“Okay Goldberg why don’t you tell us how you got money and dope. And don’t leave out the part about that hot piece of ass you been playing with.”
Most of the dialog came from watching Law and Order episodes. But the daydream made it clear that if I went to the police, Maria would be brought in making it impossible to hide the affair from my wife.
Which way to turn? That’s when I looked through the window and saw a young black man standing on the street corner not far from the restaurant. A late model car pulled up to him. The young man leaned into the window. Then he sauntered around the corner while the men in the car waited. After a few minutes, the young man returned and handed something to the people in the car.
I had just watched a drug deal. By simply sitting in an almost empty McDonalds, I was getting a lesson in retail drug dealing.
Minutes later another car pulled up, and the scene replayed. Could I do that? I tried to imagine myself standing on the corner wearing torn jeans, music plugged into my ears.
It wouldn’t work. For one thing, I couldn’t find a way to combine light rock with street-side drug deals. Nor did I have the courage to approach the young man, contact his boss and try to sell the drugs wholesale. That’s when I resolved, once again, to dump the bag out of my plane into the Chesapeake Bay. That will be the end of it.
On the way back to the hotel I assuaged my guilt by transferring another eight thousand dollars into the Goldberg joint account. Then, feeling like I had matters firmly in hand, I stripped, collapsed on the bed and tried to take a nap.
***
My cell phone sounded its distinctive ring.
“Yeah?”
“That’s no way to answer a phone.” It was my wife.
“What time is it?”
“It’s five thirty in the afternoon. Were you sleeping?”
“Trying to. I ate something funny at lunch and let the new instructor finish the class. I came back to the hotel for a nap.” I looked longingly at the sheets, knowing that my plan was toast.
“New instructor?”
“Yeah, they hired a new woman. I let her sit in on the class. How’s Amy?”
“Aside from a bad attitude, she’s ok. The doc gave her more pain pills. They’ve knocked her out. Hey, I just checked our bank balance. Where did all that money come from?”
“I think I told you. I landed a new contract.”
“They paid in advance? What do they do?”
“Something to do with real estate. I’ll learn more later on. How’ve you been?”
“I’m exhausted. On top of everything else, my car stalled twice today.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s a piece of junk. Why don’t you start shopping for a new one?”
“We can’t afford it.”
“I think we can. This new contract — ”
“You’ve said that before — ”
“It will work this time. And, it’s a long-term contract.”
“We’ll see. Did you place an ad to sell the plane?”
“No — ”
“You promised.”
“I know, but things have changed and — ”
“Things haven’t changed. You’ve changed.”
There was a pause. I held my breath expecting Beth to continue with “sell the plane or else.” That could be my justification for continuing the relationship with Maria. But she just left the thought unfinished.
“I need to keep the airplane,” I said, “so I can meet with the owner at a moment’s notice.”
“Bullshit! Liar!”
“I’m not — ”
“I need to go.”
She didn’t hang up. We could hear each other breathing in the silence. It wasn’t just any silence to me. It was Beth’s special way of being silent. It was my wife’s silence that I’ve grown to love over the years.
Her breath brought back memories of those hot Jamaican nights during our honeymoon. Translating thoughts into action, my hand slipped into my briefs. “Where are you right now?” I asked.
“I’m in the kitchen, putting the lunch dishes away. Dan, I need to go.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I was gardening. I’m still wearing dirty denim shorts and a t-shirt. I’m sure I smell like a horse.” Then in a hushed voice, “What are you doing? Are you touching yourself?”
“I’m lying on the bed thinking about our honeymoon. Do you remember those nights and all that dope we smoked?”
“Hold on.” After a few seconds, she continued, “I’m in the downstairs bathroom so the girls can’t hear me. Yes, I remember Jamaica. I was so sore, I could hardly sit for a week. That’s where we made Sara. Are you naked?”
“Yes and I’m … ”
Through the phone, I could hear my daughter’s voice. “Mom I need to use the bathroom.”
