She now thinks she’s been roped into going to this crazy party, and they’re almost there and she knows already it’s a mistake.
Juan Carlos is driving, and he’s excited because of his new babe. He’s set up his buddy Camilo with the babe’s friend. But Camilo’s sister, Angela, who’s Gabriella’s friend, couldn’t make it. So now Gabriella is supposed to find someone to talk to once she gets there. Alone. She has a headache just thinking about this.
Why, why did I agree to come? she thinks.
Everything is warped about the evening, Gabriella muses. They’re crashing the party via the babe, who doesn’t live here, but in Cartagena. Turns out she studies in Boston, where Juan Carlos met her, and she’s here visiting her friend—the one Juan Carlos has set up for Camilo—who’s friends with this guy who’s having the party.
And the place is far, far, far. If she gets bored, finding someone to drive her back will be next to impossible. There’s nothing to see as she stares out the window. Nothing. Pance is Cali’s most suburban suburb. You might as well be in the middle of the jungle, it’s so dark there. They’ve already passed Juan Carlos’s old high school, which is as far up the hill as Gabriella’s ever gone.
It’s a really beautiful school, like nothing she’s seen in the States. Set up in the middle of this pasture—cows graze there in the afternoon—and with a real river that runs right through the middle of the soccer field.
Gabriella came here for one semester, when Marcus put his foot down because her Spanish was slipping. The houses around here are massive, too, she remembers. Big pools, huge trees, ponds, huge gardens. It’s just so far. And so dark. It’s funny how the entire world changes with the light. Her father always says that.
Damn, damn, damn, Gabriella chastises herself, her thoughts racing ahead. Is there something in my DNA that says I have to go to every single party that crops up? Is staying in on a Thursday night so terrible?
“Hey, I think we’re here!” says Camilo from the backseat, pulling her out of her reverie.
She looks up and figures they’re somewhere because there’s a veritable army of guards with machine guns at each corner of the street they’re about to turn into. One of them nonchalantly comes up to the car.
Juan Carlos slows down and rolls down the window.
“We’re going to the party?” he says, a question mark lurking at the end of his sentence. It occurs to Gabriella for the first time that they don’t know whose party this is.
“Open the trunk, please,” the guard says in answer.
Juan Carlos pops it, and when the guard goes back to check, Camilo leans forward, and Gabriella sees he’s visibly perturbed.
“You know, Juanca, this is a bit over the top,” he says nervously, lighting up a cigarette. “Do we know who this guy is? I mean, are we cool here? This has mafioso written all over it.”
Juan Carlos shakes his head.
“It’s cool, man, don’t be such an idiot. It’s her friend’s cousin. It could be anyone. And if it’s mafia, well, big deal. We’ll stay a little bit and leave. Hey, it’s an adventure, right, Gabriella?” He’s speaking heartily, which tells Gabriella he’s not that certain about it all.
She shakes her head. They’ve been driving for forty-five minutes.
“At this point,” Gabriella says, “we have to go on and at least check it out. But I’m telling you, if this is some mafia bash, I don’t want to hang out all night.”
They’re all whispering furiously, and Gabriella practically jumps out of her skin when one of the guards outside taps her window. Did he hear?
Juan Carlos rolls it down and the guy—huge guy—just nods.
“You’re okay,” he says, looking directly at Gabriella, letting his eyes wander over the T-shirt. “Enjoy.”
Juan Carlos gets the car in gear and drives up to a gate, where another guard greets them, with a clipboard in hand.
“Names, please,” he barks.
“Ca—” Camilo starts to say from the backseat, and Juan Carlos cuts him short.
“Felipe Gómez, Andres García, Ana Gómez,” he rattles off, giving fake names.
The guard obligingly writes them down and opens the gate.
There are so many cars there already, parking has moved to the huge lawn, and Gabriella’s high heels sink in the grass as they plod their way up the hill to the house.
