No Perfect Secret (34 page)

The bathroom was redolent of his soap and aftershave. She inhaled, looked again at herself in the mirror, and hiked an eyebrow. “I think we broke a record or two,” she said to no one but herself.

What with the heat and salty air it was useless to go for blow-dried hair. She opted instead for a dab of Biosilk Glazing Gel and pinned it up. A brush or two of brown eye shadow and a sweep of rose-colored lipstick completed her makeup. No jewelry—she would be trying it on in shops. The dress she chose for the day was a sleeveless cotton-knit wraparound—brown with white polka dots—and soft, soft, soft. With the addition of a short-sleeved white linen shirt—it would do for dinner at Cambalache, tonight, too.

“Lord have mercy!” Cynthia exclaimed when Anna met her in the courtyard. “Where do you buy your clothes, girl? You look like you just stepped out of a magazine.”

“Second-hand shops—”

“You lie!”

“—In Paris.”

“Knew it. That’s giving me an idea
—we could take a group to Europe just to shop second-hand shops—maybe do a walk though at Chanel, Gucci, a few others, and then visit all the flea markets and look for labels.”

“Walk-through is right! The only thing I could afford at Chanel was a box of bath powder. But the other thing,” Anna
temporized as they walked to the tram stop, “—is all the women in your group would have to be size a ten or smaller—otherwise you’d have some very unhappy clients.”

“Well
—that leaves out my bitchy sister-in-law.”

“Should I laugh?”

“No. That woman is not a laughing matter. But, I’m serious. Theme travel is big bucks these days. Having somebody on the ground who knows the shops and flea markets is a huge plus. We’re gonna keep in touch, okay?”

“I would love another trip to France,” Anna said wistfully. And, she thought: I’m free to go. She wouldn’t have to ask anyone for permission, she wouldn’t have to find someone to look after
Clara-Alice. She didn’t own a dog or a cat or a bird. Yes, she had a job—but there were times when she could take leaves and vacations—such as when Congress shut down for summer vacations, winter vacations and long holidays.

At the travel desk in the lobby Cynthia discovered vans were hauling shoppers back and forth to malls every two hours. “I forgot today is Christmas Eve. They’ve laid on some extra trips. We can still take a cab, but this is cheaper.

The van leaves in thirty-five minutes to Kukulcan Plaza. I love that mall. The shops are phenomenal, plus it has a light and sound show.”

“Let’s sign up. I’m good with that.”

They put their names on the list, paid for round trips, and received their tickets and a brochure.

“Now, let’s see the concierge,” Cynthia said. “He can order our taxi for tonight and make our reservations for Cambalache. Taxi at seven-thirty and reservations to dine at eight. Does that sound good to you?”

“I’m good with that. You’re the travel agent.” Anna stood aside while Cynthia, in her travel-agent mode made certain the concierge had all the information written down to include her suite number. She tipped the man and turned back to Anna.

“We have time for a quick breakfast.”

“Coffee, toast and some fresh fruit sounds terrific.”

“I’m washing mine down with mimosas,” said Cynthia. “That’s what I adore about vacations. I can drink enough to get a buzz on and not worry about driving or the girls rolling their eyes, and calling me silly. Plus, it makes the sex better. Oops. Did I offend you?”

Anna laughed. “Not a bit.”

“It takes four beers for Richard to get a buzz, and then he’s wicked. Otherwise it’s the same old, same old.”

“I think Frank’s limit is three,” Anna said, feeling wicked and not one jot of guilt.

They chose a linen-covered table and sat down. Cynthia snickered with impish insouciance. “Aren’t we disgraceful?” she said as a server swooped over to pour coffee.

“Despicable,” Anna said, and followed Cynthia to the self-serve wine bar. Mimosas, indeed. Anna had two.

~~~~

Upon their return from shopping, Cynthia made a beeline for the in-house phone and returned to Anna wearing a wide grin. “The guys aren’t back yet. Let’s have a couple of frozen strawberry margaritas before we haul our loot to our rooms.”

“Cynthia, friendship with you is becoming dangerous.”

“So, drink water. That’s all you deserve anyway for not talking me out of buying that amethyst and stone necklace. I’ve got to figure out a way to show it to Richard and not have him kill me.”

“Wear it to bed.”

“With what?”

Anna made a moue.

“Oh. Ha, ha. You’re one funny girl—to bed—wearing only a necklace, cellulite and stretch marks. I don’t think so.”

“Well, there’s camouflage.”

“Sure. Blackout curtains—then he won’t see the necklace.”

“There’s another way. You know, in pastry classes we used all kinds of edible paints, silver and gold dust, gels. You just brush on a clear edible gel with a regular paint brush, and paint certain body parts pink or gold
then dust the rest of yourself with edible gold dust or any color edible dust—you’re blonde—you could get away with purple dust—match the amethysts.”

“You’ve done this, right?”

“I dusted my shoulders once when I wore a strapless dress in high hopes I’d get nibbled on my neck. But this cute little Dutch girl in our pastry class did herself up for her boyfriend’s birthday. Another student painted a butterfly on her buns and when she did isometrics, the wings moved. She came out very vamp.”

“And the boyfriend?”

Anna took a large sip of her margarita. “Uh—what does one usually do with delectable pastries?”

Cynthia was quiet for a moment. “Where do I get all of these edible goodies?”

“Your local bakery, or off the internet.”

“I think that’s way too much excitement for a three-hundred-forty dollar necklace. I’d end up preggers again. With my luck, it’d be triplets.”

“That’s pretty nice luck,” Anna said, wistful.

“Oops. Did I touch a nerve?”

Anna smiled wanly. “Not really.”

Cynthia put her hand on Anna’s. “Do you need to talk? I’m a good listener.”

Anna looked at her new acquaintance’s bright blue eyes, seeing the empathy and caring. “You know what? I feel like I could tell you anything and everything. Just not now. The truth is I am way out of my comfort zone these days. This is as different a Christmas Eve as I can remember. No Christmas music, no caroling, no snow, no going to midnight services.”

“
—Right on!” exclaimed Cynthia. “No advertising to squeeze the last dime out of your pocket, no runny noses, no last minute rushing around, no turkey to stuff, no ton of celery to chop, no napkins to iron, no tree to trim, no presents to wrap, no clanking snow chains, no parking wars at the mall, no waiting in long lines at the checkout, and dare I raise my glass to: No toxic sisters-in-law.”

Anna laughed. “Point to you.”

“Let’s have another drink. I’m switching to mango daiquiris.”

“Oh,
no—none for me. I am so feeling these margaritas. If I don’t get back to the room and get a nap, I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

“But, this is the place to do it. Nobody back home will know a thing.
I’m getting one for the road...I mean the tram.”

Ten minutes later Anna was clad in a pair of modest shorty pajamas and curled up on her bed beneath the sheet. Her purchases, still in their bags, were on the sofa. The sound and light show at the mall had been fabulous, and all about the Mayan culture. She was well on her way to the Kingdom of Nod when she laughed, imagining Frank’s reaction to the postcard she’d put on his pillow
—a print of the Mayan king making a blood sacrifice to the sun god.

