Paper Moon (14 page)

“You look lovely.”

The three simple words had sent Caroline's heart aflutter during the elevator ride to the lobby, as if
it
knew something she didn't. They were to have a dinner of traditional Mexican food, then walk across the Alameda to the evening show of the Ballet Folklórico. Seated at an elegant table in the Mesón del Azul, her heart still beat like a flamenco dancer's fan each time she caught Blaine observing her.

He wasn't flirtatious. It was his unaffected sincerity that got to her and turned her to mush. After all, they'd shared some pretty heavy stuff that afternoon in an outpouring of heart and soul. Not even Frank had shared such private ground with her.

“If you'd like, I can help you with the menu,” Blaine said.

“When I was working on the postquake housing, my staff and I ate here often.”

Caroline closed the menu that was overrun with words that ended in
adas, itos, itas,
and
oles.
“That would be lovely. I'm afraid fajitas, tacos, and burritos are the extent of my knowledge of Mexican food—unless you count salsa and Fritos.”

“Fritos?” he teased. Golden laugh lights flecked the rich brown of his gaze.

“Yeah, they hold the sauce better than the tortillas—not as messy,” she confessed. There was no point in pretending to be worldly—unless a trip to Disney World or Busch Gardens Old Country counted. She was born and raised in Pennsylvania farm country-turned-suburbia.

“Very practical.”

“How about this one, Dad?” Karen asked, pointing out a dish with a picture next to it.

Blaine shook his head. “If you see the word
habañero,
run the other way.”

“How about this one?” Annie chimed in from his other side.

Blaine studied it a moment. “That's grilled tuna with fried plantain and a fruit sauce.”

Annie closed her menu. “That's what I want. Thanks.”

“De nada,”
he replied with a courtly nod of his head that turned Caroline to mush, salsa style. She didn't mind at all that he slid so easily into the role she usually played.

While Blaine's recommendation was exotic by Caroline's standards, it was delicious. The shrimp cocktail—
cóctel de camarones
— arrived in delicate tulip glasses, while her lime-marinated scallop salad arrived on a tortilla. Caroline not only ate the food, but most of the “plate” as well. When the waiter displayed a wagon wheel–sized tray loaded with sinfully tempting desserts, she opted for the lightest, a small dip of ice cream served with a
churro,
or fried sugar twist.

Later, filled to the brim with the fine native cuisine, Caroline and company walked over to the Palacio de Bellas Artes. Not even the delicious scents emanating from the sidewalk food carts tempted them now.

“I can't believe they passed the snow cone vendor,” Caroline told Blaine as they climbed up the long run of smog-grayed steps.

“Wow, no wonder they call it
Palacio,”
Annie marveled as they followed Hector and an usher through the pink marble lobby.

Karen pointed to a softly lit mural on one of the walls. “What is that, a fairy stuck on a fan?”

“It's another Rivera work,” Blaine answered. Dressed in black coat and tie, her father could give James Bond—any one of them—a run for his money in looks and culture. “It's a slam against the industrial machine sucking up the earth's resources, I think. Like a fan.”

His acknowledging smile was aimed at Karen, but Caroline's toes curled as if it were for her alone. She hardly noticed she'd tripped until Blaine caught her by the arm.

“Watch your step.”

“Thanks.” A flush of heat warming her face, Caroline looked down at the smooth marble flooring to see what had nearly sent her sprawling. It was as shiny and smooth as polished glass.

“Slippery, isn't it?”

Okay, it was an excuse. He didn't have to know she put rubber stick-on patches on all her dress shoes just to avoid her ingrained clumsiness. Worse, that swoon-scrunched toes digging in were the real cause.

“Can we change tickets so Karen and I can sit together?” Annie looked from Caroline to Blaine as Karen did a little bounce, her expression seconding the plea.

“It's fine with me. Caroline?”

“Um . . .” Like she really had an objection. “Su . . . sure.”

Walking on Blaine's arm as if she actually wore glass slippers, Caroline followed the Gearhardts to a row a section removed from the orchestra. Beyond it was the stage, its breathtaking Tiffany-like glass curtain emulating a view of volcanic mountains through latticed arches. As Caroline sank into the plush upholstered seat, she glanced around at the international mix gradually filling the seats around her. Behind Señora Marron's company, a tour group from Germany filed in. In front of Caroline and Blaine were a Japanese couple and their two children of grade-school age.

“Señor Madison?” A Hispanic gentleman taking a seat two down from the Japanese family addressed Blaine.

It took Blaine a moment to recognize the man in the dim light, but when he did, he rose and extended his hand. “Señor Aquino, it's good to see you again.”

“Perhaps you and your friend would like to join us after the show for a late dessert?” Señor Aquino suggested, after introductions to the Asian family were made.

He and Blaine had worked together on a high-rise project in the city. Although the Mexican investor had seen the show many times, he explained that he always brought out-of-town friends to see the culture of Mexico portrayed in dance, just as he had Blaine a few years earlier. Considering the cost of the tickets, even discounted as the tour group's had been, Caroline thought he must be successful in his field.

“That's very gracious of you, but this tour has been merciless where rest is concerned. That's what I get for traveling with teenagers,” Blaine kidded, settling down beside Caroline once more.

