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DIADRA GLANCED AT THE plane tickets thrice, ensuring the departure time, which happened to take off on Thursday night at 10 p.m. versus Friday morning. She would arrive in San José, Costa Rica at 6 A.M. Central Time. The ticket was an economy class seat.
“I’m not flying eight hours scrunched up next to a mouth breather,” she said, taking out her phone to check in to acquire an upgrade to the seat. “Tomorrow night, I fly out to be with Ed, in a first-class seat. Mama does love some warm nuts.”
She grumbled as she set the Chinese food on the counter after seeing the inside of her apartment and Quita sprawled out on her couch. Regretting inviting Quita over to her place, she found her good pal asleep, her legs gaped wide open. Empty potato chip bags surrounded the slumbering form, along with cookie crumbles and two half-consumed bottles of soda and a dirty plate with peeled off hot dog skins.
“Good grief, Quita,” she said, nudging her friend’s foot. The terrible idea had crossed her mind for a brief second to ask the young woman to be a roommate to help out with the rent. Her second thoughts went into overdrive at the thought of Ed spending the night and waking up to find Quita in bed with them, or worse, she would be a slob which she had proven in a mere matter of a days’ time.
Diadra picked up the mess, allowing her friend the much-needed rest in a quiet place versus the apartment she shared with her mother and the six foster children. However, allowing Quita to sleep over didn’t mean it would be permanent. It still wasn’t clear to her why Quita had to come up with rent money since her mother received so much aid from the state for the care of the foster children. Diadra chalked up not asking too many questions to good common sense and self-preservation.
“I can’t get bent out of shape about a situation which has never been made clear for me to understand,” she said, tossing the items in the trash. The can was overrun with takeout bags from fast-food joints, courtesy of Quita. Her apartment smelled like a one-bedroom walk-up in Bed Sty over a falafel joint. Bagging up the trash, she nudged her friend again. “Quita, get up. You need to get home.”
“Okay, Diadra,” Quita mumbled, rolling off the couch and going to the bathroom.
“I’m taking the trash out,” Diadra called to her, leaving out the front door with the keys to the apartment in her pocket. “Lock up if you leave before I get back.”
The elevator moved slowly, forcing Diadra to take the stairs down to the basement floor for the items to go in the incinerator. The ashes were used by several of the residents in the rooftop garden which is why she took the effort to bring her trash down, sort it, and prepare the items to be burned. The leftover scraps of food went into the composter. It wasn’t much, but she did feel she was doing her part to reduce her carbon footprint in a high-heeled world.
A simple job of sorting trash must have taken longer than she planned. The apartment was empty when she returned, and the spare keys she gave Quita lay on the counter, but she couldn’t locate her phone.
“Damn it, Quita!” she exclaimed, angry that she would have to track her friend down to get the phone back.
Just as she was about to put on her jacket to go on the hunt for Quita, a glint caught her eye. The salmon-colored device was on the floor with the screen cracked. “Shit, Quita,” she said, angry as ever that her friend had no respect for anyone else’s property.
Quita hadn’t bothered to say goodbye, but she did trouble herself with taking Diadra’s food, leaving her with nothing for supper. Agitation covered her as she pulled the plane tickets from her back pocket, choosing to focus her energy on preparing for the weekend getaway with Ed. Diadra wasn’t certain if he was in fact a Costa Rican, Columbian, or Venezuelan, and she didn’t care. It had been three weeks, and she was ready for another hearty helping of her hunk.
“See you soon, Ed,” she said, looking down at the phone. It still worked, which was a plus. If things pan out, she would swing by the Apple store and get a new glass screen before she departed New York. If not, it could wait until her return. “I guess this flight would be considered red-eye. My first red-eye and romantic getaway with my m-a-n. This weekend is going to be so good.”
****
“NO ED, IT’S NOT GOOD,” Mr. Yield said into the phone. He stared down at the plane ticket which left at the butt crack of the night on Friday and returned on Monday afternoon. “How do you know I didn’t have plans this weekend with my family?”
“Did you have plans with your family this weekend, Brody the Johnson?”
“No, but still...,” Mr. Yield replied. “Millicent’s new play opens on Friday night.”
“What time?”
“The first show is at six,” Yield said gruffly into the phone, yet excited to get away from the small-town production of Oklahoma.
“Good, catch the six pm show, take the wife to dinner, and then be on the flight at 11:30. It works out perfectly,” Yuñior said to his friend. “I really want you to see the house. I bought my first home. It’s small, but I like it.”
“Costa Rica though?”
