CHAPTER 3Despite Señora Marron’s machine-gun command of her native language, the helter-skelter passage through the maze of baggage claims and customs reminded Caroline of herding cats. At one point, it seemed as though twenty people were in twenty-five places. Caroline lost both girls once in the gauntlet of duty-free shops and Karen again in the ladies’ room.
“Okay. From now on, we are inseparable, right?” Caroline linked her free arm in Annie’s. “Annie, you hook onto Karen. And we don’t let go of each other, got it?”
“Got it.” Karen giggled, pointing toward the newsstand just ahead where Señora Marron was zeroing in on Blaine Madison. “But it looks like it’s too late for Daddy.”
“Señor Madison, we will keep together, did I not explain on the plane?”
Startled from his study of the Wall Street Journal, Blaine switched from an initial scowl at the market numbers to surprise at the interruption, then on to mischief with a rakish lift of one eyebrow. “I’m waiting for my daughter, Señora. It’s also against the rules for fathers to go into the ladies’ rooms, no?”
The señora’s huff of irritation deflated through her flame-red painted lips. With a short nod, she clapped her hands over her head and summoned the group to her, clucking Spanish like a mother hen until all her chicks, both big and small, made a straight line through the same turnstile and customs desk to the terminal pick-up area. There, puffing hard in the thin, diesel-laden mountain air, they handed over their bags for the second time that day and boarded a once-silver bus with the Virgin of Guadalupe swinging from the panoramic rearview mirror.
After the driver slammed the gaping side of the bus shut and climbed into the faux tiger-fur-covered seat behind the wheel, a young man stood up in the front of the bus, a microphone in his hand. His black hair was as straight and unruly as it was thick, and his smile spanned the entire width of his face.
“Buenas tardes, señores y señoras, and welcome to Mexico,” he said into a static-riddled public address system. “Although I am told that I look like the guy that chases the gopher in Caddyshack, I am actually just Hector Rodriguez, who will be your tour guide until you leave the country of the cactus and eagle. And this is Guillermo Josef de Aldama.”
With a twinkle in his dark eyes, the guide—who did look a little like a Mexican version of Bill Murray—waited for all the syllables of the driver’s name to sink in before adding, “But to us, he is just Bill.”
Wearing a tropical shirt much like the one Caroline had donned earlier that morning, Bill waved in the mirror. Then, his mustache-crowned grin fading, he eased the bus into the mainstream of through traffic.
“Bill will be driving us from here to the coast and . . .” Hands flying to his hips, Hector swung them in a little circle à la Macarena. “. . . Acapulco.”
The teens on the bus erupted in a cheer.
“But we must do our history before we play, no?”
To the collective “Awww” of his audience, Hector shrugged. “Ni modo. It can’t be helped. All play and no history makes Hector a dumb boy. Besides,” he added, “no history, no paycheck for me.” He rubbed his fingers together, his expression a mirror of mischief that could not help but elicit the goodwill of the group.
The bus started up and around an overpass, with Hector holding on to the pole behind Bill’s seat and swinging with the flow. “But you will see that Mexico City is more than just history. Tonight we go to Banditos, the hottest dance club in town for peoples your age.”
Again the youngsters hooted with enthusiasm, feeding the impish light in Hector’s gaze. “Don’t worry, mamás y papás, no alcohol is served from eight till midnight,” he assured the parents. “So you will have time to check in and have a look around, exchange currency, if you wish, and get ready to dance the night away . . . at least until the late karaoke show. Then all the Seen-der-eh-yas and handsome princes from seventeen years down turns into squash.”
“Squash?” Christie’s expression mirrored the skepticism in her voice. “You mean pumpkins, right?”
“Squash, pumpkin, whatever you are, don’t miss your ride,”
Hector advised. “Or you will be squashed. Entiende? Adults only after midnight.”
“Sí.”
“We entiende.”
“Got it.”
By midnight I’ll feel like squash, Caroline thought.
“The palms you see lining the highway surrounding our Alameda Park,” Hector continued, “are royal palms. The museum to the right houses the mural of the Alameda painted by famous Diego Rivera. It was nearly destroyed by the 1985 earthquake—”
“Looks kind of run-down to me,” Kurt observed from a nearby seat.
The way she felt. At the moment, the entertaining tour talk stimulated sleep more than cultural interest.
“But alas, it was saved and put into that museum over there.”
Hector pointed through the tinted windows.
“Who’s Diego Rivera?” Annie asked.
Hector looked as if she’d asked who Santa Claus was. “You don’t know Diego Rivera?”
Unaffected by his dramatic censure, Annie shook her head.
The guide broke into a wide grin and shrugged. “Neither do I, but we’ll find out on our tour tomorrow.”
Grinning, Annie shifted next to Caroline and moved to put her backpack under the seat in front of them.
“Just hold it in your lap, honey,” Caroline suggested. “Señora Marron said it’s only twenty or so minutes to the hotel. With luck, we can get a nap before dinner.” “But why?” her daughter complained. “I thought you and Mr.
