” she said, leading the way.

  The bathroom was nearly as big as the bedroom—cavernous and cool, with a stone floor. Fresh flower petals were scattered around the marble sink, filling the room with fragrance. The open shower stall was almost as big as my bedroom at home, and the showerhead was the size of a dinner plate.

  “Sweet cheeses,” I said, staring at the impressive plumbing.

  “Yup, mine’s probably the same way.”

  “This place is awesome,” I said. “Celia, thank you so much for bringing me here.”

  “Now you may kiss me. To show your appreciation.”

  I laughed and pulled her to me, and we kissed. We kissed for a full minute and I was fine with it. I really liked her. But where it mattered, I felt nothing.

  I need more pills!

  A knock on the door interrupted us. It was Fabian with the fish tacos, and they smelled delicious. We sat outside in the courtyard, near a small bubbling fountain, and ate under the biggest canvas of stars I’d ever seen. Periodically, from beyond the high wall that surrounded the property, came the sounds of animals fighting: chickens, dogs, a yowling cat.

  “So your dad’s going to work while he’s here?”

  “Oh yeah. That’s why he loves coming. No distractions, no employees to bug him. Nothing for him to do but think and work.”

  “Not much of a vacation,” I said. “Do you know what he’s working on?”

  “We don’t talk about it. It’s a slow, boring process. It takes a long time for a drug to get tested and approved.”

  After eating, we wandered back to my room.

  “Let’s call it a night,” Celia said. “I want to unpack and go to bed, so we can have a full day tomorrow.”

  “What’s on the schedule?”

  “Completely up to you,” she said. “Swimming, exploring the property. We can visit a Mayan ruin if you want to. Or we can chill.”

  “Okay, I choose … all of the above.”

  “Agreed.” Celia sat on my bed and patted the seat next to her. “Let’s be sure to save time for some lovin’.”

  “Did you just say lovin’ ?” I laughed and jumped on her, and she squealed. I kissed her lips, her cheeks, her neck, my hands roaming up and down her arms, squeezing her shoulders. I buried my face in her hair, which smelled unusual—for once, more like Celia than like shampoo—and she pressed her face against my chest. I felt closer to her than ever. I’d never traveled with anyone outside my family before. I’d never been so far from home before. I’d never had a friend who’d been so generous, who’d made such a commitment to me. It felt fantastic to be part of a team that the world would approve of.

  She pushed me away with a guilty smile.

  “What?”

  “Sweetie, don’t take this personally,” she said, “but you stink.”

  I jumped up from the bed, part embarrassed, part relieved. “I told you I was nervous on the plane! And it was freaky hot in that taxi.”

  “Anyway,” she said, “I’m dead tired. Would it hurt your feelings if I went to my room? I want to unpack my clothes before bed.”

  “Go on. Like you said, the earlier we go to bed, the earlier we can get up and explore.”

  “Don’t forget, bottled water only—even for brushing your teeth.”

  “Got it.”

  “Kiss me again,” she said, and I led her, lip to lip, to the door.

  When she was gone, I unpacked and set my clothes into the wide, deep drawers of the bureau. I liked to imagine that this was my real bedroom, not the dark, cramped room back in Chicago. A ropy hammock lay curled on the floor, with one end attached to the wall. I pulled it across and hooked it to the opposite wall.

  Maybe I’ll sleep like the locals.

  When I tried to get in it, it spun me around and dropped me to the floor. This happened twice.

  The bed was a safer alternative. I doused the sheets with the fancy bug spray. Climbing into bed, I wondered if Dr. Gamez had brought any Rehomoline samples with him on the trip. This thought had preoccupied me earlier, on the plane, when I was trying to distract myself from the vision of crashing into the Texas desert. Like a mantra, I’d repeated: Get more pills, get more pills. More than a week had passed since I’d taken one. The side effects had worn off. But would Dr. Gamez have brought any? Would he even be able to get drugs over the border? At first this seemed unlikely, probably even illegal, and I despaired. But then it occurred to me—maybe, as a health-care professional, Dr. Gamez had a special clearance that ordinary people didn’t have. Maybe he had a letter from the FDA that permitted him to transfer pharmaceuticals to foreign countries for the purpose of testing.

  Outside my door, strange insects chirped, repetitive and endless.

  In the morning, I stood in the enormous shower and felt overwhelmed by the downpour. I laughed. It was like someone pouring a garbage can full of water on me. I dressed in a T-shirt and shorts and stepped out of my room. The bright sun transformed the landscape: greener, more lush, and the flowers were more exotic, flashy.

  I’m in Mexico!

  I walked toward the main building, past rows of flowering azaleas and hibiscus, intense reds and oranges. Tiny lizards jumped out of my way, and I remembered being in Florida with my parents. I made a mental to-do list: Write postcards. Find souvenirs. Get pills.

