Acapulco Nights (10 page)

It sure couldn’t hurt.

*

“When did you say he would get here?” Janice slurred, sipping on her third mixed drink of the night. Empty glasses with teeny umbrellas littered our table. An empty plate that had once held some very tasty appetizers lay bare in the middle of the table.

Where did our waiter go? The clutter bothered me.

“Eight. He said he could be here by eight.” I looked at my watch. Eight-thirty. Where was he?

George held up his margarita glass, “To Joaquin, who will be here by eight.”

Janice raised her glass a little too quickly, and some of her drink sloshed over the rim. She didn’t seem to notice. “To Joaquin!”

“Did I hear someone calling me?” Joaquin smiled, teeth perfectly aligned, hair tousled yet stylish. He could still take my breath away.

“Have a seat, sweetheart,” Janice crowed. She waved her hand at me. “Make room, Suze. He doesn’t bite.”

We were seated at a large booth, so I slid toward Janice making sure there would be plenty of space between me and Joaquin.

“Thank you.” Joaquin unbuttoned his suit jacket. “It seems you haven’t ordered yet?” He raised his eyebrows at the un-cleared table. He snapped his fingers and instantly a waiter appeared at his side.

“
Si, señor
?”

In Spanish Joaquin made clear his disapproval of the state of our table. Two busboys appeared out of thin air, whisking away the drink glasses and the empty appetizer plate. Then, he gestured to the waiter to come closer. He whispered in his ear.

“Dinner will be here shortly,” he announced with satisfaction, clearly wanting us to be impressed with his authority.

Janice ate it up. Maybe not the admirer he was looking for, but an admirer nonetheless.

“Wow. Hard to believe the last time we saw you, you were a college kid like the rest of us.”

Joaquin flashed a smile at her.

I thought George wanted to punch him. Joaquin caused this reaction around other men. He was handsome, flirted with almost any woman, and managed to get his way most of the time. A less secure man than George might have backed down.

George slung his arm possessively around Janice’s bare shoulders. She drunkenly leaned into him. “Oh, George! What are people going to think?”

Janice seemed more affected by the alcohol now than she had been ten minutes earlier. I wasn’t sure she could make it to the door, much less wait until the entrees arrived.

George must have been thinking the same thing. “Janice? Are you all right?”

Janice leaned forward onto the table, crossed her arms, and rested her head on them. “Mmm-hmmm,” she mumbled.

George rubbed her back, “Hey, Janice? Why don’t I take you back to your room?”

Take an over-worked lawyer, fly her to Mexico, mix in a few exotic drinks, and voila, you have one wasted girl.

If it weren’t George, I might have stood up and insisted I help him. But George? The sweet-as-pie river rafting fool from West Virginia? She couldn’t have been safer than if her mother were taking her back up to the suite. He had been treating her like a glass ornament all night long. Besides, I needed a free moment to talk to Joaquin, and sitting in a busy, crowded restaurant was just the place to do it.

Janice mumbled a sleepy assent and threw her arms around George’s thick neck. Built like a squished Mac truck, I had no doubts George could carry my skinny little friend if he had to. He pushed her out of the booth, tightly wrapping one arm around her waist, so she didn’t slip.

Joaquin told George not to worry about the bill, he would take care of it. We watched as they made their way to the restaurant entrance and out into the lobby. Then, he turned to me. I should have taken the opportunity to slide into George’s empty spot on the other side of the table.

He sat so close to me my heart skipped a couple of beats. He made me nervous and self-conscious and horridly aware of the small amount of cleavage peeking out from my v-neck top.

“So, here I am at dinner,” he began. “What now?”

I slid one centimeter at a time away from Joaquin and toward the empty bench next to me. I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Yes, we do.”

I cleared my throat. “I want a divorce.”

His hazel eyes hardened. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?” I grabbed for the glass of ice water in front of me, in desperate need of a drink. My throat felt parched.

“I said no.”

Before I could express my outrage, a waiter appeared with a tray laden with food. More food than two people could possibly consume in one sitting. Tacos, flatuas,
ollas
of beans, fajitas, stacks of corn tortillas filled half a dozen plates. The smell of freshly made tortillas and cilantro made my mouth water. Another waiter came in behind the first with a smaller tray bearing a bottle of wine and four wine glasses.

Joaquin directed them to set everything down at our table, snapped his fingers, and then turned to me, “Let’s eat.”

“Eat? You want me to eat after what you just told me?”

