The Santero

by Kim Rodriguez

  “Nothing. I didn’t drink any alcohol.” I rubbed my face as I tried to wake up and wondered if I had the flu, horrible timing on the grand re-opening of Madrina’s. But where was Amada?

  “Sure about that?” asked Sandro.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, starting to get angry. Mauricio stood in the back of the room, reluctant to come closer. “Where’s Amada? Answer me.”

  “She saw you, man.” Sandro looked down at his feet, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Saw me what?” I jumped out of the chair and came around the desk, ignoring the nausea and vertigo that had suddenly come over me.

  “Fucking that redhead, Rafa. Look, I don’t judge and that’s your business—”

  The ground shifted under my feet, and if I hadn’t been close enough to the desk to grab on I’d have hit the floor. Assorted images thundered through my muddled mind, and yes, there had been a redhead here last night, but I couldn’t remember why or who she was. Sandro registered the look of recognition on my face and continued as if it were an admission of guilt.

  “What does he have to do with it?” I asked, gesturing toward the rapidly retreating Mauricio.

  “Well Einstein over here happened to be with her when she walked in on you, and instead of waiting until I got here, he took it upon himself to take Amada back home. Against her wishes.”

  “Rafa,” mumbled Mauricio, “she wanted to kill that woman. I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping her out of a bad situation.”

  “What does against her will mean?” Had he gotten rough with Amada?

  “Tell him, asshole.” Sandro perched himself on the edge of the desk beside me.

  “I forced her into the car and took her home,” said Mauricio.

  “You put your hands on my wife and forced her away from me?” I felt Sandro’s hand on my arm, a reminder to stay calm.

  “There’s more,” said Sandro. “Spit it out man, there’s no time to waste.”

  “She’s probably on a plane right now. I don’t know where.”

  Sandro played an audio recording Mauricio made while he and Amada were in the car. I could hear my sweet girl crying and screaming, begging Mauricio to turn the car back around, then on the phone with Ken talking about going to see someone named Charlotte. I’d never heard Amada so angry. She told Ken I’d cheated, and they were sending a plane for her. I flew across the room at Mauricio and slammed him against the wall.

  “Are you crazy? You hear my wife angry and talking about getting on a private plane and you just let her? What the fuck kind of security is this, Sandro?”

  “I want to kick his sorry ass as much as you do, believe me. I’m not going to stop you,” he said from behind me. “But first you should see if you can catch her.” He held Mauricio’s phone up. “This was only about an hour ago. I called but you didn’t answer.”

  “She’s gone,” I said, pushing off Mauricio. “They can get on their business jet in twenty minutes.”

  “Is he out?” asked Sandro.

  “Not yet,” I said, picking up the receiver of my desk phone, glancing at Mauricio. “When I figure this out, that idiot and I have some business to discuss.”

  “See,” said Sandro. “I told you he would only kick your ass for being so stupid, not fire you.”

  “Lisa, come in here,” I barked, not bothering to even try to speak in English at a time like this.

  In less time than it took for the receiver to hit the cradle, Lisa was at the door, cautiously waiting at the threshold until invited in by Sandro.

  “Did you see a woman here last night?” I asked in English. Surprisingly the words came to me. “Peliroja?” I asked Sandro, who said “redhead.”

  “Um, no” she said, smoothing her long straight white-blond hair down around her shoulders. Her Swedish was more pronounced this morning, probably from being up all night and tired. “I mean, I didn’t see anyone. It was you, me, Sal, Alex and that new security guy.” She pointed at Mauricio. “Not him, the nice one.” Sandro glanced at me, not understanding my questions, but like the loyal friend he was, he kept his mouth shut.

  “What time was the last coffee you brought me?”

  “I think maybe around eight or so,” she said shrugging.

  “And nothing out of the ordinary happened?” asked Sandro. “Did you see him and Amanda?”

  “No!” she said. “I stayed late to proofread a few documents Sal translated, but I didn’t see or talk to anyone except Rafa. Everyone else was upstairs.”

