“Where did we park?” he asked as they headed to the car. “I thought it was just a little ways down this road, but I don’t see my car.”
“Yeah, it is down this street. We probably can’t see it.” She looked down at her toes, which were covered in a fine layer of dust.
“I’m positive I parked next to that truck.” His voice sounded alarmed.
When she glanced at the truck she became worried as well. “I thought you parked there too. But maybe there are two red trucks.”
“Two red trucks with Hawaii stickers on the back?”
They both gazed at the empty spot where his Suburban had been, the pile of shattered glass that lay next to what should’ve been the driver’s side of the car. “My car is gone,” he said, stunned.
She had no idea what to say. It was obvious by the glass that someone had busted a window and taken off with his SUV. “Bill, I feel terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Why? It’s not your fault.” He released a stunned chuckle. “I can’t believe my damn car was stolen in broad daylight.”
“Please tell me you got Mexican insurance.”
“Of course.” He shook his head. “All your stuff is in there, though.”
“Don’t worry about my stuff,” she said, and meant it. “It’s all replaceable, and at least I’ve got my purse with my cell phone and money.”
He shook his head. “Only in Mexico. Only in flipping Mexico. I swear.” He revealed a weak smile, and his cheeks looked rosy. He seemed embarrassed, but it wasn’t his fault. She tried to think of ways to make him feel better. “Well, we’ve gotta find a ride back,” he said.
“Maybe we can call the girls at the hotel and they can grab us on the way out,” she suggested.
She pulled out her cell phone, and then remembered that she had not signed up for an international plan. “Do you have your phone?”
“It’s charging in my car right now.”
“All right,” she said calmly. “Let’s find a pay phone.”
They spent a solid twenty minutes trying to figure out how to use the pay phone. Once they were finally connected to the hotel she spent another ten minutes trying to communicate with the same woman who had explained the phone bill. Eventually, she learned that the girls had checked out.
“Crap,” she muttered. “They’re gone.”
“No worries,” he said. “We’re going to get out of here one way or another. I’ll call one of my buddies at home. Someone will come get us.”
She remembered her parents, who were probably waiting by the window with Katie for her safe return. “I should call my parents,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll come get us, and besides, they’re going to start worrying if I don’t come pick up my dog soon.”
“All right.” He moved to the next pay phone. “I’ll try making some calls too.”
Dialing international took even more effort than calling locally. After three attempts and several chats with a Spanish operator she finally got through—to her parents’ machine.
“Mom. Dad. It’s Meg. I’m in Mexico and I’m okay. We stopped in Puerto Nuevo for lobster and my ride’s car was stolen. I won’t be back as early as I had planned and I was hoping you guys might be able to come pick us up. But my cell phone doesn’t work down here and I don’t know how you’re going to be able to get ahold of me, so I’ll have to call you back later. Don’t worry, though. Everything is okay. Give Katie a kiss for me, and talk to you soon.”
Bill was leaving a message as well when she hung up. She called her sister, and her best friend and was about to attempt her parents again when she realized she was out of change. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I just feel like I got you stranded here. It was my idea to stop for lobster.”
“Look, it’s not your fault. How could you have known this was going to happen? You couldn’t. And, hey, it’s an exciting story to tell our friends. It’s not every day your car gets stolen in Mexico.”
He laughed. “Well, let’s just give it a rest and go have a margarita somewhere. I’m not driving, so at least I can drink now,” he said.
She laughed. “That’s right. At least you can drink.” For some reason she wasn’t panicked or wanting to call every single person she could possibly think of to come rescue them. Something about his presence made her feel as if everything was going to be okay.
She couldn’t wait to tell Mason this story. Stranded in Mexico. A stolen car. She’d heard about stolen cars in Mexico, especially SUVs. They were a hot commodity, because bigger cars made it easier to smuggle people across the border.
They walked around Puerto Nuevo and were drawn to a bar with the festive sound of brass instruments. It was warm inside and the first thing she noticed was a quartet of mariachi singers. They wore cowboy boots and sombreros, and ruffled shirts with jackets that matched their Spanish-styled pants.
“I’m really sorry about your car,” she said after they ordered drinks.
“It’s okay. The car is insured. I’m more upset about my surfboard. I’ve traveled around the world with it and I can’t ever replace that.”
She wished she could think of something poignant and wise to say, but she knew that losing his surfboard was the same as Slash losing his guitar. It was irreplaceable. “I wish there was some way to get all your stuff back,” she said.
“It’s just stuff.” He shrugged. “It could be worse. Now it gives me an excuse to travel around the world again. I’ll have to break my next one in.”
One drink turned into two and then three and soon they were requesting songs from the band.
“Guantanamera,” she said, feeling buzzed.
Maybe it was the alcohol, but she thought the mariachi singers were the best she’d ever heard. “I feel like dancing,” she said as they played her song.
“Sounds great.” They stood up. Bill turned to one of the mariachi singers and pointed to his pocket. “For the señorita,” he said.