“I need to go. Keep thinking about me.” Then, with a chuckle, she added, “Pervert.”
I watched the late afternoon shadows climb the wall while my passion ebbed.
The nap wasn’t going to happen, so I headed for the pool and started doing laps. After three laps I lost myself into the chlorine-scented present.
Six later, a woman started doing laps in the lane furthest from mine. Somehow we were always at opposite ends of the pool. Curious, I sat on the edge and waited. Sure enough, it was Maria now attired in a black, one-piece Speedo swimsuit. She wore a white swim cap.
She saw me swam over. “Hi Dan, where are we eating?” She took off the swim cap to shake out her raven hair. I wasn’t looking at her hair. The cold water created twin bumps that seemed to wink at me through the tight Spandex.
“It’ll be a surprise. We need to be there at 7:30. It’s close, we can walk there.”
“Let’s go soak in the hot tub.”
The delightfully hot water and noisy jets discouraged conversation. Neither of us had much to say anyway. We lay back and surrendered to the bubbles.
After a few minutes, a woman in her early twenties entered. Maria waved her over. “That’s my friend Esmeralda,” Maria said as she left the tub. The women conversed in rapid-fire Spanish.
They were a study in contrasts: Maria was a head taller and at least 50 pounds heavier than her friend. Whatever extra pounds she carried, just emphasized her luscious curves. Esmeralda was skinny. Her hip bones showed above her bikini bottoms while her breasts didn’t quite fill her top.
It was clear to me that the women were more than passing acquaintances. They touched each other as they spoke. Finally, they hugged and parted. Esmeralda started swimming laps.
“How do you know Esmeralda?” I asked.
“We worked together in the New York office.” Maria lowered herself into the hot swirling water and came to my side. “I’m sorry I didn’t include you in the conversation.”
“What’s she doing in the Washington area?”
“She’s entertaining a client. It’s just a coincidence that we’re both in the same hotel at the same time.”
I watched Esmeralda swim back and forth with smooth, athletic strokes. Maria noticed me watching her friend and asked, “So, Chico am I not enough for you? Do you like the skinny women with flat chests?” Was she jealous or just teasing me?
“No Maria, I like your breasts just the way they are.”
I closed my eyes luxuriating on the warm water. Seated about four feet from Maria we were just two hotel guests who happened to be using the hot tub at the same time. If my wife walked into the pool area, I would have nothing to be embarrassed about. “Oh, Hi Beth, I’d like to introduce you to this nice person I recently met.” I pictured Beth entering the pool area. She would be wearing her faded blue bathing suit. The two women would shake hands and —
A big toe massaged the front of my swim trunks. The toe belonged to my smiling girlfriend. She flexed her foot again.
“I can tell that you were thinking about a woman Chico. Who was it? Was it Esmeralda?”
I blushed and moved away. “Come on, Maria. I already
said that you are more than I can handle.”
“You’re lying. Men want to fuck anything they can get their hands on.” Maria glided next to me and started massaging my thigh with her strong hands. “Yes, Chico you can look at Esmeralda. Look at her small, tight ass. It’s like a boy’s. Are you into boy-like asses?” I didn’t answer. We kissed, and she guided my hand inside the bottom of her swimsuit. She gasped and bit my lip as my thumb found a special spot.
Her hand was in my trunks. “Ay, Chico. What are we going to do with you?” Answering her own question she commanded, “Come with me.”
I grabbed a towel to hide the bulge in my trunks and followed Maria to the small sauna room at the other end of the pool. Strange, she seems to know all the secret places. Has she done this before?
The door closed. Our mouths entwined. It wasn’t a kiss. It was some kind of urgent and needful union. Without disengaging, she struggled out of the top part of her wet swimsuit.
We broke apart, breathing heavily, staring into each other’s eyes. Her right hand came out of nowhere and slapped my face. “Now, Chico,” she demanded and turned to face the back wall while pulling her swimsuit down to her knees. She grabbed the bench and arched her back towards me — an unmistakable invitation.
