Acapulco Nights (5 page)

The moment Janice left the table, my nerves returned.

“So, you decided to come back to your husband? Ready to play wife now?” All friendliness and light had gone. Joaquin shifted from first gear into third without using the clutch.

I hadn’t prepared for such a quick onslaught. “That’s not fair, Joaquin. You don’t have any idea what happened, why I chose to do what I did.” My stomach twisted into knots.

“No, you’re right. I don’t.” He picked up his wine glass and swished around the last few sips of his chardonnay. He paused for a moment and assessed the color of the drink in the candlelight. “So why don’t you tell me all about it? You had cold feet? You wanted to run home to your mother? You had a boyfriend back in the States, and I was your fling?”

His last comment struck close to the truth. Close enough, anyway. I didn’t have a boyfriend back then, but I had one now, a fiancé who loved me and who waited for me to come home to him. I didn’t want to make things worse by bringing up James, however. “That’s not it at all.”

He set his glass on the table.

“I loved you, Joaquin, I really did.”

“Loved?”

“Yes, I did.” I let that sentence sink in. “But I was young, we were only nineteen. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“And you do now? After hiding for how long?” Before I could answer, he pushed his plate aside and narrowed his eyes. “This meeting was no surprise.”

“What do you mean?”

“You chose Acapulco—my hotel—for a reason.” He stroked his goatee.

“No, that’s not true. Janice made all the arrangements. I had no idea that you—”

“She’s your little helper. You couldn’t face me alone, so you had to drag her along.”

“It’s not that at all,” I sputtered, but the truth seemed so ludicrous. Janice picked this place, not me. But why would he believe me? After everything I’d done to him, I didn’t blame him for being suspicious.

“Then, please, tell me how it is, Suzie. Clearly, I can’t figure it out for myself.” He leaned back against the soft cushions and crossed his arms.

“Did you guys miss me?” Janice appeared at the table.

The tension hung thick in the air. Joaquin managed a friendly smile, and the hard line of his jaw softened ever so slightly—he returned to being the congenial, old friend once again. As if nothing had transpired between the two of us.

“Ah,” exclaimed Joaquin as our waiter approached, tray in hand. “Here is our dessert.”

Although my mood had soured, I took a spoonful of flan and listened as Janice and Joaquin continued their earlier discussion about tourist attractions in Acapulco. What a different dinner this would have been if Joaquin and I were just old friends. I envied Janice’s relaxed demeanor, the questions asked with a wide smile of pleasure, the dessert eaten without the twinge of bitterness in her stomach.

I pushed aside my plate, and thought of tomorrow and the phone calls I needed to make. The candles flickered in the light wind that blew through the open French doors, and I looked out over the darkened bay, my thoughts swirling in my head.

I remembered the day I met Joaquin – the day that started all of this in motion. It had been dusty, dry in Puebla, Mexico. Janice, Mercedes, and I stood in the hot sun, bags sitting in the dust at our feet, right near the gated entrance to the university where we were attending school as foreign exchange students.

“Hitchhiking?  In Mexico?” Janice squawked. “Nobody’s hitchhiked safely in the United States since, like, 1950 or something.”

When Mercedes, my Mexican roommate, invited Janice and I to visit her family in Mexico City, we assumed we would be going by bus. Traveling by bus in Mexico was cheap, but Mercedes told us the buses were too slow. If we went by bus, we wouldn’t reach the city until dark.

She convinced us of another, faster way to travel. And we trusted her—up until now.

“We do it all the time here,” Mercedes said. “I wouldn’t hitchhike on the road, but right by the gates?” She gestured at the eight-foot-tall iron gates that protected the entrance to the school. A small building between the gates housed the guards who checked the IDs of all car and foot traffic coming onto the school grounds. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Without waiting for us Americans to be convinced, she waved at a small brown sedan that pulled up to the gate. As the driver waited for the guard to allow him to exit university property, Mercedes approached his passenger side window.

Flashing her most winning smile, Mercedes tapped gently on the glass. The young man inside leaned over and rolled down the window to get a look at the attractive girl.

Mercedes eyes lit up when she saw the driver. Did she know him? She leaned inside the car and kissed the driver soundly on each cheek. Definitely not a stranger.

I couldn't hear a word she said, but her smile grew bigger and her head bobbed with excitement.

A quick nod told us this guy would graciously take on three female passengers. "Come on! Get in. This is an old friend of mine from high school. He won't bite." Mercedes grabbed her bag from the pile in the dirt and climbed in the front seat.

