On the plane, David had also mentioned he preferred to stay somewhere low key, in the local neighborhoods. Since I had just spent two years being confined to a fancy high-rise hotel, I was open to new experiences.
Thirty minutes later, our taxi turned off the main road down into a long driveway littered with potholes. The sun had set hours ago, and there weren’t many street lights in the area. It seemed as if our driver was taking us to the middle of nowhere. David reached over and grabbed my hand, sensing my apprehension.
“You doing okay?” he asked, squeezing my fingers.
“Yeah, it's just so dark, and I have no clue where we are,” I replied, gazing out the window toward the inky sky.
When the taxi finally came to a stop, David let go of my hand. He hopped out of the car and went around the back as the driver exited and opened the trunk. I climbed out of the back seat and stood looking all around me, not that I could make out much more than the dense trees and dim lighting outside a few stand-alone structures. The sound of hundreds of buzzing insects filled the evening air.
“Listen to those cicadas,” David noted. After paying the driver, David carried our bags as I followed him along a weed-filled walkway. Thick blades of grass poked at my toes, and I wished I hadn’t worn sandals on the flight. I should have changed my shoes.
“Welcome to Villa Manuela,” a voice said. It belonged to a stocky man who appeared from the ferns.
“Miguel,” David announced. “How have you been?”
They shook hands, and then Miguel reached out beside him. “Mi amigo, let me help you with your bags.”
“Thank you, my friend,” David said, handing him my luggage while keeping his duffle bag strapped to his shoulder.
We followed Miguel down a paved stone walkway with lantern lights lining the path. When we reached a small building, we stood under a bright spotlight above the door. Slipping his hand inside his pocket, Miguel withdrew two keys, each one attached to a small piece of wood with a number painted on it.
“Room number tres y cuatro,” he said, dropping a key in each of our hands. “The rooms, they juntos—they join together, but you can lock the door between them.” I glanced down to see a red number three key in my palm. Girl number three, how fitting? I giggled silently to myself.
David gazed over at me, and for a moment, I thought I had laughed out loud. I was exhausted and needed sleep. I hadn’t slept much the night before because I stayed up packing, trying to decide what to take. After a long day of flying and then landing in a strange country, I was ready to fall into bed.
“Breakfast is served between siete y nueve. I wish you both a good night’s sleep. See you, mañana, in the morning. Enjoy your stay, mi amigos.” Nodding at me and then David, Miguel turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.
I unlocked the door and entered the room, running my fingers along the wall, searching for a light switch. As the room lit up, I was greeted with a burst of color. The high ceiling gave way to exposed beams painted bright yellow. A wicker bed with matching furniture was also painted yellow. The chair cushions had a green floral design, and the terra-cotta tiled floor was warm and inviting. Tropical paintings graced the walls, some featuring parrots, others with hummingbirds and flowers. David soon entered behind me.
“You going to be okay in here alone?” he asked, setting my luggage at the foot of the bed.
“I'll be fine. This room is super cute, very colorful. I like it.” Smiling, I glided over to a wall where long yellow curtains were hung, touching the floor. Peeking behind them, I saw a huge window. I was eager to see what the view would be in the morning.
“Should I lock the adjoining door or keep it open?”
“Closed but unlocked, please.” Unzipping my luggage, I unpacked a few items.
“Okay, get some rest and holler if you need me. See you in the morning for breakfast.” As he lingered for a moment unsure of approaching me for either a hug or a kiss goodnight, I glanced over at him.
“Good night,” I waved. “Don’t let the cicadas bite.”
“They don’t,” he said, “and neither do I.” Shaking his head, he closed the door behind him.
After placing my toiletries in the bathroom, I changed into my nightshirt and collapsed into bed. My stomach started growling, and I couldn’t wait for breakfast in the morning.
As I started to doze off, I heard something by the door. Not a knock, but a faint scratching sound, a long moment of silence, and then scratching again. Throwing back the covers, my bare feet hitting the tiled floor, I slowly padded over to the adjoining door. When I leaned my ear against the thick slab of wood, I heard nothing.
As I made my way back to bed, the scratching sound began again. I soon realized it was coming from the front door, and my heart rate sped up a bit. I thought about waking David but figured he was off in dreamland.
I slowly made my way over to the front door, placing my hand above the handle, and that's when I heard it—a tiny meow. Cracking open the door, a brown tabby kitty came rushing through and hopped onto the bed. I immediately locked the door behind me and went over to the cat.
“Hello, sweet boy.” He came up to me, head butting my arm. I checked him over, making sure he wasn't hurt or injured. Other than being on the skinny side, he appeared to be okay.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you were part of the amenities.” He meowed at me as if to say hello and began to purr, rubbing up against me.
I crawled back into bed, laying my head on the pillow. The cat curled up next to me in the crook of my arm, and we both drifted off to sleep.
8
David
When I open my eyes, it’s just after seven. Springing out of bed, I am ready to relax and enjoy a week with Val. I wander over to the window, throw back the curtains, and gaze at the lush green mountains in the distance. It’s beautiful outside, the sun is shining, and it’s a glorious day to be alive.
