by Aya De León
Dulce didn’t dare turn around, but used her phone like a mirror to look over her shoulder.
“I think she went that way,” the woman said, pointing in the other direction.
“Where’s my scarf?” her friend asked, as Dulce crept around the corner to the walkway between the buildings.
The moment she was on the walkway, she yanked off her stiletto sandals and took off running, the silver scarf flying half-loose behind her like a superhero cape.
She opened the stairwell in the other building, and began to run down. But on the landing two floors below was a couple going at it.
The woman had her dress hiked up and his pants were below his hips as he pounded between her thighs.
They were blocking the stairwell, and she wouldn’t be able to get past. She stepped into the fifth floor hallway to take the elevator. There was another VIP room on that floor. Dulce grabbed a cheap faux leather jacket hanging on the rack outside the VIP room. As the elevator dinged, she shrugged off the scarf and put on the jacket, tucking her braid beneath the collar. Then she quickly slid her feet back into her stiletto sandals. The elevator doors opened, and she pressed in with a group of women wearing ten different clashing perfumes.
The knot of cash was starting to itch her cleavage. Dulce had plenty of time to hunch under the coat and adjust it, as the elevator stopped at every floor.
A pair of drunk guys got on one floor down and proceeded to hit on all the women in the elevator. On the second floor, the guys blocked the women from exiting and kept pressing the door open button, demanding to get their phone numbers.
“We’ve got a fucking hostage situation,” one of the girls said.
“Pendejos,” another woman mumbled under her breath.
Dulce pulled a lipstick out of her pocket.
“I’ll give you my number,” she said. “I think you’re hot,” she said to one guy. “And I have a girlfriend who would love you,” she said to the other. “But you better fucking call me.” She recalled the phone number for the pizza place down the street from her apartment, and wrote it across his forearm.
“Don’t give me no fake number,” he said. “I’m a call you right now.”
He dialed the number.
Dulce’s felt the panic rise in her chest, but she stayed cool, and turned to the timer app on her phone. She hit one of the sounds, and her phone made the sound of a strumming guitar.
“So suspicious,” she said. “Who broke your heart?”
She laughed and grabbed his phone, hitting the end call button. Only the girl next to her heard the faint woman’s voice: “Hello, Mariana’s Pizza.”
“And now I got your number too,” Dulce said. “So pick up when I call.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Mariana,” Dulce said, and followed the crowd off the elevator.
The doors opened out onto the dance floor, where the DJ was spinning Latin techno.
Up ahead, she saw two members of her boyfriend’s crew, looking around. She pulled out her phone and peered down at it, letting the straight blonde bob fall over her face.
Glancing up from time to time, she turned toward the far wall, away from the two thugs. She weaved between standing tables with people yelling in each other’s ears to be heard.
Up ahead, she saw another one of her boyfriend’s crew, scanning the room. There was yet another one of his boys near the front door.
She felt a tug on her jacket. “Hey Mariana, wanna dance?” it was the guy from the elevator.
“I was just leaving,” she said. “Walk me out?”
“Maybe we could go home together,” he suggested.
“Not tonight, baby,” she said. But she leaned into him as they walked past her boyfriend’s crewmember. She flipped the blonde hair in front of her face and pressed her hip against him as she passed. “ ’Scuse me,” she said.
The drunk guy from the elevator’s hand was slipping down her hip towards her ass.
“Don’t get too friendly,” she said shaking his hand off.
“I like the way it feels when you move,” he said, his breath hot in her ear.
“Really?” she said. “Maybe I can’t wait. Maybe you should meet me in the unisex bathroom.”
“For real?” he asked.
“Only if you want a little taste,” she said.
“Hell yeah,” he said. “Let’s go now.”
She looked down, coyly. “I don’t want anyone to see us going in together,” she said. “Wait for me. I’ll be there in five minutes. I’ll knock twice.”
“Okay,” he said. “Oh fucking kay. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
And then, to seal the deal, she ran her hands from his mid-thigh up to his navel. “Oh, I know what I want. Get in that bathroom.”
“Sí, señora.” He turned on his heel and headed toward the restrooms.
That gave her ten minutes to get out of there. Fifteen at most, before she had another outraged man looking for her, and he would be searching for a blonde.
She turned the corner past the coat check and saw her boyfriend pacing by the door.
Her heart started to hammer in her chest. She turned and leaned over the coat check half door. A bored, butch woman was leaning against the wall, looking at her phone.
“Which is the ladies’ night?” Dulce asked. “Too many dudes in here.”
The woman smiled. “I could make it ladies’ night for you right now, mami.”
Dulce grinned.
“But ladies’ night is Wednesday,” the woman said.
“I’ll be back,” Dulce said. “These guys are too aggressive. That guy at the door was hassling me earlier,” she said. “I wanna leave, but I don’t want him trying to grab my ass.”
“Well he’s got good taste, but bad manners,” the woman said. “He’s a sort of big fish in this small pond. He’s used to women saying yes to him.”
“Tell me about it,” Dulce said.