Janice looked over at me, “Well, if he's a friend of Mercedes—”

"That's true." I tried to get a glimpse of the driver through the glare of the windshield. How providential that this guy happened to be visiting
Universidad de América Central
on the day we needed a ride to the city.

"I'm sure he's a nice guy." Janice picked up her bag and climbed into the back of the car.

We both looked forward to a weekend away from the small campus. Most foreign students spent weekends in the dorm, doing homework or sticking together like a bunch of scared rabbits. How were we supposed to soak up any Mexican culture like that? We had made a pact before we decided to study abroad that we would make the most of our time here in Mexico. Here was our opportunity.

Janice and I had had enough of sitting together in the cafeteria on a Saturday afternoon or aimlessly wandering the campus. We wanted to experience new things. Mercedes had offered us that chance.

My bag looked lonely there in the dust, so I picked it up and carried it toward the car.

Mercedes, smiling in the front seat, laughed at something the driver said to her. Because of the glare, I couldn't get a good look at our chauffeur. But seeing the gleam in Mercedes dark eyes and how she swept her long, thick hair off the back of her neck, exposing the soft nape to the warm air, this was no ordinary high school buddy driving the car.

As soon as I clanged the door shut, the driver sped out of the university gates and headed toward the nearby freeway. Without any air conditioning in the car, we rolled down every window to let in the breeze. This made it impossible for Janice and I to hear much of the conversation going on up front, but we could talk without anyone overhearing.

Janice made the first observation, “He’s gorgeous!” She didn't seem to care, either, if anyone noticed her staring at the driver's profile. If he turned his head, he would surely see the unadulterated lust in her eyes.

“Is he?” At that moment, I looked up at the rearview mirror, hoping to see at least one little feature reflected there—a nose, an eye—anything.

He looked right at me!

I blushed and looked away, but not before I got a good look at his face.

He was startlingly handsome. Most Mexicans I had met so far were traditional
mestizo
in looks: short, broad nose, very dark skinned, slight of build. His skin, instead of burnished bronze, was a warm honey color, and his eyes were a greenish hazel and were wide-set.

Since I arrived in Mexico two months ago, he was the first Mexican male to catch my attention. I had a feeling he knew it.

Mercedes, knowing our Spanish to be rudimentary at best, turned to give us the basic facts of our driver. “This is Joaquin. He was visiting a friend at our university, and now he's on his way home.”

“Hi, I’m Suzie, and this is Janice,”

He smiled a toothy smile that I could see reflected in the rearview mirror.

“Do you always pick up strange girls on your way home?” I asked.

“Strange girls?” Joaquin looked back at the highway in front of him. “Who said you were strange?”

Mercedes pushed him lightly on the shoulder, laughing at his joke. “Oh, don’t listen to her. We're grateful that you picked us up. If we had taken the bus, we wouldn’t have gotten to the city until late.”

Joaquin looked directly at me when he responded, “And then you would have to take the Metro—three beautiful
señorita
s at night on the Metro?  Not such a good idea, eh?”

I had a hard time following the conversation from the back seat with the wind blowing loudly into the car. Looking out the window, I watched the countryside go past. High above us stood the magnificent Mount Popocateptl, a volcano that hadn’t erupted in years. It was the highest point in the range of mountains that ringed Mexico City to the south. With snow on its crown most of the year, it formed a perfect pointed peak. From the university we had a clear view, and it made for the most spectacular sunsets.

“Don’t you think he’s cute?” Janice asked me.

“I guess so, if you’re in to that type of guy.”

“What type of guy?  Gorgeous, tall, and muscular?” She rolled her eyes at me, as if I were a fool.

Joaquin said in his fluent, yet accented, English, “Hey, no secrets back there. It’s three of you against one of me.”

He turned his head to talk over the seats, and I got a good look at what Mercedes drooled over. His profile was even better than what I had seen in the rearview mirror.

Mercedes drew Joaquin’s attention back to her, using her one advantage over us: Spanish. She sped up the conversation, knowing Janice and I wouldn’t be able to keep up.

I leaned back and looked over at Janice, “Can I borrow one of your CDs?” I pointed at her bag on the floor by her feet. Might as well make the time pass. It would be too hard to try to keep up a conversation from the back seat.

“Sure.” She handed me the whole bag, and I unzipped a side pocket where Janice usually kept a few CDs for traveling.

“Thanks.” I grabbed the first case I saw and put the disc into my CD player. As music filled my headphones, I slipped into a comfortable state—staring out the window at the passing scenery and trying to keep my thoughts off the beautiful man sitting in front of me.

*

“
Quieres una torta
?”

The deep, male voice startled me out of a restless sleep.