We quickly became one sweaty, slimy, chlorine-smelling organism. Our minds disengaged and our bodies started to move in a now familiar rhythm. The cedar bench provided a creaking accompaniment to our sensual dance. We contributed a chorus of guttural moans. Unable to restrain myself, I released ten thousand little Goldbergs into Maria’s welcoming slit.
She pushed me away and tried to turn around, but the Speedo prevented a graceful maneuver. She ended up on the floor, her legs waving in the air.
“Oh my God, Maria, you’re going to get us kicked out.”
She just laughed.
***
We returned to our separate rooms to get dressed for dinner. I checked the TV news for any more information about the accident on the Beltway. Then I heard a knock on the door.
I panicked, looking around the room for incriminating evidence. After the third knock, I looked through the peephole. It was Maria.
“Hi, I thought I’d pick you up,” she said.
“Great, I’m ready,” I said holding her waist and kissing her on the cheek. I wasn’t comfortable kissing her on the lips when we weren’t in the midst of passion.
Instead of heading for the door, Maria took a small mirror and a familiar glassine envelope from her purse. She sprinkled the powder and asked me for a bill. She rolled it into a tube and expertly snorted a line. She handed the tube to me with a quizzical look.
“Maria, is that cocaine?”
“Yes, you’ve tried it?”
“Once, long ago,” I lied.
“Just sniff,” she said handing me the tube. “Sniff like you’re smelling a flower.”
That startled me, and I remembered my first encounter with the drug while trapped in Richard’s car. Did Maria know Richard? Did they purchase the drug from the same cocaine emporium?
I refused. She shrugged and made the second line disappear. When Beth and I visited friends, we would bring a bottle of wine. Our social circle knew nothing about cocaine. In Maria’s world, cocaine was as popular as Chardonnay.
“Come here Chico,” she said from the desk chair. When I got close enough, she grabbed my belt, opened my pants, pulled my underwear to my knees and started sucking.
I really didn’t want to have sex again. My emotions were confused. On the one hand, I felt guilty. On the other hand, I was excited and proud of the fact that I had seduced this wanton creature.
It was somewhat similar to the feelings I had when I was ten years old. It was the end of summer, just a week before the start of school. For months, I was anticipating our annual trip to the state fair. I was finally tall enough to go on the “Monster” roller coaster, but my mother said, “No, it will make you sick, wait till next year.” A year in the life of a ten-year-old is an eternity.
I had money saved up from my chores and was determined to go anyway. After we had parked, Mom asked me to empty my pockets. I had ten dollars. “That’s too much.” She took all but one dollar saying, “Find me, and I’ll give you more.”
But, I had a plan. After we had parted, I extracted two more dollars from my shoe then ran to the coaster and stood proudly in front of the plywood sign saying, “you must be this high.”
“OK kid, you can go,” the man said. “That’s a buck a ticket.” I handed him a sweat-soaked bill. He looked at it suspiciously and admitted me through the gate. The ride went up and down and twisted in every way. At the top of each cycle, I was weightless for a fraction of a second. That continued for three or four minutes. When it stopped, I went behind a tent and threw up. Mom was right — I did get sick. But I was right —the ride was great. I was flying for an instant in a sheet metal imitation of an airplane. Most importantly, I got away with it and realized that I always had to have a plan.
So there I was in the hotel room, my pants at my knees, Maria using her mouth to excite me. I had no plan. The animal part of my brain took over, and despite my efforts to the contrary, I exploded into Maria’s throat.
Maria made her way to the bathroom. After a short time, she emerged neat and presentable. With one exception: Her eyes were dilated, and she had a weird smile on her face.
“Come Chico. We’ll be late for dinner.”
Chapter 12
Dinner Date
We left the hotel a few minutes before seven. “Let’s walk,” I said. “It’s only six blocks.”
“In this heat? No way, let’s take my car.”
“We’re walking. I need the exercise.”
