Acapulco Nights (3 page)

I thought he’d pitied me.

“Um, hey, do you need some help there?” James had asked.

I’d looked up from the grease-smeared pages of my Jetta manual. He had one hand in his pocket, and in the other he held a battered leather briefcase.

“Guess my mom was right. I should have joined Triple A.”

“Nah. It’s not all that hard. A monkey could do it.”

I gave him a look.

“Uh, well, it would be easy enough to teach a monkey—”

He dug himself a deeper hole.

“I mean, you’re a smart woman. I’m sure you can—”

“It’s okay.” I smiled. He had been so nervous and rumpled and adorable. I couldn’t let him suffer any longer. “I appreciate your help. I hate being a cliché.”

He gave me a questioning look.

“You know, damsel in distress? A woman who can’t change a tire? Pretty sorry in this day and age, don’t you think?”

“Not really. It’s a dirty job, and I can see why you wouldn’t want to mess up—uh—” He’d gestured helplessly at me and my smart business attire and office hair—my term for the twisted and clipped locks on the back of my head.

I touched my hair. “What makes you think I mind getting dirty?” I smiled.

He leaned over my shoulder and grabbed the open manual off of my hood. “First, you don’t need this. See this thingie?” He held up the jack I had left on the oily, dirty parking garage floor. “You put it together like this, stick it under here.” He clicked the jack handle into place and slid it under the frame of the car behind the flat. “And start pumping.”

I watched as he got down on that grimy floor and pumped. “My name’s Suzette, by the way.”

“I’m James.”

He finished jacking up the car, unscrewed the lug nuts, slid the flattened tire off, and replaced it with the spare from my trunk. By the end, his hands were dirty and his suit needed a good dry-cleaning.

“Well, that’s about it. You’re good to go.” I handed back his suit jacket, which I’d been holding for him.

“Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee or something? Or would your wife wonder?”

He wiped his hands on a Kleenex I’d grabbed out of my car, then took the jacket and hung it over his forearm. “I don’t have a wife, and I think I could spare a few moments for a pretty lady, a cup of coffee, and a piece of pie.”

“Pie? When did I say pie?”

“That’s the going rate for a tire change after hours.”

“I see.” His sense of humor put a smile on my face. “Any particular kind of pie?”

“Coconut Cream.”

“I think I can manage something. Why don’t you follow me? Where are you parked?”

“Next level down. Wait for me at the gate.”

Our conversation over coffee and pie would have carried over into the next morning, if I’d had my way. But he had been too much of a gentleman for that. Instead, after an extra large piece of pie and two cups of coffee, he’d followed me to make sure I got home safely.

James had been much different than men I usually dated. I liked the brutes, tall and muscular with a history of playing football or soccer. These men were better with actions than with words, making them fantastic lovers, but terrible boyfriends. Once the physical attraction had run its course, the relationship soon faded or I became bored.

James had a very thin and angular frame. Not an athlete by any means. His deep green eyes were what caught me at first. They were quiet, soft eyes. His intelligence and quirky humor had been a welcome change, and we discovered we enjoyed the same things: foreign films and Dickens novels, muffins and strong coffee for breakfast, a tennis game at twilight.

James called it “love-at-first-sight,” which makes absolutely no sense when trying to explain it.

I knew he was older than I, but wasn’t really sure how much older. He had a bit of graying at the temples, which I found sexy, but his face was unlined and youthful. Even though it bothered him, James’s age hadn’t been a factor for me.

“What would your mother think, you going out with someone who’s almost forty?” We’d been dating for six solid months when he burst out with this question.

We sat in my driveway, the car’s engine rumbling. James held my hand and squeezed it lightly, waiting for my answer. This had been weighing on his mind for some time.

“She doesn’t care.” I leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“You’ve already told her about us?” James sounded nervous, as if we were sixteen and had stayed out past our curfew.

“I told her about you the first night we met.” I laughed at his apprehension. My mother and I had grown very close over the years since my dad’s death; we shared almost everything with each other.

“You did?” He turned toward me, his body angled uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.

“Yes, I did. And she was okay with it. Really.”

“Didn’t she ask why I never got married?  Doesn’t she wonder why I would be interested in you?”

“Are
you
wondering why you’re interested in me?” I teased, knowing he felt uncomfortable with the eleven-year gap between us.

At that, he dropped the questions and reached out for me, giving me a long, deep kiss. When he pulled back, he whispered in my ear, “I
know
why I’m interested in you.”

“Come on, Suze, let’s get a move on!  We only have so many hours of sun left!” Janice yelled through the closed bedroom door.

I sat on the bed, bathing suit on and towel in my lap, staring at the phone.  Even though I knew James was on the road, most likely with his cell phone off, I wanted to dial his number.

I picked up the receiver.

