Acapulco Nights (16 page)

I took my key card out of my purse and swiped it through the reader.

“So, have you told your mother yet?” I asked.

Joaquin and I lay out on the grass in Xochimilco one sunny February afternoon a few weeks after our engagement.

My head in his lap, he brushed tendrils of hair off of my face. “No.”

“Why not? She’s going to find out eventually.”

“My mother wouldn’t understand. She’s worried that you will take me away from her. I already told you that.”

“But she’ll understand it even less if we keep it from her.”

“Trust me. It’s better this way.”

Something about that statement made me uneasy for a split second. Had he only been interested in getting married to prove a point to his mother? But then I brushed that thought away. Of course not. His motives were the same as mine. I didn’t want to tell my parents. I wanted to show them I was an adult. I could find, fall in love, and marry a good man all without them needing to approve of him. Besides, it had been so much easier not to let real life intrude on my romance. Talking to my parents would only take away some of the magic I’d found with Joaquin and the feeling of everything being right in the world.

“All right.” I tilted my head back, angling for a kiss. He leaned down and obliged me, his lips tasting mine gently.

“And that means you can’t tell your family either.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t want them doing something to stop us. Keep us apart. I couldn’t live without you.”

“Oh, Joaquin. I know once I tell them, they’ll love you.”

“But right now, I want it to be just between you and me. No one else. Not yet, anyway.”

“All right. I can do that.”
I planted another quick kiss on his mouth, and then sat up. My prone position on the grass was a little too tempting for us both.

“How about the first of May? That will give us time to get the paper work together, the money we’ll need to pay the court.”

“Money?”

“Eighteen hundred pesos.”

Quickly working the math in my head, I said, “Four hundred and fifty dollars? Where are we going to come up with money like that?”

“We’ll get it. Don’t worry,
querida
. Nothing’s going to stop us from getting married. I promise.” He stared at me for a moment, and then a light turned on in those beautiful hazel eyes. “Hey, why don’t we go to Acapulco?”

“Acapulco?”

“For
Semana Santa
, in April.”

Semana Santa
was the Mexican equivalent of Spring Break. Janice and I planned months ago to take a bus trip to the Yucatán and laze on the beaches of Cancún. It would be our last opportunity to see the country before the headache of finals and packing up for the trip home. Janice called it our “Last Hurrah.” For me, it would be a way to make up for all the time I hadn’t spent with her in the past few months.

“Just you and me—” he rubbed my arm slowly, “on the beach, in the sunshine. Nothing to worry about.”

My breath quickened at his touch. Being alone, together for one whole week without his mother, my friends, school?

“Let’s do it.” I was finding it way too easy to break my promise to Janice. Another one.

Smiling wickedly, he leaned into my body, giving me a slow, deep kiss that ignited a low-burning flame. If it weren’t for the fact we were surrounded by people in a busy, public place, I might have slid my hands under his t-shirt to feel the warm hardness beneath. He had the most gorgeous body.

His hand crept up my arm again, softly brushing my skin, driving me mad with the possibility of us being alone. For a week. In a motel room.

I pushed him gently from me, and he groaned with a laugh, “You would do that.”

“Do what?” I asked innocently, standing up and brushing grass off of my skirt.

“Make me want you more than I already do.” He looked up at me from his spot on the grass, appraising my bare legs.

I smiled inwardly at his confession, glad to know I drove him to distraction. I would hate to be the only one suffering. I reached out my hand to help him up from the ground.

“I think I like the view from here just fine,” he confessed, a lascivious grin on his face.

“Come on, I’m hungry.” I tugged at his hand playfully.

“You’re thinking of food at a time like this?” He got up off of the grass.

“No, but food might get my mind off of what I’m really thinking about.”

We strolled toward a cluster of food vendors near the water, the brightly-painted kiosks striking against the washed-out blue of the late-winter sky. Young lovers strolled along the walkways, holding hands, whispering to each other. Just like Joaquin and me.

