Amused, Oliver lassoes Sophie inside a small shop. Above the arched entrance hangs a sign: Perlas del Mar de Cortez.
“Friends. Bienvenidos. Welcome. Mi nombre es Edmundo,” the man working the counter says. “Choose an oyster, any oyster. Pearl inside yours to keep.”
“¿Son ostras de agua dulce?” Oliver’s perfect Spanish takes the merchant aback.
“Sí, Señor. Naturales y de la más alta calidad. Escoja su ostra. Choose. Choose,” he urges, strapping on a pair of gloves and readying his wooden handled knife for oyster extermination.
“How exciting. I love pearls,” Sophie says. “Can I choose one?”
“However many you like,” says Oliver.
“That one.” She points a finger.
“Una oración para la ostra.”
“What?”
“How you say? Blessing…”
Oliver clues her in. “You have to thank it for producing whatever is inside. Oysters take many years to grow pearls worthy of fine jewelry. And, the Tribal Indians believe pearls were tears of their gods.”
The thanking process involves Sophie and Edmundo tapping the oyster three times and then ringing a gong. “For good luck and the goddess of pearls,” he says.
As the lid pops off and the knife cuts through the body, two black pearls appear.
Sophie is startled when Edmundo jumps and yells to every other person in the store, “Twins! Twins!” like Sophie’s won the national lottery.
“Oh!” screams everybody in chorus.
“Dos perlas negras en una ostra es muy raro. ¡Felicitaciones, amigos!”
Oliver translates. “He says it’s amazingly rare.”
“¡Es tan hermoso! Nunca habíamos visto dos perlas negras. ¿Tiene usted gemelos en su familia?”
“How lucky you are, Soph. These people have never seen two pearls in a Pacific oyster. He wants to know if there are twins in your family.”
She nods. “My mother was a twin...and my grandmother.”
Oliver translates.
“¡Ah! Entonces, su esposa tendrá gemelos.” He rubs his belly like a pregnant lady and points at Sophie. “¡Felicitaciones!”
Sophie doesn’t know what he just said, but she’s a crackerjack at charades. Her immediate thought is no freakin’ way. “Oh, no, no. I’m not pregnant.”
Edmundo just keeps rubbing his belly, exuberantly yelling in Spanish.
“What’s he saying?”
“Nothing. He thinks you’re my wife.”
“Why is he congratulating me? Tell him I’m not pregnant.” No way, José.
OLIVER CHOOSES THE most beautiful diamond cage pendant necklace to display the pearls and thanks Edmundo. The couple laughs and snuggles as they enjoy the store windows on their walk back to the Jeep. The sky is turning dark, so they return to the villa.
The girls are in the bathroom getting ready for a night of partying. Sarah is trying to style her hair with a curling wand, and Cassie is smoothing a pink sleeveless chiffon dress with a layered flounce hemline she’s just slipped her petite figure into. After accompanying Sophie to show off her rare find in its beautiful new setting, Oliver excuses himself to check on business matters. Sophie sits on the Jacuzzi’s edge and fidgets with her necklace.
“You know pearls are good luck, right?” Cassie goes on about how legend says that pearls protect from problematic environments and bless the wearer with different virtues.
“What kind of virtues?”
“Patience, faith, love. You know, general happiness.”
“So, then why is Oliver acting weird around me?”
“He’s acting weird?”
“I think so.”
“He’s probably in a big work-related mess. You know him.”
Sophie sneaks up directly behind Oliver outside on the gusty terrace, working on his laptop. She puts her hands over his eyes and says, “Guess who!”
“Very funny, Sophie.”
“Are you okay?” she asks, sitting on the chaise lounge next to him.
He keeps his gaze on the computer. “Perfect. Why?”
“I don’t know. You’ve been acting odd ever since we got back from the pearl shop. What’s on your mind?”
“Work.”
“Just work?”
“Yes.”
Imelda announces the driver is waiting outside. Cassie and Sarah emerge click-clacking their sky-high heels across the floor and beeline for the door.
