Plata (6 page)

The restaurant where she was to meet Pierre was only a block away, and she thought about heading there as soon as Ramon had gone. Maybe Pierre was still there waiting for her. But when she turned to look back, Ramon was leaning against his SUV, watching her. She gave him a nervous little wave before continuing on to the club. Her legs were wobbly and weak by the time she reached the dancers’ entrance, and pounded on the bulletproof metal door.

Chapter 14

The next morning, Madison got a call from her mother’s friend, insisting that she come home from Mexico.

“I’m sorry to be so crass,” she barked. “But I just can’t understand why Virginia’s only child is fooling around with show biz in Mexico while her mother is all alone in a mental hospital,” she barked. “But the doctor says she can no longer improve without the support of family. You’re all she has, Madison. You need to get home.”

Madison felt sick when she hung up the phone. She sat down on the floor and sobbed for an hour. In the ten days that she’d been at the club, she’d made just over twenty-five thousand dollars. It was more money than she’d ever seen in her life, but it was nowhere near enough to save the restaurant. She had failed her mother in every way.

She arrived at work feeling very depressed. Upstairs in the camarino, there was the usual giddiness, with half-dressed dancers dishing gossip and screeching with laughter. Though she’d never minded before, tonight everything rattled her nerves. She found the smell of the women’s exotic perfume cloying and the pulsing lights on the stage made her nauseous. And when at last she stepped onto the dining room floor, she couldn’t bring herself to sit with anyone, exhausted at the mere thought of forced banter and fabricated flirtation.

Instead, Madison spent hours sitting at the back of the lounge with a vodka tonic, fighting back tears, wishing she could go back in time and make everything different. Even when Cesar called her name to get ready to dance, she sat quietly, unmoving. When her song began and the stage remained empty, Cesar called her name again. But Madison ignored it. What was the point? Money or no money, she had to go home.

As Madison watched the crowd, she couldn’t repress her feelings of resentment for the frivolous way these men spent their wealth. They threw hundreds of dollars at women just for having a conversation or showing a little tit. It galled her that they would never know what it felt like to need money. They would never know how it felt to degrade yourself to get it. She just wanted to be a normal nineteen-year-old girl again.

“Feeling sick?” one of the waiters asked Madison after she’d spent all afternoon tucked away in the vacant corner of the lounge. He was an older man with salt and pepper hair, and weary eyes. She remembered that he’d once given her bicarbonate in water when she was nursing a hangover.

“I’m okay,” she said glumly. “Just tired.”

“Or down in the dumps.” The waiter gave her a paternal smile. He leaned in closer to be heard over the thunderous music. “There’s someone looking for you. He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially.

“Oh yeah?” Madison replied without enthusiasm. “Who?”

The waiter grinned and nodded in the direction of a large group gathered around the sofas and coffee tables. She hadn’t noticed them arrive. Among them was Ramon. He was actually dressed up for once, wearing a button up shirt and a navy sports coat over his jeans. Just the sight of him made her nerves unravel.

“Just go sit with them for an hour,” the waiter said in a kindly voice. “Then you can go home with a decent bundle in your purse.”

Madison looked over at the group of rough necks slouching in the armchairs wearing jeans and boots. Ramon sat forward on the edge of the couch leaning on his knees, just as he’d done that first night. His eyes flicked restlessly around the club, and she knew that he was looking for her.

“I don’t know,” Madison said quietly. “Those guys scare me.”

The waiter shrugged as if this were a given. “Nothing in life is free, nena.”

Madison knew he was right. All it would take was an hour or so of sitting quietly, drinking champagne, and listening to the men’s tough talk about sports cars, rodeo, and soccer. Maybe making a little money would make her feel better. She nodded and sighed.

“Okay,” she consented. “Come and get me when they’ve stopped talking shop.”

The waiter gave her a wink and headed across the club to the kitchen on the other side. Just an hour, Madison told herself. I’ll sit with them an hour and then I’m going home early. She was tempted to call Pierre, but she no longer had a phone. And they never let anyone make calls from the club. Not even clients.