“But you heard Hector. We need to get some Mexican money and look around,” Annie protested. “Besides, you already had a nap.” With the finesse of a magician, she brandished a Polaroid shot from the knapsack and waved it in Caroline’s face. “See? I have proof.”
Caroline cringed. There she was, wrapped in Blaine Madison’s jacket, her head pillowed against his shoulder, his head resting on her crown of curly hair. Both were lost in a dream world of their own . . . until someone saw the photo op and grabbed it. She had been awakened by the sudden flash of light to see Kurt fairly glowing with mischief.
“That will look great in the September school newsletter!” he crowed.
“As who?” Caroline couldn’t help her yawn, nor the first thing that popped into her mind. “Mr. and Mrs. Van Winkle?”
“As if.” Annie and Karen giggled in unison.
Mr. and Mrs. Caroline didn’t try to retrieve the words. Chewing them once was enough. Better to fade away in a meltdown of embarrassment.
Which was why, when she corralled Annie away from Karen in the terminal, Caroline had made it clear that the two of them should ride together on the bus.
Madison were getting along great.”
And they had been, despite Caroline’s adolescent appearance, her fear of flying, the hiccups, and her verbal faux pas. But when she flung her arm out in a motherly instinct as the plane braked after a bumpy touchdown, she surely must have cracked his rib cage. Blaine had been startled, but gracious.
As for Caroline, she hoped to avoid the man until at least the next millennium.
Karen’s stricken voice drew Caroline back to the present. “You can’t work tonight, Daddy. This is our vacation.”
“Karen, you know I cut my trip short to make this work,” Blaine answered, apology in his tone. “I have to finalize the contract details and send them to the office to get things moving.”
“But everyone is going.”
“Perhaps I might make a suggestion,” Señora Marron interjected from somewhere behind Caroline. She raised her voice so that everyone might hear. “Tonight is a free night. Since we have been traveling all day, the trip to the show club is optional. Señor Rodriguez and I will be happy to chaperone the students who wish to sample our nightlife. Although it is my hope that some parents will accompany us.”
“Mom will,” Annie volunteered. “I mean, we paid for the whole trip. We might as well get our money’s worth, right?”
Part of Caroline wanted to go, but at the moment the Sleepy in her dwarfed Happy.
“And you’ll get to practice your Spanish.”
When the value of the dollar and high school Spanish failed to raise a response, Annie resorted to pity. “We all worked so hard to raise the money to go.”
The whining echoed up and down the line as youngsters petitioned their parents to go, or at least get permission to attend the club with Señora Marron. The kids had put on car washes and bake sales to raise money for the trip, giving up several Saturdays throughout the spring. While a few parents supervised, the students had done all the work. They had to earn half the money, even though most of their parents could afford to pay their way. It was all part of a plan to make them appreciate the trip. They’d done so well that they’d had repeat customers and tips.
“Hey, you guys, keep the line moving,” Hector called to two errant students who’d been so involved in a hand video game that they’d lagged behind. “Let’s went.” He’d been moving the party along with his unique interpretation of move out, since they’d gotten off the bus.
Suddenly he turned to Caroline and grinned. “Love could be waiting but a dance away, Señora.”
She didn’t even know he’d been listening. “When our Mexican moon shines . . .” he sang in a parody of the old love song, “ni modo. It can’t be helped.”
“Could I go with you, Miz C?” Karen peered over the seat edge as if the hope of mankind now rested on Caroline’s shoulders. Caroline’s tired shoulders.
“Ni modo,” she sighed with a toss of her hands. “I guess it can’t be helped.”
Later, standing with the girls at the hotel window on the fourteenth floor, Caroline stared at the busy street below. The traffic flowed through vendor-lined streets, tangling at intersections with honks of impatience. The magnificent vista of a city set in a ring of sun-dashed mountains, as seen from the plane, was lost here amid the high-rises, but vestiges of the foreign culture were not. The colorful canopies of the street vendors competed with those of the VW Beetle taxi drivers who shouted “Viva!” from the lusterless concrete and asphalt beds. Lime greens, lemonade yellow, fiesta red, sunset orange—one was even painted like a ladybug.
The girls wanted to go shopping, and Caroline had gotten her second wind. There were souvenirs to buy for her staff and friends, plus she was eager to put into practice the A’s that she’d earned in high school Spanish.
Caroline dragged herself away from the fascinating hubbub of activity below. It could have looked like Philly, or any other big city, but it wasn’t. It was Mexico, land of the cactus, eagle, and serpent. And if the ancient Aztecs had searched a continent looking for such a place, then she could skip a nap.
“First we do a room check. Then I’m going to wash my face and pull this hair off my neck, and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Room check?” Karen gave Annie a puzzled look.
Annie grimaced. “Yeah, Mom has this thing about checking for bugs . . . especially spiders.”
