Acapulco Adventure

by Marilyn Conner Miles

  I glared. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

  “Definitely a compliment.”

  I punched his arm. “Walk in front of me to the ladies’ room, will you, and then tell Brenda I need her help.”

  When we reached the restroom door, I stepped inside, and saw Brenda there. I turned back to tell Greg, but he was already halfway back to our table and wouldn’t be able to hear me over the music. Then I saw that there was another man sitting at the table with Ricardo. I’d seen him at the nightclub the night we met Ricardo, but he’d only walked in, spoken to Ricardo briefly and left. This time they were engrossed in conversation. He looked up when Greg approached, said something, then stood up and headed for the exit door.

  “So tell me, what’s going on with you and Greg? I saw you two out there on the dance floor,” Brenda asked, and smiled at me. I turned back to face her and she saw my ruined dress for the first time. “Oh-my-gosh, Dee, what happened?”

  “Greg insisted that I dance with him and my dress blew up.”

  “Here,” Brenda said as she dug into her purse, “I have safety pins.”

  She helped me pull the sides together. “Thanks, Bren, you’re a lifesaver.” As we headed back to our table, I added, “But I won’t be dancing any more tonight.”

  Before we reached our table I was surprised to spot the man who’d tried to get the flight attendant’s attention on the first leg of our trip. I was surprised to see him here, and a feeling of uneasiness ran up my spine.

  “Dee, why did you stop?”

  The man saw us staring at him, and he glared back.

  “Do you know that guy?” Brenda asked.

  “Not really. Let’s hurry back before we lose the table,” I said. I felt the man’s gaze as we walked by.

  ****

  Ricardo suggested we take a boat cruise the next evening, since he had to work. The pamphlet promised we would see the “world famous, death-defying” cliff divers at La Quebrada who plunged 130 feet into the Pacific Ocean. We saw the cliffs—but not the divers. The diving ended for the day by the time we got there. I felt disappointed about not seeing the cliff-divers and meant to tell Ricardo about it, since he told us it was one of the most popular tourist attractions we shouldn’t miss during our stay.

  A swarthy man dressed as a pirate, ran around on the deck brandishing a sword and posing with the tourists—for a fee, of course. He sat down next to me and I turned away to look at Brenda with dismay as I tried unsuccessfully to move closer to her and away from him. He had bad breath and oily hair, and he put his arm around me.

  “Oh come on, Dee,” Brenda urged me. “Pose for the photographer. Another memory for your scrapbook.”

  I knew she referred to all the photos I’d taken on our vacation so far. “Oh, okay,” I agreed reluctantly, though I cringed inside. I smiled half-heartedly while the picture was taken, but I was glad when he left. I rubbed my hands up and down over my arms, as though that would take away the pirate’s touch. I must have looked as though I was cold; since the sun was beginning to set, the air had grown cooler.

  “Cold?” Greg asked as he sat down on the other side of me.

  “Yeah, it is a bit chilly. I wish I’d brought my shawl, but it was so hot when we left the hotel. This sleeveless dress was perfect then.”

  “Maybe I can help. My shirt has long sleeves and I’m plenty warm.” He reached out his arm and put it around me. “If you don’t mind...”Mind? Oh no. This was nothing like having the pirate’s arm around me. We were so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. I moved into his warmth and he hugged me close.

  “Mmmmm,” I said, feeling the warmth of him spread through me. Then I pulled back abruptly and sat up. He had a girlfriend! No matter how much I might want to, I shouldn’t be doing this with him. “Greg...”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Brenda tells me you have a girlfriend.”

  “What?” He looked around me at Brenda, but she was chatting to a woman on the other side of her. “Oh, uh, yeah her.”

  “Why didn’t she come on this trip with you?”

  “She-she...had to work.”

  “What does she look like? Do I know her?”

  “I doubt it. She’s uhhh...” He looked as though he was trying to remember. “Oh, she’s about five-foot seven, I guess, long, dark brown hair and eyes...”

  “What does she do for a living? Does she work for the airlines too?”