“I'm afraid I must decline this time.”

“If you change your mind or wish to contact me while you are in our country . . .” Aquino dug a business card from the inside pocket of his linen coat and handed it to Blaine. “Here is my card.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Blaine tucked the card inside his jacket, wondering if he'd done the right thing in declining the invitation. He'd won a good amount of business at the social invitation of Carlos Aquino, business that might otherwise have wound up elsewhere. The Japanese had made considerable investments in the country after the last quake.

The theater lights flashed, signaling that the show was about to begin. Señor Aquino gave Blaine a silent salute of understanding and turned to his guests. Up and down the row filled by Señora Marron's group, Edenton's young adults squirmed in their Sunday best. Some strained to see the orchestra that had been tuning in the background of the audience's preshow murmur. Others stared up at the gilded box seats lining the side walls with the same fascination that Caroline felt sitting next to Blaine.

The orchestra struck up the overture. The music was the kind that would allow room for nothing short of festive emotions. It left neither the feet nor the heart alone, raising anticipation so that when the mercurial curtain finally went up, the applause was thunderous. To say that the presentation was panoramic was to understate the lavish scenery, the intricate choreography, and the exquisite costumes. Just when Caroline thought one historical or regional performance could not be outdone, another outdid it.

She forgot about Blaine and her surroundings, and was drawn into the colorful drama, her blood pumping with the passion of the Mexicano music and dance.

When they emerged from the theater, Caroline was still breathless with enchantment. In the after-show shopping frenzy for souvenirs, the women and students lost track of the men, most of whom walked ahead to the bus to wait. Caroline bought an official program while the girls tried to decide between jewelry and costumed dolls of assorted prices.

On rendezvousing at the bus, the girls slid into twin seats in front of her with their purchases, leaving the empty one next to Blaine for Caroline. Ignoring the light punch Dana gave her elbow, Caroline tucked her flounced skirt aside and sat down.

“I've just never seen anything like it.”

Blaine grinned. “So you said.”

Of course she had. If she'd said it once, she'd said it a hundred times . . . or at least once for each dance. Caroline heaved a resigned sigh. “I guess you can take the country gal out of the city, but you can't take the country out of the gal.”

“Who would want to?”

There was no point in telling her heart to be still. It was deaf where Blaine was concerned. And she, miracle of miracles, was dumb. All she could do was dip her eyelashes like a love-struck schoolgirl.

“How about a nightcap?” Blaine suggested when they returned to the hotel. “A soothing chamomile tea or decaf latte?”

“Not me,” Karen declared. “I'm beat.”

“Me too,” Annie chimed in.

“I wasn't asking you two. I was asking
Miz C,
” he said, imitating his daughter's name for the lovely woman beside him. Funny.

He'd heard Karen talk about a Miz C, but the matronly picture the name evoked was far from the real thing.

“Well, I—”

“Randy and I will see that the girls are safely locked in their room,” Dana offered from behind them. She put her hand on Caroline's shoulder. “Go ahead and unwind a little. I don't see a hint of
sleepy
in those eyes.”

Just light,
Blaine agreed, noting how Caroline's gaze was as multifaceted as the crystal prisms on the chandelier overhead. A man could lose himself trying to discover the nature of that light, for it definitely shone from the inside out. He'd watched it more than the show. And he'd seen it brimming that afternoon when she'd spoken from the heart to Karen . . . when she'd somehow assuaged his guilt, allowing him to breathe again for the first time in ages without its constriction. And it wasn't just her words. Words alone he'd heard before. It was the spiritual depth behind them that touched him. It made him want to know more, not just of her, but of what made her able to bridge the gap between him and Karen, when his love alone could not.

“I shouldn't need anything to relax after the long day we've had, but I have to admit, I'm not the least bit tired.”

“Anyone else care to join us?” Blaine held his breath, hoping no one would accept his invitation.

No one did. After letting the others off at their respective floors, the elevator they commandeered continued to the top-floor restaurant. It was one of those rotating affairs, high enough above the city that it afforded a picturesque view of the surrounding mountains from its wide windows. While it wasn't full, it was still busy with the after-theater crowd and those enjoying the late old-world dining tradition. The hostess sat them at a table for four, clearing away the extra settings.

Blaine ordered two decaffeinated lattes, one with hazelnut flavoring for the lady.

“That way I can do without sugar,” Caroline explained after the waiter left.

“Not that you need to worry about weight,” he stipulated, having been around women long enough to know he should make that clear, “but what about the fat content?”

“Oh, shush.”

The petulant purse of her lips was riveting, but not in a sultry lipstick commercial way. He didn't think she even wore lipstick.

“I prefer to look at the positive side. Like whipped cream is 50 percent air—half the calories.”

It was her impish side that sparkled over the glow of the candlelight, yet its effect on Blaine was profound. Senses scrambled into an uncharacteristic giddiness, he focused on his purpose. Rattling the plastic bag he'd discreetly carried at his side since leaving the theater, he put it on the table.

“This is for you.”

The panorama of emotions unfolding on his companion's face as she peeked inside the bag was as varied as the dances in the Ballet Folklórico. There was shock that he'd bought her a gift, curiosity as to what it might be, surprise to see what it was, and finally what he'd hoped for—delight.