What did I get myself into? Why did I tell her about my wife and daughters?
It was my turn to talk. I didn’t want to explore the deeper meaning of the word “hostess.” Instead, I asked, “How did you come to work for Don Ricardo?”
“Someday Chico, I may answer your question. Both the one you asked and the one you are afraid to ask. Instead, I will tell you a little about my life before I met Don Ricardo.”
That seemed to relieve the mood. I finished the wine in the bottle and signaled for a bottle of Burgundy.
“I was born in the village of Carolina on the Southwest coast of Puerto Rico. My father owned a clothing factory, and until I was thirteen, we had a good life. I had two brothers and a sister. I was the youngest. My oldest brother, Juan, worked with my father and was destined to take over the family enterprise. Roberto, the next oldest, was studying to become a doctor. My sister Teresa was two years older than me and still in school as was I.
“We were not wildly rich, but we were very comfortable. We had servants to cook and clean. I never wanted for anything.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said. “Did you have a large house with an interior courtyard?”
“Yes, and the courtyard even had a fountain.” She paused,“You know I don’t tell this story to just anyone.” Then she smiled. “I’m starting to like you.” I blushed.
“My life changed in many ways a few months after my thirteenth birthday. It was a Friday afternoon. My mother had invited some relatives for dinner and was supervising the preparations. We heard sirens, but there were often sirens in our town. Then the phone rang.
“Mama answered cheerily. I am sure she assumed that another cousin was confirming an invitation. She nodded her head and said ‘Si’ several times. Then she collapsed on the floor. I screamed. The cook screamed. Roberto ran into the kitchen and called the paramedics. I kept screaming. No one paid any attention to me.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. I could imagine what it must have been like for her. Maria paused as the waitress delivered our main course.
Maria ate a bite of meat, drank a sip of wine then said, “Mama recovered. She lay in Roberto’s lap and told us that there was a fire at the factory. Many employees died in the blaze. The firefighters couldn’t find Papa or Juan.
“Roberto went to the factory and returned to confirm the grim news. Papa, Juan and sixteen women who worked in the sewing room were dead. They couldn’t get out because workers had stacked bales of cloth in front of the emergency exits.”
Maria paused and wiped away a tear. She pushed her plate away. “I can’t eat this.”
“When did this happen?”
“It was more than twenty years ago. Sometimes it feels like yesterday. Do you want me to go on?”
“Only if you want to.”
Maria nodded. “I do. I need to. Somehow I think you can understand.”
“The following month was a nightmare. There were eighteen funerals. My mother wore a black dress and never left the house, not even for Papa’s and Juan’s funerals.
“My uncle, Julio, came from New York to take charge of the family. He negotiated with the authorities and with the insurance company. The priest wanted our family to pay for all the funerals, and provide a stipend to the worker’s families but my uncle refused. Tension mounted day by day. One night, someone threw a rock through our front window. The next day Teresa came home from school with a bloody nose. We boarded a plane a few days later.
“That’s how I came to New York,” she concluded.
It was a long story. We finished our second bottle of wine.
“Then, sometime later you came to work for Don Ricardo?” I said.
“Don Ricardo is a distant relative through marriage.” She chuckled. “I think all Puerto Ricans are related to each other somehow.
She picked at the vegetables on her plate then stared into my eyes. “What will you tell Beth about me?”
Hearing Maria vocalize my wife’s name destroyed my growing empathy towards the woman. She crossed a line. She had no right to use my wife’s name. Didn’t she understand that these four days didn’t count? They existed in some other Steven-King-like dimension. I moved away from her and started looking for the waitress. I wanted to leave.
I would say nothing to my wife. When the week was over, I would return to my wife, my family, my lawn in exactly the same way that I’d left it. That was my only plan.
Once again, we sat in silence. Finally, Maria spoke. “It’s okay Dan. You’re new at this. These days, these nights will be our secret. Your wife will never know.” There was a practiced way she said the words. I wasn’t her first married man.