  “Yeah, she’s a ticket agent.”

  “Gosh, Greg, it sounds like you could be describing me. I’ll have to meet her sometime. Well, uh, thanks for warming me up,” I said and stood up. “I think I’ll take a walk around the boat.”

  “Want me to go with you?” he asked.

  “No, that’s okay, but thanks.” I walked away, but when I turned and looked back, Greg and Brenda seemed to be arguing, and Greg was frowning.

  ****

  Later, as we disembarked from the boat, I turned around to get one last look at the bay in the warm moonlit night air. I’d come back the next day, if I could, to take a picture of it surrounded by the Sierra Madre Mountains, in the daylight. I gasped and stopped so suddenly that Greg, behind me, bumped into me.

  “Why are you stopping?” he asked me. That’s when I began to wonder if I was imaging things. A man stood at the bottom of the ramp, talking to the pirate and he looked like the same unpleasant man from the plane and cocktail lounge. Why did he keep appearing at the same places we went to? Greg didn’t give me time to answer his question. “Dee! You’re holding up the line behind us. We need to keep moving.”

  I looked again while we waited for a taxi to take us back to the hotel, but by then, the man disappeared.

  Again, I decided not to tell Brenda or Greg about it. They would tease me about my over-active imagination. I always had my head in a book on my breaks at work, and Brenda told me that I should write my own novel someday. They would probably think my fears were all in my head—or something like that—so I kept my creepy feelings to myself.

  ****

  Brenda didn’t feel good the next morning. She said she’d been sick all night, so Greg and I went out to shop in the open air market, Mercado Municipal.

  “Buenas días, seῆorita,” an older woman greeted us when we walked into her shop and I began looking at white peasant blouses with colorful embroidery.

  “I don’t feel comfortable haggling,” I whispered to Greg.

  He held up a hand, and then said to the woman, “I’ll give you thirty pesos for this, seῆora.”

  “No, no, seῆor. Sixty pesos.”

  I reached for my purse, but Greg pushed my hand away.

  “Wait. Don’t you need a skirt to go with it?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll take care of this.”

  I wandered to look at some leather wallets when Greg strode toward me. He looked pleased. “I talked her down and she sold me both the blouse and a colorful red and black skirt to match. It was only fifty pesos.”

  I reached in my purse to get the money, but he stayed my hand and shook his head. “No, Dee. Keep your money. It’s my fault you have to get more clothes. I left your suitcase behind and then I practically danced the only dress you have off you last night. Please, it’s the least I can do.”

  “I bit my lip. The gesture was awfully nice and I could tell he still felt bad.

  “Come on, please Dee? Let me do this, or I’ll think that you’re still mad at me. I won’t be able to enjoy this vacation.”

  “We’re square now.”

  “You’re not mad at me anymore?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He reached one arm out and gave me a hug.

  For a few minutes, it almost felt like a date. I thought about the kiss in the back office before we left and the hug just now and on the boat...and the girlfriend. All of a sudden, I didn’t care. I felt reckless today. When Greg grabbed my hand and pulled me up the alley to the next shop, I didn’t protest.

  ****


  Unfortunately, our pleasant outing was short-lived. When I unlocked the door, Brenda was in the bathroom, violently ill. I turned and ran down the hall to Greg’s room, and pounded on the door. “We need to get Brenda to the hospital. She’s really sick!”

  When he opened the door, he was bare-chested and his hair was damp on the ends, I supposed, from just getting out of the shower. I glanced at him briefly, wishing I had a few more minutes to enjoy the view.

  “I’ll call the front desk and make sure a taxi is waiting. Do you think we can get her down the stairs?”

  “With both of us, we can try.”

  ****

  The doctor found us seated in the crowded waiting room when he came out to give us the diagnosis. He spoke rapid-fire Spanish which I could barely understand. I stood there, and felt helpless. A nurse must have spotted us. When the doctor left, she came over and explained in English.

  “Your friend has food poisoning. She will need to take medicine the doctor prescribed, and shots, twice a day. Your hotel can help with this, but she needs to stay in bed.”