“Oliver, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Sophie says as she gathers her clutch, moving to join the girls.
“I want to go.”
PINK KITTY NIGHTCLUB is a modern-day, baroque-inspired venue featuring glass chandeliers and eel-skin leather seating. A waiter appears and serves the four a batch of caballitos.
“What is that?” Sarah eyes the tall shot glasses.
“Tequila,” replies Oliver.
“Oh!” Sarah again.
Cassie snatches a lime from the bowl on the table. “I salute you, Don Julio.”
“Should you be drinking?” Oliver asks Sophie.
“What do you mean?”
“What if you’re pregnant?”
She stares at him in complete distress. “Oliver, I swear to God, I’m not pregnant.”
“All right.”
Raising the shot glass, Cassie says with a toothpaste-commercial smile. “To new friends!”
All four drink to that.
Pitbull’s “Don’t Stop the Party” lures Cassie and Sarah to the dance floor. Unable to ignore the beat, Sophie grabs Oliver’s hand and leads the way.
The music is Reggaeton and Latin, but Oliver lets it all go likes it’s a disco party from the 80s, twisting and boogey-woogying. Sophie’s grin stretches from ear to ear. He’s doing his thing, showing a part of himself she’s never seen before.
“Come on!” Oliver shouts, extending his hand.
Amused by his sprit, Sophie lets him pull her deeper into the mass of gyrating people jumping up and down, and tries to match his moves by wriggling like those inflatable air men. They both look like idiots, and don’t care.
“Check it out! They seem dead happy, huh?” Cassie shouts over to Sarah.
Several songs later, they all return to their table.
“I have to wake up early. Let’s head back to the villa, ladies,” Oliver says.
Cassie and Sarah beg to stay.
“No one else has to work tomorrow,” argues Cassie.
“I’m not about to leave the two of you here alone, Cassidy. You’ve had your fun, now let’s call it a night.”
“It’s all right. I’ll stay with them,” Sophie says.
“Not a chance.”
“Please, Ollie, please. I need this. I need to have fun,” Cassie pleads.
Sarah nods, bouncing in excitement.
“We’ll leave in an hour,” says Sophie.
“Sophie, I’m not leaving any of you here. This isn’t New York. This is Mexico.”
“It’ll be fine, I swear. I’m not even drinking anymore.”
Oliver groans.
“Do you trust me?”
“I trust you. I don’t trust them.” He looks at Cassie and Sarah.
“Nothing is going to happen. I promise.”
“One hour, Amelia Sophia. One hour, then all three of you return to the villa.”
T W E N T Y - T W O
* * *
Mad as a Badger
OLIVER IS ON his way to the villa. Sophie returns from the ladies room to their table in the VIP section to find that two very testosteroned creeps, seemingly in their thirties, have already flown in like hungry vultures encircling their prey. One is a dark-skinned Canadian with a mustache, and the other looks Asian, but is actually Dutch and speaks English.
They look like twenty kinds of perverted; at least that is what Sophie is thinking. Two young, nice-looking blondes all by their lonesome? Every perv’s dream. “Figures,” Sophie mutters. They should’ve left with Oliver. Dammit, he was rig
ht, she curses in her head while walking to the table. Take it easy…be chill. Nothing has to go wrong here. I’ll handle it.
Canadian Perv looks at Sophie. “Hey, beautiful, where did you come from? Let me buy you a drink,” he says as if he’s God’s gift to women everywhere.
Sophie smiles, trying her best not to be bitchy. She wants to go with, “No, I have a boyfriend actually,” but because she won’t use Oliver as an excuse, instead says, “No, thanks.” This way, she also avoids the usual douchey responses: “I don’t see him around,” “That’s cool. He can join in too,” and “So? I have a girlfriend.”
“You look familiar. Are you on Tinder?”
“Yeah. Totally.”
“I thought I’d seen you around. Is your name Jennifer?”
“Yeah, yeah. Jennifer.”
Cassie motions for the waiter and orders tequila shots, which he delivers in record time. Canadian Perv passes them out saying, “one for you” to Cassie, “one for you” to Sarah, “and one for this beauty over here” as he gazes into Sophie’s eyes with his best magnetic look of longing.