Our dessert was a luscious key lime pie. As we lifted our forks, Esmeralda passed in front of our table holding her purse. The two women locked eyes and Maria said, “Uh, Dan, I need to use el baño.” That didn’t surprise me. Living with three females, I had grown used to their attachment to plumbing. Nor was I surprised when Maria’s absence stretched to fifteen minutes. By then I’d finished my dessert and was surreptitiously taking small bites out of hers.
She returned with a flushed face and a mischievous glint in her eye. She pulled the curtain ropes as she entered the booth and looked at me as if I was the dessert. I felt vulnerable in the private space.
“What’s going on?”
She pressed her face into my shoulder and started to giggle.
“Come on Maria, what happened in the ladies’ room?” Her giggles turned into laughter. Then we heard Esmeralda’s laughter coming from the booth next door.
When she recovered enough to talk she said, “I have a present for you. Open your hand.” I did, and she placed something in it. I could feel a piece of fabric. “Ok, now look at it.” The fabric was white and made of cotton. On closer examination, I realized I was holding a pair of woman’s panties.
I was confused. Maria wore black panties. I saw them during the Marilyn Monroe-inspired whirlwind.
“Who’s … ” I heard a very loud gasp from the next booth followed by Esmeralda’s loud laugh. Maria pointed.
“Hers.”
***
My hands were shaking as we returned to the hotel. I knew what Maria wanted. I wanted it, too, and I hated myself for the desire. A part of my mind argued. End it now! Leave in the morning and never see her again. All I needed to do was press the elevator button for the third floor.
Somehow Maria knew what I was thinking. She positioned herself in front of the buttons and forcefully pressed number two. Then she turned and lifted her face. “Kiss me, Chico. Hold me, I’m a little drunk. I tasted the wine on her tongue as she stumbled into my arms. Her smell filled my nostrils — a combination of perfume and sweat. Intoxicated, I offered no resistance as we walked to her room.
I searched for the analytical part of my brain, the part that sorted things into “right” and “wrong,” but it had quit for the evening. None of this is real, I surmised. I might as well enjoy it.
In her typical, no-nonsense way, Maria wasted no time setting the mood. She lit an incense stick filling the room with an exotic jasmine smell. Her sandals came off and found their place at the foot of the bed. She carefully hung her skirt and blouse in the closet. Her bra went into one dresser drawer, her watch, and other jewelry into another.
“I’ll be right back,” she said then went into the bathroom. I could have left. I didn’t. I was paralyzed — torn between what I wanted to do and what I knew I should do.
Maria re-entered the room wearing only her makeup and skimpy black panties. “Chico, why are you still dressed? Get naked!”
I took off my pants, shirt, shoes, and socks but retained my briefs as a faint protest against her commands. She didn’t notice. Instead, she lit a joint.
It was becoming clear that Maria had a well-thought-out plan for the evening.
She turned on the TV and chose a pay-per-view movie from the adult selections. We shared the joint sitting on the bed in our underwear. The first scene featured a larg
e woman demonstrating her masturbation technique. It concluded with a gynecological close-up along with the expected grunts and moans. The next scene had the same woman enjoying the intimate attentions of two well-endowed men.
The movie was mildly arousing. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I looked to Maria for guidance, but she showed more interest in the joint than either the movie or me.
I began to look at the movie analytically. There was a forced, clinical feel to the action. It was clear that the actors were responding to an off-camera director in each of their collisions and separations. My attention drifted away from the cast to furniture and the drapes on the movie set.
Maria noticed my flaccid condition. The evening wasn’t going the way she planned. “Estoy aburrida,” she said. I must have looked confused, so she translated. “I’m bored, God damit!”
She went to her dresser and hunted for something in the bottom drawer. At that moment, the actress on the screen bent over in a similar pose. The combination of the two images brought my male appendage to full attention. I discovered what I could do with my hand.
