by Marta Acosta
Something flickered in Gabriel’s pond-green eyes. “I didn’t know she’d been hurt.” He looked at me and asked, “What were you doing with Ian?”
“Why, are you jealous? Oh, I forgot, you’re not interested in hot, sexy men anymore.”
“You’re so obsessed with men that you think everyone else is, too,” he said bitchily.
Edna glared at us. “Ian went to her friend’s wedding with her. Silas also had her down at that nightclub in the City and he was about to perform the”—and here Edna spoke a few words in the ugly old language—“and you know what that means, Gabriel.”
Lifting his eyes to mine, Gabriel said, “I’m very sorry to hear that you had to go through that. If you had asked me…”
“I did ask you about Silas,” I said angrily. “You never said that he was assembling a force of neovamps in order to seek global domination.”
“There’s no such thing as vampires,” he said without conviction.
“Will you children stop bickering so we can discuss this?” Edna snapped. “Silas also tricked Milagro into coming here and plans to use her blood for his followers and sell it to members of the Paragon’s Diamond Club as rejuvenative therapy. Did you know about this?”
Gabriel blanched like an almond. Then he stood up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose any of Silas’s confidences,” he said with a tremor in his voice. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m taking a new direction with my life, one that embraces my legacy and identity. Please support me in this, because I’m going to sever all toxic relations. I think the best thing for you is to leave here now.”
Edna stared at her grandson. “You know that I have always loved you and accepted you as you are. I could not have asked for a better grandson. I can talk to your parents. You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not for me.”
“Yes, Grandmama, I know,” Gabriel said softly. “But that isn’t enough anymore.”
“Gabriel, don’t tell Silas that Milagro is aware of his machinations and don’t tell him I’m here. Will you do that for me?”
He nodded his head. “Yes, Grandmama, but please don’t ask anything else of me. Good night.”
He walked out the door and we sat there stunned.
“We’re to blame,” Edna said sadly. “We tolerated Willem Dunlop and his followers when we should have denounced them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what was happening?” I asked.
“Knowledge is a burden, Young Lady. You already had enough to absorb about our lives. Perhaps, too, we took the easy route.” She gave a hard look at Charles and said, “You have a choice: you can go to Silas now, or you can help us to put an end to his plans.”
Edna won over people by both intimidating and impressing them. Charlie was no exception.
Our discussion lasted for hours. Charlie told us that the private section of the spa hoped to lure more vampire customers by offering special services, including “free-range blood” and blood and mineral water soaks.
“Well, that gives a new definition to ‘blood bath,”’ I said. “What’s free-range blood?”
Charles hung his head and mumbled so incoherently that Edna snapped, “Sit up straight and speak clearly.”
He did as she ordered. “Some of the guys put on these alien suits and take young adults from La Basura. They’re kept in a room that looks like a spaceship exam room. When they get really scared, their blood is harvested. Just a pint or so every day, nothing harmful. The adrenaline in it is a real rush. He charges extra for that. Then he drugs them and returns them.”
“Charlie Arthur, I can’t believe that you participated in such reprehensible and criminal activity,” Edna scolded. “Your good mother would weep with shame if she had any idea—”
‘Please don’t tell my mother!” Charlie said in a panic.
While Edna threatened and guilt-tripped Charlie, I found myself oddly amused that at least one of Bernie’s stories had a basis in reality.
Charlie said that Silas’s launch party for the neovamp movement would take place in the Paragon’s ballroom. Thralls would serve as waitstaff, since they could be counted on for loyalty and they worked for free. The party would start early, and the ceremony would take place at midnight.
“Silas really wants to make this an ongoing venture,” Charlie said. “If Milagro’s blood really does help our fertility, our numbers will grow and he’ll be in on the ground floor of vampire spas.”
“Does the council approve of Silas’s activities?” I asked Edna.
“So far they’ve turned a blind eye to all this,” Edna said.