“I got an idea,” the woman said. She pulled a heather gray hoodie from the coat check.
“I thought you all didn’t allow athletic gear,” Dulce said.
“This is mine,” the woman said. She put it on Dulce and pulled the hood over her hair and low on her face. Then she put a possessive arm around her and walked her out of the club, right past her boyfriend.
Dulce could smell his cologne, and the scent of sex still on him. She felt a confusing rush of both nostalgia and fear. When things had been good between them, he was intoxicating. He was sexy, had money, and liked to lavish it on her, at least at first. But lately he’d stopped calling every day. He mostly came over for sex and didn’t take her out as much. He got texts while they were together, from some new girl whose name she didn’t recognize. And he always took time to text the girl back. Dulce didn’t want to hang on til he got tired of her. But she had nothing of her own. He’d paid all her bills but never gave her any cash. She’d felt the knot of money and seen her chance to get out with something.
Dulce swallowed hard as she walked past with the coat check woman. He sized them up at a glance and kept looking around.
“So, can I get your number?” the woman asked when they’d gotten out of his range.
Dulce didn’t like to lie to women. “No, but thanks for being so chivalrous.”
“Okay,” the woman said. “Come by one of these Wednesdays.”
“I just might,” Dulce said, and turned toward the street. She had money now, so a cab would be no problem. There was usually a line of them out front at this hour.
“How come it’s no taxis out here?” she asked the guy at the door.
“Ball game just let out,” he said.
“Shit,” she said.
“It’s about fifteen minutes for Uber right now,” he said.
Dulce looked around. The club was in a warehouse district. Nothing around and not safe to walk. Especially when there were no cabs to catch. She had a friend who worked nearby. Maybe she could come get her.
As she called her friend, she kept her eyes on the club.
The number at her friend’s job was ringing.
Her boyfriend appeared in the doorway with a few of his crew.
Finally, someone picked up after eight rings. She waited while they located her friend.
One of her boyfriend’s crew had something in his hand. An iPad?
Wait! He paid for her phone. Did that mean he could locate her with the phone itself? She hung up quickly and powered the phone off. She dumped it in a trash can on the sidewalk.
Would they be able to find the last place she was?
She hurried up to a pair of girls piling into a Lyft.
“I’m sorry to bother you. My boyfriend is getting really abusive. If he finds me, I swear he’ll try to kill me.”
“We got you, mami,” the shorter girl said. “Come on in here with us.”
“Oh my god, thank you so much,” Dulce said. “I got cash to pay you back for the ride.”
The three of them squeezed into the back of the car.
“Sorry,” the driver said. “You all requested carpool. Only two passengers.”
“What?” the shorter girl asked.
“Do you have another passenger yet?”
He shook his head.
“Well then take me,” Dulce said. “I have cash.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” the driver said.
“Oh my god,” the taller girl said. “I’ll request a ride.”
She put the request into the app, and they waited.
From outside the car, they heard a girl yelling. “Get your fucking hands off me!”
Dulce turned to see her boyfriend holding the arm of a girl who looked a lot like her. His boys were standing behind him.
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were someone else.”
“That’s assault, bitch,” the woman said. “You’re lucky I’m not pressing any charges.”
“Who you calling a bitch?” her boyfriend asked, reaching under his coat.
“Enfócate,” one of his boys said. “She was just out here.”
Dulce found her voice. “That’s him,” she hissed to the girls. “That’s my boyfriend.”
“Coño,” one of the girls said. “I’ll get out and get another car.”
“Mil gracias, mami,” Dulce said, handing her a twenty off the knot in her pocket.
As the girl gathered her purse, Dulce saw her boyfriend walk by the car on the sidewalk. He had one hand on the gun in his waistband, the other hand on the phone at his ear.
As the girl got out on the street side, Dulce could hear her boyfriend through the slightly open window. “You see her anywhere?” he asked into the phone. “My wife’s gonna fucking kill me.”
“Oh shit,” the girl still in the car said. “He has a gun?”
The moment the door closed, the driver took off.
“Is my friend gonna be okay?” the girl asked.
“Definitely,” Dulce said, her hand on the knot in her pocket. “He’s only dangerous to me.”
Chapter 2
The girl was going to the Miami airport. She and her friend worked graveyard shift, and liked to go to the club for a couple hours beforehand.
“Where you headed?” the girl asked in Spanish. Her friend had texted that she was safely on the road, as well.
“To the Dominican Republic,” Dulce said. “Thanks for being my ride to the airport.”
“You live there or here?” the girl asked.
“I been here for about six months,” Dulce said. “Before that I lived in Cuba with my grandmother.”
“You Cuban?” the girl asked.
“My dad’s side,” she said. “But my mom’s Dominican. I grew up with my mom in New York.”
“How was Cuba?” the girl asked.
“Cool at first,” Dulce said. “I got away from a bunch of drama in New York. But then it was boring as fuck.”
“Looks like you found some drama in Miami,” the girl said.
“Yeah, well I’m done with drama. My aunt lives in a little-ass hick town in the Dominican Republic. No drama there.”