He picked up the opened bottle of wine and poured each of us a glass. “Here, try this. It’s from Baja.” He nudged the glass my way.

“Give me a divorce, Joaquin.” I pushed the glass to the center of the table, and the burgundy wine sloshed out onto the pristine tablecloth.

“I told you, no.” He drank deeply of his wine and then set the glass down. He stared at it for a moment, then he turned his attention on me. “You were the one that left me,
querida
.”

I shivered at the endearment. In those few words I could hear his humiliation, his anger. I had a hard time thinking about what it must have been like for him after I left. His mother had been completely against our dating. Joaquin knew she would never accept the fact we were in love, that we were serious about one another. Getting married had been the only way to show her.

We both had our reasons for that marriage.

His voice grew louder, “You were my wife, and you left me. And you think I will grant you a divorce with no questions?”

“No,” I began in a lowered voice, hoping he would follow suit, “that had never been my intention—to sail in here out of the blue. But I’m only here for a few more days. I don’t know when I’ll get back to Mexico again. We need to take care of this now.”

“What if I don’t want a divorce?”

“What?”

“What if I don’t want a divorce?” he repeated succinctly.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Why in hell would he want to stay married? “I can’t imagine you think me a very suitable wife. We’ve been married twelve years, and we’ve only spent a few months together. You must have met other women. You must want this as much as I do.”

“No. I don’t.” He scooped up a forkful of food and ate, as if we were discussing the weather.

I couldn’t believe it. What in the hell was he doing? “Are you at least going to give me an explanation? Is there no way for me to change your mind?”

“You made me a promise, and then you left me. You made that decision for both of us. Now it’s my turn to make a decision. And this is it: No divorce.” His eyes bored into mine, and I saw wounded pride reflected in them. He drank some more of his wine.

Now I understood. I had been a blow to his ego. A woman leaving him? It probably seemed impossible to him. I remembered all the women who eyed him, jealous I had been the girl on his arm. Even my roommate, Mercedes, had drooled over him.

“So, you’re doing this to punish me, is that it?” My appetite dwindled, and my expression soured. This had not been what I expected. I needed to step back and think about taking a different tack. An amicable divorce was not on the table at this point.

“If that’s how you see it. Then, yes.” He took another bite of tortilla and beans.

“Then there is no reason for me to stay.” I slid away from him to the opposite edge of the booth. “I hope you enjoy your food.”

I walked out of the restaurant, tears burning in my eyes. I would not stay tied to Joaquin for the rest of my life. He couldn’t hold on to me forever.

My days in Acapulco were numbered. I would have to do some investigating to find out what might motivate Joaquin to let me go. This couldn’t be the way it would end.

Returning from the breakfast buffet the next morning, I heard the phone ring through the door of our suite. I rushed inside, dumped my purse on the wingback chair, kicked off my high-heeled shoes, and scooped up the receiver.

“Hello?”

Janice, close behind me, shut the door and gave me a questioning look. I was sure she hoped George was calling.

“Babe? Hey, it’s me.”

The sound of James’s voice in my ear soothed me.

“Sweetie! How are you doing?” I gushed and smiled at Janice so she would know the call was for me. She grinned and disappeared into the bedroom. I heard her turn on the shower.

“I’m fantastic. Guess what?”

“What?” James sounded different—lighter, not as serious as usual.

“I’m going home today,” he said, as if he’d told me he’d won the Nobel Prize.

“I thought the conference ended tomorrow.” I looked at my watch for the date, being on vacation messed with my mental schedule. I could barely remember the time much less the date. I squinted at the face of my watch. Wednesday.

“It does, but I’m skipping the last session.”

I couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”

“I asked if I could leave early, and my boss is letting me go.”

“Okay.” I wondered where the conversation was headed. What wasn’t he telling me? “So, you called to tell me that?”

He sighed, sounding aggravated, “Patience, Suze, patience. I’m getting to that.”

“All right. I’m all ears.” I plopped down on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table. I noted that my toes could use a new coat of red polish.

“I was thinking back to the argument we had before you left, in the kitchen.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I didn’t mean to be so pushy, but I thought we could do with a break from each other. Give us some time to think.” He paused to rephrase his last statement, “Give
you
time to think.”

“And, trust me, I’ve been doing a lot of that.” Little did he know how much of my day was consumed with thinking about him and our future wedding.

“Well, I think we’ve both done enough thinking.”

“And?” I absentmindedly picked at the chipping polish on my right big toe.

“And,” I could hear in his voice he was bursting to tell me something, “I bought a ticket down to Acapulco. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon!”