Were we the only ones planning to elope in this crowd of happy couples? Our secret settled heavily inside of me. I ignored the weight of it and led my fiancé toward a booth selling
pozole
.

“My favorite.” Joaquin sat at the counter and took a deep whiff of the pork and hominy soup.

As we waited to be served, he looked over at me. “So, if we want to take this trip to Acapulco, that will cost us some money.”

“Mmm, I suppose so.” The cook behind the counter handed us our steaming bowls full of broth and succulent meat.

An idea formed in my mind, “I could cash in my plane ticket home. That would give us enough money to pay for the trip and the court fees.”

To my mind, I wouldn’t be going home anyway. In June, I would be Mrs. Joaquin Hernandez de León. I would be living with my husband here in Mexico City. I wouldn’t need a ticket to the States. At least, not right away.

“Are you sure?” He’d half-emptied his bowl already, clearly worrying only increased his appetite.

“Of course, I’m sure. The ticket would go to waste.”

A smile lit up his handsome face.

Our plans were coming to fruition. We only had to wait for the permission from the Mexican government for our wedding, and we had almost three months before we would need it.

“I’ll get the money, and you make the plans.” I blushed as I imagined what kind of plans he probably already had made for our trip.

*

“You’re not going with me to Cancún?”

Janice and I were sitting together at a long wooden table in the library several days later, trying to do some studying before it closed.

“I can’t, Janice.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Her eyes appeared watery, on the verge of tears. “I’ll bet you’re going somewhere with Joaquin, aren’t you?” She buried her nose in her Mexican history book.

“You know I don’t want to hurt your feelings, don’t you? But Joaquin and I—”

“Things have gotten serious, right?” The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable.

“Right,” I sighed, knowing I couldn’t own up to the truth.

“And you don’t have much more time to spend together, right?”

“Right.”

“That’s a load of crap, Suze.” She slammed her book shut. The librarian sitting behind the front desk gave us a hard stare.

“What do you mean?” I whispered back, pretending to be deep into my Latin American Authors book to keep the librarian off our backs.

“I mean, we don’t have a lot of time left to spend together in Mexico either.”

“I know.”

“You know, but you don’t care.” Janice pushed her book aside. She uncapped a pen and began doodling on her notebook, drawing pictures of palm trees on deserted islands.

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” She stopped drawing and looked up at me, her expression flat, her eyes empty of their usual warmth and humor.

“I do care, it’s just that—”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard it before enough times.” She scribbled over the palm trees and islands, making a mess of her notebook page. “This weekend is Joaquin’s birthday. This weekend is our two-month anniversary. This weekend Joaquin’s taking me to a football game at UNAM,” she mimicked in a sing-song voice.

“I know I’m spending a lot of time with him—”

“You’re spending
all
your time with him.” She was quick to correct me.

“I don’t know what else to say, Janice.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” She drew sailboats. “Anyway, Cristina invited me to come home with her for
Semana Santa
.”

“She did?” When did those two become friends? Janice’s suite was in a completely different building.

“Yes.” She added dolphins to her sea of sailboats. “I turned her down, but maybe, now that my situation has changed, the offer will still be available.”

“Oh.”

“Her family owns a house near Vera Cruz somewhere. Right on the water.”

“Well, then, you won’t miss me. Will you?” I closed my book.

“I guess not.”

We sat there at the table for a moment, saying nothing. The anger hung between us like a living, breathing thing.

I stood up, unable to stand the weight of it. “I’ve gotta go.” I scooped up my books and papers, shoved them in my backpack, and headed out of the library, leaving Janice to her maritime doodles.

Walking away from her, I felt horrible, but I didn’t know how to fix what I already ruined. How could I ever make it up to her? I imagined after tonight, I would pretty much be on my own around campus. No roommate to hang out with, no American friends. I had been so neglectful of Janice she had every right to be angry with me, to be disappointed in me. If only I could explain to her how things were.  What plans Joaquin and I were making. Then she would understand.

But I couldn’t do that. She would certainly tell my parents.

The one thing that stuck out in my mind the day we left from Chicago last August was her promise to my parents—my mother especially—that we would watch out for each other.