“Just wait till after dinner. I’ll give you exercise.” She slid her purse strap over her head and took my hand. “You’re the one who’ll get hot wearing that jacket.”
“I know, but the restaurant requires a jacket for men.”
Maria led the way with a jaunty step. That night she wore a short, black pleated skirt and a white sleeveless top held in place by a neat bow behind her neck. She had piled her hair on top of her head in a French braid.
I followed a few steps behind. What am I doing? I could rationalize the previous night’s sexual gymnastics as a kind of accident. I was drunk. She took advantage of me. It was as if I stepped off the curb and twisted my ankle. If I canceled the date that night, I could confess everything to Beth. After all, accidents happen.
How could I explain the encounter in the sauna, a few hours ago? That was wrong, no two ways about it. That would have to stay a secret.
So what are you doing now? You know what’ll happen when you return to the hotel. This is it. We’ll go to dinner and then say good night, and I’ll never see her again.
She waited at the street corner for me to catch up. “Hurry up slowpoke. We just missed the light. What are you thinking about?”
“I was just thinking about my daughter and her broken arm. That’s all. The restaurant’s on the next block.”
A big articulated bus roared close to the curb creating a momentary whirlwind. Maria’s skirt flew skyward exposing the lower half of her body.
In the seconds it took for gravity to restore her modesty, brakes screeched, a horn honked, and a weary office worker showed his appreciation with a wolf whistle. I couldn’t blame him. Her black panties looked great against her brown skin. Lit by passing headlights, Maria put the famous Marilyn Monroe pose to shame.
Maria laughed as she adjusted her skirt. “Did you like that Chico?”
I gulped down the saliva in my mouth and nodded my head in agreement. I did like it. I could feel my earlier resolve start to erode like the snow in an April rain.
***
Alfredo’s was a “couples only” restaurant. Each table was nestled in a high-walled, three-sided alcove. Heavy curtains flanked the remaining side. A quick pull on the two velvet ropes would lower the curtains creating a private room.
We decided on the chef’s fixed price menu and ordered a bottle of white wine to go with our first course. Maria insisted on oysters. “You need to eat oysters, Chico. They’ll give you strength for what I’ve planned tonight.” The food, wine, soft music (Smokey Robinson), and dim lighting created a very romantic mood. We sat close together, Maria’s hand resting on my thigh.
Just as I sucked up the juice of the last mollusk, Esmeralda passed our booth. Her companion was Senor Guzman, the guest of honor at Don Ricardo’s dinner the night before. Esmeralda wore a short white summer dress. As they passed, Maria smiled and waved. Esmeralda waved back and blew Maria a kiss. They settled into the next booth.
“The Señor isn’t with his wife tonight,” I said with a smirk. Somehow, seeing another man having dinner with a woman, not his wife provided a kind of justification for my actions.
“No, he isn’t,” Maria replied. “I’m sure he told his wife that he had a boring business dinner. Don Ricardo doesn’t want his wealthy clients to miss any excitement while they’re in the U.S.” She took a sip of wine. “Esmeralda is one of our best.”
“So she’s a … ” I couldn’t find the word. Suddenly the low lights, the semi-private alcove, the red wallpaper, began to feel tawdry rather than risqué and romantic. I could feel beads of sweat running down my back. I moved a few inches away from Maria as the appetizer was replaced by our salads.
Five minutes passed in silence. If Esmeralda’s profession was what I thought it was, and if she and Maria worked together, what does that make Maria? And what does that make our relationship? Finally, Maria broke the silence with one word — “Hostess.”
“You want me to get the hostess?” I asked.
Maybe we can cut the dinner short, and I can get some sleep tonight.
“No, estúpido, the word you couldn’t get out of your big gringo mouth was ‘hostess.’ Esmeralda is a hostess. Her assignment this week is to accompany Senor Guzman when he isn’t with his wife. She is his translator and companion.”
Maria finished the wine in her glass then refilled it from the bottle. I drank water.
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