“Silas says they get off on it,” said Charlie. “They’re proud of the old ways and most of them believe we really are superior to the normals.”
Edna thought a moment. “If we go to them now, Silas can deny everything. We have to have evidence and take it to the entire council, not just the reactionary members.” She looked at me. “But it’s up to you, Young Lady. If you like, we can pack your things and leave here now. How far do you want to go?”
“All the way, Edna. I say, bring it on.”
It was very late when I returned to the casita. Thomas was awake, sitting on the sofa in striped pajamas, wearing glasses, and reading my screenplay. He put down the pages as I came in.
“Where have you been? Bernie and I waited around for you.”
“I was with Edna, catching up on things.” I sat beside him on the sofa and pulled off his glasses. I looked through them and saw that the lenses were plain glass. I handed them back to him. “Why would Bernie think I’d want to have anything to do with him after that fallacious article?”
“You mean…” Thomas made an obscene gesture with his mouth and hand.
“No, fallacious means false.”
“Oh,” Thomas said, looking disappointed. “Bernie wanted to get together because we’re all friends.”
“How about tomorrow?” I suggested, and he brightened. He was a man who lived in the moment. “What do you think about my first draft?”
“Not bad,” he said. “But I’ve got some suggestions.”
I’d thought that Thomas would want changes that expanded his role, but his ideas were really good in terms of improving the plot and characters. Clearly, wearing fake glasses had made him smarter.
I thought they were a nifty prop and I tucked them in my handbag when I went to the main building the next day. Charlie was at the front desk, as nervous as a virgin in a whorehouse.
“Good morning, Charles,” I said. “I wanted to pick up some brochures for my mother Regina. She loves spas.”
“Of course, Miss De Los Santos.” Charlie handed me two brochures, making sure that I felt the keys hidden beneath them. “The top one describes our accommodations and the bottom one has directions about transportation.”
I flipped up the top brochure and saw a note with his car’s license plate, make, and color, as well as a diagram of its location in the day visitors’ parking area.
“Thank you. I’ll put these to good use.”
I found his car exactly where he’d told me it would be. In the backseat was a bag with two maid’s uniforms, a staff parking permit, a housekeeping pass key, and a few maps sketched out on binder paper. I liked Charlie and hoped I wasn’t making a mistake trusting him again.
Mercedes was waiting in a room at the budget motel on the edge of La Basura. We caught up on things and she said, “You look healthier than I’ve ever seen you.”
“Weird, huh? I’m feeling strong and have good endurance and reactions. How was your drive down?”
“No traffic. I got here fast, but after this, I’m going to crash.”
“I really appreciate your help, Mercedes.” I wished that I could hug her.
“Hey, it’s not just for you; it’s for the good of humanity.”
“Who knew there were so many cults and extremists around?” I mused.
“How’s Oswald feel about what happened?” she asked.
“He
doesn’t know yet.”
Mercedes frowned and said, “You’ve gotta tell him, Milagro.”
“He’s coming back soon. I’ll tell him then.”
“What’s going on with Gabriel?”
“It’s so sad it makes me want to cry. He’s like a dry husk of his former self. I could understand him trying to be straight with some amazing androgynous chick, but it’s as if he decided to punish himself with this festering mass of pink and blond girlitude.”
We changed into the maid’s uniforms, and I twisted my hair into a bun and put on Thomas’s clear eyeglasses. Mercedes took one glance at me and said, “You look smarter.” She wore a kerchief over her dreads.
I told her I was probably the only Paragon maid with an F.U. degree.
We got in Mercedes’s car and she propped the parking permit in her windshield. We didn’t speak much on the tense trip to the spa. We stopped on the highway just before Paragon Way and waited for Charlie’s phone call. It came in a few minutes.
We drove into the employee parking lot and walked through the service entrance of the main building. Mercedes carried a canvas shopping bag.