The singer nodded and Bill pulled two maracas from the musician’s pocket. He handed them to Meg.
“You keep one!” she shouted over the music, as she pulled one from his hand.
She shook the instrument as she danced, not caring if she was completely out of sync with the band. She was having a blast shaking her maraca. They danced to three more songs until someone in the restaurant requested “Bésame Mucho.”
It was a slow song and she was forced to abandon her maraca. She had no idea what the singer was saying but his voice was passionate and beautiful and she wondered if they sold CDs. She thought of Mason and wished he were here. She watched as couples swayed together around the bar.
“Pretty song, isn’t it?” Bill said as he held out his hand. “You want to dance?”
When she moved close to him she caught a whiff of campfire. The top of her head came up to his chest and the side of his shirt felt soft against her cheek. When the song ended, neither one of them pulled away from the other.
“Cielito Lindo,” he said to the band. They continued with another beautiful song. One she had never heard. If these three old mariachis sold their music she would’ve definitely bought it, because she was quite sure she would never hear music like this again. Their voices were strong and thick with longing. They sang in perfect harmony. She could feel the rise and fall of Bill’s chest beneath her face. They kept moving after the song ended.
“I should try calling my parents again,” she said. “It’s getting late and I’d hate for them to have to drive all the way down here in the middle of the night.”
The sun was setting and a soft red glow had settled over the town. On the way back to the phones they passed all kinds of vendors. They stopped to look at some silver jewelry. She pulled a ring with a blue stone from the cart. She had tiny hands and it was rare that she found rings in her size.
“Is this real?” she asked the squat little man behind the stand.
“Yes. One hunred pear cent real silver, señorita.
For you, I give you nice price.”
“How much?” she asked.
“For that one. Twenty dollar.”
“Twenty dollars?” She pulled it off. “No, thank you.”
“How much you willing to pay?”
“Five.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Five? These is real silver. Can’t do it.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Ten dollar.”
“Seven.”
“Seven dollar? This is the best silver you will find. You want to pay seven dollar for these?”
“How ’bout two for fourteen?” Bill’s voice came over her shoulder. “I’ll get one too.” He rolled a plain silver band with a black line etched through the middle of it into the palm of his hand.
“Deal,” the man said.
Bill handed the guy a twenty.
Meg handed Bill fourteen dollars. “You bought lunch. Please let me buy these.”
Don’t worry about it,” he said as he collected his change. “It’s a souvenir on me.” She shoved the money in his pocket.
When she called her parents again there was no answer. Bill tried a few more friends and she tried a couple people as well. The funny thing was she didn’t feel that frustrated, and when Bill suggested looking for fish tacos she agreed.
They had no luck reaching anyone after dinner, and she really began to feel stranded when she realized they might not find a ride home that night. Except for her wallet and useless cell phone she had no possessions. They had no transportation, and they were in a foreign country. However, for some reason she kind of liked the excitement, and thought of how uninteresting the rest of her day - would’ve been if Bill’s car hadn’t been stolen. Returning to her - everyday life, her furniture that she’d looked at every day for five years, the computer she sat in front of for eight hours a day. She probably would’ve ended up eating from a can of tuna in her pantry rather than dining on lobster.
“Listen, why don’t we grab a hotel?” he suggested. “We can crash. I can shower and no one will have to drive down here in the dark.”
They checked into a run-down motel. It was a busy weekend and their options were limited. They could share a room with a king-size bed, or they could each get their own room. She wasn’t concerned about the cost. She feared more for her own safety. Staying in a decrepit motel room in Mexico was a little unsettling, especially after the crime that had occurred earlier that day. Bill looked at her. “Whatever you want to do,” he said. “I’ll try not to snore.”
“I promise I’ll stay on my side of the bed and I won’t hog the covers,” she said. She wanted to make it clear that her decision to share a room with him didn’t mean that she wanted him groping her in the middle of the night for some action. But he didn’t seem like the type of guy who would take advantage of the situation. She used a pay phone at the motel to call her parents again.
“Mom!” she said when she heard her mother’s voice.
“Megan! What’s going on? Where are you?”
“I’m still in Mexico.” She explained their situation. Naturally, her mother had a million questions. They set a time for her parents to pick them up the following morning before she said good-bye.
Their room was clean enough, but old. The plain blue blanket on the bed looked as if it had been around for seven decades and the paint was peeling from the walls.
“Do you mind if I hop in the shower?” he asked. “I haven’t bathed in three days and the smell of campfire is starting to get a little stale.”
“Not a problem.”
The television in their room got two stations. One featured what appeared to be a Mexican Justin Timberlake, dancing in an American Idol type of setting to lively Spanish pop. What made the show so interesting was that there was a giant white Easter bunny character clapping on the side of the stage and an MC who looked like a cross between Liberace and Rosie O’Donnell. Meg was pretty sure it was a man.