  When Greg and I walked into Brenda’s room she rolled over on the bed to face us. “I’m sooo sorry, guys,” she said. “I feel as though I’ve let you down, and spoiled the whole trip.”

  “You can’t help it.”

  “I don’t want you to miss the trip to Taxco, tomorrow.”

  “Why don’t we postpone it? Maybe you’ll be better in a couple days and feel up to going.” I took her hand in hopes it would make her feel better.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’ve already ruined this vacation enough for you. You need to go with Greg.”

  I looked at Greg.

  “We’ll go,” he said. “You just get better.”

  ****

  The next morning, I went to the concierge desk and asked them to recommend a good car rental agency.

  The clerk immediately replied, “Rentabug.”

  I thought he didn’t understand me. I repeated my question, louder and slower this time. “No…we need…a …car.”

  He shook his head and wrote it down on a page of the hotel stationery for me. Sure enough, that’s what he’d said. I frowned, but before I could say anything more Greg came bounding up to the counter on his tennis shoe-clad feet.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing my frown. I showed him the paper. Greg broke into laughter. “Bug. You know, a Volkswagen: Rent-A-Bug.”

  “Oh.” I looked up at the desk clerk. He smiled broadly.

  “Sí, sí.” He nodded, several times.

  ****

  We finally got the rental car and drove into the country. The scenery changed abruptly as soon as we started the climb out of the city. Instead of high-rise hotels, discos and sandy beaches, bleak little shacks crowded the hillsides, where children, pigs and dogs ran, played or scratched in the dirt. I’d brought my camera along and at first, I felt hesitant to take pictures, afraid an angry mob would attack the car and send us hurtling over the side of the road and down the cliffs. But all I saw were children and old women herding heavily-burdened donkeys along the road, or pigs and roosters strolling fearlessly across our path.

  The scenery changed again as we got closer to Taxco, and became more desert-like. Greg slowed the car when, up ahead, we spotted a small one-story building. It looked like an abandoned gas station. It was the only sign of life we’d seen for miles, since entering the desert.

  There were no other cars around when we pulled up in front, but a couple of scowling Mexican men, smoking cigarettes, squatted under the adobe structure’s only window. One of them looked familiar...the man from the plane, cocktail lounge and boat? It couldn’t be him! I was paranoid. I grabbed Greg’s arm nervously when he prepared to leave the car.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Let’s not go in there.”

  “Why not?”

  “It gives me the creeps,” I mumbled.

  “If you don’t want to go, I’ll get something for us to drink. I’ll be right back.”

  “No! Don’t leave me here alone,” I cried in a panic. I quickly opened the passenger door, slid out, and then locked it. I clutched my shoulder bag to my side. Greg stopped and looked back as I jogged to catch up with him.

  “You sure are nervous,” he said. “Either you watch too many movies or you have quite the imagination.” He laughed.

  I sighed. “Let’s hurry so we can get back on the road.” He didn’t say anything, only looked at me and shook his head, then walked into the store.

  ****

  The last fifty miles passed without further incident and we arrived safely in Taxco. The desert-like terrain had changed to hills and mountains. Taxco was known as “The Silver Center of the World,” and was spread out over a scenic hillside, part of the Sierra Madre range of mountains. At the top of the steep road leading into Taxco, the road divided. As we tried to determine which way we should go, a man waved at us, in front of a long, one-story building made of white adobe. A sign on the building had “Information” printed on it.

  “Buenas dias, Bienvenidos a Taxco. Good day and welcome to Taxco. My name is Seῆor Pildago. I am a member of the Chamber of Commerce. How may I assist you?

  “We’ve just come from Acapulco for the day. We heard that there are silver mines and shops,” I said.

  He gave us a quick history of the town. “It’s one of the oldest colonial cities in Mexico with rich silver deposits, and it was declared a National Colonial Monument in 1928,” he bragged. “We’re known as Mexico’s ‘Silver City.’” Along with the brochures and maps he gave us, he told us about silver shops selling handmade jewelry, and leather goods shops. “But stay away from the lower part of town,” he warned us. “They charge higher prices and they’ll cheat you.”