  Celia and I had planned to meet for breakfast at nine, but when I got to the veranda, I saw only Dr. Gamez, alone at one of the twenty or so tables. Next to his plate of food, the infamous black briefcase was open and file folders were set out for work. I had never seen him wear anything other than a formal dark suit; here, at an outdoor table in Mexico, was no exception.

  He looked up from his papers. “Good morning, Jamie.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Sleep well?”

  “Very well, thanks.”

  “Any headache? Shoulder ache?”

  He sure asked a lot of questions. “No, why? Aren’t you feeling well?”

  He cut into his eggs. �
��Sometimes, you know, when we sleep in an unfamiliar bed, it can affect our body. Especially after a long flight, our head and shoulders may complain a bit the following day. That’s simply why I asked.”

  A buffet table was set against the wall. I filled my plate with eggs, ham, and a glossy chocolate croissant. Then I faltered. I wasn’t sure if I should join Dr. Gamez or sit by myself. Was it rude to sit at his table, or rude not to? I decided to take a seat at a table beside Dr. Gamez, facing the rear gardens of the resort. The central feature was the T-shaped swimming pool. Pale blue sparkling water. A series of cylindrical cement posts jutted up in a row, modern sculpture, like something you’d see in Architectural Digest.

  “Nice pool,” I said weakly.

  “You’ll need to wear sunscreen, of course. I have some in the room, if you need it. I don’t worry about Celia, but your skin is fair. Did you bring your tennis racket?”

  Sometimes, in the company of Celia and her dad, while I looked for things we shared in common, they seemed determined to discover the differences.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t have a tennis racket.”

  “You may borrow mine then.” In other words: Of course, you will play tennis.

  A long silence passed when we both were chewing, our utensils scraping our plates. Just like at home with my grandparents.

  “How’s your research coming, Dr. Gamez?” I wondered if he would be as candid here as he was in Rita’s café.

  “Very well. In fact, we are now in the testing phase of the homosexual-therapy drug I told you about. Very exciting.”

  “Are you testing here in Mexico?” I tried not to sound too curious, but I hoped “testing” meant he would have some samples with him.

  Dr. Gamez seemed ready to answer when his gaze moved past me. His expression changed as he called, “Good morning, Celia.”

  I turned. Celia looked half awake. She was still in boxers and a T-shirt. It amazed me that girls didn’t have to shower when they woke up. If I didn’t shower in the mornings, my wild matted hair made me look like Dr. Frankenstein’s crazy lab assistant.

  “What up, peeps?” Celia was always cheerful when food was in front of her. She went to the buffet and I jumped up to get more food. We began to fill our plates, and then Celia’s eyes widened. “Stop!”

  Moments before, I had dropped a seriously delicious-looking mound of melon onto my plate.

  “Jamie, did you eat any fruit?”

  “No.”

  “Repeat after me: No fresh fruit …”

  “No fresh fruit?” Oh right. Duh.

  “And no uncooked vegetables …”

  “No uncooked vegetables.”

  “And no ice …”

  “No ice.”

  “And no water, except bottled water.”

  “That one I know.”

  “Got it?”

  I nodded, feeling stupid in front of them both.

  The day was already hot, and Celia and I decided to spend the morning at the pool. We went back to our rooms to put on swimsuits and grab towels and sunglasses. We met on the path.

  “Do you like my new swimsuit?” Celia asked, posing. The yellow bikini fit her body perfectly.

  “Yow!” I had never seen her with so little clothes on. It made me feel self-conscious. I never had a problem with my body, but suddenly Celia looked a lot more like a grown-up than I did.

  In the pool, the water was clean and cold, a pale blue-green. The color reminded me of the turquoise on Amanda Lynn’s bracelet. If it was possible for a swimming pool to seem rich, this one did. The lining was made of blue mosaic tiles and sleek stainless steel. It seemed like the kind of pool James Bond would swim in.

  Mmmm, 007.

  Get the pills!

  We swam and splashed around for about twenty minutes. Afterwards, we stretched out side by side on long wooden chairs as Celia removed items from her canvas tote—M&M’s, gum packets, Tootsie Rolls, Starburst.

  “You know what?” I said. “You have some explaining to do.”

  “For real?”

  “Do you remember that time I brought treats to a First Knights meeting? You totally dissed my cookies. Oh, did you bring anything healthy?”

  We both laughed, and she said, “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

  “But here we are in Mexico, and Miss Healthy Choice has got the whole Costco snack aisle in her damn bag. Celia, you’re a secret snacker!”

  “I admit, I occasionally indulge.”

  “Yeah, like every time we go anywhere. Ice cream, Skittles, mochas with whipped cream, microwave popcorn …”

  She giggled, so I went on. “Pizza, all kinds, Dairy Queen, Big Macs …”

  I loved to tease her. Not that she had any reason to watch her weight. And her skin was perfect, no zits or moles or random scars. I let my eyes explore a little, sadness creeping into my mood. The truth was, if I wasn’t attracted to Celia—this perfect dream of a girl—I was a hopeless case.