I almost dropped the phone on the floor. “What?” My fingers stopped in mid-pick, my toe half red, half flesh-colored.

“I knew you’d be surprised!”

James was so predictable, so
not
spontaneous. In the last few weeks I’d watched a different James emerge. What happened to the man who couldn’t complain at a restaurant even if his food arrived at the table cold, burned, and nowhere near what he’d ordered? It took a lot to push him over the edge, to make him move out of his comfort zone. Flying to Acapulco on a romantic whim definitely was out of his comfort zone. And leaving a tech convention so he could make this big romantic gesture? What had he been smoking?

“Goodness. Are you really coming down?”

“You have six more days left down there. Why not have some fun ourselves? Janice isn’t the only one that needs a vacation.”

I liked this new, improved James. I made the rash decisions in this relationship. It was nice to have James take that role for a change.

“And you said she met some guy down there?” he asked. “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to have me around to occupy your time.”

I smiled, imagining James and me romping in the surf, sleeping in late, eating breakfast in bed. “But we’d have to book another room.”

“I’ve already made the arrangements.”

“Sounds perfect.” Then my fantasies of a pre-honeymoon with James were cut short. How would I keep my hunt for a divorce a secret if he were here with me? How would I find time to slip away? And, God help me, how would I keep James from running into Joaquin? My stomach fluttered.

“Yep. I can hardly wait to see you at the airport.”

“Airport?” My worries built slowly, but I couldn’t let James hear anything but eagerness in my voice. “Yes, I’ll be at the airport. When’s your flight arriving?”

I wrote down the pertinent information on a piece of hotel stationery I found in a desk drawer in the living room. His plane would be landing at three tomorrow afternoon. A little over twenty-four hours from now. I tried not to panic.

I sent a kiss to him over the phone line and hung up.

My feelings were mixed—although excited James would be here with me tomorrow, I feared my plans would be revealed. I needed to work on Joaquin today, if possible. Find out why he was so eager to stay married. It didn’t make sense.

I had one day to get my act together. But where to begin?

Janice flew out of the bedroom, her short hair clipped into hot rollers. “So, what’s new with James?”

It took me a minute to find my voice. I had never seen Janice do more than finger-comb her short hair after a shower—her idea of ‘styling.’ Where did these rollers come from? It was remarkable how much of an effect George had on Janice’s personal grooming habits after only a few days together.

“He’s coming to Acapulco.”

“What? Are you serious?” Janice took a seat next to me on the couch to get the scoop. “That’s great!”

“Really? I thought maybe you’d be upset he would intrude on our little girl power adventure.”

Janice unclipped the round rollers from her hair, setting them one at a time on the coffee table next to my feet. Fluffy curls of light brown hair stuck out around her head like a dandelion gone to seed. Maybe the grooming habits hadn’t been perfected quite yet.

“Nah, that’s okay,” she said “You know I absolutely adore James.”

(True. She did. Whenever James and I traveled up north to visit my mom, Janice inevitably ended up on my mother’s doorstep with a bottle of wine, a bouquet of flowers, and once, even a tray of deli meats from the grocery store. From that first visit home with James to the last visit less than six months ago, Janice had been a fixture at my mom’s. Her own parents had retired and traveled the country in their RV, so my mom had become Janice’s replacement parent.

Janice had approved of James right away, noting his well-dressed exterior and chivalrous attentions. She had also declared that he was a “hottie that didn’t even know it, and those were the best kind to have.”)

“I’m so glad you feel that way. He also booked us another room—but I’ll stay here if you want. James would understand.”

“Don’t be silly, Suze!” She slapped me on the arm, one final roller slipping from her short hair. “I could use some time—alone.” A blush crept up the side of her neck and flooded her cheeks.

“Why, Janice!” I said with an expression of mock shock on my face, “I didn’t know I was cramping your style.”

“Quit it.” She jabbed me in the side with her bony elbow. The last curler fell from her hair into her lap, and she clutched it in her hand, smoothing her fingers over its bumpy surface. “George is just so wonderful—”

I knew she couldn’t stand up to much more ribbing, so I eased off. “I know, hon, I know.”

We sat there for a moment, reflecting on the respective men in our lives.

I had a hot flash of muddled emotions. On the one hand, I couldn’t wait to share Mexico with James, to go exploring down the beaches, shopping in the markets, relaxing by the pool. But on the other hand, I was terrified he would figure out my secret and run into Joaquin. I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate instead on what I could accomplish before he got here. Or, at least, what I hoped to accomplish.

