Getaway Girlz

by Joan Rylen

  Her mother’s side of the family was prone to the dramatic collapse. They were fainters, too.

  Nah, I’m not the breakdown type, she thought. But I am definitely pissed.

  Two hours later and shortly after drink three arrived, the descent into Cancun began. An announcement was made about tray tables and whatnot, so she sucked down her drink while the flight attendant stared at her, holding the bag of trash. Vivian gave her the ‘just a sec’ index finger, kicked around her bag and twisted down to dig out her camera. She snapped a quick picture of her bottle collection before it hit the trash.

  Vivian leaned forward and glanced out the window. Not a good idea. She needed to stick to staring at the seat back in front of her.

  Damn, a landing plane makes a lot of noise, she thought.

  Death could be near, so she did her usual silent goodbyes and added a new one. Something about various parts of Rick’s anatomy shriveling up and falling off. She then braced for the impact that never was as bad as she anticipated.

  “Bienvenidos a México,” the flight attendant announced just as the wheels touched down. Welcome to Mexico. Amen to that!

  The taxi to the gate was nothing, and before Vivian knew it everyone stood and began grabbing their belongings. Swirly head seemed eager to leave so she unbuckled and prepared to get up. Her Mexican vacation had officially begun.

  I need to relax and enjoy this, she thought, as she grabbed her bag from under the seat and pushed it up on her shoulder. She glanced down at her blouse. Vacation or not, the sweat circles were back.

  Damn.

  Vivian wished Seat Buddy well at the wedding, which had a 50 percent chance of failure, and made her way off the plane. Finally free of the tin death trap, she followed the crowd toward baggage claim and more importantly, el baño, which was her first priority. There was a line, of course, and her three-drink bladder was not happy.

  She suffered through, washed up and looked at herself in the mirror. She fluffed her hair and noticed that her dent was ultra-shiny so she rifled through her purse for her powder compact.

  Vivian’s “dent” was a circular indentation in her forehead. Her friends had affectionately dubbed it her “dent.” It was not really noticeable in person, but in pictures it looked like there was a giant sunshine right in the middle of her forehead. Especially when there was a flash involved. At her wedding, Lucy smacked her dent with powder before each and every picture.

  Vivian popped open the compact and bits of broken make-up fell into the sink. “Dammit, I just bought this thing.”

  She was about to close it when she noticed that not only was the powder broken into pieces, but the mirror was cracked too.

  Thank god Kate’s not here, Vivian thought. She’d be freakin’ out, going on about seven years of bad luck. No way I’m telling her about this.

  Kate, though smart as a whip, was mega superstitious. Her Taiwanese background lent itself to all sorts of weird good luck/bad luck scenarios and she often confused cultures. It made for an interesting belief system, that was for sure.

  Vivian closed the compact and tossed it into the trash. So much for that $18 bucks, she thought, and walked out.

  She reached the conveyor belt just as a buzzer sounded and bags came out of the shoot. Her super-sized, UT burnt orange suitcase was the last to emerge. Hook ’em! She practically needed a forklift, it was so heavy and she decided the alcohol was playing a role in this. She did tend to over pack though, especially shoes.

  Next stop, Immigration. They scanned Vivian’s bag, gave her a stern look and moved her on to Customs. Vivian answered their questions appropriately. She was a U.S. citizen there on vacation. She pressed a button which highlighted a green guy walking with his luggage. Lucky break. The red light would mean an authority figure rifling through her bag looking for no-no’s. She didn’t have any of those, but she was glad to get green.

  Vivian had been told on numerous occasions by her father that she had a problem with authority. Didn’t need to test that theory in a foreign country.

  Ready to roll, Vivian exited the sliding glass doors and saw Wendy, Kate and Lucy standing just beyond them. Each girl had a free arm (she needed both of hers for the ginormous suitcase), and they all stretched to give her a hug.

  Immediately, Vivian’s indestructible walls crumbled and the tears she had been holding back for months spilled over. Her friends circled and squeezed.