  How many truckloads of Dr. Gamez’s magic drug would I need? Maybe too many.

  A towering row of palm trees lined the edge of the resort. For the first time in ages, I thought of “the island” that my old friends online had joked about. Ironically, in this tropical paradise, the island seemed farther away than ever. Exactly how I wanted it.

  I lay back in the chair, my head cradled on a fluffy white towel. I glanced toward the main building. I could see Dr. Gamez on the veranda, still bent over his work at the breakfast table. I wondered if his room was unlocked.

  “Damn, I need sunscreen.”

  “Hurry back,” Celia said, without moving. “Bring snacks!”

  I strode across the lawn and down a flagstone path toward the rooms. The only people I saw were the grounds crew, watering and sweeping with funny brooms made from bundled twigs. They nodded shyly as I passed. My heart raced as I approached the row of guest rooms. One problem—I had no idea which room was Dr. Gamez’s. All I knew was that my room and Celia’s were right next to each other. Maybe Dr. Gamez had a room next to us. Or maybe he was on the other side of the courtyard. I tried the room next to Celia’s and found it unlocked. I poked my head in. The room was empty, the bed stripped of linens. I pulled the door closed. Next I tried the room next to mine, and it too was unlocked. Also unoccupied.

  “Señor?”

  I turned and saw a smiling elderly woman holding a basket of clean, folded towels. She was maybe as tall as my chest.

  “May I help you?” she added.

  “Eh, no gracias,” I stammered. “Estoy … un poco confused.” I walked straight to my room, closed the door behind me, and breathed deeply. I sat on the bed and waited two full minutes for the tiny laundry woman to move on before going out to try again.

  Nothing to worry about, I reminded myself. Celia was safe at the pool, and Dr. Gamez was hard at work on the terrace. All I needed to do was find his room, walk in casually as if looking for sunscreen, and grab some pills.

  I tried a dozen doors—all unlocked, a series of empty rooms. At last I reached the corner room. I opened it carelessly, thinking that it would be empty like the rest. It was not. The bed was made up, and Dr. Gamez’s enormous leather suitcase sat open on the sofa. The curtains were closed and the light was off.

  I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

  Now my heart threatened to jump through my chest. I looked at my watch. Only five minutes had passed since I left Celia at the pool.

  Just find the pills and go.

  I turned on the bedside lamp and considered my options. In addition to the suitcase, Dr. Gamez had two other bags—a small leather bag and a square metal case. I went to the leather bag first, unzipped it, and found shoes. Two pairs, expensive looking. Next I glanced at the metal case, but saw a lock on it. This seemed like the most logical place to keep medicine, but I wasn’t about to break a lock. Maybe I’d get lucky elsewhere. I moved to the suitcase. Dr. Gamez hadn’t unpacked yet, which surprised me. He seemed so fastidious, like he’d have all his i
dentical suits neatly ironed and on hangers, ready to wear. He wasn’t the type to tolerate wrinkles. I crouched on my knees to reach under his clothes, feeling around without disturbing his things. I thought I might find one of the plastic pill bottles. My left hand stopped on something hard, and I felt hopeful. But the object was cold metal and heavy. I pulled it out and nearly dropped it. A gun.

  Holy crap.

  I pushed it back under the clothes and stepped away from the suitcase, as if it might shoot me all by itself.

  Holy crap. Holy crap.

  Maybe Dr. Gamez felt he needed a gun for protection. Celia had mentioned that in Mexico, parts of the countryside were notorious for bandits. Bandits who preyed on rich American tourists. Perhaps Dr. Gamez took the gun whenever he left the resort or went on excursions. This seemed reasonable, but it still freaked me out. My parents would never allow a gun in our house. When I was young, even toy guns were off limits.

  Maybe the FDA required that drug researchers keep weapons when they travel in foreign countries—to prevent the drugs from falling into the hands of warlords or drug kingpins. Because imagine, if one of those guys got his hands on this stuff, he’d—

  Quit making a movie out of this!

  My breathing quickened, approaching a full-scale panic attack. I decided that if anybody came into the room right now, I would pretend to faint. Fall to the ground with my eyes closed and play dead. When I came to, I would claim to have no idea how I got here.

  Where am I? Somebody, please, call my parents in Chicago.

  I glanced at the bureau. I ran to it, switched on a second lamp, and opened the top drawer. A Bible in Spanish. A guide to the Yucatán. A plain envelope, which, I happened to notice, was full of American twenties. Over a thousand dollars cash, at least.

  Dr. Gamez had always been generous with me. I wouldn’t consider stealing money from him. I put the envelope back in the drawer.

  Then I saw the pills. Tucked in the back of the drawer was a reclosable plastic bag, bigger than the size for sandwiches, filled with blue pills. I couldn’t believe my luck. It was like the universe was giving me an instant reward for not taking any of the cash.

  I lifted the bag and studied it, hundreds of pills all pressing against the plastic. They seemed to be competing to show off their elegant little Rs.