Authors: Eve Rabi
Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary
‘Like Samson and Delilah,’ I muse.
She nods. ‘Something like that.’
‘I’ll be Delilah off course.’
‘Yeah,’ Ebyss says, ‘he’d make a lousy Delilah.’
Everyone laughs. Thank God the place is soundproof.
She glances at my hair. ‘Maybe do something to … eh, make yourself feel better, more alive.’
‘Like what?’ I ask, touching my hair and wishing I had plucked my eyebrows or worn lip gloss, mascara, a push up bra …
‘Like, maybe have your hair done, have a facial, maybe some make-up - all the things that make you feel special and interesting. And off course, sexy.’ She seems to be choosing her words really carefully.
I look at Depp. He averts his eyes. I look at Grey, he too won’t meet mine. Somehow I don’t think they’re really comfortable with the “sexy” bit.
I’m not comfortable with that for sure, but what do I say?
‘Okay, I’ll have my hair done before I go back,’ I say meekly. ‘Haven’t had that done in ages.’
‘Great idea!’ Ebyss says, giving me two thumbs up.
I realize I don’t like Ebyss after all. She’s ruthless, driven and besides intimidating the crap out of me, treats me with quiet disdain.
Anyway, it’s time to leave. Armed with a bag of listening devices they’ve showed me how to install throughout the villas and on the grounds, I walk out of the massage parlor, ignoring the tiny voice inside me that’s telling me I’m being used by my new friends.
Marcus looks anything but bored - he’s deep in conversation with another young lady behind the counter. She’s probably working with the FBI too.
‘I really like coffee but I don’t like drinking coffee alone. But I like coffee. You like coffee?’
The young lady wrinkles her lips. ‘I like hot chocolate.’
Marcus stiffens. ‘I like hot chocolate too! I really don’t like coffee.’
He sees me and frowns. ‘So soon, Senorita?’
‘But I’ll see you the next time?’ the young lady says in a soft voice.
‘Sorry Marcus, but I gotta do something about this,’ I say, ruffling my hair. ‘Hairdresser, please.’
Marcus nods. ‘Hairdresser. Let us go.’
He looks at the young lady and stabs his chest with his index finger. ‘Hot chocolate, next time. I buy.’
She smiles prettily.
I have my hair trimmed, streaked and straightened. It’s golden, shiny and cascades down my back like silk.
I decide to shop for sexy new clothes. For my mission, of course.
After throwing in a Manicure and a pedicure, I’m feeling very Paris right now. Invigorated and heady.
I buy chocolates and candy for Maria and Rosa, a t-shirt with the words,
For sale, Enquire Within f
or Marcus and tons of stuff for myself.
Marcus grins and slips it on immediately.
After a light lunch, Marcus and I head home, the bag of listening devices close by.
I’m scared and excited at the same time - imagine, I’ll be the one who brings down a cop killer, a murderer, a barbarian!
What a story for my children and grandchildren. Man, I can hardly wait for grandchildren.
Payton, gringa, liberator of the people of Mexico, of the enslaved.
I’ll probably get a plaque or a star …
in Mexico. They might make a movie about me. Wow.
For the first time since I arrived in Mexico, I’m alive and energized.
Maria and Rosa rush out to greet us.
‘Lookiyou, Senorita!’ Maria says. ‘You look so nice.’
‘What did they do to you?’ Rosa asks, peering at my face.
‘You are wearing lipstick, Senorita.’ Maria says.
‘Yeah, yeah, but guys, I have presents for you.’
They snatch the bags out of my hands and tear through them. After that, they pull out all my clothes and squeeze into the heels I bought, while eating their chocolates and candy.
As they sample the chocolates, I model my new clothes for them.
‘Senorita, you look beautiful,’ Rosa says. ‘Like a movie star. A model.’
‘Is the massage,’ Maria explains. ‘Takes the blood through the body …’
. Always make a girl veeery beautiful.’
‘Massage is good then,’ Rosa says as she pops another chocolate into her mouth. ‘I have one tomorrow, then I look like gringa.’
‘Whew! It’s hot today,’ I say, fanning myself with my hand, keen to change the subject considering that I never had a massage.
Since the ranch is empty right now, I have full access to all the villas. Perfect time to plant the listening devices.
