One Way to Succeed (Casas de Buen Dia Book 1)

by Marjorie Pinkerton Miller

“And my guess is all three were men,” Kent said, as if he had this figured out all along.

  “Yes, they were the most qualified,” Rick said.

  “You ass!” Kent slammed his cocktail glass on the table and leaned forward, nearly meeting Rick’s forehead with his.

  “What? Why am I an ass?” Rick looked honestly bewildered.

  “How fucking dense are you?” Kent asked. “I’ve known you for about fourteen years, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, by now, I know what your big issues are. Don’t you think your problem with your mother has gone far enough?”

  “What’s that got to do with this?” Rick asked. He knew exactly what Kent was getting at, but he was damned if he’d admit it.

  “You can’t even see what a misogynist you’ve become on account of your issues with your mother,” Kent said. “But how can you expect a woman, especially one as competent as Amy, to not see your idiocy? How can you expect her to accept this?”

  “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.” Rick sat back and looked away. He wanted to end this conversation while he and Kent were still friends.

  “No, I’m sorry, but it’s you who can’t see what’s going on here,” Kent said. “And that, my friend, is standing in the way of everything.”

  Having made his point, Kent called a truce. “We’ll talk about his later, my friend,” he said. “Let’s drop it now and enjoy the city. I never take a whole day to just wander around.”

  They spent the rest of the day checking out some of the city’s microbreweries and walking. Having just barely uncovered the touchy subject of Amy, they abandoned it and talked about state politics, and the movies Kent had seen lately. Rick had to defer to his friend on the latter topic; given his work habits, he hadn’t seen a movie in years.

  Finally, over dinner on the Embarcadero, they opened up the files and reviewed the candidates Rick wanted to interview.

  “It doesn’t seem likely there’s going to be much negative about these guys,” Kent said. “It sure is an interesting collection of backgrounds. I never would have thought to look at these guys.”

  “Me, either,” Rick said, staring down at the ice in his drink. He wished Kent hadn’t said that. Now he was thinking of Amy again, and she was the last person he wanted on his mind.

  ~

  Back in Palm Springs Sunday evening, Rick sauntered out of the terminal and stood on the curb, trying to remember where in the parking lot he had left his car on Saturday morning.

  His timing couldn’t have been worse. His first thought when he saw the little Z3 pull up fifty yards away was that someone, somehow was delivering his car to him. But then, Amy got out of the drivers’ seat and her old boyfriend Rob hopped out of the passenger side with an overnight bag. Amy stood on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly before he turned and walked in toward the United ticket counter.

  It wasn’t Rick’s car, obviously. It was Amy’s. For the first time, he thought about how odd it was that he and Amy just happened to drive the same vehicle, in the same color. Even more odd: he thought the relationship with Rob was over. Wasn’t Rob working in L.A. now? Finally, it occurred to him: maybe this was what had come between Amy and him—Rob! She must have reconsidered things after their kiss in his office. Maybe it was just coincidence that she had changed her mind right about the time they were culling the candidate file together.

  Well, he thought, that’s a relief. Now he knew that there was no chance for a romantic future with her. Now it was just a matter of how long he could keep her working at the company until she moved to L.A. with Rob.

  Who am I fooling? he chastised himself as he walked across the parking lot to his car. He threw the trunk open and shoved his overnight bag in. He slammed the door closed and kicked the rear tire hard as he walked around to the driver’s side. What the hell is she back with that pretty boy for? What does she see in him? It wasn’t a relief, it was infuriating.

  He unhooked the convertible top and pushed the button to retract it, slamming his palm into the steering wheel while he waited for it to finish sinking back behind the seats. He threw a twenty-dollar bill at the parking attendant, not waiting for his change before peeling out and driving home too fast. If he got picked up for speeding, he rationalized, it would take his mind off Amy and that boyfriend of hers for a while. Or at least he’d have a sad story to tell the officer while he was writing the ticket.