  “Mauricio,” asked Sandro in Spanish, “why did you drive Amanda here in the first place? Did she say why she wanted to come here so late?” Mauricio, still standing against the wall where I’d pushed him, thought back. Lisa tensed, likely realizing that something was very wrong.

  “We had just gotten back from Bal Harbour around eight, and after her friends left, the other guys came here but I stayed for the night shift. I was getting something to eat in the guardhouse when she came in about half an hour later and asked me to bring her up here to check on a delivery. She thought there was some kind of problem with the furniture and that you were upset about it. She said she was calling you.”

  “She did?” I asked, checking my phone log. “No, there’s no missed call from her.”

  “Well, I spoke to Agustín on the way over. Maybe she never made the call because I talked to him first. We were almost here by then.”

  “Rafa, are you alright?” asked Lisa, concerned, her expression grim. “You look like you don’t feel well.”

  “I’m fine,” I said in English. “Maybe flu.”

  “Let me know if you need anything,” said Lisa, taking another step into my office. “I make a very good Swedish chicken soup.”

  “Please, get rid of them,” I said to Sandro in Spanish, low so only he could hear me. Feeling weak again, I sat back down in my chair, and after Lisa and Mauricio left, Sandro plopped down into the chair across from my desk.

  “What now, boss?”

  “Sandro, I can’t remember the past few hours very well, but I wasn’t drinking. There was a redhead, but until now I thought she was una muerta.”

  Without batting an eye at what I’d said, Sandro nodded. “Doña Delfina had so many toward the end, half the time she couldn’t tell if her visitors had been people or spirits. But if Amanda saw her, she was definitely real.”

  “I have no idea who or what she was. She flirted with me, and I think she kissed me, but that was it. I fell asleep or passed out after that, I’m not sure. I didn’t think any of it was real, but apparently it was.”

  “Did you take anything? Delfina had a lot of teas and powders she used to put her into different states of consciousness. She didn’t want you to know.”

  “Oh, I knew,” I said. “I warned her, but she’d been doing it all her life. I don’t need to. I can go into a trance very easily using other methods.”

  “Does Amanda know about what you do? The details, I mean.”

  “Not really. To be honest, I’ve been afraid to tell her.”

  “A lot of crazy shit happens in our business, Rafa. You can’t keep her in the dark forever. It might have been easier for her to understand what happened, not that Mauricio would have let her talk to you anyway.” Sandro stood to let himself out. “You know, he thought he was helping. Did you hear Amada tear into him?” he asked, smiling. “He said she slapped him across the face, hard.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “I’ll see if I can find the peliroja who got in here last night, but there are so many women who hang out at the bar every night waiting around for you to show up. You wouldn’t believe the stuff they offer me to get to you.” He tugged on his jacket with an air of self-assurance. “Good thing I have principles.”

  ***

  On the way back to the house I called Amada three or four times, each call going to voicemail immediately. The same panic from earlier set in again, the utter horror of knowing I was going back home to our bed and Amada wouldn’t be ther
e. I’d have to find a way to explain everything and hope she believed me, but first I’d have to find her. Kieran would be no help, but at least I knew she was in contact with him and using the business jet, so he’d know exactly where she was, and for now, until she cooled down, I could live with that. Unlike me, she had all the money in the world to safely do as she pleased. I just hoped she came to her senses soon and at least called before I lost my mind. I’d give her a few days, no, a week, but then all bets were off.

  At home I went upstairs right away, throwing my clothes off on the way up. Exhausted, I was unwilling to engage in my usual routine of shutting the lights off and checking every window and door, because without Amada it seemed pointless, and if someone came in and killed me right now, they’d be doing me a favor. My head was still a pressure cooker of foggy images and blank spaces, not to mention the painful throbbing I felt behind my eyes and at my temples. I’d never been prone to migraines, but this was the closest I’d ever come.