“Yes, it's kind of neutral to the cartel. The house is high in the mountains, with fertile farmland and a small community that has a little store,” Yuñior said with pride. “Brody the Johnson, it would mean a great deal if you came to my housewarming.”
“Didn’t mean that much to you getting me there with these cheap ass tickets in the cheap seats on cheap-flights-are-us,” Brody growled in the line.
“If you do not like the seats, for a measly $38, you can choose to upgrade,” Yuñior said, chuckling. “I shall pick you up at the airport on Saturday. I look forward to seeing you, my friend.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Yield said, wondering how he was going to explain this unexpected trip to his wife.
Millicent came into the living room just as the call ended. Seeing the look on her husband’s face, she took a seat beside him. Her hand rested on his thigh, rubbing his arm through the cotton shirt. Eyes implored Yield to make the confession of the trouble on his mind, displaying itself in bright colors on his face.
“You have a job to do?” she asked.
He didn’t like lying to his wife, but in this case, it may have been more prudent, but if anything went sideways, she needed to know where he would be. Sighing, he looked her in the eyes, thinking hard on the lie, but his mouth spoke the truth.
“Ed bought a place in Costa Rica that he wants me to see,” Yield said.
“You’re going to Costa Rica?”
“It’s just for the weekend. I will be back on Monday,” he said. “The flight leaves late on Friday so I still get to see the opening of your show.”
Millicent wasn’t bothered. The schedule change actually made her feel better. “It may work out for the best,” she said, “Chad is sleeping over this weekend at Doug McClure’s. We have set changes to make after Friday’s show for Saturday and Sunday’s matinee. The last show is on Monday night, so I’m tied up with all of the nonsensical changes the director has demanded.”
“It’s Oklahoma. How do you need set changes to a fucking wagon with hay and some milk jugs?” Yield asked. “Why is Josh making such a big deal about it?”
“You know this is his directorial debut, and he wants everything to feel modern with an old school vibe,” Millicent said. “The vision is good, but the execution is horrific.”
“So is Sally Atwell’s singing, but I’m not one to judge,” Yield said, laughing.
“I’m just glad you’re going to get a chance to see my debut as a set designer as well. I worked really hard on this project and if it pans out, I could be hired on permanently by the theater company,” Millicent said leaning into her husband. “A real salary again. I could contribute to the household financially.”
“Millicent, I have enough to take care of us,” he said, feeling offended.
“Yes, and I have enough to take care of us as well, I just want a steady stream of income of my own so I don’t have to touch what Mrs. Delgado gave me. You know, in case you wanted to turn in your resignation with The Company.”
“Five years,” Yield said. “I have a five-year plan to be debt free and then I’ll leave. Until then, my wife, I get to play Indiana Jones.”
“Yes, but Professor Jones had a day job at a university,” she reminded him.
“Thinking about that as well,” he said. “Maybe I’ll write a book.”
She laughed. “It would be cool if there was a book series about Ed as the dashing hero. A hero that is a husband and a father but, on the side, he rescues damsels in distress. I’d buy it.”
“Ew, no. I wouldn’t buy it, but Ed would make a cool hero,” Yield said, looking at the courier envelope.
In his head, he replayed the evening on the ship, standing at Yuñior’s side, holding a gun, ready to bust a cap in an ass if it wiggled. The hero’s sidekick. The voice of reason. The man with a plan.
No matter how much he prepared a plan, none of his thinking could rationalize the events of the weekend that started with Diadra’s arrival into San José, the capital of Costa Rica. The story when retold, unfolded in such a manner that no one could have believed a very, very bad idea had worked so well, and they all lived to tell about it.
****
FRIDAY, 6 AM
Yuñior, excited and ready to get the day going, waited inside the San José Airport by the exit ramp closest to Diadra’s arrival gate. The yellow shirt with black stitching down the front disguised the citrine tattoo on his skin, blending perfectly with the body art. The deep green pleated slacks fit as if they were tailored made for his body. Approving eyes of young and old women raked over him as he leaned against the pole, the dark shades hiding what he observed while he waited. Hands, rested in his pockets, covered the cheap watch he chose to wear, lessening the possibility of being ambushed on a three-hour drive back to Pérez Zeledón.
In the back of the vehicle, he had a blanket and packed basket of goodies for breakfast. On the way to his new home, a secluded waterfall, nestled in the corner of the jungle, accessible by vehicle and a thirty-minute drive from the airport, would be the first stop. He fancied making love to Diadra by the side of the crystal blue waters as she cried out his name in passion. A smile graced the corner of his lip as he thought of them in the water, cooling their bodies after a hearty, nasty, sweaty, mouth-drying round of lovemaking. Fishing rods and lures were also in the back of the truck, and he hoped, based on what he’d seen when he discovered the secluded spot, that he would catch a few fish and cook over an open flame, showing Diadra his prowess as a hunter and gatherer.