For a moment my mind couldn’t comprehend what he asked me. I rubbed my eyes and pushed a sweaty strand of hair out of my face, “Huh?”

“He wants to know if you’re hungry. We stopped at a
torta
stand.” Janice jabbed me in the ribs.

I pushed her hand away and straightened up, embarrassed that I had been caught sleeping.

Joaquin leaned against the side of his car, squinting at me in the late afternoon light. I looked out the open window and saw a small wooden kiosk with a colorfully painted sign above it—
TORTAS, TAMALES, LICUADOS
. The hot pink and fluorescent yellow lettering glowed as brightly as any neon sign.

“
Quieres
?” Joaquin questioned me again.

I got my first good look at our driver. He was physically imposing, leaning there. Broad-shouldered and muscular with a brilliantly white smile—I had a hard time resisting him.

Mercedes waited in the short line in front of the
torta
stand. 

“
Sí, por favor
,” I reached for my money in my purse, as did Janice.

He put up his hand in protest, “No, no, I will pay for it.” He lazily pushed off from the car and joined Mercedes in line.

He knew I was watching him, arrogant bastard.
But a fine-looking bastard
.

I had never encountered a man with so much self-confidence—as if he expected me to be attracted to him. For a moment, I wanted to brush off his charm and ignore his flirtations. But why not have some fun? 

Here Janice and I were in Mexico, an exotic foreign country with an exotic foreign man. No one back home would ever have to know about him. Why couldn’t I put aside my doubts about his intentions and have a good time with it? Who cared if I was another girl in a long line of girls? Sometimes you had to let go and let things happen.

I got out of the car and held the door open so Janice could slide across the seat and follow me. My eyes stayed on Joaquin’s back.

“God, I’m starving.”

Janice interrupted my wayward thoughts.

“Me, too,” I said distractedly.

The focus of my concentration was not hard to notice.

“See! I told you he was gorgeous,” Janice smiled triumphantly.

“When you’re right, you really get it right.” Smoothing back my hair and straightening my clothes, I walked up to the two of them standing in line. Janice followed hot on my heels.

“I don’t feel right about you buying us dinner after giving us a lift into the city. Here,” I pressed some pesos into his hand, “Please take this.” That small gesture gave me the opportunity to lightly brush his palm with my fingers, a lingering touch. He took the heavy coins from me.

“You know what this means,” he said. “Now, I will have to buy you and your friends a drink.”

“What do you think, girls?” I smiled at Mercedes, “Should we take him up on his offer?”

“We might be able to meet you tomorrow night,” said Mercedes.

Janice beamed. She’d wanted to make a trip to the
Zona Rosa
in downtown Mexico City ever since we arrived. The
Zona Rosa
took up an area several blocks long in the center of the city where nightclubs and discotheques thrived.

Joaquin directed his words at me, as if I were the only one standing there on that street corner. “
Club Azteca
. Nine o’clock?”

I hesitated.

Janice poked me in the back.

“Why don’t I give you my number, and you can give me a call if you decide to go.” He grabbed a napkin from the small counter in front of the
torta
stand and looked to me to provide the writing utensil. I reached into my purse and pulled out a pen. “My friends and I usually meet there on Saturdays.” He scribbled some numbers down.

I took the paper from his hand and tucked it in the back pocket of my jeans.

“Why don’t you two wait in the car? We can get the food,” said Mercedes.

I twisted my hair into a knot at the back of my head and let the evening air cool my sweaty neck. I nodded, and Janice and I went back to the sedan. From the backseat, I watched Joaquin and Mercedes as they shared the burden of carrying our food. They looked good together, their dark heads touching as they added more
chiles
to their
tortas
and grabbed extra napkins.

Then, Joaquin turned and caught my eye, his face spread with a glorious, white smile. I had never seen a man more handsome than that very moment on the side of the road outside Mexico City, the dust blowing around our feet.

*

“
Hola, bonita. Bailamos
?” A tall Mexican approached me in the dark at Club Azteca. 

Flashing, colored lights dipped and twirled above the dance floor, but the ambient lighting near the bar and tables was almost non-existent.

Even in the dark, I recognized the tilt of his head, the wideness of his shoulders. Joaquin. He had come, and I didn’t see any friends with him.

The music blared in Spanish. Tunes I did not recognize, but with an infectious beat.

Janice encouraged me, “Go on, dance! Mercedes will be back in a little awhile.”

Joaquin stood in front of me, waiting for an answer to his question: Would I dance with him?

I looked up at him, his face shrouded in shadows, and nodded my assent. My breathing quickened in anticipation of his hands on my body.