  Vivian had become an all-or-nothing crier these days. She didn’t cry for a long time and then, when she did, look out! She was a sobbing machine.

  This wasn’t always the case. A month ago at a co-worker’s mom’s funeral, the organ music turned on a fountain in her eyeballs. She couldn’t control herself. People turned around in the pews to look at her.

  Vivian’s co-workers, who were across the church, said they could hear some poor woman bawling and wondered why she wasn’t sitting with the family. It was Vivian. And she had never met her co-worker’s mother.

  In the airport, this manifestation of Vivian’s emotions worked in their favor. It kept the unruly tourist advisors (actually locals trying to get you a cab, book scuba diving, get you to visit a timeshare property), at bay.

  Wendy reached into her purse and handed Vivian some tissues. The girls shuffled her to the rental car counter amid a barrage of comments.

  “We’re here for you.” “He’s a fool.” “There’s no excuse.”

  The rental car lady seemed eager to get them on their way. Sobbing customers were bad for business.

  Lucy had reserved a piece-of-crap, economy-sized four-door, and by the time they clamored in Vivian had almost recovered. She had her best friends with her and sunshiny days were in the forecast. They turned the a/c on high (which did no good), tried for tunes on the radio (didn’t work), and pointed the car toward the wild turquoise yonder.

  CHAPTER 3

  WENDY, ALWAYS large and in charge, got behind the wheel of their rental car. Don’t be fooled by the large part. At 5-7 she was slim and a gem, with long, brown hair to match her expressive eyes. “Brown-eyed Girl” was a common opening line for men who crossed her path. She was a hottie, and had mastered the class of “Assertive Not Aggressive.” The girls would sometimes tease her, calling her “captain safety” because she had a knack for always being prepared. The contents of her purse never failed to amaze in an emergency.

  Vivian got in the back seat with Kate, who was a hugger, and put an arm around Vivian’s shoulders. Vivian dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and her mouth felt as dry as a July day in West Texas.

  Vivian called up to Wendy, “cerveza. I need cerveza. Can we find a gas station or something and pick up a 12-pack? Pronto.”

  Lucy and Kate seconded the motion. Wendy pulled into a station just ahead, and quicker than jackalopes Lucy and Kate hopped out. Wendy manually rolled down the window and yelled for them to buy bottled water, too. Lucy gave the okay sign.

  In no time the troops were back with beer, ice, four waters and four “life’s a beach” koozies that would be put to good use. Being the conscientious drinkers that they were, only three koozies would be used while driving. Plus, they had all seen the show Locked Up Abroad, and these four broads had no intention of getting locked up abroad.

  They cracked open three cans and a water, slipped on the koozies, and Kate offered a toast.

  “To the first girl’s getaway. May there be many, many more.”

  Their koozies squished together, and Wendy put the car in reverse.

  Kate patted Vivian’s leg. “First of all, happy birthday, Viv. Second, what the hell? We had no idea y’all were having problems. What’s wrong with that man?”

  Vivian took her first sip. “Who knows? I was…no, am…just as shocked. I thought things were okay.”

  “Were there any signs, you think?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe. He was grouchy, played golf a lot, whatever. Then right before he left in early June he just went overboard. He was always rude to me and
the kids, yelling at them for no reason. I asked what was going on, and he would just grunt. Then one night when we were in bed I asked him what was wrong because I was tired of him acting like a complete and total ass.”

  Vivian looked down at her hands as she fidgeted with her beer can. “That’s when he started in with the whole ‘I feel trapped’ bullshit.”

  “He did not!” Wendy exclaimed.

  “He did,” she sighed and started again. “At first I just said things like, ‘We have four kids under 4. It’s natural to feel overwhelmed.’ Then I started asking more questions, like is there someone else. He said no, and I believed him. He said he loved me, he loved the kids, but that just didn’t matter enough to him anymore. He thought we should try a separation, so I agreed, only because I didn’t know what the hell else to do. He rented a small apartment on the other side of town. We have been living like that since June, and had just started with the visitation schedule when it happened.”

