Getaway

by Lisa Brackmann

  “This is it.”

  It didn’t look like a bar or restaurant; there were no signs, no valets, just heavy wooden doors, splintering in places, worn smooth in others, bound with darkened iron. A private club, maybe, or a very big house.

  By the doors stood several bulky men with the thick-necked look of bouncers.

  Daniel produced a card printed on creamy linen and showed it to one of the men, who glanced at it and nodded.

  “After you,” Daniel said, holding the door for her.

  She took a deep breath and went inside.

  The doors opened onto a wide foyer—more of a patio, really. A bar was set up to one side, under an awning. A young man served drinks there, dressed in black and white—catering staff, Michelle thought. They were the same everywhere. He was slight, with drooping black hair and a gold earring, and she thought he might be wearing eyeliner.

  “What can I get you?” Daniel asked.

  “I’d love a glass of white wine.”

  No margaritas, she thought. She needed to stay focused.

  To do what, she wasn’t sure. Take pictures with Gary’s watch? It was still in her purse. She couldn’t imagine actually taking it out, putting it on.

  Confide in Daniel?

  A few other couples stood around the bar, on the patio that overlooked downtown Vallarta and then the ocean. Expensively dressed. Lots of jewelry on the women.

  “It’s lovely,” Michelle said.

  “Wait’ll you see the main room.”

  He led her through an arched entrance into a spacious gallery. It looked like a church, Michelle thought, domed vaulted ceiling painted with murals of robed saints, pink cherubs, spires piercing storm clouds, and overflowing bowls of fruit. Heavy wood and wrought iron framed the walls and entries; Talavera tile formed borders around terra-cotta flooring. The space opened up onto a large balcony that she glimpsed between thick pillars. A quartet of musicians played: guitars, marimba, guitarrón. Long tables bearing platters of food were set up along the open wall; small, round tables, chairs, and benches were placed here and there for guests to pause and eat and rest their drinks. There was a banner hung on one wall with a silk-screened design of children, palms, waves, and dolphins, and the legend PARA LOS NIÑOS. More thick-necked men were spaced at intervals against the wall.

  Someone had spent some money.

  “Whose party is this?” she asked.

  “This woman I know, María, put it together. She’s got this charity thing she runs. They’re kicking off a fundraising campaign for the summer.” He shrugged a little. “It can be tough around here during the summers, after the tourists go home.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “You wanna go catch the sunset?”

  “Sure.”

  They went out to the balcony, where a few tables had been set up, found seats at one end. The table had a small centerpiece with a card on a metal stand that featured the same graphic as on the banner inside. PARA LOS NIÑOS. By now the sun lit the surrounding clouds in great streaks of pink and orange, purpling above like a deepening bruise.

  “I thought this was going to be a good one,” Daniel said with satisfaction. He lifted his glass—he’d also gotten white wine.

  She raised hers in return.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” he said.

  “It’s not exactly a chore. This seems like a nice party.”

  He shrugged. “Not really my kind of thing.”

  “So why come?” And why ask me? she thought.

  He gave her his half smile, his eyes holding steady on hers. “Rich people, private jets, you know, they go together. I’ve got some clients here. I have to show face sometimes.”

  Rich people and private jets might go together, but in her experience that didn’t mean the pilots came to their parties.

  You don’t know that for sure, she told herself. You don’t know how things work here.

  “So how long are you staying in town?” he asked, still watching her.

  “Maybe two weeks. Probably not longer than that. I can do some of the estate stuff from here, but I’m going to have to figure out the rest of it at some point.”

  Like where she was going to live. And how.

  Daniel let out a brief, quiet laugh. “Yeah, I hear that. I need to make some changes myself.”

  They finished their wine as the sun dipped into the ocean.

  He reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “Let me take care of business, and we’ll get out of here.”

  They went inside.

  The party had picked up some while they’d been on the balcony. Chatter, laughter, and the clatter of plates nearly drowned out the musicians.

  She tried the red wine this time. It tasted corked. Daniel had a beer.

  The two of them made their way through the main room, Daniel stopping now and then to greet people, men in short-sleeved shirts and linen slacks, women in silk and gold and Jimmy Choos, introducing her as “my friend Michelle, from Los Angeles.”

  She couldn’t keep track of the names, the professions. There were too many of them. Developers, city officials, charter-boat operators, real-estate investors, restaurateurs, gallery owners, introduced and quickly dispensed with.

  She felt on the edge of panic, as if she were in one of those dreams where she’d walked into a final exam unprepared. What would she tell Gary when she called him? That she’d been to a party, met a bunch of people, and couldn’t remember any of their names?

  If she called Gary.

  Call Gary or tell Daniel?

  Leave here and go someplace the two of them could talk, in private.

  Not Hacienda Carmen.

  They’d reached a tile fountain set in a cement nook on one side of the gallery. A woman standing there looked up and saw them.

  “Danny, how nice of you to come.”

  “María.” There was a peculiar weight to the way he said her name. “Michelle, this is the woman who put this all together. María Aguilar. María, this is my friend Michelle, from Los Angeles.”