As I deep breathe through my ten-minute morning yoga routine, I visualize our day— breakfast, a leisurely walk around the grounds, and maybe an early dinner in town.
When I approach the adjoining door to Val’s room, I hear the water running. She’s up and at ‘em—already in the shower. That’s my girl. After throwing on a T-shirt and cargo shorts, I slide my feet into a pair of flip-flops and head out the door.
I make my way down the pathway through a tropical garden oasis filled with an array of fragrant orchids. When I reach the outdoor seating area, I see the owner behind the bar. With her thick black hair tied back in a ponytail, she’s wearing her signature floral apron over her dress. She has a bowl of oranges in front of her and is making freshly squeezed juice for the guests.
“Hola, Manuela,” I wave. “¿Como estás?”
“Daveed!” she exclaims, her eyes smiling. “Estoy bien, ¿y tú?”
“Excelente!” I reply. Sneaking behind the bar, I give her a hug.
“¿Qué te gustaría?” she asks, what would I like?
“Dos cafés, por favor,” I reply, taking a seat on a bright green bar stool.
“¿Dos?” she questions, a puzzled expression crossing her face. “Two?”
“Para mi amiga.” For my friend, I say.
“Sí, sí, la mujer,” she winks.
Yes, the woman.
With two hot coffees in hand-painted cups, I stroll back toward my room. As I turn the corner, from a distance, I can see Val through the window. Slowing my pace, I watch as she gets dressed, seemingly not knowing her room faces the garden area. I inch my way closer almost to her door when she turns and looks straight out the window. Her jaw drops as she crosses her arms over her bra-covered chest and ducks from view.
I take a seat on one of the wicker chairs outside her room. Two minutes later, she opens the door, fully dressed, her face slightly flushed.
“Coffee,” I say, passing a cup to her.
“I didn't know room service was included.” Taking the cup from my hands, she sits down on t
he chair next to me. “This place looks completely different in the daytime. And I had no idea my window faced a public area.”
“Now, you do.” Raising the cup to my lips, I take a long sip, savoring the taste.
“This is excellent coffee. I’ll have to buy some to take home.”
“So, what would you like to do today?”
“Oh, I don't know, I thought you had to work?”
“Not today. We’re only staying here another night before we fly to a different location.”
“Okay, whatever you say. This whole trip slash vacation is your deal. I’m just tagging along for the ride.”
Whatever I say is right. She sure is learning quickly. I like that. This obedience is something I could definitely get used to.
At breakfast, she orders an omelette con queso, and I have my favorite dish, huevos rancheros. Between bites, we make small talk until I purposely direct the conversation to discuss news and current events. It’s my way of gauging her knowledge and interest in what’s happening in the world. If a woman can carry a conversation with me and complete more than two sentences, it tells me I have found someone I can work with.
Manuela comes over to top off our coffees with a cat trailing behind her.
“Here kitty, kitty,” Val says in a high-pitched voice. She leans over in her chair to pet the furry little creature. “He slept with me last night.”
“Who did? The cat?” A twinge of jealousy stirs inside me.
“Yeah, it was around midnight when I heard a scratching at the door. At first, I didn't know what it was, and then I heard a meow. As soon as I opened the door, he ran inside as if he owned the place. He hopped up onto the bed and slept right beside me.”
“You shouldn’t be opening the door at night,” I say, my voice stern. “Not here or anywhere else, for that matter, but especially not here,” I emphasize. Holding her gaze, I wait for a reply.
“Sorry, but he wanted to come in.” She continues to pet him, stroking his back. “Besides, who could say no to this cute little guy?” She flashes me a set of puppy dog eyes.
“Next time, it might not be a cute little guy. It might be a big, mean old man holding a machete.” Raising my arm, I pretend to hold a long knife in my hand and slash the air. She stares at me with fear in her eyes. “Then what would you have done?” I ask, holding her gaze.
Silence. Crickets. She doesn’t know what to say.
“I'm sorry,” she finally mutters, glancing down at the feline. “I guess I cave when it comes to animals, especially cats.”
Please don't tell me she’s one of those crazy cat ladies. I’m allergic to them both: cats and crazy women.
After breakfast, we walk the grounds, not a word out of Val's mouth as she takes in the sights. I imagine she’s still upset because I semi-scolded her for being so naïve about her midnight visitor. Did she momentarily forget she’s in a foreign country?
I force myself to give her a pass; she clearly didn't know any better. At least now, I know one of her weaknesses—cute fuzzy animals. I wonder if she’s the type to dress them up in absurd little outfits. You see it everywhere in LA. Mini-Poodles and Pomeranians dressed in pink tutus with their toenails painted to match. If they're not being toted around in some overpriced designer bag, they're being pushed in a baby stroller. Do they have any idea how ridiculous they look? There are children in this world who don't have anywhere near the wardrobes those spoiled doggies possess. Women down here in this country carry their children in their arms. They don't have the luxury of a stroller.