~~~~

Across the courtyard in suite 4808 Detective Richard Simonton was fondly eyeing his wife of sixteen years. She was lying on the sofa, one eyebrow hiked up.

“Woman, are you soused?”

“Verily, I say unto you—”

“Merciful God. You’re way out there.” He retrieved water and coffee packets from the cabinet, and started a pot. Eventually he had her propped up and sipping hot brew. “How was your shopping trip? You break the bank?”

“Only a smidgen. I’ll make it up to you.”

He grinned lasciviously. “Yeah, you will.”

“Did you get a nice fish?”

“I did. An eleven footer, and have the pictures to prove it. An hour and ten minutes to haul him in. Totally rad.”

Cynthia laughed. “You are so stuck in the twentieth century.”

“Nothing wrong with the twentieth century. I was born in it. So. What did you and Anna talk about?”

“Nothing really. Regular girl talk. I’m hearing concern in your voice, Richard. What’s going on?”

“Did you ask her if she’d ever been married?”

“Of course! That’s the first thing.”

“What’d she say?”

“She said, no. That’s she been in a long term relationship that didn’t work out. I dropped it. Frank told you a bunch of stuff, didn’t he? Tell me all.”

“Loose lips and all that.”

“Richard, these loose lips do things to you that would astonish most women, and disgust your parents.”

“Hey! That’s below the belt.”

Cynthia smiled saucily. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, big guy.”

“Sheesh. If you must know, it’s like this
…” Richard told his wife what he called
Anna’s story
. Then he harped on what he thought Frank Caburn had missed. “He’s an investigator, but not a detective. Turns out the guy’s mother is a real weirdo, but Frank has not really checked into seeing how the guy was manipulating his mother—and she actually stabbed Frank in the back with a pair of scissors. So now they’re just looking for residential housing for the old lady—move her out of the psych ward right into the public domain—no restrictions. But Frank’s boss says that he can’t file charges… Well, hell! Anna can—nobody has to mention the State Department. The old woman destroyed her property twice. This yahoo she was with was a con—been conning everybody around him for years—he’s good at it. He wants to get rid of Anna? No problem—just stir up his mother until she’s ready to kill for him. Frank didn’t see that. I told him, ‘Man, get real. The old lady progressed from scissors to a boning knife?’ If Anna had been home, there would’ve been more than a sofa that got slashed up.”

“I can’t imagine what it would be like to think I was married to a guy for ten years, then learn I’m not, much less end up taking care of his unstable mother. That’s one for that reality show
Who the Blank Did I Marry?
I admit, we got kind of high. She could’ve dumped all over me, and didn’t. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut if I were in circumstances like hers. I’d be screaming from the rooftops. I mean—after I’d done a number on the guy’s crotch. Even if he is dead.”

Richard went to the fridge for a beer and popped the top.

“How many is that,” asked Cynthia.

“This is my third.”

“So,” she said, “what did you tell Frank to do? I know you didn’t walk away without giving him some advice.”

“I didn’t advise. I just said if it was my woman’s life and limb on the line that old lady would stay in a psych ward until she had a very clean bill of health
—as in Clorox clean. Then I took him to buy an international calling card and showed him the phone to use. He’s making the call to his boss or whomever—to keep the old lady under wraps. They were supposed to move her on Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“You like Frank, then?”

“Sure. What’s not to like? He’s a straight up guy.”

“Are you gonna have another beer?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Close the drapes first.”

His dark eyes lit up. “Am I gonna get lucky?”

“Very.”

~
~~~

Cambalache far exceeded Anna’s expectations. The couples were seated at a table overlooking the water. At eight o’clock dusk had not yet fallen, but as their steaks were served the sky darkened. Servers lit candles cast flickering shadows creating an ambiance that made the women glamorous and the men mysterious.

When the men tasted their first bites of grilled Argentinean steak, they began making guttural, gastro-orgasmic noises. Shaking her head slightly, Cynthia gave Anna a look that said: They’re men
—nothing you can do about it.

Anna returned her smile, but she was feeling subdued, and allowed the conversation to flow around her. Frank’s lovemaking earlier in the afternoon had been intense, as if he thought it would be the last time they would ever be together. Anna couldn’t think of any reason for it, but the sex was good
—wonderful, in fact. They had bathed together in the big double tub, teased one another, shared massages which led to more lovemaking, and finally sleep.

“What do you think, Anna?”