“All very politically correct.” It sounded almost like Peter sneered but it was too dark to check.
One of the black taxis common around Vistaria pulled up in front of them, then, and the back door opened. Minnie almost fell out of the back seat, laughing. With her hand on the door she righted herself and stood up, pushing her clingy jersey dress down from around her hips to hang properly. It didn’t seem to bother her that she stood perfectly spot-lit by Peter’s headlights. A long trouser-encased leg pushed out of the taxi beside her, then Duardo uncurled himself from the back seat. He kept his head bent down, talking to the driver volubly, waving his hand for emphasis.
“That’s Minnie, isn’t it?” Peter said quietly.
“Yes.”
Minnie turned to face Duardo, both of them standing in the angle between the open door and the side of the taxi. Duardo caught her face in his hands and kissed her hard and passionately as her arms curled around his neck. He grasped her thigh, drawing her leg up against his hip. The dress rode up her leg, revealing most of her thigh and the start of her bare buttock. At the same time his lips moved down her throat to the top of her breasts, revealed by the scoop neck of the dress. The hand on her leg slid around the curve of thigh to cup her buttock, his sunburned, olive fingers a sharp contrast to her pale white flesh.
Peter made a hissing sound between his teeth. “Jesus, Minnie,” he murmured. “Who is that guy, anyway?” he demanded.
“He’s okay,” Calli said quickly. “He’s a nice guy.”
“I bet.”
The pair kissed again, lingering, and Calli didn’t want to climb from the car and alert them to witnesses. She cleared her throat, unsure what to do except wait out their passionate goodbye.
The taxi driver was not so patient. He tooted his horn and Minnie pulled her mouth from Duardo’s and appeared to chuckle. Duardo spoke, gave her another quick kiss, and let her go. She stepped back and let him get back into the taxi and waved as it pulled away.
Calli got out of the car thankfully and shut the door. Minnie turned to smile at her as Peter pulled away. Calli didn’t wave.
“You look like you’ve been eating lemons,” Minnie said.
“I’m very tired,” Calli confessed.
“You’re also damned early and you don’t look like you have had a good time.”
“I didn’t,” she confessed. “It was wretched.”
“Ah. Then Peter’s the jerk I always thought he would be.” Minnie shrugged and turned towards the apartment.
“You had a good time, though, I can tell.”
“Mmm.”
“Where did you go?”
Minnie laughed a little. “We planned to go to a night club with the others, but we never got there. We found a little bistro and then afterwards, well....” She gave a gusty sigh and ran her hand through her hair.
“I assume the goodbye kiss we just watched was a mild rendition of the rest of the evening, then,” Calli said.
“Fuckin’ A,” Minnie said and laughed as she unlocked the front door and pushed it aside. “I gotta get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m not surprised,” Calli murmured.
* * * * *
Calli’s prediction about her own sleep proved correct. It was restless, shot through with dreams either erotic or downright disturbing—charged with a sense of impending doom. In the lucid moments of wakefulness between bouts of nightmares, she told herself that obviously even her subconscious understood the danger of entertaining even in her imagination any sort of relationship with Nicolás Escobedo.
Towards morning, exhausted, she dropped into a dreamless, heavy sleep. When she woke feeling only slightly refreshed, her exhaustion cemented her intention to avoid any more contact with him.
Then she saw the white lily lying on the untouched pillow beside hers and her blood turned to ice water.
Chapter Six
“Another party?” Calli said, wrinkling her nose.
“No, this one’s a real party,” Minnie explained, sliding onto the table top next to Calli’s coffee and breakfast plate. “Not like that stuffy thing for the general. Duardo says proper Vistarian parties are not even like American parties—”
“How would he know what an American party is like?”
“They have TV here.” Minnie rolled her eyes. “Half the shows they get here are American. Anyway, it’s today. Sunday.”
“Tonight?”
“No, today. Soon.”
“Now?” Calli rubbed her temple. “Hell, they’ve just finished with Fiesta...isn’t that enough?”
“Are you always this grumpy on Sundays?” Minnie asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head to one side.
“When I’m short on sleep I am,” Calli muttered.
“You slept in late yesterday and you came home disgustingly early on Friday night. Last night you went to bed early again and it’s now about nine. That’s gotta be enough sleep for anyone.”
“It would, if I actually
slept
.” She thought again of the white lily in the vase on her bedside table. She hadn’t been able to throw it away, even though its very presence made her deeply uneasy. That discomfort had robbed her of sleep last night and when she had managed to doze, lurid dreams of men stealing into the house had woken her.
“Well, if you’re not sleeping anyway, don’t bother trying. Come to the party.”
Calli wrinkled her nose again. “I haven’t got the energy,” she confessed. “All that dressing up—”
“You can wear jeans,” Minnie said instantly. “Come on, Calli. Please.”
“Why do I have to go?”
“Because I won’t go without you and I want to see Duardo. He’s going back home tonight.”
“He doesn’t live in the city?”
“God, no. He lives up in Pascuallita. That’s where he’s posted, at the base there.”
All the way from Pascuallita...
She recalled Nick’s words when he had been shaking Duardo’s hand.
“Okay,” Calli said, understanding.
“Cool. They’re picking us up at ten,” Minnie said, sliding off the table and heading for her room. “I’m going to get dressed.”
“No, wait—” Calli began, but the bedroom door had already closed.
With a sigh, she got up from the table and went to change.
* * * * *
A little less than an hour later, they heard a horn beep and went outside to find Duardo standing on the back of a beat-up, rusty and faded truck with an enormous engine cowling.
“Hell, it looks like Ford’s first model,” Calli muttered.
“Good morning, ladies!” Duardo waved them over. He wore jeans and a white shirt, which contrasted well with his tanned skin.