Most people don't know how good they have it until they travel outside their comfort zone. Sadly, many turn a blind eye, unable to face the harsh realities of the real world. Some are too caught up with the meaningless stuff being shoved in their faces daily. ‘Buy this,’ ‘buy that’… it’s nothing but a constant stream of advertising to spend, spend, spend. For what? To go broke? To max out their credit cards trying to keep up with the latest trends.
It doesn't make an ounce of sense to me. Not when there are hundreds and thousands of people in dire need of the very basics, food, clothing, and shelter.
Traveling has opened my eyes to many things. It has opened my eyes to the real world, the raw, untouched, and untold world where many people live with next to nothing. Every day they rise with smiles on their faces, attend to the tasks at hand, work hard to make a dollar, and repeat the sequence the next day for their entire lives.
As I gaze over at Val, she’s glistening. I watch as she wipes dots of perspiration from her forehead. It is eighty-nine degrees today with a hundred percent humidity. It’s different from the dry desert heat she's used to. She tugs at the front of her T-shirt, pulling it away from her chest as it sticks to her skin.
“Maybe you should’ve worn a sundress,” I suggest. “You might have been cooler.”
“Yeah, I know. I need to iron a few things, but there’s no iron in the room.”
“What do you say we stop at the bar before we head back to the room? Manuela makes a tasty batido.”
“What’s a batido?”
“A fruit smoothie with milk.”
“Sounds good right about now.”
As we sit sipping our smoothies, I study Val's face. She looks different without all the heavy makeup she usually wears. With her lips glossed a shade of coral, and her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, she looks much younger.
“What are you staring at?” She fidgets uncomfortably.
“You,” I reply, reaching for her drink. Sliding it in front of me, I take a long sip from the straw. Her forehead wrinkles as she narrows her eyes.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
“You just drank from my straw.”
“Are you afraid I'll catch something?”
“No.” She giggles, rolling her eyes. “There’s nothing to catch from me.”
“Then why the worried look? I don't have cooties; I just wanted a little taste.” I slide the drink back toward her. “I should have ordered the pineapple instead of the papaya. I like yours better.”
I lean back and watch as a shiny violet hummingbird hovers near a brilliant red heliconia. Poking its long needle-like beak into the flower, it flutters its wings, drinking and swallowing the sweet nectar. I glance over at Val and see that she’s looking at the bird as well.
As I turn my head back to the tiny bird, it flies away as another appears. This one colored bright blue and green zooms in and drinks from the same flower. The tiny little hummingbirds aren't afraid to share, and I wonder for a moment if Val gets the message. It's okay to share things with someone you love. It's called trust. You need to have faith in each other.
Could Val be someone I love? Someone I can trust? Someone to have faith in?
Only time will tell…
9
Valerie
“So, what did you want to be when you grew up?” David asked, over our second glass of sangria. “Surely it wasn't a Vegas cocktail waitress.”
“No, definitely not,” I said, licking the sweet wine from my lips. “Cheers to me losing my job,” I raised the glass in front of me.
“Cheers!” he replied. “You’ve been freed from a life of polyester.”
We laughed as we clinked glasses over a flickering candle between us.
“Seriously, what did you dream about when you were young? How did you picture your life?”
“Well,” taking another sip, I swallowed. “I dreamed about writing children's books… books that would include animals.”
“That makes sense, seeing how you bonded with Mr. Tiger kitty last night.”
“And I’d love to travel the world.”
“Where would you start?”
“Oh, maybe a train ride through Europe or take an African safari.”
“Adventurous, I like that in a woman.”
“Speaking of women, care to share a little bit about your past, your marriages?”
“Not particularly,” he said, clearing his throat.
>
The waitress appeared at the table with our dinner at just the right moment. David had ordered the olla de carne and I, the ceviche with a side of patacones.
“I guess I’m just curious why they didn't work out,” I uttered. Reaching into the dish, I grabbed a patacon and munched on it.
“One word,” he replied, chewing a piece of beef, “jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
“I don't know. I think they lacked confidence.”
“Both of them? I find that kind of hard to believe… unless you have a certain type.”
“I don't really have a type. Perhaps they couldn't handle a man like me.”
“What do you mean?” I seized another patacon. “A man like what?”
“I'm outgoing, adventurous. I like to experience new things. And I travel a great deal for work.”
“And they couldn't handle that?”
“Apparently not, sometimes my actions would be mistaken for flirting. Not on my part, mind you, but there were times when my actions were misconstrued.”
“Misconstrued?”
“Yes, women would hit on me when I was just being friendly.”
“Hmm… you know what they say—it takes two to tango.”
“And I only tango with one woman at a time.”
Reaching for the glass pitcher of sangria, he poured us another round, and then lowered his head, taking bite after bite of his food.
“You know, I really don't want to talk about my past. The past is the past and that’s where it belongs. I want to focus on the here and now, the present moment, with you. It’s all we have.”
“Okay, but how are we supposed to get to know each other?”
“I get it. You women need to know everything about everything, all the tiny details. It’s part of your DNA.”
The Glass House Page 4