Maria noticed and smiled. Adopting the tone of a cruel mistress she scolded, “You’re touching yourself, Chico. Who said that you can touch yourself?” She grabbed my right wrist, wrapped a rope around it, and tied the other end to the bedpost. Next, she did the same to my left. The anticipation was delightful. I had heard about couples doing this but had never experienced anything like it. What other perversions does this woman have in store for me?
Raking her fingernails down my chest, she grabbed my erection and squeezed. “Do you like watching, Chico?”
Deciding to increase the tension, Maria reached into her purse and extracted Esmeralda’s undergarment. She waved it in front of my face making sure that I recognized it. “Open your mouth,” she commanded. I complied, and the panties became a gag. “There professor, that will keep you quiet for a while.”
I’m sure she meant to bring our eroticism to new heights. In fact, it had the opposite effect. In the restaurant, they were “panties” with all the mystery that the word contained to the ten-year-old part my brain. Now there was no mystery. I had a prostitute’s dirty underwear in my mouth. I gagged and spat the filthy thing out. “Yuk! Untie me. This isn’t working for me.”
Maria’s face collapsed in frustration. She was no longer the mistress of ropes and perversions. Her shoulders sagged. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes and her makeup began to run down her cheeks.
She covered her face with her hands and retreated to the bathroom.
With a little effort, I broke free from the ropes and got dressed. I was disgusted with myself. I needed to leave. The incense that once was romantic was now cloying.
My hand was on the doorknob when Maria emerged. She had washed her face, tied her hair back into a loose ponytail, and wore one of the hotel’s white terry cloth bathrobes. “Dan, what are you doing? Where are you going?”
“Estoy aburrido,” I said trying to mimic both her words and accent.
She looked at me and sighed, “Me too. Dan, please stay a little while, we need to talk.”
I nodded my agreement. I owed her that much. She offered me a bottle of water from the mini-refrigerator. I sat on the bed. She sat in the desk chair facing me. I turned off TV.
“What do you want to talk about? It’s late. I have to teach tomorrow.” It was clear that we were at the end of our relationship. Who was leaving whom? Did it matter?
“Dan, we met because I was paid to meet you. It was part of my job.”
“What …?”
“I work for Marcos. Marcos thought that you owned a fancy jet airplane. They needed someone to transport cash and drugs. I believe your friend Richard gave him the information. Marcos told me to get to know you.”
Damn Richard. Even after his death, he still manages to mess up my life.
“During the dinner, Wednesday night, they learned you weren’t a hot shot pilot. You’re a school teacher with a toy airplane.”
“It’s not a toy,” I insisted.
She waved away the comment. “Dan, this is hard for me. Don’t interrupt. My boss lost interest in you. I didn’t. I like you. You’re modest and honest. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man like you. Mostly, with Don Ricardo’s clients, I’m an accessory in public and a mistress in private. This week you were my boyfriend, mi novio.”
She rose and tried to kiss me. I turned away. “So you’re a … ” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I couldn’t look at her. How many other men had she slept with? What about the “you are mine” crap?
“Dan,” she responded reasonably but with an edge to her voice, “I’m a real estate agent and a translator. You might call me an actress as well. I’m not proud of some of the things that I do, but we all do things we’re not proud of. It’s the best way that I have to take care of myself and my family.”
“So you sleep with men to support your family, how noble!” I started for the door, but Maria barred the way.
“Dan, it’s not that simple. You see — ”
“You’re a prostitute, una puta.” I finally found the word and the Spanish translation. It hurt my mouth to say it.
She slapped my face then tried to punch me in the chest. I grabbed her wrists and pushed her away.
“Fuck you, Dan! You have no idea what my life was like. When we came to New York, after my father died, my uncle stole all our money. Do you know what jobs are available for a Puerto Rican woman with only a high school education? Try being a cleaning woman. That’s what my sister did. Try being a waitress for eight hours a day and come home smelling of grease with less than fifty dollars in your pocket. That’s what I did. You walk around, so proud of your fancy education. I had to support my family with my guts and determination, something you never had to do.”