  By the time I got to our room I was about to dive into the bed for at least a couple of hours, enough time to regroup and let the darkness outside turn to light. I went straight to the console by the door and found the Excedrin and bottle of water I kept in the cabinet among other medical supplies and assorted necessities. When I’d first moved in, Amada didn’t even have an aspirin in the house, much less a well-stocked medicine cabinet. A woman who could buy a small country didn’t care enough about her health to have the simplest comforts in her own home, only a cellar full of wine and vodka. Fuck, I’d heard her tell Kieran to have the driver bring her some. She’d probably already started drinking. Sickened, I popped two pills in my mouth but almost gagged on the water when I noticed her engagement ring on the nightstand, and then everything on the bed.

  I’d almost forgotten she’d gone shopping today, and I couldn’t believe how much she’d bought. There were bags all over the room from high end shops like Chanel and Gucci, and she’d bought some lingerie for herself, but virtually everything she’d brought home was for me. There were three gorgeous Rolexes lined up side by side on the edge of the bed, along with four aviator style sunglasses from Tom Ford and Gucci, several Italian leather wallets, socks, a dozen beautiful silk ties, and a pajama bottom and robe set made of the softest cotton I’d ever touched. Detecting a faint trace of her perfume on the fabric, I slipped into the robe and pants wishing she were there to watch me put them on.

  Still bowled over by what was on the bed, I noticed a small white yellow paper on the floor beside the plate of half eaten Capuchino cake. It was an appointment card for several fittings and an order for six custom made suits from Tom Ford, paid in full to the tune of sixty thousand dollars. I sank to the floor, empty and longing for my Amada, and if I hadn’t been riddled with nausea since I left Madrina’s I would have eaten the rest of the cake just because it had been hers. I crawled to the chair and ottoman by the window and holding back tears, scrolled through until I found Kieran’s number. This would be quite a conversation.

  “Rafa,” came the voice on the other end of the line. “I’m surprised you had the nerve to call here,” said Kieran, in Spanish far less pleasant than Amada’s.

  “I know what she thinks she saw, but I didn’t do anything with that girl,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I looked around to see if there was a bowl or garbage can close by, just in case.

  “You nailed it, Ken. He says it wasn’t what it looked like,” said Kieran, laughing. The phone went silent for a minute, then the background noise came back on. “I just had to send Ken out of the room. You wouldn’t believe what he just threatened to do to you.”

  “Look,” I sighed, “I know you think I’m lying, but all I care about right now is that she’s safe. She’s hurt, and I don’t want her doing anything self-destructive—”

  “What the hell were you doing fucking someone where she could walk in on you? What’s wrong with you?” The always calm Kieran had completely lost his cool, and it was fascinating to hear how his mind worked now that he was enraged and less guarded, not to mention slurring his words.

  “I wouldn’t do it anywhere,” I said. “And I didn’t.”

  “Sure,” said Kieran, lowering his voice. “You and I have the same problem: too many options. In case you didn’t know, being rich is even better than being beautiful, so listen up. I understand it’s hard to say no, but you can’t be so careless. You don’t fuck the sidepiece at home or at work, you don’t use your own phone or credit cards, and if at all possible you don’t even use your real name.” I couldn’t believe my ears. Amada’s beloved Kieran was a seasoned cheater.

  “So you’re pissed at me . . . for getting caught?” I asked, incredulous. I recalled the conversation Amada and I had about sweet, innocent Kieran and his supposed lack of sexual experience with men. She’d been worried sick about him engaging in unsafe practices and wanted me to lecture him on how to use a condom before sticking his dick in unfamiliar places. Poor Amada had no idea that this guy could probably teach me a thing or two.

  “Just don’t fuck up again, and she might take you back. Jesus, you didn’t kill anyone. There’s nothing wrong with it as long as no one gets hurt.” He paused cryptically, as if there was some doubt as to whether he should. “You know, you really should show me some gratitude if I do help you fix it.”

  “Of course I will.” He was getting at something, and if I didn’t know better I’d think he meant—

  “The kind of gratitude expressed in bed,” said Kieran. In that moment, we could have heard a pin drop.

  “Please tell me I just heard you incorrectly,” I said. “You’re drunk. You don’t mean it.”

  “Why the sudden outrage?” he asked. “Is it because I’m a man?”