A half hour passed before the waiter returned, beckoning her over to Ramon’s table with an eager grin. Madison nodded and tipped back what was left in her glass. She let the waiter lead her by the arm to where Ramon was sitting with a beer, his eyes full of crazy intensity.

“I thought you weren’t going to show up tonight,” he said quickly, looking everywhere but at Madison.

She forced a smile and tried to act as if the night before had never even happened. “I got a late start.”

He shrugged and put a hand on her back.

“What are you drinking? Are you hungry? Do you want the lobster again?” He flagged down the closest passing waiter, who scurried over nervously. “Whatever she wants. Anything.”

Madison ordered a glass of champagne and a cheese plate with warm almonds. Ramon ordered another beer.

“So, what’s up?” he asked her impatiently. “Why the long fucking face?”

For a moment her smile faltered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Ramon rolled his eyes. “What I mean is this,” he said. He pressed his thick thumb against the frown crease between her eyes, as if to force it smooth. “It’s not the most attractive look in the world.”

That was it. She couldn’t fake it anymore. She let herself collapse back into the couch cushion and closed her eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d already lost the game.

“What’s wrong is everything,” she sighed without opening her eyes.

“What the hell does that mean?” Ramon glanced around the dining room and lounge, as if looking for the culprit.

Madison opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, which glowed with a dim, golden light, as if they were in church. She didn’t care if she’d regret it. It had to be said.

“I need money,” she blurted out. “A lot of money. And fast.”

Ramon rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “A woman like you with money problems. Give me fucking break.”

Madison’s champagne arrived. As the waiter placed it daintily on the coffee table before her, Ramon grabbed his wrist. The waiter startled and nearly knocked over the flute.

“Just bring the bottle,” he barked. The waiter hurried away again.

Madison shook her head. “You don’t have to be such a jerk to him,” she said.

Ramon laughed. “Who are you, Mother Teresa? It’s his fucking job!”

She picked up her glass and took a long drink. The bubbles tickled her nose, and left her lightheaded. She watched The Colombian cozy up to a skinny young brunette who had only just arrived at the club from Spain. He nuzzled her shoulder with his wide, pock-marked face and put his hand on her thigh.

“So, you want to make some money?” Ramon said, swigging back the last of his beer.

Madison wanted to back pedal before she got herself into trouble. But a fatalism had settled into her, and all she could do was shrug.

“I’m serious,” he said, shifting closer and lowering his voice. “It would really help me out. Someone just bailed on me and I need a replacement.”

Madison had always been an eminently sensible girl, and her brain geared up to turn Ramon down. Whatever it was that he wanted to do would be a big mistake. And so she surprised even herself when, instead of saying ‘no,’ what came out was, “How much does it pay?”

For once, Ramon looked squarely at her. “Two hundred thousand.”

Madison stared at him. The bass of the music pounded in her head and her heart hammered violently inside her. She was sure she’d misunderstood him.

“How much?”

“Two hundred grand,” he repeated, looking away.

“Pesos?” Madison asked.

“No, blondie,” he moaned with exasperation. “Dollars. U.S. dollars.”

Madison bit her lip, the wheels spinning in her head. She knew that two hundred grand was nothing to Ramon. She’d heard him talk about putting six hundred grand down on a roulette table in Vegas once and losing it all in a matter of seconds. He’d thought it was hilarious.

It was more than enough money to keep the restaurant open. She could go home right away; enroll in school for next semester. Maybe even convince Pierre to visit her there. And that would be the end of it. She could close the final page on this surreal chapter in her life. But then she forced herself to come back to Earth. Whatever he wanted her to do might get her imprisoned or killed.

“What would I have to do?”

Ramon fished inside his jacket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. He tapped one free and slipped it between his lips, then dug a lighter out of the back pocket of his jeans. He cocked his head to one side and lit the cigarette, pulling hard on it.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, squinting through the smoke. “Just go with me to a party.”

“What kind of party?”

He shrugged. “A nice one. Catered food. Champagne. All that shit you like.” He picked a spec of lint from his jacket and looked at her. “Pretty good deal, huh?”

“Then why would you pay so much?” she asked nervously. “If it’s such an easy job?”

“It’s not a job,” Ramon said. “It’s a favor. And since you have to miss a night of work to go with me, I’ll compensate you. With interest, obviously.”