“Hang on, Janice. I want to make a phone call,” I called out, following the instructions on the faceplate of the phone for making an international call. I didn’t care if it cost me an arm and a leg to use the hotel phone. I needed to hear his voice.

“What?” Janice’s muffled voice yelled back.

I heard a distant clicking on my end and then an odd, echoing ring. “Phone call!” I enunciated as loudly as I could.

Two rings. Three rings.

Hello, you have reached James Pickford’s voicemail. If you would like to leave a message, please do so after the beep. Thank you.

Even listening to such a formal message, I could clearly imagine his lips forming those words, his dimple disappearing and reappearing as he spoke. The voicemail beep jarred me out of my thoughts, and I scrambled to say something intelligible. “Hey, honey, it’s me. I wanted to let you know I got here safely. We’re in Room 1210 if you need to get a hold of me. I miss you!”

I placed the phone back on the cradle, hesitant to disconnect. I had the urge to dial his number again to listen to the message for a second time, but Janice cracked the door open.

“Come on!” The tip of a straw hat poked through the door opening. “I thought you said James wouldn’t be in Dallas until late tonight.”

“All right. I’m ready to go.” I was reluctant to leave my spot on the bed by the phone.

*

We reclined on lounge chairs under a
palapa
made from palm leaves, shaded from the intense sun, sipping behemoth margaritas and lazily watching the sailboats far from shore bob up and down on the waves. It had been a relaxing afternoon on the beach, which surprised me.

The anticipation coursing through me on the plane trip ebbed away. Maybe the two margaritas I’d consumed over the last few hours were getting to me. Or maybe the fleeting thoughts I’d had about leaving well enough alone brought me close to forgetting why I’d ever come here. No one knew I had married Joaquin, not my mother, not my friends, not even the United States government. I could set a date, get married to James, and live my life.

My mind played with the fantasy while I soaked in the sun on the warm, sandy beach. How easy it would be to enjoy a vacation with my friend, rather than search for a man I would rather not encounter.

“Peso for your thoughts.” Janice set her almost-empty glass on the small table between us. She’d slathered her long, thin nose in zinc oxide and pulled her wide-brimmed straw hat down low over her eyes.

For a moment, I wanted to confess the thoughts that plagued me – keeping this secret to myself for so many years had worn me down – but I lost my nerve.

I sipped my lukewarm margarita. “When were we going to take those sea kayaking lessons?” That should be a topic to light her fire.

Janice perked up at the mention of the word ‘kayak.’ “Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. Won’t we have so much fun? Two hours out on that gorgeous ocean—”

“Two hours?” I coughed, choking on my drink. The heat beat down with intensity, even under the shaded
palapa
. I imagined how hot it would be out on the exposed, reflective surface of Acapulco Bay. As hot as the inside of an oven, most likely.

“I know. Not enough time. But once we learn the basics, we can rent our own kayaks and be out for as long as we like.” She didn’t seem to notice the look of horror on my face. “Wouldn’t it be cool to paddle all the way over there?” She pointed to a jutting piece of land at the most northern point of the bay, a good ten miles away and smiled widely.

I’d landed in hell, and it was called Acapulco.

Perhaps tomorrow, if I feigned complete incompetence, I would be barred from paddling anything that floated on the water. The insurance risk would be too great for the hotel to allow a klutz like me to be out on the open water. I imagined all sorts of ways to undermine the instructor until he ordered me back to shore. I didn’t mind learning how to paddle a kayak, but paddling ten miles alone on the ocean would be a completely different story.

“Let’s take this vacation one step at a time.” I hoped to scale down her dreams to make this trip one long workout session. “There might be some other stuff we want to do.”

She thought about my suggestion for a minute. “You’re right, Suze. We don’t want to tie ourselves down to any one thing. We’ll have to look at the hotel schedule to see what else might be going on.”

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Although Janice was extremely motivated, especially when it came to exercise, I knew I could easily distract her with the next big idea. Thank God for a little bit of ADD.

I reclined on my lounge chair, finished off my margarita, and we both watched the sun sink lower in the sky. Looking at my watch, I noted the late hour. “Hey, Janice, we’re going to have to high-tail it back upstairs, if we want to make our reservation.”

She jumped up from her lounge chair, leaving half a margarita sitting on the table. Besides being an exercise fiend, she also adored eating. Considering all the running, biking, hiking, and swimming she did on a regular basis, she could probably consume five thousand calories a day and still lose weight. Sickening.

“What are we waiting for?” She tightened the knot on her sarong.

I set down my glass, grabbed my bag full of beach supplies, and took up the rear. When that girl wanted to eat, she could really get a move on.

*

Precisely five minutes before our dinner reservation, we were both freshly showered and comfortably dressed. I, in a flowered sundress with spaghetti straps, and Janice in a flirty, short one with a scoop neckline. I called it ‘tourist chic.’ We were obviously American with our strappy sandals, sunglasses, and digital cameras dangling from our wrists, but at least we weren’t wearing oversized t-shirts and spandex shorts. Not on the first day of our vacation, anyway.