  “Encantada.”

  They air-kissed, something that Michelle had thankfully had much opportunity to practice in Brentwood.

  María was in her fifties, at the point where the skin on her face had started to thin, conforming to the bones of her skull like soft, moist putty. She was still striking, her eyebrows slashes of dark ink, her eyes a luminous topaz.

  “This is a lovely party,” Michelle said.

  “Thank you. It is an important one. For the children. I’m glad to see that so many in Vallarta are willing to help, in spite of the difficult economic times.”

  María turned to Daniel. “I think Carlos is looking for you.” She glanced toward the balcony. “I see him over there. My husband,” she said to Michelle.

  Daniel lifted a hand, and a man standing beside one of the columns by the balcony returned the wave. Wide, fleshy face, wellcut silk shirt worn untucked.

  “Hey,” Daniel said. “Do you mind if I— This won’t take long.”

  “Don’t worry,” Michelle said. “Take your time.”

  After he left, María tilted her head and studied Michelle. Michelle thought she recognized the evaluation: Her clothes. Her shoes. Her purse. How she did her makeup.

  What kind of woman all this added up to.

  “So you’re a friend of Danny’s,” María said. “He hasn’t introduced many friends to us before.”

  What did that mean? Michelle wondered. “Friends” as in “dates”? “Oh. Really. I would have thought … He’s a social sort of person.”

  “Perhaps he likes to keep his business separate from his pleasure,” María said.

  Over María’s shoulder Michelle could see Carlos and Daniel by the balcony, Carlos saying something, laying a thick hand on Daniel’s shoulder.

  “How do you know Daniel?” Michelle asked.

  “He does some work for my family. Private charters. Transportation and … logistical arrangements.” María gave her another
measuring look. “But surely you know something about his business.”

  “Only a little,” Michelle said, meeting her eyes. “We haven’t known each other long.”

  “I see.” María smiled. “Are you staying in Vallarta for a while?”

  “Just for a few weeks.”

  “Probably for the best,” María said. “It is much too hot this time of year.”

  There was a restroom at the back of the hall, between two pillars. Michelle made her way there. She felt dizzy. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the encounter with María.

  Surely you know something about his business.

  Once inside the stall, she sat on the toilet for a minute or two, staring at the weathered wooden door. Her head throbbed.

  It’s just a party, she thought. Wasn’t it? All kinds of parties had bouncers, or bodyguards, or whatever they were. Daniel just wanted a date to come with him so they could go out afterward. Have some fun.

  Perhaps he likes to keep his business separate from his pleasure.

  Which one am I? Michelle wondered.

  Maybe I should take some notes, she thought. Write down some of the names. In case she needed something to tell Gary.

  She found a scrap of paper in her purse—the receipt for the purse, actually—and made a few quick notes. Tucked it into her wallet, behind her driver’s license.

  When she came out of the restroom, she didn’t see Daniel or Carlos. They must have gone somewhere more private to talk.

  She’d abandoned her wine; it hadn’t been very good. Maybe I’ll get another glass of white, she thought. Open as the space was, the heat was still oppressive. She was sweating—she could feel her dress sticking to her back and thighs.

  “You’re Danny’s friend.”

  It was a woman who spoke. American, from her accent. She leaned against the wall close to the bathroom, a margarita in hand.

  “I’m sorry?” Michelle said. “I don’t …”

  “I saw you two come in.” She extended her hand, in a way that suggested she almost expected Michelle to kiss it.

  Michelle didn’t. She clasped the hand briefly.

  “Michelle.”

  “I’m Emma.”

  In her late twenties, Michelle thought. She had a voluptuous look, almost as if she were imitating a 1940s pinup—round cheeks, thick black hair worn loose in spite of the heat, bright red lipstick. The neckline of her off-the-shoulder blouse gathered just above her breasts. The dark line of a tattoo peeked out above the right shoulder.

  “Enjoying the party?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes. It’s a … a nice setting.”

  Emma snorted. “I saw you talking to María. Is she a friend of yours?”

  “No. We just met.”

  “She’s a pretentious bitch, isn’t she?”

  Either she was drunk or she liked to play the provocateur. Looking at the way she leaned against the wall, one stiletto-clad foot pressed against it, Michelle thought maybe both.

  “Well, I don’t really know her,” she said.

  “I guess you have to give her credit—it’s a ballsy way to launder the family money. For the children!” Emma laughed.

  Michelle took a quick look around. That couple standing close by, the man staring at them—had he overheard?

  If María and her family actually were some kind of criminals, maybe it wasn’t a great idea to have this conversation surrounded by their friends and business associates.

  “Do you want to go out on the balcony?” Michelle asked. “Get some air?”

  Emma peeled herself off the wall. “If we can stop for drinks first.”

  It was still hot out on the balcony, but at least there were breezes. Michelle led Emma to a corner table, away from other guests.

  “So you’re seeing Danny,” Emma said. “That’s interesting.”

  “It is? I’m not sure why you say that.”

  Emma laughed. “It’s just something to say.”