Luckily, because of modern technology, the bugs look more like watch batteries. To avoid any suspicion from Maria and Rosa, I whine about my missing passport and tell them that I’m sure Christa has it.
‘I’m going to search her villa for it,’ I say and leave.
As I walk, I touch the silver neck chain with a heart-shaped locket pendant I’m wearing, given to me by the FBI. It houses a listening device and is to be worn at all times. Easy.
Christa’s apartment is like a love-shack - red satiny cushions on a four-poster bed with red tulle draped over it, tons of candles, a variety of sex toys openly displayed and a huge nude painting of her on the wall. Yuck!
A doll on the mantel piece makes me gasp. It has long blonde hair, blue eyes and vaguely resembles me. The problem - it has about one hundred pins stuck into it. and enlists Queen Karisma’s help in finding the elusive and deceptive Anita.
Queen Karisma is furious that someone other than her could steal Rusty’s heart and she sends her staff to find this elusive Anita and bring her to justice.
Voodoo-like and very creepy. If that doll is me, boy, she sure wants me dead.
As I plant the listening devices, I make a mental note to get hold of some sage and keep it under my pillow – Enfermera style.
Once I’m in Christa’s villa, I’m able to slip easily into other villas and plant my devices.
Done. I’m now working for the FBI.
It’s almost dinner time so I get ready. My dress is scarlet, short and figure-hugging. My heels are sling-back stilettos, my lipstick is porn-star-red. I look in the mirror and smile. Then I kiss the mirror and say, ‘You’re smoking, Delilah!’ Finally I’m confident enough to face everyone at the dinner table.
Five minutes later, I yank off my dress, kick off my heels and hurriedly wipe off my lipstick. ‘You look like a tart!’ I say to myself, my confidence shaky again.
In just my bra and panties I sit on my bed and ruin a good manicure with my teeth. This is so not me. But then I remember the FBI, the freedom of the villagers, my grandchildren and its back to my slutty dress, my hooker heels and my porn-star-red lipstick.
I’m late for dinner so I hurry along. They better notice.
better notice – these stilettos are pinching my toes. How the fuck does Paris walk in six inch heels with such ease?
The moment I enter the dining room, conversation ceases. Diablo slowly rises to his feet, mouth agape.
Easier than I thought. Suppressing a smile, I take my seat.
Everyone is staring. I’m somewhat pleased. Embarrassed, but secretly thrilled. I’ve never been able to bring conversation to a halt before.
Christa eyes me, a fixed smile to her garnet lips. ‘Gringa is looking very ...
today,’ she scoffs, her eyes sweeping over me.
Bitchface is talking to me? I didn’t know we are on speaking terms again after she whipped my ass and incapacitated me for three weeks. And how come Diablo has just forgiven her like that? I got a good mind to break her other leg with my stilettos.
‘Why? You going to a ball or something, eh gringa?’
Lots of laughter around the table. Santana’s laugh dominates. Bitch.
Suddenly, I feel like a total idiot and I resist the urge to run back to my room.
Using my middle finger (A move I learnt from Paris) I slowly move my hair aside from my heavily made up face and smile sweetly. Usually, I’d use my middle finger differently.
‘I sure am,’ I say, in what I hope is a Marilyn Monroe voice – you know – soft, breathy. ‘And ...’ I look at Diablo from under my lashes, ‘I’m taking Diablo with me, so don’t wait up, ’cos we may be late.’
‘Oooooh!’ the men chorus, while Christa slams back in her chair, a granite look in her eyes. Bet that’s not the response she expected?
Santana picks at the table with her steak knife.
Diablo raises both his bushy eyebrows but does not smile or join in the chorus.
I hold his gaze and tilt my head to one side. He gives me the slightest of nods and spends the rest of the evening ogling me, pissing off Santana and Christa.
I ignore their barbs and focus on my target.
After dinner, in a sweet voice I say, ‘Diablo, may I be excused? Please?’
He nods and is unable to mask the appreciation in his eyes.
‘Thank you,’ I mouth and reward him with a coy smile.
I leave the table and sashay away. Halfway through the room, I turn back to see if he is looking. Everyone, including him is leaning over their chairs, watching my ass. Self-conscious and scared of toppling over in these hells, I carefully walk away.
I lie in bed thinking about the power and attention I commanded simply because I looked hot. No wonder Paris gets away with everything. Being beautiful and sexy makes a woman instantly powerful. I like it. I could easily get addicted to it.