*

“Girls, you need to be careful down there,” my mother said to us in the airport, giving us the stern parent look.

My dad stood behind her with a bit of a smirk on his face. I wasn’t sure if this meant he understood my mom was driving us crazy or that he agreed with her one hundred percent.

“Yeah, Mom. We get it.” Geez, I hated it when she tried to be everyone’s mom—not just mine. Janice didn’t deserve a lecture from my mother. She had her own over-protective parents for that. Just because we gave her a lift to O’Hare didn’t mean my mother had the right to include her in the usual Eisenhart lectures about safety and responsibility.

“Mrs. Eisenhart,” soothed Janice, “you don’t need to worry so much. The school takes every precaution. The university down there is guarded twenty-four hours a day.”

I sensed my mother’s defenses crumbling under Janice’s brilliant logic. “You never can be too careful.”

“We’ll be okay, Mom. We’re adults, remember?”

My mother focused her attentions on Janice, as if she were the only one paying any attention to her warnings. “You two need to promise me that you’ll stick together. I don’t want either of you going anywhere without the other, got it, girls?”

I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. Parents could be so dense sometimes. As if I would go anywhere without my best friend.

“We got it, Mrs. Eisenhart.” Janice gave my mother—my stoic, ramrod straight mother—a hug. And my mother hugged her back!

“Oh, girls, I’m going to miss you!”

Okay, where is the alien spaceship that abducted my real mother? My dad was the huggy one in the family. How is it that Janice could waltz in and get a genuine, loving hug from my mom?

“Let’s go,” I said. “The plane’ll be leaving soon, and we need to check in with the group.”

I pointed over at a large gathering of college kids wearing various Vincent College sweatshirts, t-shirts, and baseball caps. Professor Burnham suggested we wear school apparel so that we were a “cohesive unit.” Personally, I think we looked like a herd of cattle branded with a VC for easy identification.

“Ok, honey.” My dad’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at the two of us. “Guess we’ll be seeing you next year. I hope you can remember how to speak English when you get back.”

Then he gave me his biggest bear hug.

“Suzie, wake up. We’re here,” Joaquin gently touched my bare shoulder and whispered in my ear.

Groggily, I opened my eyes and lifted my head from his shoulder. Twelve hours on a bus to Acapulco was no way to travel—even if it was in the middle of the night. My mouth had run dry, my lids were swollen, and my left leg tingled from lack of blood flow.

“We’re here?” I croaked, wishing bottled water was easier to find in Mexico. A tepid orange soda from a roadside stand at 2 a.m. didn’t really quench a thirst. I stretched my arms above my head and tried to work the stiff kink out of my neck.

“
Sí, mira
.” Joaquin pointed out the tinted window next to me.

Though headed for the bus station and not the beach, the main road into town took us right past a most fantastic view of the bay. The sun, barely over the mountains to the east, touched the waves of the ocean, turning them into silver-blue tongues of fire. The sand appeared to be one uninterrupted line of smooth yellow. I imagined spreading out my towel on that sandy expanse, soaking in the sun, and doing nothing.

I had managed to cash in my open-ended return plane ticket a few days earlier. Trying not to think of my mother’s disapproval or Janice’s hurt feelings when they discovered my plan, I stuffed eight-hundred dollars worth of pesos into the change purse I wore around my neck.

Half we put aside for the wedding ceremony next month, and the other half covered this trip to Acapulco.

Two bus tickets from Mexico City to Acapulco cost less than thirty dollars, and cheap hotels were available all over the city. I left most of the planning up to Joaquin. I handed him the cash we would need to make our reservations, and counted down the days until
Semana Santa
.

Seven uninterrupted days. No classes, no Janice, no nothing. Just him, me, and the double bed in the hotel room.

“Let’s go.” Joaquin took our bags down from the overhead bin. He had an excitement in his voice and an impatience in his demeanor.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the aisle, trying to get us ahead of the other passengers who were gathering their luggage.