Charlie was waiting for us in a storage room, sweat on his brow. After I introduced him to Mercedes, he said, “Silas just went for a sauna, but he never stays long, so hurry.”
He pushed a cleaning cart to us and said, “Good luck.”
Mercedes hid her canvas bag behind the dusting rags on the cart and said, “We’ll be careful.”
My friend and I took the service elevator to the top floor.
I knocked on Silas’s door and said in a heavily accented voice, “Cleaning es-staff.” I listened carefully and heard nothing, so I opened the door. The enormous suite was designed to accommodate someone needing medical care. I could see a hospital bed through a doorway and railings on the walls.
We put a “Housekeeping in Progress” sign on the doorknob and closed the door behind us. “Cleaning es-staff!” I called again. “El hauskipin.”
“There’s no one here,” Mercedes said. “Let’s find his papers and computer.”
The desk only contained the usual hotel notepaper, Paragon brochures, and local tour guides. We opened drawers and cabinets and Mercedes said, “Bingo.”
She pulled a laptop computer from a case in the closet. “Find the hormones.”
That was an easy task. They were on the bedside table with an array of Paragon skin products. I flushed the progestin down the toilet and refilled the bottle with the steroids that Skip had wanted Thomas to take. “Check,” I said to Mercedes.
“You keep watch and I’ll get the files.” From her canvas bag she took a few small electronic components.
I picked up a rag and swiped at surfaces while listening for anyone coming. Mercedes was chuckling, and I said, “What?”
“This guy wants to take over the world and he doesn’t protect his computer as much as a teenager who’s hiding porn from his parents.” Her fingers were flying over the keyboard, and she grinned and said, “Ahorita.”
Ahorita was like momentito, and it made me crazy because “a little now” could mean one minute or one hour or one day. I paced in front of the door.
I heard footsteps and the low buzz of a wheelchair coming down the corridor. “Dive, dive, dive!” I whispered sharply, because some piece of my brain thought that submarine lingo would emphasize my urgency.
Mercedes was sliding the laptop back in its case when a voice in the hallway said, “Houssekeeping? They were already here thisss morning.”
I tossed a bottle of glass cleaner and a towel in Mercedes’s general direction and then I held a feather duster in front of my face. The lock clicked open and Silas, still protected by bandages, zipped his wheelchair into the room.
I glanced toward Mercedes, who was industriously rubbing a towel on the window. “Está bien,” she said. “Ees good now.”
Silas’s companion stepped into the suite. It was the manager I’d tackled. “What are you doing in here? This room was supposed to be cleaned this morning.”
“Yes, meester,” said Mercedes, “but, pero, the girl this morning say there is something on the window. I clean for you berry good.” She smiled proudly. “Ees good now.”
“Fine, please leave,” the manager said.
Mercedes had hidden her computer equipment under the towel and I hoped the men wouldn’t notice the bulky shape.
The manager walked us to the door and said quietly, “I will have a talk with your supervisor about this. Where are your badges?” Silas’s back was to us as the manager yanked away the feather duster and saw my face.
I smiled at the manager and whispered, “¡Hola!” and put the feather duster up again.
He turned red and choked out, “Thank you very much for your help.”
Mercedes and I wheeled the cleaning cart out the door and raced down the hall with it. Once we got around a corner, we grabbed her canvas bag and ditched the cart. We ran down a stairwell, out of the building, and were back in her car in a few minutes. It wasn’t until she was speeding down the highway that I rolled down my window, stuck my head out, and hollered, “We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!”
“Who was that guy?” Mercedes asked.
“Some cabrón. Don’t worry about him.” I turned on the stereo and an insane cacophony blasted out. “Hey, is this the Dervishes?”
“Yes, guaranteed to blow your mind.”
“I like them.”
“They totally rock. Do you know what I found out after that disaster at the club? They’d bribed one of the bartenders to replace the house vodka with some high-octane vodka from the Balkans.”
“Well, that explains some of the mayhem,” I said and turned up the volume.