  “I can’t believe he would do this,” Lucy said. “It just doesn’t sound like him.”

  Wendy looked at Vivian in the rear-view mirror. “Viv, why didn’t you tell us when he first left? We would have come and tried to help or something.”

  “I don’t know, I guess I thought it would pass. Or maybe I was in a daze or something.”

  Lucy turned around to face Vivian. “Whatever it was you could have and should have called us sooner. I don’t know what we would have done, but we would have done something. Maybe hired a hit man.”

  Vivian couldn’t help but grin. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit of a recluse.”

  Kate, still patting her leg, said, “Well, we’re here now. How did you find out he was a lying cheating bastard?” Strong words for Kate.

  Vivian’s face got hot and her heart beat fast as the scene replayed in her head. It was as vivid as if she still stood by the pool holding her cell phone, ready to put another smack down on that idiot stick.

  “It was his first night to have the kids per our separation agreement, and I was worried. He rarely would take care of Audrey and Lauren alone, much less all four. Plus the twins were getting over a cold, and I wanted to just check in.

  “I called and called, at least four or five times, and no answer. I had been out to dinner with some work friends and his apartment was down the road, so I decided to stop by. Make sure everything was okay. We had to swap cars because of the car seats so I was in his truck and he had my minivan.

  “His apartment is three stories — bottom level a garage, second level living space, third, two bedrooms. The garage door was up, my minivan was in it but there was another car parked right behind it. I thought that was rude, but it is an apartment complex and neighbors can suck. I could have gone up through the garage but I didn’t feel right, since it’s not my apartment. I walked around to the courtyard, and there he was in the pool, making out with her.”

  Wendy almost drove off the road. “What the hell, Viv? What an asshole! Where were the kids?”

  “Asleep on the third story of the apartment in a bedroom. Alone.”

  “Candidate for parent of the year? I think not!” Kate said.

  “How could he be so irresponsible?” Lucy asked.

  “Needless to say, I went ballistic. Seriously, it was something out of Jerry Springer. I broke my cell phone over his head, threw my sandals, kicked, hit, screamed a lot…”

  “Holy crap,” Kate said. “He totally deserved it, that dip wad.”

  Lucy and Wendy just shook their heads. Everyone was quiet for a minute. Then Wendy glanced back at Vivian.

  “You broke your cell phone over his head?”

  Vivian smiled. “Yep, it broke into about 100 pieces. After I put the kids in the van and as I was driving off — I threw his only set of truck keys in the bushes!”

  “Good for you!” Wendy gave her a high-five from the front seat.

  “And you want to hear something funny? He found my sandals the next day and eventually gave them back to me. Dumb-ass.”

  Vivian finished her beer and pushed another into her koozie.

  “My divorce should be final in a week or so. I’m just glad I found out about the SPS —swimming pool slut. It helps explain things. I missed a lot of signs.”

  “So do you think you could forgive him and maybe y’all work things out?” Kate asked (obviously just married).

  “He did call in the middle of the night a few weeks after he left and before the pool incident and asked, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I told him he had five people at home who loved him very much, but that was pretty much the only time he made any effort to reach out. He’s gone.”

  “How are the kids taking this? Have they met the SPS?” Wendy asked reluctantly.

  Vivian’s tears started up again.

  “They’re so young. They really don’t understand, but no, I don’t think they’ve met her. I’ve already called a child therapist, but she can’t see Audrey for two months. She just turned 4 so she asks questions, but she’s the only one, and she just wants to know why daddy isn’t home anymore. I can’t even use the word ‘divorce’ around her yet. The twins are too little to have any idea, and Lauren doesn’t get it, either. One day they will. I’ll just cross that bridge when I get there.”

  “I can’t believe you’re getting divorced,” Kate said.