  He pulled his car into his garage and reached in the spare refrigerator for a beer. He’d popped it open and chugged half of it before he’d even opened the door to his house. He plopped on his side on the couch in the great room, grabbing the TV remote on the way down, and started to surf through the sports channels. He had heard men complain that their wives despised channel surfing and never let them do it in peace. Beautiful Betty never seemed to mind; she was usually on the phone or out with one of her friends—or in the end, out with that sniggering fool, Tommy.

  No doubt Amy would abhor channel surfing as well. It would go against her super-organized, highly efficient personality.

  So there, he thought, stabbing the keys on the remote. That’s another reason to be relieved that she’s back with pretty boy. “Because I love my remote control!” he yelled at the TV.

  He hit the off button, threw the remote across the room, and went to bed.

  ~ Thirteen: Amy ~

  It was only the third week of her job at Buen Dia, but Amy had decided she wanted to take a big risk. Her employment wasn’t probably going to last very long anyway.

  Ever since she had seen those incredible vacant lots in Warm Sands, she had wondered if she could do something that none of the other developers in town had been able to do: get the Mexican owner to part with them, partner in their development, or at least explain why she wouldn’t. At first Amy had considered doing it to prove her worth to Rick; now she wanted to do simply it to prove to herself she could.

  If Rick got mad at her for trying, she didn’t care. She and Rob had spent a decent weekend together. The most remarkable development was that they’d actually had sex both nights. Suddenly, Rob seemed really hot for her. She tried to match his ardor, but she couldn’t and then decided she didn’t have to. Rob couldn’t tell whether she was satisfied or not, and she wasn’t interested in discussing it with him. Still, it was comforting and flattering, and now that she knew things weren’t going to continue with Rick, she was glad to know she had the option of Rob.

  Stopping for coffee on the way back to the airport on Sunday, Rob asked her if to come to L.A. to live with him. Leaning back in a big leather chair at Starbucks, she rubbed her eyes to buy some time before answering.

  “Well, what do you think?” he pleaded. “I’ve got a really great place, and I think things are going really well at the station. Finally we can settle down, and you can find a good job. There’s so much more opportunity there than here in the desert.”

  “I don’t know Rob,” she finally answered. “I don’t want to read too much into just one weekend. Maybe you will get tired of me again. Maybe you’ll need to surround yourself with beautiful women and celebrities, and I’ll be sitting at home with Lean Cuisines and Dancing with the Stars reruns on Netflix again.”

  “That was Palm Springs,” he countered. “Now I’m sick of the whole celebrity thing, and in L.A., both celebrities and beautiful women are a dime a dozen. I have grown up a lot in the last three months. I really want you to believe that.”

  Amy looked into his nicely sculpted face and tried to imagine moving back in with him. It could work, at least for a while, she thought, as long as she kept her expectations low. And maybe by the time it wasn’t working anymore, she’d have a good job and finally be building her career.

  “Okay,” she said. “I will think about it. But I have a couple of things I need to tie up at this job at Buen Dia first. Give me a couple of weeks, maybe a month.”

  He looked disappointed.

  “At most a month,” she promised. “I
will know by then.”

  Rob’s face brightened, as if he was taking that as a “yes.” He jumped out of the chair across from her and lifted her up into his arms. He kissed her hard. It was an uninspired assault. But she’d better get used to that, she thought. He wasn’t going to get any better at it at this point.

  ~

  Amy started looking for the Mexican woman first thing Monday morning. She was taking a big risk; she would be spending her own money in pursuit of the deal, but if she managed to pull this off, she figured Rick would have to reimburse her. And, she hoped, if she moved to L.A. with Rob, she’d be able to showcase it as she looked for a new job.

  It didn’t take long to find Marlena Benavides de Pascal. She was listed as the owner in the county tax filings, and her address was listed as San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Armed with that, Amy called Katie’s on-again, off-again boyfriend who worked at the Palm Springs Art Museum. She had always gotten along well with Frank—sometimes even better than Katie did.