  “He’s a nice guy,” Michelle said. “A lot of fun.”

  Emma laughed again. “Our Danny always brings the fun.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He works for my father,” Emma said, sipping her fresh margarita.

  “Oh.”

  Who’s your daddy? Michelle thought, but of course she wasn’t going to say that. “Private charters?” she asked.

  Emma laughed again. “That’s right,” she said. “He’s Daddy’s little bagman.”

  Great, Michelle thought. How am I supposed to respond to that?

  “I don’t know that much about Danny’s business,” she said. “We just started seeing each other.”

  “Really?” Emma leaned over the small table. “I could tell you a few things about Danny.” She fumbled with the clasp of her tiny beaded purse and got out a cell phone. “Why don’t you give me your number?”

  Michelle hesitated. Was this some kind of setup?

  “Well, I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town,” she said. “But maybe we can meet for drinks.”

  “I know some fun places,” Emma said with a sly smile. She slid the phone across the table. “Here. You can put the number in for me.”

  Michelle thought about entering a wrong number. Emma was trouble, she was pretty sure. But she was also information.

  She punched in her number.

  “You should call me,” Michelle said, handing the phone back. “That way I’ll have yours.”

  “Hey.”

  It was Daniel. He stood there frowning. “Emma, what are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Danny,” Emma said, straightening up. “I heard it was gonna be a good party.”

  “It’s not your kind of thing.” He turned to Michelle. “Sorry that took so long.”

  “That’s okay. It’s a nice night.”

  “It sure is,” Emma said, giggling. She hopped off the stool.

  “Emma, you should get home,” Daniel said.

  She stood toe to toe with him.

  “And if I don’t, what? You’ll call my father?”

  “You want me to?”

  Emma hesitated. “No need,” she finally said. “It’s boring here anyway.” She leaned over and kissed Michelle on the cheek. “I’ll see you.”

  “Sorry about that,” Daniel said after Emma tottered off.

  “That’s okay.” Michelle smiled at him. Keep it light. “She was kind of entertaining.”

  “She’s not somebody you want to get involved with.” Daniel stared off into the main room, where Emma had gone. “What did she tell you?”

  There was an edge to his voice, and she thought of the day he’d caught her in his apartment, his hand gripping her arm.

  She thought about lying. But she was afraid to risk it. She didn’t know what the relationships were between these people, what they might hide, what they might share.

  It’s easier to keep track of the truth than a lie.

  “Mmm, let’s see. That our hostess is pretentious, and she’s involved in some sketchy business activities.” She smiled, like it was all a joke.

  “Oh, man.” Now Daniel grinned back, and she wondered if his smile was any more sincere than hers. “Emma is such a drama queen.”

  “So it’s not true?”

  He shrugged. “You know, this isn’t the U.S. Some of the business practices here are kind of sketchy. Mordidas and all. That’s just how it is.”

  “She also said that you work for her father.”

  “Yeah. True.” He sighed a little. “He’s kind of high-maintenance, too.”

  He put down his beer.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  • • •

  They walked through the main room of the party, Daniel nodding now and then at people he knew, and when they were in sight of the door, he circled his arm around her waist, let his hand rest just above her hip. For a moment she leaned against him, her own hand sliding down the curve of his butt, and she thought about when she was in high school, walking through the quad with her
boyfriend, slipping her hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

  “I never bring anyone to these things,” he whispered in her ear. “Everyone’s looking at you. Wondering who you are.”

  She almost said something on the ride back. Opened her mouth at one point to ask the question, except she couldn’t decide what the question should even be.

  Maybe, what exactly does a bagman do anyway?

  As they crossed the river, heading back into Old Town, Daniel sighed through gritted teeth. “I’m going to have to call this early,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Something’s come up. Work.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated. “That’s … that’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  He fell silent.

  They’d almost reached Hacienda Carmen when he said, “I’m sorry how things worked out tonight.”

  “Me, too,” she said. And she meant it. She was sorry that the party had raised more questions about him than it answered. Sorry that she couldn’t trust him. Sorry that for whatever reason she had the distinct impression she was getting dumped.

  What the fuck was she going to say to Gary?

  “Do you want to have drinks Friday night?” he asked abruptly. “Maybe meet at El Tiburón?”

  It was stupid, the relief that washed over her like cool water.

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  [CHAPTER THIRTEEN]

  She’d turned off her phone.

  More than anything else, she’d needed to sleep. That was the best thing about having her night with Daniel end early—she could just brush her teeth, wash her face, change into her nightclothes, and go to sleep.

  She didn’t need Gary waking her up at the crack of dawn playing one of his games, and the iPhone needed to be recharged anyway. She wasn’t getting the battery life out of it that she should.

  She still woke up earlier than she would have liked. It was the donkeys again, and an old woman, one of the hotel guests, yelling out to someone that she’d take her coffee in the patio, should she bring up a Danish?

  Michelle sighed and lay in bed a while longer. Eventually she would have to get up. Do something.

  Turn on her phone. Call Gary.

  She didn’t know what she was going to say to him.