Passing through the lobby on our way to Antonio’s Cafe, which claimed to serve the “Best Taquitos in Acapulco,” we crossed in front of a picture display that caught my eye.

The placard read: “Playa Del Mexico Working For You.” Beneath it were Polaroid pictures of various employees, their titles and names inscribed beneath. In the top row of pictures, under the heading ‘General Manager,’ I saw a face that made my heart race, my palms sweat, and my eyesight blur.

“
Querida
,” a rumbling male voice, almost as familiar as my own, spoke softly right behind me.

I jumped.

He touched my bare shoulder with a warm hand, and a shiver ran through me.

Janice and I both turned at the same time, but she spoke the words that filled my mind. “Joaquin! Oh, my God! I can’t believe it’s you!”  Her thin face flushed red with excitement, and she grabbed me tightly by the arm. “Isn’t this a good surprise, Suzie?”

Words gathered in my mouth, but I couldn’t open my lips to release them.

“Yes, isn’t this a good surprise?” Joaquin said, an odd smirk on his face.

“A surprise?” I managed to say. My stomach heaved.

“When I planned the trip and searched for a hotel, I ran across this news article online, and there was Joaquin’s picture, right on the screen! I thought it would be so much fun to stay here, catch up on old times.” She gave him an assessing look and touched his arm, “You haven’t changed a bit, Joaquin. Not one bit.”

Joaquin’s effect on women had not diminished even after twelve years. He was a very attractive man and in great physical shape. The only change to his face was the well-trimmed goatee, which only deepened his handsomeness. His eyes glowed, and his beautiful white teeth flashed at us both. He gave Janice a quick hug.

I grew speechless. Janice planned all of this? God, if she only knew what really happened between Joaquin and me back then, she would have made plans to visit Cancún instead. I rubbed my clammy hands on my dress.

“Hello, Joaquin. Well, isn’t this a surprise.” My voice came out a bit breathless. “Janice is quite the little planner, isn’t she?” I felt a touch dizzy. I wished I could sit down, but I saw no empty chair in sight.

The years between us melted away. San Antonio had all been a dream, a nice, but distant dream. I was supposed to be here, standing next to this gorgeous man. My body inched closer to his, and it seemed natural when he pulled me into his body for an embrace. His chest felt hard and warm against mine. I’d forgotten why I’d come here.

Janice stepped back a half-step, looking oddly at us both. It only lasted a moment. If I didn’t know her so well, I probably never would have noticed that look at all. I pulled away from Joaquin, knowing this closeness, this attraction was not right.

James waited at home for me. He trusted me. Besides, I flew all the way to Mexico to end the mistakes I’d made in my past, not jump right back into them.  What was I thinking?

Moving away from Joaquin, I could sense the frown forming between his brows. Was he angry with me? Did he want to know where I’d been all these years? Why I’d never contacted him?

Then, I remembered Janice. She would keep everything civil. Joaquin managed the place. He wouldn’t want to create a scene right in the very lobby of the hotel where he was employed. Yes, that must be it.

“So, we are going to dinner, yes?” Joaquin asked, his face blank of any discernible emotion.

I looked at Janice.

“He wanted to take us to dinner. Isn’t that fabulous?” Janice gushed. “There’s some place he was telling me about. It looks out over the water.”

I found my voice, “Yes. Wonderful.”  I could act as if this were a casual meeting of old friends. No need to get overly emotional about ancient history between two old lovers who just happened to be married. Yes, a married couple who hadn’t spent one night together as husband and wife.

This couldn’t be my life. I imagined starting out dinner with polite conversation and ending with “hey, honey, I want a divorce.” I managed a strained smile.

“Let me show you the real Acapulco.” Joaquin gave me a cryptic look. The smile returned to his eyes, and he directed a question to Janice. “You both like seafood, yes?”

She nodded and looked at me.

“Sure,” I answered.

My knees were like Jell-o, and my heart raced like a stampeding elephant. I thought about sitting next to Joaquin at a dinner table, drinking wine, sharing a meal. A few hours in a restaurant with friends.

Friends?

Oh, I was good about lying to myself. Joaquin had been much more than a friend. How would I manage to make it through dinner and keep our twelve-year marriage a secret from Janice? Would Joaquin keep the past to himself? Maybe he, too, hoped for a more private moment to discuss what happened.

“My car’s waiting outside. Are you two ready to go?” He gestured toward the glass lobby doors and a car I could see waiting outside.

“More than ready,” said Janice. “I’m starving. Let’s get a move on!”

I nodded my head and gave a wan smile.

I should be able manage two hours of fake smiles and chatter over guacamole and
carne asada
. How hard could that be?