  “It’s because you’re Amada’s family, and I think you know how much something like that would hurt her.” I was shocked, not only because he’d never given any indication of being duplicitous, but I really thought he liked me as a person.

  “As if it’s the first time anyone’s ever propositioned you. Give me a break, Snow White.” He took another sip of wine, the glass clinking clumsily against something in the background.

  “I didn’t say that, Kieran.” I had to tread carefully. If I told him what I really thought of his attempt to seduce his future brother-in-law, he might go out of his way to make it more difficult. “I just had no idea about your personal philosophies.”

  “I’ve had some beautiful men and women, Rafa, but you’re on a whole other level. I would never have said anything, but if you’re going to fuck around anyway . . .” He hadn’t heard a thing I’d said. He had to be completely wasted.

  “Tell me, does Ken share this loose interpretation of your wedding vows?” I asked.

  “Ken is from Nebraska,” he slurred. “He’s a pillar of virtue, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  I glanced at the wastebasket again, wondering how much longer before I’d have to dive for it. Talking to Kieran was making me feel even sicker, and now that he thought I was like him, I’d never get him back in line. Who would have guessed all that was there just beneath the surface?

  “Alright, we’ll talk about it again when you sober up.” As much as I wanted to go off on him, at this point I would have said anything to change the subject without pissing him off. “In the meantime, please tell me where she is. I’m worried.”

  “Hell no,” he said, taking another swig of wine. Enjoying himself, he released a heavy sigh of sigh of satisfaction. “Goddamn this Bordeaux is good.”

  “Is she going to see you and Ken?”

  “Trust me, she’s fine. Stop asking, because I’m under orders not to tell you anything.”

  “Then what do you recommend I do?” Pissed at his stonewalling, I wanted to say that Amada’s wishes didn’t have any bearing on his decision to come on to me, but I bit my tongue.

  “Well, I’d advise you to keep an eye on her Instagram. You didn’t hear it from me, though. And think about my of
fer. To hell with rules.”

  Before I’d even hung up with Kieran I was sprinting to Amada’s computer hoping she’d left the window open, but no such luck. I had no idea she had an Instagram or anything else, but of course everyone did these days. I clicked on a bookmark in her browser and found that the account had been set to private, so in a matter of minutes I created one of my own and approved myself by using the Instagram password I found in a notebook in her desk drawer. I’d consider the ethics of what I’d done later, but she had enough followers that I didn’t think she’d notice a new one, so I deleted all the notifications and logged out. Now in my own new Instagram account I browsed hers, noting she hadn’t posted anything since we’d met on the cruise, but before then there were incredible photos dating back to 2015 from all over the world.

  I flipped quickly through the images, learning nothing of value except her preference for traveling alone to Europe. I went through her followers searching for anyone named Charlotte, but almost everyone had posted their comments under stupid anonymous nicknames. What they didn’t hesitate to share, however, were their photographs of travels to faraway exotic places and their decadent lifestyles of yachts, private jets, beautiful clothes and endless parties. She ran with people who were untouchable and answered to no one, and in spite of being disgusted by everything I saw, I downloaded the app and waited on the chair for her first post. I could have cleared off the bed and slept there as usual, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do, so I made myself comfortable on the only other furniture in the room, thinking what I really deserved was the floor. The house was markedly different without her, as if the volume had been turned up in her absence and the normally imperceptible vibrations of the space became more distinct.

  Grateful that the nausea and headache had finally begun to subside, I took deep, measured breaths until I no longer felt my heart trying to beat out of my chest, and as soon as I felt my body release some tension, I tried to piece together the little I could remember. Earlier in the evening at Madrina’s, the peliroja had come into my office just after I’d finished my coffee and started to notice that something was off. Without warning I went from feeling perfectly normal to confused and unsteady, the bottom dropping out from under me so quickly I only had a millisecond to wonder if I was going into insulin shock or having a seizure. Then all my rational thoughts faded into some kind of complacent fog, and by the time she approached me, I was so disoriented I assumed I was in a trance and that she was like Filomena.