  “Well, they say that 50 percent of marriages go south. When I took my vows I meant them. Sure, the FedEx guy at my office was tempting. I mean, he’s there twice a week, and he always seems to brush his fingertips across more than my hand when he gives me that little pretend pen, but come on. I wasn’t straying. Who has the time? Or energy?”

  “Apparently, he did,” Lucy muttered. Then she turned to Vivian. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “What about his family? What are they saying?” Kate asked.

  “They’re devastated. His parents couldn’t believe it when I told them the swimming pool debacle. The only person who wasn’t surprised was my lawyer. She knows Rick and had a sneakin’ suspicion something was going on. She even called the day after I found out about the SPS to check on me.”

  “Do you think she knew?” Wendy asked.

  “I think she knew something, but not everything. She asked if I wanted to change any of the divorce terms. I told her hell yes. I want it all. Before I was okay splitting some of the assets. Not anymore.”

  “Is Rick pissed?” Lucy asked.

  “Yeah, but he’s not fighting. I’m getting pretty much everything. Only thing Rick gets is a broken DVD player, an old microwave and a $500 piece-of-nothing property in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I can’t believe he would agree to that,” Kate said.

  “Well, with news of his affair spreading like wildfire across the courthouse, I guess he thought better of it. So now it’s almost done. Not exactly where I was expecting to be on my 30th birthday. Money will be tight, but things could be worse. For now, I just want to have a great trip, and I'll probably need lots of liquid encouragement along the way.” Vivian tilted her beer up.

  The rest of the drive they spent catching up — relatives, jobs. All of the families and extended families were good. Wendy’s 18-month-old niece, Lizzie, was responding well to cancer treatment from Dr. Burzynski in Houston. She had been diagnosed at 6 months old with a rare form of adrenal cancer and given only four months to live by other cancer centers. Though her tumors were shrinking, every day for her was a miracle.

  Lucy started Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus,” and they all chimed in. They were in band, not choir, and it was a good thing nobody else could hear them. Lucy had a great voice, but the rest of them…not so much.

  The drive to their hotel, La Vida de Playa, went by quicker than a drunken afternoon on the Guadalupe River. The hotel was on the main drag, but parking eluded them and the front door appeared to face the beach.

  “I can handle a beachfront entrance to my hotel in paradise,” Vivian said as they circled the block.<
br />
  Parking proved to be bumper to bumper on both sides of the road with no open spaces. Wendy double parked in front of a different hotel and Lucy jumped out and disappeared around the corner to inquire about parking.

  While they waited, Vivian checked out the tourists and wondered where they should go later.

  Wendy started singing “I Love the Nightlife” to pass the time.

  “I love that song. Who sings it?” Vivian asked, but before Kate or Wendy could answer, Vivian saw a shadow to her right and heard a knock on her window.

  Just like in high school Wendy blurted out, “Beers down!”

  At Vivian’s eye level was a gun and an assortment of other bring ’em down doodads. Her gaze traveled up to the badge.

  Oh, shit. Welcome to paradise.

  CHAPTER 4

  MR. PO-Po was in full police uniform on the street near the girls’ hotel. Though in short sleeves, sweat streaked down the side of his face and his arms glistened.

  Vivian put her fear aside, rolled down the window, batted her eyes and put on the biggest smile she could muster.

  “No parking aqui,” he said, pointing at the car.

  Vivian gave him a wave and in her sexy Texas drawl said, “Hola, mister policia. We’re staying at La Vida de Playa. Do you know where we can park?”

  He responded with an accent, but otherwise good English. “Ah, Americans. La Vida de Playa has no parking. You have to find a spot on the street. You cannot park here.”

  Wendy leaned toward the back window, pushed her boobs out and gave an innocent smile. “You're cute. What's your name? Umm...como te llamo?” (her two years of high school Spanish kicking in).

  He put his hand on the roof of the car and leaned down. “Arturo. This is your first time in Playa?”

  Vivian smiled at him, checking him out. He had rosy red cheeks, which added to his charm, and didn’t look a day over 25.

  “Yes, and it's so beautiful!” Wendy said. “We're from Texas.”