Sophie says, “Thanks, I’m good for the night,” and turns her back on him.
“Straight up! Enjoy ladies!”
The night is rolling away in hyper speed. Cassie and Sarah are flirting their faces off. More and more drinks are ordered and served. The situation is getting out of hand and she’s not sure exactly how she’s going to keep her promise to leave after one hour.
“Oh, my God, Soph, you have to see this.”
Sophie reads the Canadian ID Cassie hands over.
“His name is Jeffery and he’s forty-six. Forty-six! He looks younger, huh?” Cassie says, flinging her hair back.
“Cassie, we should go. I promised your brother.”
“I’m twenty-five. Tell Jeff for me; he’ll believe you.”
Sophie grabs Canadian Perv’s arm and says, “Dude, you know she’s just twenty, right?”
Cassie glares at her. “Sophie!”
He belts out a revolting laugh, obviously drunk to his last bone. “This is Mexico!”
Sophie whisper-yells in her ear. “Cassie, let’s go. These pervs keep serving you drinks. What do you think they want?”
“Sophie, come on. Relax. Have fun! We’re in Cabo! We’ll leave soon.”
“What about Oliver? He said one hour. It’s three in the morning.”
“Just…just tell him you wanted to stay or something. He’s always easy on you.”
Sarah is bobbing her head to the music with Asian-Dutch Perv.
“Sarah, it’s time to go.”
“Why?”
“Because I just said so.”
“What is your problem, Sophie? We’re not doing anything wrong!”
Then the inconceivable. Cassie and Canadian Perv exchange mouth fluids, and share far too much physical contact. Sophie is having a major brain thunderstorm. Shit, what do I do? flashes in her head every two seconds. It is certainly a ‘what would Oliver do?’ moment.
Her options are limited. Either she keeps trying to get them to leave or calls Oliver. At this point, her phone is dead and Sarah didn’t bring one. She looks at Cassie and waits for her and Canadian Perv to pull their heads apart, then leans in front of her and asks for her phone.
She rolls her eyes, but scoops her phone out of her clutch bag anyway. Cassie’s face instantly drops. “Sophie! Shit. It’s Oliver. He texted me ‘where are you?’ What do I tell him?”
Oh, now she’s worried? “Tell him we’re on our way. Let’s move it. I’m not kidding.”
Cassie and Sarah grab their stuff. It’s all fun and games until the simple thought of Oliver makes everyone suddenly compliant. When his name is spoken, intoxication levels drop and Cassie and Sarah pay attention, even holding their breath. But neither of the two so much as batted an eyelid when Sophie put her foot down. She was completely ignored, as if she were an email or a survey. Oliver isn’t even here and has the situation well in hand. Sophie doesn’t know how he does it, but he does. Maybe it’s a gender thing. Maybe it’s because he pays the bills. Maybe the night is off; the planets aren’t aligned in her favor. Whatever the reason, it is demeaning to not be respected or heard. Sophie feels her bruised dignity, a heart-wrenching ache in the middle of her chest.
“Your name’s not Jennifer,” says Canadian Perv, squeezing Sophie by her arms with his sausage-y fingers. “You’re that model, aren’t you?”
Sophie briefly looks down at his hold on her, then looks up with hostile eyes and ditches the cool girl persona. “If you want to have kids someday, I suggest you get your hands off me before I do it for you.”
He doesn’t have a chance to even think about. Sophie stumbles backward from a violent tug on her waist. It feels like a metal bar pressing into her stomach as a roller coaster cart makes its mega-fast descent. Oliver charges, ramming his fist into him. There’s screaming, kicking, flying of glasses, breaking of tables. It’s a scandalous mess.
Sophie jumps up in panic. “Oliver! No! Stop it!”
All Cassie can say is “shit, shit, shit,” and Sarah is white with horror. It all happens at supersonic speed. The next thing Sophie knows, she is being thrown outside with Sarah and Cassie.