I left Mercedes at the motel to nap and later search through Silas’s information. I drove Charlie’s car back to the Paragon, leaving it where I’d found it.
Thomas was running on the treadmill when I came in. “What are our plans? Bernie’s called three times.”
“Doesn’t Bernie know I’m furious with him?”
“Grow up, Milagro.”
I called Bernie and yelled at him for several minutes while he laughed and apologized.
“Your beloved pet goat Pancho,” he said. “Tell me that’s not funny!”
“It wasn’t a goat. It was a sheep. Where did you get that, anyway? That was awful.”
“A butcher in town was a student of mine. Milagro, it was all meant in love.”
I wanted to spend time with Edna away from the Paragon, so I asked, “Do you know how to cook?”
“I can grill burgers,” he said. “Why?”
“You’re cooking dinner for me and my friends tonight.”
My truck had finally been returned, so I was going to drive to Bernie’s with Thomas. Edna said she would meet us there a little later.
Thomas was walking around in his boxer shorts while I put on some makeup in the bathroom. When the doorbell rang, I called out, “Get that, please.”
“Sure, honey buns,” he joked.
I heard footsteps come through the bedroom, and I said, “Who was it, sugar cakes?”
“Milagro.”
I looked in the doorway and there was Oswald.
Twenty-One
Every Breath you Take
O swald was dirty and sweaty and rumpled in a T-shirt and jeans. His hair stuck out in odd ways and he hadn’t shaved. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and I stared at him speechless. Perhaps I desired him so much that he’d manifested as a vision. Except that visions were rarely olfactory and he had a definite aroma.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” he said with a hard edge to his voice.
“Oswald!” I moved to him, but then I stopped short, terrified of poisoning my passion for him with ugly images. “Oswald, you’re really here.” My breathing was shallow and I felt dizzy with happiness and confusion. “You’re back.”
“You didn’t wait long, did you, to find someon
e else?”
“There’s only you, Oswald. There’s only ever been you.”
Thomas, rubbing his firm abs, walked up behind Oswald. “So you’re the boyfriend,” he said. “I thought she was making you up.”
I wanted to drown Thomas in the step-up Jacuzzi tub, but that would have taken me away from staring at Oswald.
“You’re Thomas Cook,” Oswald said angrily. He stepped toward Thomas.
“Yes, I’m here getting in shape for my next role. Milagro’s done a nice little job as my assistant.”
“I am not your damn assistant. I’m a screenwriter.” I pulled Oswald into the bathroom, taking care to only hold on to the fabric of his shirt, and slammed the door shut in Thomas’s face. Then I carefully placed my arms around Oswald’s waist, averting my face so that my skin wouldn’t have contact with his. “Oswald, I’ve missed you so much.”
“If you’ve missed me that much, why don’t I rate a kiss?” he said, and I heard the hurt in his voice.
I stepped away from him. “I want to, more than anything. Didn’t your grandmother tell you what happened to me?”
“No, she said I should hear everything from you,” he said. “You know how I found out you were here? An anesthesiologist brought a copy of the Weekly Exposition when he flew in yesterday. I’ve been traveling here since then.”
I sat on the edge of the tub, thinking of the last time I’d had a conversation with Oswald in the bathroom. “Let me talk and don’t say anything until I’ve finished. It started when Silas Madison said he wanted to meet with me and talk to me about your people’s history.”
I related the story, feeling more and more embarrassed at my gullibility and rash behavior. When I finished I said, “I’m an idiot. If I hadn’t been so insecure, I wouldn’t have tried to get information from Silas and I wouldn’t have needed to go to the wedding with someone who I thought would impress Nancy’s friends.”
Oswald sighed. “Oh, babe, it’s my fault,” he said, and sat beside me. His gray eyes were as clear and shining as a child’s. “I’m sorry about things I said to you. I’ve been sorry ever since I left. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more. It’s my fault you got hurt.”