Larger Than Lyfe (41 page)

The concierge provided great assistance in helping Mars to secure a trustworthy, full-time driver for the rather arduous journey up the Brazilian coast. It had taken a full day to do it, which Mars felt was an enormous delay, but the following day, Mars was prepared to get started. Hector, the driver, was quite excited to be a part of Mars’s little adventure once he finally comprehended why Mars was proceeding on such a strange mission that might render no positive result.

“You do this for love,” Hector said in his thick, fragmented English. “A very special love.”

Mars was glad that he’d had the presence of mind to purchase a dictionary of Portuguese words and phrases to bring with him. If he hadn’t, his ride with Hector would have been a confusing one indeed.

The two men rode along, attempting conversation from time to time, but, most of the time, riding along in silence, each of them consumed by their own, private thoughts. The terrain of Brazil’s eastern coast was beautiful and lush. Even the people that they spotted as Hector drove through the small communities and green hillside had features that were strong, distinct, sun-darkened, and very attractive. Brazil was well-known for its exotically beautiful women.

Their first stop was Porto Alegre. The port was small and lined with quaint, waterfront merchants and street vendors. Mars and Hector walked around the moderately crowded port filled mostly with people native to the area. Mars showed Keshari’s photographs to as many of the merchants as he could who would actually talk with him. Hector acted as a translator. And all of the people he spoke to proclaimed that they had not seen the beautiful woman before.

The two men got back into their Jeep and drove a little farther north. Their next stop was Curitiba. The port was very similar to Porto Alegre, although slightly larger because it was closer to Rio de Janeiro. They headed through the crowded port, stopping to ask the vendors if they’d seen the woman in the photograph or if her yacht, “Guantanamera,” had stopped there.

Finally, after hours of making their way through the bustling port with the sun beating down on them, they came upon a Brazilian produce vendor. The vendor said in Portuguese to Hector that Keshari’s large boat had been at the port the day before. She did some shopping, and then re-boarded her boat and appeared to be headed for Rio.

Mars was both excited and disappointed at the news. He was excited that they were on the right track. He was disappointed that he had missed Keshari by an entire day and might wind up
in pursuit of her, always several steps behind her, for an indefinite length of time.

The two men settled into a small, nondescript hotel in Curitiba for the night. It was very clean, but very modest in comparison to the luxurious amenities that Mars was accustomed to. Mars lay down on his small bed, staring up at the ceiling fan that spun quietly in the moonlit room. He thought of words of encouragement that his mother used to say to him when he was growing up, when he was confronted with an obstacle that stood in the way of something that he really wanted. They were words that had stayed with him straight through law school and that he was sure had been used by hi
s mother’s mother and so many other Black mothers other than his own.

“Nothing really good comes to you easily, son. You typically have to fight and struggle for it and, if it’s meant to be, it will be.”

Mars was lulled to sleep by those words and the gentle, Brazilian breeze floating through the hotel room’s open windows.

The next morning, Mars and Hector rode off to scour Rio de Janeiro, one of the most popular and most populous tourist destinations in the world. There were a multitude of wealthy travelers in Rio de Janeiro, so Keshari’s yacht, nor Keshari, would stick out as prominently as she would have in one of the smaller port cities. Mars intended to dedicate an entire week, if necessary, to cover the entire area. And, this time, he did not intend to come away empty-handed.

Dressed in cool, white linen and looking like a male model, Mars rode with Hector to Rio de Janeiro’s Copacabana area. The beach area was one of Rio de Janeiro’s most exclusive spots and it appeared to be dominated mostly by well-chiseled, homosexual men. Mars walked the beach, taking in the beautiful, swim-suited women slathered in suntan lotion, hoping to find Kesha
ri some-where
in the crowd of amazing bodies. Mars and Hector spent the entire day in Copacabana, walking the beach and speaking to proprietors of upscale boutiques and jewelers where Keshari may have stopped. They even questioned workers at the docks, hoping to find out if “Guantanamera” had made a stop there.

Day turned to late evening and, with no sighting of Keshari, the two, exhausted men checked into a hotel for the night. Mars showered and lay in his bed and thought about Keshari. He thought about the woman that she was, her habits, and the kinds of things that she liked. Mars came to a realiz
ation. He had been searching for Keshari in all of the wrong places and at all of the wrong times. Keshari was an intensely private person and Mars knew that that fact had certainly not changed, particularly after having faked her own death. She loved luxurious surroundings and all of the accoutrements of wealth, but she also preferred seclusion.

Just before daybreak the next morning, Mars went to Hector’s adjoining hotel room and the two men departed for Ipanema. Ipanema was one of the richest, chicest beaches in the world. With all that Mars had heard about Ipanema right down to the song made about the “Girl from Ipanema,” Mars somehow felt certain that, if Keshari had not been to Ipanema already, she was definitely going to be there. Hector assured Mars that, if his lady love was a wealthy woman, Ipanema was likely a place she would want to go.

The two men started off along Ipanema’s waterfront shops. Because it was early morning, most of the shops were still closed. There was a small bistro at the end of the wharf and Hector suggested that they stop there for coffee. On the patio at a small table off to the side, the woman sitting there caught Mars’s eye.

Mars had been on a fruitless scavenger hunt that was proving
more and more mentally taxing, even though he had only been searching the densely populated region for a week…and there she was. As Mars stared at her, he felt almost as if he were staring at a mirage and that, if he approached her, said something to her, reached out to touch her, she would disappear, having never been there in the first place. She was as beautiful as she ever was. Deeply tanned, she wore a large sunhat and a white bikini with a short, almost transparent cover-up. She was reading a book and making notes on a legal pad.

Mars touched his pocket and felt the small lump of the five-carat, flawless, Asscher-cut, canary diamond that had cost him a quarter of a million dollars. He’d carried the very expensive ring in his pocke
t every single day since he and Hector had started out on their search and he had always hoped, believed, that he would be able to place the ring on the finger of its rightful owner.

“Excuse me,” the six-foot-four, suave, former general counsel for ASCAP said smoothly, his heart racing a mile a minute.

Keshari…ahem…Darian Boudreaux looked up from her book and her eyes filled with tears. Words would not come.

Mars sat down beside her at the small table and, without saying a word, slipped the ring onto her finger and squeezed her hand. They stared at each other for what seemed like eons…time, history, secrets, mistakes, forgiveness and love passing between the two of them.

“My whole life is about to change,” Mars said.

“Mine, too,” Darian responded.

THE END

Cynthia Diane Thornton divides her time between Memphis, Tennessee, where she was bo
rn and raised, and Lo
s Angeles, where she has spent the greater
part of her life.
Rise of the Phoenix:
Larger Than Lyfe II
is currently scheduled for release. Cynthia is currently at work on her third novel
. You can check out Cynthia Diane Thornton on Facebook.