Sophie argues with the bouncer. “You have to let me back inside! My boyfriend is in there!”
Cassie disappears into the Jeep and Sarah gets in after her. Oliver storms out of the club with a look of pure wrath on his face. He picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, leaving her no say in the matter. Despite her struggle, his grip doesn’t falter. He doesn’t say anything until they’re standing a few steps from the Jeep.
“Oliver, put me down now,” she demands in a cold voice.
He releases her and opens the door.
She sees that his lip is busted and there’s a cut above his eye. “Jesus, you’re bleeding.” She touches his face, but he swats her arm away.
“Get in the car.” By some miracle, he manages to say it calmly.
“What is the matter with you?” she says, offended by his manner. “How did you go from funny dancer to murderous fighter? What happened to Karate and ‘you never attack first?’”
“Sophie, get in the damn car.”
She slides in just as police sirens approach.
The Jeep can only handle four people, but Stress, Friction, Anger, Outrage, and Fright are butted in with them like too many clowns trying to fit into a beetle. The drive is long enough and the girls just sit with their arms entwined, listening to the building tension crackling between Sophie and Oliver. They don’t speak until they get to the villa.
“That douchebag had his hands on you.” Oliver slams the door to the bedroom behind him so hard the entire house hears the boom.
Sophie throws her heels on the floor and slips out of her uncomfortable dress. “I can take care of myself. I was handling it.”
He peels off his shirt and flings his pants into a corner. “‘I was handling it,’ she says! Unbelievable. How? How were you handling it? You were just standing there like a statue.”
“Dammit, Oliver.” She faces him. “Don’t you get it? He recognized me. He can press charges against you.”
“Is that supposed to scare me? I don’t give a shit what he does.”
Sophie is completely flustered. “You don’t mean that. Have you lost your mind? I can’t believe I’m the one who’s actually worried here. You can’t go picking fights, especially not when you have an assault record. You could’ve been arrested. And then what?” She throws her hands up in the air. “You’re not a minor anymore! You’d go to jail! Is that what you want?”
“That’s my problem. Not yours.”
Well, this isn’t progress. “In case you haven’t noticed, we live in the same house, we eat at the same table, and we sleep in the same bed. Your problems are my problems. Your skeletons are my skeletons. That’s what love is all about.”
“I trusted you with one simple task, Sophie,” he says, washing the bloo
d off his face in the bathroom. “Get home in an hour. None of this would’ve happened if you had just done your part.”
Her temper snaps. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare blame this on me. I didn’t cause this.”
“Then who did? Do you want to explain to me what the hell happened? Have you even bothered to look at the time?”
“Oliver, those pervs came out of nowhere and I didn’t know—”
“What to do? You don’t say! Where is your phone? Why didn’t you call me?”
“My battery died.”
“Splendid. And you didn’t think to call me from Cassie’s phone?”
She won’t tell him Cassie and the Canadian kissed. Oliver would go ballistic. “I was just going to! I’m sorry, all right? Forgive me if I was a little busy trying to keep an eye on the girls. One minute, Cassie was running off to the dance floor, and the other, Sarah was downing shots at the bar.”
“You were supposed to be the responsible adult. That was my sister in there, for fuck’s sake!” he shouts. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you realize all three of you could’ve been drugged in that Godforsaken club? Assaulted! Raped! Murdered? Who knows?”
“Don’t yell at me!”
“I don’t have to do a thing you say.”
“Why? Because you wear the pants? Because you hold the absolute truth?”
He shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “I don’t know how I could have left you alone. This is all my fucking fault.”
That night, they sleep in separate beds.
THE SUN RISES above the horizon of the Sea of Cortez. Sophie dives into the pool to swim off everything that’s clinging inside her head. It’s comforting being under the water. When it tires her out, she sits under the poolside palapa roof and contemplates the ocean.
Sarah steps out on the terrace, yawning. “Hey, you’re up.”
“Yeah.”
“My head hurts.”
“Join the club.”
“Have you talked to Oliver yet?”
“Not today.”
Black Diamond Page 20