“Man, oh man,” she says, picturing her lime green Coach shoes turned to dust. “This better be good.”
The party is on the roof of the house.
The roof is reached via an elevator. Yes, an elevator.
Juan Carlos, Camilo, and Gabriella look at each other uncertainly as it goes up. They’ve already been frisked at the door to the house, which gives Gabriella a semblance of security. At the very least there shouldn’t be a gunfight in here tonight.
“I heard Oscar D’León is coming to play at midnight,” someone says excitedly.
“Great,” says Juan Carlos stiffly. Gabriella tries not to giggle. He hates anything nouveau riche.
Gabriella tries to casually check out the blonde beside her, who wears a tight, short, strapless black dress and dominatrix lace-up black and silver boots.
“Very cool,” Gabriella tells the blonde as Juan Carlos raises an eyebrow incredulously, the irony completely lost on him.
“I know,” says the blonde happily. “You know Manolo Blahnik?”
Gabriella nods politely. “Yes, I do,” she says nicely.
“They’re Manolo Blahniks. Three thousand dollars!” she adds for effect.
“Wow,” says Gabriella, trying to look suitably impressed.
“You gotta pay the big bucks to get the good stuff,” says the blonde conspiratorially as the elevator doors open.
“Unbelievable,” mutters Juan Carlos under his breath.
But moments later, he has no compunction in waving Gabriella a quick good-bye when he spots his babe.
“You’ll be okay?” Juan Carlos asks, eager to leave her. “You’ll find someone you know, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Gabriella nonchalantly, though she can see this will be a very long night.
“We’ll leave in a couple of hours,” Juan Carlos reassures, backing away.
“Cell phone,” he shouts as an afterthought, pointing to his, pointing to hers as he disappears into the crowd.
Gabriella asks for a vodka with orange juice from the bar and walks the perimeter of the terrace uncertainly. She can’t see anyone she knows, and she doesn’t want to walk around like she doesn’t know anyone.
Oh, God.
She pretends to look occupied, nursing her drink as she shifts uncomfortably against the railing. Fifteen minutes later, her glass is empty and she’s still alone. Unconsciously, she begins to gnaw on her thumb, absentmindedly peeling the edge of a nail that has grown too long for her to comfortably play the piano, tearing an edge of skin in the process.
Gabriella winces and looks guiltily at her finger, automatically balling her hand into a fist.
Bathroom. She doesn’t really need one, but it’ll give her something to do.
But the nearest one is locked. She puts her ear against the door, hears giggling. And sniffing.
Oh, God. The last thing she wants tonight.
Gabriella goes up to the bar and orders another screwdriver. Walks around some more, feeling like an idiot. Tries another door.
A staircase!
She walks down to a different level. The family area, she thinks uncomfortably. She tries one door, then another. Both are locked. She suspects she shouldn’t be here. The doors are locked for a reason.
As if reading her mind, a voice makes her jump.
“You lost something?”
She turns around guiltily, even though she’s done nothing to feel guilty about.
He’s tall and wiry, with Indian-straight black hair and bronze skin that’s pulled tautly over chiseled cheekbones. It’s his eyes that startle her, sly and incongruously light, light green for a face this color. She knows immediately, in the way people like her always know, that it’s his house, his party, his money, and yet, he couldn’t be further removed from her.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for a bathroom,” she says, distracted by his eyes, the way he looks at her, as if he could read her mind but finds everything slightly amusing. It sounds lame, so she babbles on. “The one upstairs was taken, and I really needed one…,” she trails off.
He doesn’t say anything but walks past her, his bare arm brushing against hers, and opens a door that’s not locked.
“You can use this one,” he says, with a calculating half smile that tugs up one side of his mouth, leaving his arm extended against the door so she’s forced to come up close to him to go inside. “You know your way back?”
“Yes,” Gabriella says, infinitely uncomfortable. “Thanks,” she adds quickly, shutting the door behind her, severing the connection.
When she comes out, he’s gone.