I was too exhausted to care. My feet stumbled down the steps, and then I was engulfed in tropical air so dense with moisture, it suffocated me. And it was only eight in the morning.

Standing in the bus station lot, exhaust fumes spilling from all sides, Joaquin breathed in slowly and said quietly, “
Qué rica
.”

*

Our second-floor motel room faced the inner courtyard where a half-full swimming pool reflected the blue sky. A scattering of dilapidated lounge chairs hugged the cement edge.

This once had been a nice motel.

A young mother and her two shabbily-dressed children shared one of the few unbroken chairs. All three of them were somnolent under the heavy heat, staring blankly into the pool.

I wondered what they were waiting for. Why did they choose to sit out in the heat instead of inside where the machine-cooled air was more breathable? Leaning against the iron railing, I waited for Joaquin to return with a new key. The first key we picked up at the front desk wouldn’t open the door to our room.

I watched below as Joaquin crossed the courtyard. He flashed a smile at me and held up a key. I prayed this one opened the door. I needed to cool off before my head exploded. The humidity and heat were so overwhelming I felt surrounded on all sides, enveloped in a cloak of hot, sticky air that wouldn’t move. I rubbed the back of my hand across my sweaty forehead.

Joaquin climbed up the stairs. He was also drenched in sweat. I could sense a certain excitement in him when he stood close to me—a tremble in his hand as he reached out to unlock the door, the quick movement when he grabbed my backpack and carried it into the room, his hot touch when he grasped my elbow to lead me inside.

Cool air from the air-conditioning unit inside our room buffeted me, replenished me. I sank onto the double bed in relief and lay back on the faded bedspread.

“
Querida
.” Joaquin looked down at me with those hazel eyes as hot as the sun outside. Their golden-green depths drawing me in, making me forget the sweat and the heat.

He lay down on his side beside me, drawing his hand down the length of my face in a soft caress. Kissing me with a kiss as a light as a butterfly’s wings, I sighed at the feel of his mouth on mine. I wanted nothing more than this moment with him, far from all my worries.

The light kiss intensified. The pressure of his mouth on mine grew. He spread his body out over mine, and I felt the hardness of his erection against my leg.

He wanted me.

I no longer cared about anything but his the heat of his body against mine. A different heat than the cloying, sweaty heat outside.

He gave me light kisses down my face and across my throat. I closed my eyes and shivered under the touch of his lips on my skin. Everything was raw heat, raw power, raw emotion. My body strained against his, forgetting for a moment that we were in a cheap motel room with scratchy sheets and an anemic air-conditioner.

He pulled the clothes off of my body. Cool air hit hot, moist skin causing goosebumps down my back and my legs.

Joaquin’s hand slid to my breast, his mouth pressing down on mine, letting me know what he wanted. The sex was fast and hard, and I didn’t care.

*

Joaquin loved the beach—the waves, the heat, the sun.

I hated every minute we spent outside the respite of the air-conditioning of our dank little motel room—the uncomfortably warm water, the burning sand that stuck to sweaty body parts. I survived on Fresca purchased from beach-walking vendors and any shade I could steal from hotel
palapas
.

Joaquin wanted me to swim with him. I couldn’t stand the suffocating warmth of the tropical water, which wasn’t much cooler than the ninety-five-degree air with its high humidity. But I swam for him. He wanted me to lie on the beach with him. The sun scorched my skin with its intensity. But I stayed on that towel for as long as he desired.

I wanted him happy on our little trip. I wanted him to see that we were good together. That I would do anything for him.

I couldn’t go back to Janice, having spurned her plans for
Semana Santa
, and tell her I had a horrible time. I couldn’t call up my mother and tell her I had squandered my ticket home to spend it in some lousy motel for a week of really hot sex and heat rash.

If I removed us from Acapulco, if I put us back in Mexico City or even in Puebla, everything was fine. But this blistering heat made me want to tear my hair out. It made me want to pack my backpack, climb back on that bus, and head back to my dorm room.

This is not what I had imagined. This is not what I had imagined at all.