The girl shook her head. “You’ll get bored again.”
“I only need to remember the view of that gun through the car window. Maybe I’ll marry a nice country boy with a shy smile and a big dick.”
The girl laughed. “Good luck with that.”
* * *
In the security line at the airport, she was standing in front of a forty-something businessman. He caught her eye and smiled. “Any chance you’re headed to Puerto Rico?” he asked.
He had on a nice suit and a Rolex. He wasn’t particularly handsome, with narrow features and thinning, sandy hair. But he looked like he kept himself in pretty good shape.
“Nope,” she said. “I’m flying to Santo Domingo.”
“Business or pleasure?” he asked.
“Family,” she said. “I’ll be living there for a while.”
“I’ll be there next week,” he said. “You should have dinner with me. I know a great French restaurant in the capital.”
“My aunt doesn’t live anywhere near the capital,” Dulce said, and they chatted for a while.
“I could send a car for you,” he said.
“A car?” she asked. “It’s a two-hour drive.”
“A car is the least of the things I would do for you,” he said with a leering grin. “I’d like to spoil you rotten.”
She smiled. “Maybe,” she said. “But just dinner.”
“Here’s my card,” he said. “Call me this week and we can set it up.” The name on the card was Phillip Gerard. Apparently, he was in real estate.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, as the agent called her forward. She rummaged around in her tiny club purse, her fingers brushing across her lipstick, a toothbrush kit she bought in the airport, and what was left of the cash she’d stolen from her ex. Her fingers touched firmer paper, and she handed the passport and boarding pass to the agent. The passport was her only documentation. She had never gotten a Florida ID. And she didn’t drive.
TSA flagged her for an extra search. She was traveling one way, last minute, without luggage. By the time she got out of the checkpoint, the businessman was gone.
She went into the restroom and brushed her teeth. Then, alone in the stall, she counted the money she’d stolen. It was a big knot of cash but the largest bills were twenties. Maybe she should have tried to put him off til later in the night, when his take would have been much bigger. Damn, she’d risked her life for a mere thousand.
She looked again at the businessman’s card in her purse. She would probably call him. This was the perfect amount of drama. A real estate guy who had money but wouldn’t get attached. And she could meet him far from her auntie’s prying eyes.
* * *
On the plane, she sat next to a young guy with glasses who was typing fast on a laptop. He had on a hoodie that said NADIE ES ILEGAL/NOBODY IS ILLEGAL. He was handsome beneath the coke bottle lenses, with tawny brown skin, full lips, and a short afro.
She smiled at him, but he didn’t even look up. Not when she squeezed by him to sit down, or when she leaned across to turn on the air above him, despite the close-up view of her cleavage.
When they made the announcement to turn off electronic devices, he made a quick phone call. “I’m sending it now,” he said, and kept clicking the mousepad on the laptop.
“Sir,” the flight attendant said. “You need to stow those electronics for takeoff.”
“Gotta go,” he said into the phone. “Hope it comes through.”
As he put things away, Dulce asked: “You a student?”
He laughed. “Is it the baby face? No, I’m a journalist.”
“Journalist?” she asked. “You going on location in the DR?”
“Something like that,” he said. “We’re doing a series on the aftermath of dictatorships. People are going to Chile, Uruguay, Brazil, Haiti, etcetera. I got assigned to th
e DR.”
“Political reporter, huh?” she asked.
“Everything is political,” he said. “And on that note, I’m doing an informal survey of young Latinxs. Are you registered to vote?”
“I wasn’t in the States during the last election. And the presidential election before that, I wasn’t old enough to vote.”
“You gotta get registered,” he said. “Blacks and Latinxs are the future.”
They compared stories of where they’d grown up. He was Puerto Rican, and had grown up in Harlem. Not that far from her family’s apartment in Washington Heights. He was in the Bronx now.
This guy was really easy to talk to. A little preachy, but he had this dimple that kept leaping out when he made an emphatic point, making him look more adorable than condescending.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Dulce,” she said, and realized the businessman hadn’t even asked.
“Zavier,” he said. “We should keep in touch. I might need to check up on you in the future. Make sure you’re voting the right way.”
She laughed. “I’ll need to get a new phone in the DR.”
He handed her his card, and put his personal cell phone number on the back. She slid it into her purse with the businessman’s card. If only she could find a man with the personality of this guy and the money of the businessman, or of her Miami boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend, she thought. Stealing a thousand dollars and running from him must certainly constitute a breakup, right?
* * *
She fell asleep on the plane ride, and didn’t wake up til she felt the flight attendant tapping her shoulder.
“You’ll need to bring that seat back up for landing,” the woman said.
Dulce realized she had fallen asleep on Zavier’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said. She checked to see if she had been drooling. Her mouth was dry. But had she been snoring?
“So is Dolores your given name?” he asked.
“What?” she asked. How did he know? No one ever called her that.
“It’s on your boarding pass,” he said.
She looked down to see the boarding pass laying face-up on the tray table. “Everybody calls me Dulce except my family.”
“What do they call you?” he asked.
“Family secret,” she said.