The other channel played a telenovela, the type of show where half of the female cast looked like American supermodels, only they all spoke rapid, fluent Spanish. Their behavior was so engaging, their looks so stunning, that Meg found herself sucked in even though she had no idea what the hell was going on.
She could hear the sound of water running and for a moment wondered what Bill looked like without his clothes on. She couldn’t help it. He was a cute guy. Even though her heart was full of Mason, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Bill, to lie next to him in bed all night. Was he a good kisser? She bet he liked to spoon.
For God’s sake, she hadn’t expected him to come out of the bathroom wet and wearing only his shorts! His chest was far more toned than she had thought and he was tan, lusciously bronzed, and a little red on his shoulders. She couldn’t believe he didn’t have a girlfriend. He was a blast to be around, and the rare breed of male who had no idea how cute he was.
“So what do you feel like doing?” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I really would like to take a shower too.”
“I was thinking about walking to a liquor store and grabbing some Coronas. Maybe I’ll head over there while you’re showering.”
She took a hot shower and wished she had her makeup bag and blow-dryer with her. She felt a need to look her best in front of him, not because she wanted him to be attracted to her. Well, yes, she did. For reasons she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was her ego. Maybe she was attracted to him. Either way it didn’t matter. As soon as she returned to San Diego she was booking a flight to San Francisco; she was pretty much back together with Mason. Bill was a hottie, and she didn’t want to feel like a pale frizzy-haired troll in his presence.
She had no choice but to let her hair air dry and make do with what she had as far as makeup went. She found a nearly empty tube of concealer in the depths of her purse. There was gum stuck to the tube, and the actual makeup had an interesting odor, but she stretched the contents thinly under her eyes and over a few zits she’d been picking at all weekend. She also found a tiny stick of lip liner. It was down to the last millimeter of makeup and when she rubbed the pencil over her lips the wood felt scratchy and she worried about splinters. The end result wasn’t bad and her lips actually looked pretty red from pressing the hell out of them with the pencil. She watched a few more minutes of Spanish soap opera before he returned wearing a poncho.
“I see you bought some new clothes while you were away,” she said.
“Yeah, and a deck of cards too.”
“Cool. What do you feel like playing?”
“I was thinking poker, but we’ll have to come up with something to use as chips. I bought some peanuts. Maybe we can use the shells.”
They played poker on the bed, peanut shells leaving crumbs all over the comforter. She didn’t care about the shells, because she planned to remove the blankets before they went to bed anyway.
He was good, but she was better and if they’d been playing for money she’d have been able to afford new shoes. He was a risky player and liked to throw in everything just so he could see what kind of hand she had. It made the game more fun that way.
Eventually they were too tired to play. They propped themselves against pillows and watched a variety show with a bunch of Mexican line dancers dressed as Little Bo Peep performing to music rich with accordions. She eventually fell asleep.
She slept deep and hard and when she woke the television was turned off and the room was dark. She had no idea what time it was, but guessed three or four in the morning. The room was cold and she was tempted to pull the gross hotel blanket up to her waist.
Bill stirred and when he rolled over she felt his calves brush against her own. It had been ages since she’d felt a rough leg touch hers. She hadn’t even wanted to touch another man since she’d started missing Mason.
She had to pee but didn’t want to get up. She was comfortable and exhausted and didn’t want to wake Bill. She was completely stunned when he pulled her into his arms, released a dee
p sigh and spooned against her. She didn’t push him away, partially because the sound of his ragged breath behind her indicated that he was asleep and that he wasn’t trying to get some action, and partially because he felt so warm. She wondered if he was so deep in slumber that he’d forgotten who she was. Perhaps he’d reached out for her, assuming she was someone else. Someone he felt comfortable with, and spooned with often.
She lay there for a moment, taking in the scent of his hair and his skin. She felt warm and eventually fell back to sleep. They woke again in the wee hours of the morning and he groggily rolled back to his side of the bed, as if they were a couple who had been dating for several years. She slept for another hour and when she woke that final time, their feet were touching.
He yawned and turned to her, his warm feet still resting on hers. He smiled. “We better get up. Your parents are going to be here soon.”
When Meg returned home there were flowers waiting on her doorstep. Her heart leapt as she pulled out the card.
Looking forward to seeing you in a couple weeks. Your flight has been taken care of. Love, Mason.
CHAPTER FIVE
The first thing she noticed when she pulled up to Claire’s Uncle Albert’s for the couple’s shower was the vintage black T-bird convertible parked in front of the house. She admired people who owned vintage cars, because she’d always wanted one for herself. However, every time she’d been on the verge of purchasing one her parents talked her into something more sensible, like the trustworthy Toyota Corolla she currently drove. She pulled up next to the T-bird and saw Bill getting out from the driver’s side.
“Is this your gift to the bride and groom?” she asked.
He laughed. “Yep. Bought it yesterday.”
“Seriously, is this yours?”
“It is.”
“It’s gorgeous. What made you decide to get this?”
“It’s easy to throw my surfboard in when the top is down.”
Catch of the Day Page 28