Karen snorted. “No way.”
“Yes, way,” Caroline told her as she scanned the ceiling for cobwebs. “And if you’d been bitten the day of your first high school dance and wound up in the hospital with an allergic reaction, you’d be looking too.”
Annie lifted the cushion of the sofa bed. “Uh-oh.”
Caroline stiffened. “What?”
“Put a hold on the bug spray, Mom—”
“She brought bug spray?” Karen marveled.
“No sheets,” Annie finished.
Caroline’s upshot of adrenaline ebbed. “No hay problema. I’ll just get my handy dandy Spanish dictionary and order them up. Unless one of you ladies would care to.”
“No way.” Karen stopped the verbal traffic with an extended hand. “Not with my grades.”
“You first, Mom.” Annie’s dubious look hardly shouted confidence.
“And we need more cups,” Caroline observed, undaunted. Next to a mini coffeepot were only two Styrofoam cups. She closed the suitcase on the small can of insect spray she’d brought along, just in case.
A knock sounded on the adjoining door to their room, echoed by Blaine Madison’s query. “Everything okay in here?”
“Not a spider in sight,” Karen proclaimed.
Caroline groaned. “That’s a family secret,” she warned the girl.
Caroline didn’t want the world thinking she was a hysterical arachnophobic. She preferred the word “cautious.”
“It’s safe with me, Miz C,” Karen assured her. After a little finagling with the flush-mounted handle and deadbolt, Karen got the door open.
Blaine’s six-foot-plus frame all but filled the entrance.
“It’s just great here, Daddy. Did you see the taxi that was painted like a beetle bug?”
“A ladybug,” Annie corrected, the subject switched to a more acceptable insect.
“We’re doing just fine,” Caroline assured him. “How is your room?”
“Just be sure to use the bottled water, even if they do post that the tap water is safe.”
“We’re slipping out to get some traveler’s checks cashed, grab a bite to eat, and do a little shopping. Care to join us?”
“Take in the sights, absorb the flavors of old and new Mexico.” Karen grabbed her father’s hand and danced as far as his arms would allow.
“I’ve been in Mexico on several projects, Kitten,” Blaine said. His manner suggested to Caroline that he wasn’t all that impressed. “You all enjoy. I’ll just order up a sandwich and get to work.” He winked at his daughter and peered past her. “Are you sure you’re okay with the girls?”
Caroline was poring over the Spanish dictionary, looking for the right word for bedclothes or linens. “No hay problema . . . now that my feet are on the ground.” Linens. Caroline made out the tiny print. She cast a reassuring smile Blaine’s way as she punched the phone for room service.
A woman answered, drawing her full attention. “Servicio.”
“Yes, have you . . . Necesitas a los linos . . . para la cama y tam-bien una vaca en cuarto numero catorce veinte,” Caroline finished in triumph. We need linens for the bed and also a water glass in room number fourteen-twenty. At least that’s what she thought she said.
But when the woman repeated the request in a mix of uncertainty and incredulity, doubt set in.
“Sheets,” Caroline reiterated.
“Sábanas,” Blaine prompted. His smile was as unsettling as the housekeeper’s tone. “You asked for a tablecloth for the bed.”
“Oh, sábanas, no linos,” she said, shaking her head as though the woman on the line could see her.
“And un vaso para agua,” Blaine prompted.
“Y un vaso para agua.” Caroline glanced at him. “What did I say?” she mouthed silently.
The corner of his mouth tipped upward. “You said you needed a cow . . . I think.”
“Mother!” Annie declared in half-giggle, half-horror.
“I’m more checked out on travel Spanish than rural,” he admitted, breaking into a full grin.
“What did the operator say?” Karen asked, plopping down on the bed next to Caroline. Her dark eyes, like her father’s, danced with delight.
Caroline focused on the floor, head shaking. With a “Sí, muchas gracias, Señora,” she hung up the phone. “So much for high school Spanish.”
“Hey, all you have to do is brush ten years’ or so worth of dust off it, and you’ll be fine.”
Caroline cut her gaze toward Blaine. “Very gallant, but add a few or so’s worth to that ten.”
“As long as you have both feet planted on the ground, I have complete faith in you.”
“And so do we,” Annie proclaimed, as she threw herself across the bed.
“Even if I have to sleep on a tablecloth next to a cow,” Karen added, grinning.
Caroline ruffled Annie’s ponytail. “You two would do anything to be footloose in Mexico.”
“Have a good time, troops, and don’t drink the water or take anything from anyone on the street to carry back to the States.” Blaine closed the door between the rooms, dodging the girls’ indignation.
“Like, duh.” Karen rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “Hector already warned us.”
“And Señora Marron, and every other adult on the planet,” the other girl chimed in. “It’s like everyone thinks we missed 9-11.”
“Then it’s good to know that you remember so well what you were told.” Caroline grabbed her shoulder bag from the bed and struck a tour guide pose. “Let’s went.”