Minnie ran over to the back of the truck and Calli followed more slowly. The high walls of timber planking provided back support for seven more people sitting on the floor of the truck. One of the women, Elvira, Calli recognized from the general’s party. Elvira looked very much younger now in her pretty printed floral skirt and white cotton sweater with her hair down. Calli nodded to her. “
Hola
,” she murmured. She realized she knew all but two of the soldiers, too.
Duardo bent over and held out his hand. “Put your foot there and I will lift you up,” he told Minnie, pointing to the edge of the platform.
Minnie looked down at her tight, mid-thigh length denim skirt. “I’m not hitching my leg up there,” she said firmly, shaking her head. The others in the truck laughed. Her expression spoke clearly enough even if they didn’t follow the English.
Duardo grinned. “No problem,” he said. He twisted a little and said something quickly. Two other men got to their feet and moved to the edge of the truck bed, while Duardo jumped to the ground. He grasped Minnie’s waist in both hands. “Lift your arms up,” he instructed.
She lifted her arms and the two men took an arm each. Then, with apparently no effort, Duardo lifted her straight up in the air, high enough for her to take a decorous step up onto the platform.
Duardo motioned Calli towards him.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I can manage this.” She stepped up to the truck bed and waved the two men away. They stepped back, grinning, and she could sense Duardo hovering behind her. But long legs and stretch jeans gave her an advantage. She tucked her knee to her chest and planted her sandaled foot on the wooden flooring. It wasn’t even much of a stretch, especially after years of flexibility training for her karate. Pausing for a moment to balance herself with a hand on either side, she flexed her leg, pouring power into it. Straightening the leg, she raised herself up onto the floor. She ended up standing on the edge.
Duardo clapped and the men gave little whistles of appreciation, laughing and making comments. “Bravo!” she heard and realized that these men, all soldiers, would understand the physical agility and strength she had just displayed. Smiling, she gave a little curtsey and sat in the vacant space they made for her, between Minnie and a man in a black AC/DC tee-shirt. He smiled at her, gave her a thumbs up. She smiled back.
Duardo settled down beside Minnie at the edge of the flat bed. They sat on the driver’s side, so he leaned around the end and patted the side of the truck. “
Vayamos
!”
The truck jerked into gear and with a belching roar, slowly moved off up the road.
Duardo leaned around Minnie and indicated the man on Calli’s left. “This is Pietro,” he said.
“
Sí
,” Pietro agreed with a grin.
“Hi Pietro.”
Duardo indicated the others in the truck and they, in turn, all waved or said hello in English or Spanish, including Elvira, who attempted a shaky, thick ‘how are you?’ in English. In civilian clothes, without rank or title, they seemed very young, amiable people.
They made their way out of the city, climbing up and down foothills, moving onto a poorly maintained ribbon of tarmac with the thick vegetation that covered the island creeping close to the verge. Traffic kept the road clear of growth, but trees leaned in overhead, struggling for light at the edges of the canopy. The road became a shadowed, narrow tunnel, lit here and there by patches of dazzling sunlight. Above the canopy, she glimpsed pale blue, cloudless sky.
The people in the back paid no notice to their surroundings. They laughed and chatted amongst themselves and Calli found herself relaxing. The roar of the engine and the vibrations had a soothing effect. She grew sleepy.
Pietro gave her arm a gentle nudge and she opened her eyes. He offered an open bottle of Mezcal.
“It’s watered down with lime juice and mineral water,” Minnie said. “Very nice.”
“It’s too hot. You need water,” Duardo explained. “Drink.”
She took a sip and enjoyed the tang of the juice. It had been watered down a lot, and seemed very refreshing. The Mezcal merely added flavor. She took a longer drink and gave the bottle back.
The man with the incongruous name of Harry stood up and leaned over the boards at the side of the truck, calling down into the cab. Then he reached over and lifted up a guitar. He sat and settled it against his thigh and strummed some fast chords. This appeared to please everyone. The energy picked up around the truck. Harry laughed and began to play—intricate Latin-style music with a compulsive beat. The others picked up the beat, hands on thighs, feet tapping, clapping. There didn’t appear to be any lyrics, but Calli heard Pietro next to her humming and slapping his thigh. After a while the music changed into a different melody, but the beat stayed the same. It seemed that Harry was doodling, trying out different themes before moving onto something new.
When Harry tired of it, another man picked up the guitar and a new lilt emerged.
Calli took sips from the Mezcal bottle when it was offered to her. Time passed pleasantly.
The truck began climbing up sheer mountainside, the road switching back on itself time and time again. The pavement here, most especially the verges, was well maintained, consisting mostly of poured concrete and iron reinforcements. It seemed Vistaria had wisely chosen its priorities for road maintenance.
They travelled in full sunshine now. At this elevation, the sun beat down very direct and bright. Callie fished her sunglasses out of her shoulder bag and put them on. As they turned another hairpin bend she got a breath-catching view of the countryside. They’d climbed about a thousand feet and the Pacific sparkled deep blue to the east. In between lay a carpet of green, rimmed by white beach. To the north lay Lozano Colinas,
las colinas
thick with buildings and roads, lapping up against the mountain chain that ran north and south along the spine of the main island. They climbed that same chain now and the altitude made the engine of the elderly truck groan and work.
“This truck...this road...many. Many,” Pietro said, with a big smile, lifting his voice above the music. He moved his hand in a flat sideways motion. “No worry.”
Calli gave him a small answering smile. Had her concern been so apparent?
But Pietro’s confidence seemed well placed, for despite some alarming noises and the driver dropping down into such a low gear that Calli could have walked and made better time, the engine of the truck kept running
.
As the road flattened out and headed into a deep crevasse of the mountains, the truck slowly picked up speed.