Janice broke the comfortable silence first. “Well, I need to finish getting ready.”  She stood up and headed for her suitcase.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what are you getting ready for?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” She slipped on a pair of square-heeled shoes. “George and I signed up for salsa lessons.”

“Salsa lessons? Since when have you been interested in dancing?” Janice might be athletic, but she was not graceful.

She gave me a hurt little frown. “George suggested it—and we’re in Mexico. What better place to learn?”

“I’m sorry, Janice, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I was just surprised is all.”

Her frown straightened some. “I know it’s not quite my thing, but we have that big party tomorrow, and I’m sure there’ll be a chance to dance.”

God, the party. James would be here while the hotel hosted their Welcome Fiesta. Joaquin was sure to attend. How would I keep them apart? Panic roared to life inside my head. I would have to stay with James in the hotel room all night. He wouldn’t protest that idea. Right?

“Well, have a good time. Don’t let me stop you.” I hoped I kept the fear out of my voice as I shooed her toward the door.

She tripped awkwardly through the room, trying to imitate a ballerina en pointe, her arms circled in an ‘O’ above her head. I giggled at her lanky body, more like Olive Oyl than Cyd Charisse.

“You’ll be wishing you took some lessons come tomorrow night,” she warned. She glided out into the hall, and I got up from the couch to shut the door behind her.

Now for my afternoon plans.

*

I opened the door marked
Director General
and entered a small ante-room. An older woman in a form-fitting navy suit sat behind a desk, talking on the phone in Spanish so quickly I could barely catch more than a word or two. Behind her desk I noticed another door – Joaquin’s office, I assumed.

“
Perdóname
,” I began. From the words I could distinguish, it sounded as if she were making a personal call.

Still talking on the phone, the secretary watched me with her heavily made-up eyes. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to end her conversation. Feeling self-conscious, I sat down in one of the chairs by her desk.

After several more minutes of chatter, the woman hung up and glared at me.

“
Cómo le ayudo a usted
?”

“I want to see Mr. Hernandez, please.”

“And you are?” she asked, her accent heavy on her tongue.

“Suzette Eisenhart. An old friend. He knows I’m staying here.”

After hearing my relationship to her boss, a hard edge glinted in her stare. She sized me up, judging me. I couldn’t help but squirm under her scrutiny. Who did this woman think she was?

“Mr. Hernandez is not available right now.” She tugged the skirt of her suit down over her knees and swept away invisible dust off of her pristine desk. I had the feeling she wished she could sweep me away as easily.

“If he’s here, I need to see him.”

“I told you, miss, he is not available.”

“I am always available for my friends, Celia.” Joaquin stood in the door behind the secretary’s desk, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, tie loosened. He wore navy trousers and a yellow-and-blue tie. Handsome as the devil, and he knew it.

Celia watched me with a penetrating gaze. “Of course,
señor
,” she said with a happy lilt to her voice, as if she had been nothing but friendly and cordial to me the entire time. 

What did I do to this woman to have her despise me so much? Wear the wrong perfume?

Joaquin invited me into his office, and I swept past him. The secretary sniffed as I went by. I was glad Joaquin’s treatment of me annoyed her.

Joaquin had a spacious office filled with leather and mahogany furniture. A beautiful white orchid graced a small table near the window—a feminine touch that seemed out of place in the very masculine room.

Must have been a gift. Maybe from his secretary. Or a female admirer.

I banished that thought from my head. I shouldn’t be bothered by the thought of Joaquin having other women in his life.

He shut the door behind me.

He leaned against the edge of his desk. I could feel his gaze sliding over my figure. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He buttoned up his shirt and tightened his tie. Back to being the Hotel Manager, it seemed.

“I’m sure you don’t need to ask.” I took a seat in one of the straight-backed leather chairs. “I’m here to discuss our divorce.”

“I already told you, Suzie, I don’t want a divorce.”

“I know, but that’s not acceptable to me. There must be a way for us to work this out.” I crossed my legs carefully, prudishly to show him how my feelings had changed toward him. “There had never been any marriage. And I’m not in love with you anymore. What more do you want from me?”

He continued to lean against his desk, folding his arms across the broad expanse of his chest. “Why should I do this for you,” he lifted an eyebrow, “when you have done so little for me?”

I looked up at him from the comfortable black leather chair. Trying to discern what he wanted me to say. What could he possibly want from me? Money? He seemed to be doing very well for himself. I looked around the room, taking in the award plaques and expensive furnishings.