  “Do you happen to know any benefactor who has a place in San Miguel de Allende?” she asked.

  “I think so, Amy,” he said. “How’s that new job going? Katie told me you are really liking it. Or was it that you really liked the boss?” Apparently, he hadn’t yet been brought up to speed on the disappointing turn the relationship had taken.

  “More the job than the boss, I’m happy to report,” she corrected him. “I think the boss and I don’t have much of a future.”

  “Ah, too bad!”

  “Not really,” she corrected him again. “I just had a great weekend with Rob. It looks like we might be able to pull things back together.”

  “Oh.” From his flat tone, it was clear that Frank wasn’t very excited by that news.

  “So who do you know in San Miguel?”

  “Why do you ask?” It sounded like he was already scrolling through some document or spreadsheet on his computer.

  “I want to reach a woman down there who owns some property here, and I was thinking maybe one of your patrons knows her.”

  “Well, there’s Marlena, but she lives there.”

  “You mean Marlena Benavides?”

  “Yes, she’s been a patron here for years. She used to come up in every year for Legacy Day, and then she’d usually visit again in May, which I guess is their hottest month. But she doesn’t travel much anymore. She hasn’t been back up since 2011, I think. She still contributes a nice check every year, though.”

  “Wow, that’s great!” Amy couldn’t believe her luck. “Can you tell me how to reach her?”

  “Of course not.” Frank sounded offended at the suggestion. “You know that kind of information is confidential.”

  “Well, actually, I didn’t,” she lied. “But I guess I can understand why it is. So do you know anyone who knows her? Anyone who goes down there, maybe? Or anyone she used to pal around with when she was up here?”

  “Yes, but I can’t tell you that either.”

  “Darn.”

  “What do you want to reach her for?”

  “If I told you, I don’t think it would change things,” Amy said. She let a pout sneak into her voice.

  “Right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”

  “Okay, so if I tell you, will you keep it to yourself?”

  “Absolutely!” Frank loved gossip; as a charity fundraiser, it was his currency. Without it, his work would be one stab in the dark after another. Amy knew sharing her plan might be one way to break his resolve.

  Ten minutes later, she had Marlena’s phone number and address in San Miguel. Now the question was: should she call her, knowing that she’d probably just hang up as soon as she knew what Amy wanted? She imagined that every developer in town had tried that, and if it had worked, the property would be developed by now. Or should she just hop on a plane and ring her doorbell? That would be expensive, but she had known all along that she’d probably have to do that eventually if she wanted to get anywhere with Sra. Benavides.

  But what if she flew down there and the woman was out of town? Or in the hospital? Or maybe she was now living in some assisted care facility that wouldn’t let Amy in? What a waste of time and money the trip would be!

  Amy slipped out of the office about 11:30, telling Sandra she was leaving for an early lunch, and slid onto a stool at the counter of the café where Katie worked. She had rushed to get there before all the seats were taken, but it turned out she didn’t need to worry; it was a typically slow Monday, and the stools never did fill.

  “Hi stranger,” Katie greeted Amy by placing a paper placemat and a roll of silverware in front of her. “What were you doing all weekend? I was sure I’d hear from you but you never even answered your phone.”

  “Yeah, I turned off the sound. I didn’t realize you had called—what, four times?—until I turned it on before I left for work this morning. Sorry. At least you know I ignored everyone else in the world just as much as I ignored you.”

  “Somehow, it makes me feel worse,” Katie said. “Coffee?”

  “No, just water.”

  “So what were you doing all weekend that you couldn’t stop and answer the phone?”

  “Rob was here.”

  “Oh, really?” Katie stopped moving and raised her eyebrows. “All weekend? And did you--?”

  “God, Katie.” Amy let her exasperation with her friend show. “Why is it that sex is always the thing you jump on first? Are you needing to live vicariously? Aren’t you and Frank getting together anymore?”