“Maria, I’m sorry. I’m — ”
“Be careful who you’re calling a whore. If I’m a whore, what are you? You sell your mind to the highest bidder.”
I tried to put my arm on her shoulder. “Get the fuck away from me.” She turned towards the window, crying.
I started for the door, still feeling the sting of her slap. “Dan wait. Don’t go yet. I do care for you. Let’s part as friends.”
I turned to face her. “Okay, let’s be friends.” She paced back and forth. Her robe flew open with every turn showing glimpses of her body. The view would have been sexy a dozen minutes ago. Now it was clinical. Was that a scar on her belly? Was one breast larger than the other?
“Maria, I need to go.”
“Dan, you’re an idiot. That first night when I seemed to be fascinated by your goddamn airplane I was acting.” She struck a pose, shook her hair back and recalled her lines — “Oh, that’s so interesting, tell me more.” She paused as if waiting for applause.
I blushed. How could I have fallen for those lies?
“No applause? Oh well.” She stood and looked directly into my eyes. “What happened in your hotel room last night wasn’t acting. It was real.”
We hugged. We cried. Finally, we broke apart. “Ok, Dan it’s time to say goodbye. Vaya con Dios. Don’t call me.” She released me. I left. As the door closed I caught my last glimpse of Maria, her black hair contrasting with the white robe. I walked down the hall trying to burn that image into my memory.
Chapter 13
Home Free?
The next morning, Friday, everything seemed to go my way. The traffic moved smartly on the beltway, the security guard waved me through without searching my briefcase, even the elevator doors opened at my touch. The last day of teaching is always easy — that day was no exception. I went over the more difficult topics and showed examples from my consulting work.
The last PowerPoint slide winked off the screen at 11:30. I said, “Well if there aren’t any questions our class is over.” Dead silence filled the room. “Michelle, do you have anything you want to add?” She shook her head no. “Thank you, class, for your attentio
n.” The students applauded. That had only happened a few times in my career. I blushed and thanked them again.
Brenda must have heard the clapping. She came in just as I was about to leave. “Thanks again Dan. I am sorry we can’t use you anymore.”
“No problem, I understand.” I looked away, trying to hide my smile. “I’m sure I’ll find something. Thanks for the past six months.” The last part was sincere.
I almost skipped on my way to the parking garage. When no one could hear me I shouted, “I’m free!” The sunlight glinting off the headlights turned each Ford and Chevy into a smiling co-conspirator.
The worries that plagued me at the start of the week were distant memories. I was rich and on the way to my airplane, my home, and my family.
I lacked only one thing — someone I could tell about my week. What’s the use of doing great things, if you can’t talk about them?
“Beth,” I rehearsed, “Guess what I accomplished this week. I participated in a drug deal and, in spite of the fact that several people were killed, I have over a half-million dollars in cash. Oh, also, I had great sex with a beautiful woman.”
That didn’t sound right. I would have to work on what I would and wouldn’t tell her.
I loaded the duffle full of cocaine, my computer case (stuffed with over 100, hundred-dollar bills) and my suitcase full of dirty clothes into the back of my plane. I called Beth as I walked up the stairs to the airport’s office to pay for my fuel and parking.
“Well, look who’s calling. I thought you forgot my number.”
“Hi honey, I’m done with class. I’m at the airport in Gaithersburg and should be home in about two hours. What a week, can’t wait to tell you about it. How’s Amy?”
“Better. She’s taking the pain pills. They knock her out. She sleeps a lot. When she’s awake, she complains. I’m at the store, what do you want for dinner?”
“Steaks. I’ll broil them on the grill.”
“Steaks it is. You sound great. You had a good week?”
“I had a great week. Our money problems are over. I’ll explain it all when I get home.”
Flying Blind Page 10