  “Where’s a good place to stay tonight?” Greg asked him.

  “Something nice, but inexpensive,” I added.

  “Well, the best place to stay is the Holiday Inn, however—” he spread out his hands and shrugged his shoulders—“it isn’t cheap. But a nice young couple such as yourselves...you don’t want to stay just anywhere. Perhaps it’s your honeymoon?”

  I blushed. Why did he assume that since we travelled together, we were anything more than friends? I looked to Greg to supply the answer.

  “No,” was all he said.

  “Would you like me to call and make a reservation for you?” the man asked.

  When Greg nodded, he disappeared behind the curtain. He returned a few minutes later and said, “It’s all arranged. Enjoy your time here in Taxco.”

  We thanked him and got back into the car, following his directions to the motel he’d found for us. The road was steep, narrow, winding cobblestone streets, barely wide enough for a car, let alone bicycles. It was made even narrower by donkeys, goats, pigs and pedestrians. The streets were lined with old homes with intricately carved door and ornate ironwork. I ohhed and ahhed over the homes and their colorful flower-filled patios.

  “We must be at the very top of Taxco, by now,” I said, pulling out my camera. “We should have a good view of the town from the motel.”

  “There it is—I think.″ Greg pointed out the window. I looked at the long, rambling building with a crumbling, faded sign. It was hard to read the words on it, but it was the only building around that in any way resembled a hotel or motel. The rest of the buildings were merely shacks. “Pildago said to follow the street to the end, didn’t he? This is definitely the end.”

  I stared at it in dismay. “The paint’s all peeling off.”

  “Oh, is that paint?” Greg joked.

  “I don’t know about this one. Can’t we try some other place?”

  “You heard the man. This is the only affordable place with a vacancy. He ought to know. Besides, if we don’t hurry and check in, it’ll be too late to see the shops before they close.”

  “I guess you’re right, but—”

  “You’re not used to roughing it. You can’t expect
AAA’s ‘excellent’ rating every place you go.”

  “Yeah, but I bet AAA doesn’t even know about this place.” I got out of the car and walked to the hotel door.

  A large woman, dressed all in black, rose reluctantly from behind a counter when we walked into what appeared to be the office. Through the open door behind her, I could see an unmade bed and a television sitting atop a tiny refrigerator. The television squawked loudly, but she did not attempt to turn it down.

  “Dos Cuartos, por favor, two rooms please,” I said to her. It was hard to understand what she said, with the noise and her lack of the English language.

  “No, no tengo cuarto, we don’t have a room.” The woman scowled and shook her head.

  “But Seῆor Pidalgo—”

  At the sound of his name, she smiled. “Oh, sí. Sí, sí, sí, Seῆor Pidalgo! Bien.” She pushed a register toward Greg. “Escribe su nombre aqui,” she said, then handed him a pen and showed him where to sign his name. She didn’t seem to care whether I signed it or not. Then she led us to a room at the farthest end of a dark, musty-smelling hall. Opening the door, she smiled and waddled off down the corridor in the direction we had come. I stared at the two narrow cot-like beds, the dark dresser with a spindly wooden chair and the faded, worn upholstered chair next to a small, chipped, black-lacquered nightstand and lamp.

  “I told her we needed two rooms,” I said to Greg in dismay.

  “Okay, I’ll go back and see if I can talk to her about getting another room.”

  While he was gone, I walked to the window to see the view. Maybe I could get a good picture of the city from there. I pulled the curtain aside and to my amazement, there was no real window—only a painting portraying a scene someone would see of they had a window to look out. I didn’t even know the name of the motel—Seῆor Alvarez hadn’t told us, and the sign was impossible to read from the car when we arrived.

  Greg came back. “The office was closed. I wandered around a bit, but couldn’t find the manager—or anyone at all, actually. This place is weird.”

  I almost didn’t care that we had to share the room. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to be alone in that room at night anyway. I showed him the ‘window.’