“What do I have to do, exactly?” she asked hesitantly.

He shrugged again. “Hang out with me. Look pretty. That’s what chicks like you do best, right?”

“Just that one thing? Go to a party?”

“Just that one thing.”

“When is it?” she asked.

“Tomorrow night.”

Madison nodded. That was good. The sooner she got paid, the sooner she could get home.

“When will you pay me?”

“Half up front,” he said slicing his fingers in the air, “and half when the night is over.”

Madison looked at him carefully, wishing he were easier to read. “And that’s it? Just a date to the party and then home?”

He smirked. “You mean, no sex?”

She wanted to be sure this point was clear. “I’m not a hooker.”

Ramon laughed. “No shit.” He took a last drag from his cigarette and dropped it into his beer bottle. “Just a date to the party. And then home.” He held out his hand, as if she were just a business associate. “Do we have a deal?”

Madison was afraid to overthink it. Of course it was reckless. But it would be the last crazy thing she’d have to do. She took his hand and shook it.

“Deal.”

Ramon nodded quickly and dropped back against the cushions. “You just saved my ass, girl,” he muttered under his breath. “You just saved my ass.”

Right away, Madison headed upstairs to change her clothes. After all, there was no reason to stay at the club another minute. She threw her dresses and stilettos into a bag, and closed her locker for what she hoped was the last time. It was not even nine o’clock when she pushed open the door, not bothering to wait for a security escort. Unlike the late hour when she usually left work, the pedestrian street was filled with people. The nightlife was just getting underway. Restaurants and bars were full, and a jazz trio had set up nearby, busking for tips. It was a lively scene, and Madison began to feel a little better. No matter what happened with Ramon, she’d been brave enough to take the reins of her life. She didn’t have to take her clothes off for money again.

Unsteady from the vodka and champagne, Madison headed to the corner where the drivers were gathered. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man came up behind her and took hold of her arm. She gasped and spun around, losing her balance. It was the tall man in sunglasses who stalked her at the club every night. She hadn’t even thought to look for him that night. He caught her and got her back on her feet.

“Come with me, please,” he said officiously in English. He had a strange accent that Madison couldn’t place.

“I’ll scream!” she growled, trying to pull her arm away. But his grip was too strong.

“Don’t be alarmed.” He was trying hard to sound friendly.“No one is going to hurt you, Madison.”

He guided her to the corner and across the street to where a town car was waiting. The windows were darkly tinted, making it impossible to see inside. The man opened the back door and gestured for her to get in. She resisted at first. Then a figure leaned across the seat and looked out at her. It was Pierre. She blinked at him, baffled.

“Madison.” His voice was gentle and low. “Let us give you a ride home.”

“What…what is this?” she stammered. “Who is this guy?”

“He’s one of my bodyguards,” Pierre said matter-of-factly. “Please don’t stand in the street. Come inside.”

Madison sighed and climbed into the car. She could smell the faint musk of Pierre’s cologne, and it made her forget that she was angry. It was him. He was here. The door shut immediately behind her. After a moment, they began to move. Pierre’s features looked all the more chiseled and striking in the intermittent lights from the street. He was wearing a gray suit again, and she had an overwhelming urge to run her fingers over the fabric. It was almost as if a magnetic force were physically pulling her toward him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice softer now.

But Pierre didn’t seem to hear her. He was scanning her face, as if searching for something.

“Who is that guy?” she asked, gesturing at the closed door. “He’s been stalking me at the club every night.”

Pierre smiled a little and looked down. “I am sorry about that. It was not my intention to frighten you.”

“Does he work for you?” she asked, a little impatient.

“Adam is one of my bodyguards.”

Madison wasn’t surprised. Kidnappings and crime were so prevalent, almost every member of the club took bodyguards with them wherever they went. Men in suits and dark glasses lined the walls of the dining room every night, always watching. But she would’ve never imagined that he’d send someone to protect her. Pierre sighed and took one of her hands into his. They were warm and rough; hands that still remembered the day’s physical labor and street fights.

“I like you, Madison,” he said firmly.“A lot. And when I like someone a lot, I want to know they are safe.”