  “So, did you or didn’t you?”

  “Yes, we did, although I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

  “Of course it is. I’m your friend, remember?”

  “Anyway I talked with Frank this morning. He’s helping me find someone in Mexico. You’re not up for a quick weekday excursion to our NAFTA partner to the south are you?”

  “Depends,” Katie said. “Where are you going?”

  “San Miguel de Allende.”

  “Oooh. I like that place. But what the hell for?”

  Amy told her about the undeveloped lots and how she hoped to talk the woman into selling them to Rick.

  “But maybe she hates developers,” Katie said. Amy nodded. That was a distinct possibility.

  A hand in the kitchen reached up onto the warming counter and rang the little stainless steel service bell and placed two plates of food under the lights.

  “Katie, order!” a disembodied voice bellowed. Amy recognized it as belonging to the regular cook, Carl, who was so short most of the customers never saw him. The window over the warming counter was high enough to hide even his dark brown pompadour, and as far as anyone sitting in the restaurant knew, the food was prepared and set up for distribution by nothing more than a hand attached to part of a forearm.

  Katie returned from delivering the grilled cheese sandwiches to a couple of regulars. “Where were we?”

  “You said maybe she hates developers. I’ll have grilled cheese, too, by the way. They looked pretty good.”

  Katie scratched out an order on her paper pad, stuck it up on the warming counter, and dinged the bell. The hand on the kitchen side reached up and grabbed it. The café was one of the few dives left in Palm Springs without an electronic point-of-sale system. Writing orders on paper may have been less sanitary, and perhaps was more mistake-prone, especially if the waitress’s hand-writing was as bad as Katie’s, but the old system had the benefit of being cheap. The only cost was for the minimal expense of green pads. As small as the restaurant was, the old ways still worked fine.

  “When are you leaving?” Katie asked, returning from working a few tables, and setting Amy’s order down in front of her.

  “If I can get a decent ticket, tomorrow.”

  “Yikes, I can’t get off work that quickly,” Katie said. “I kinda wish I could though. A little time in old Mexico might just give me the distance I need from Frank right now.”

  “Is he bugging you?”
<
br />   “No, not so much that. I just need to decide whether I really care for him or if he’s just a habit. If I go away, I might be able to answer that.”

  “Well, you could just avoid him for a couple of weeks.”

  “Already tried that. He has a way of finding me.”

  “Like showing up here.”

  “Yup.”

  “Maybe you can call in sick tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” Katie nodded. “Sarah’s been looking for some extra hours. She usually only works on weekends, but her daughter’s getting married and I think she needs the money. Let me think about it” Katie rushed off to attend to a new customer.

  By the time Amy left, Katie was holding her stomach, faking a sudden onset of the flu. “Call me and tell me how much a ticket costs,” she whispered.

  ~

  Flying from Los Angeles through Mexico City turned out to be reasonable. The tickets were cheap enough that Amy grabbed two before she called Katie back, and they found themselves sitting in the back of the plane, sipping tiny seven-dollar bottles of bad wine, before noon the next day. They would get to Guanajuato late, and stay in a hotel near the airport for the night, and then drive to San Miguel the next day. Amy had booked a room at a hotel on the square in San Miguel so they could enjoy the ambiance of one of the first UN World Heritage Sites that designated an entire city center as a cultural treasure.

  “Give me your strategy for talking with this woman,” Katie said. “Are you going to just come out and tell her you want to buy her property?”

  “I don’t know,” Amy said. “If I do that, isn’t it likely she will just slam her door on me?

  “Maybe you need some kind of opening ruse. Some way to get in the door.”

  “I don’t know about that either,” Amy said. “Don’t you think that will work against me? If I get in the door with a lie, won’t she figure that out?”

  “I guess you’ll have to fly by the seat of your pants,” Katie said, “but you’re good at that.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.” Amy laughed, and they clicked their plastic cups of wine together in the air.