From now on, I tell myself, I’ll be dressing like that every day. It’ll take time and effort but what else have I got to do?
‘But Diablo, you said I could go. Why you changing your mind now, huh?’
‘I say no,
‘Just like that, huh?’ I say, fury getting the better of me. ‘You own me now, huh? So you can change your mind just like that, huh, Diablo?’
His eyes start to narrow at my obstinacy.
‘They’re expecting me, you know.’
‘I tell Marcus to bring them here.’
‘I don’t want them to come here Diablo. I wanna go there! I need to get away …’
‘You want to see
!’ he shouts. ‘That’s why you dress like that.’
‘No!’ I protest, ‘I wanna see my family. I’ll change this fucking dress.’
He glares at me, then turns and strides away.
My disappointment morphs into fury. ‘Come back here! I haven’t finished with you.’
He spins around and glares at me. ‘
haven’t finished with
I’m handling this wrong. Damn! If only I attended anger management classes like everyone suggested I did.
Muttering under his breath, he walks away.
I pace. Everything was going so well for the past couple of weeks. He appeared taken in with my makeover and said ‘Yes” to everything. Even agreed for me to visit my family today. Then all of a sudden, he changes his mind because of the way I’m dressed. I look at my dress in the mirror. It’s simple but clingy, maybe even a little sexy. Ok, a lot sexy, but what the fuck?
Here I was planning to show off my new look to Elaine and Paris. I was so in the mood to be entertained by their jealously. It would have been the ultimate compliment.
Besides, I wanted Austin to see the new and improved me and die of disappointment – how could he have made such an enormous mistake and married the wrong sister?
Pacing in heels is not a good idea, cos it fucks up your feet, but I do it anyway.
My family really is expecting me. I sent word with Marcus that I’ll be seeing them today.
‘Gringaaa!’ Diablo yells.
I slam the door on his hollering. Bastard can go to hell.
‘Gringaaa!’ he yells again and again, I ignore him.
Finally, Maria quietly enters my room, a worried look on her face. ‘Senorita please ...’
‘Maria, you tell him ...’ I draw a long breath, ‘tell him my name is Payton, and not fucking “Gringaaa! Gringaaa! Gringaaa!”.’
Before she can respond, Diablo storms into my room and of course, hears what I say.
‘Come to lunch,’ he says in a strained but controlled voice.
I look him in the eye. ‘No!’
He stiffens. ‘Come to lunch.’
‘No! I don’t wanna eat with you.’
He glares at me, then grabs me by the scruff of my neck and drags me out of the room to the lunch table.
‘Leave me the fuck alone!’ I shout as he drags me away.
He shoves me into the dining room. It’s Saturday so that entire gang is there, in the mood to party and be entertained. Watching Diablo drag me to the table gets them excited. Humiliated and seething, I sit down and drum my nails on the table. I don’t eat or look at him.
‘Eat,’ he orders.
I ignore him and drum louder, furiously.
Norman, who is seated next to me, leans over and says, ‘Senorita gringa want Whisky?
‘Yes please, Norman.’ My voice is dangerously polite.
Norman pours the whisky and places the glass in front of me.
‘Thank you Norman,’ I say, bypassing the glass and reaching for the bottle.
Norman’s eyes grow huge when he sees me taking giant swigs from the bottle.
It’s awful. I hate whisky. Tastes like petrol to me.
‘Damn!’ I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘This sure is mighty fine whisky, Norman.’
‘Eh, Senorita gringa, my …’
‘Lemme pour you one, Norman.’ I top his glass to the brim and hand it to him. ‘Knock yourself out,’ I chuckle.
Diablo’s not smiling.
Yeah, I’m supposed to be nice to him now that the FBI is involved. Well, fuck the FBI and Fuck him.
As lunch progresses, I’m feeling a little more relaxed now. Warm in my toes and even a little confident. Well, they’re eating lunch and I’m drinking mine – whisky, Tequila and some other spirit on the table.
I take a few more swigs from the bottles on the table and then cross my arms over my head and start whistling a tune.
Diablo’s hairy face reveals little, but somehow I don’t think he’s comfortable with my drinking. Hell,
not comfortable with my drinking but screw him.
They pass pictures around. Pornographic pictures and the conversation becomes steamy.