She was close by. Yuñior could feel her presence although his head was down. Yuñior wanted to appear cool and aloof when she saw him, hoping she’d be happy to see her man. The smile widened a bit at the silliness of his adolescent fantasy.
He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize she was standing in front of him, watching the face which seldom showed an expression emote his thoughts. The smell of the coconut oil she used in her hair made him look up, directly at the spot where she stood, catching her off guard and making her jump.
“That was weird,” Diadra said as she walked up to him.
“I felt you first, then I smelled you,” Yuñior replied, cocking his head to the side. “No, that came out wrong. The coconut oil with shea that you use in your hair. The smell is distinct.”
“I’ll take it,” she said, taking another step closer. Diadra didn’t have any expectations of the weekend, but planned to go with whatever he had planned.
“Come here,” he demanded, sliding his arm around her waist. Although public displays of affection were not on his list of things a cool man would do, he’d missed her. The kiss was brief, the hug encompassing all the things he couldn’t say.
“I thought you didn’t do public displays of affection, Ed,” she said, clinging to his muscular frame while inhaling the manly scents of sweat and a woodsy cologne.
“Diadra, before these fifteen months are over, you are more than likely going to make me do a great number of things I swore I’d never do,” Yuñior said, looking for her luggage. “Where is your luggage?”
She held up a backpack. “I travel light, plus, I figured most of the weekend you’d have me naked, so why bother with over-packing. Besides, I may find a few items I wish to buy which would need room in the pack,” she said with arched brows. “San José, Costa Rica, I’m ready.”
Diadra grinned, slipping her sunglasses onto her face, the backpack went over her right shoulder as her left hand slid inside of his right, interlocking their fingers. “Show me this world you’ve created for us to love in, Ed,” she told him.
The words hit him hard in the chest. Diadra didn’t need the obvious explained to her. She was a woman who got it. Yuñior liked that about her—she said little, observed everything, and from what he could tell, the lady got him.
“Seriously, I’m going to check with my father to see if I can have more than one wife. Letting you go may not be easy for me to do,” Yuñior confessed.
“Especially after this weekend because I brought the edible body butter,” she said, winking and sticking out her tongue, licking her bottom lip.
He laughed, escorting his amante out the door. The weekend he had planned would be full of small surprises and he hoped when his lady left Costa Rica, his Diadra would leave as a woman head over heels in love. It was Yuñior’s plan to woo her in a subtle fashion, not with his money or gifts, but his attention to the smaller details. In his soul, he prayed that if she loved him enough that the universe would work in their favor, pairing them together for eternity.
If not, he would take the happiness of the right now, and deal with the bullshit later. Life always brought up the later, sloshing it in his face like buckets of slop meant for the hogs. She was here. He was here. The love was here. Yuñior Delgado planned to saturate himself in its glory.
****
DIADRA RODE IN SILENCE, looking out the window at the lush countryside, marveling over being in another country.
“Ed, are you Costa Rican?” she asked, hoping the question wasn’t too invasive.
“No,” he said, looking over at her briefly, keeping his eyes on the road, and shifting to a lower gear to make the turnoff. The early morning hour would ensure privacy for a few hours before families and kids came to the waterfall. “My mother was an Argentinean and my father Colombian. However, his mother was Mexican, which accounts for my odd coloring. The height I don’t understand, however, my father and I are the same height, but I’m still growing,” he said and clamped his lips shut, thinking he’d said too much, nearly divulging his age, she did not question it, but moved on to another topic.
“Wow, can you do the Argentine Tango?” Diadra inquired, picking up on more details than he’d meant to share.
“Si, I can,” he replied. “Every Sunday, mi Abuela, that is my Grandmother, gave me dancing lessons from the time I was 13. She taught me to tango, waltz, and I can salsa, but it is not my strong suit.”
Diadra, wouldn’t pry any further in his family life. Again, she changed the subject. Her hand reached over to caress his arm.
“Did you read the book?”
“I did,” he replied. “It is not my type of reading, but I mainly read business books or literary non-fiction. I am a sucker for a happy ending though.”
“An educated man,” she quipped, looking at the thickness of the jungle close in around them.
“Sí, I was educated in Argentina,” he told her. “I’m taking a gap year before continuing my agricultural studies.”
“A gap year.”
“A gap year,” he replied, shifting gears, making a right, and coming to a gravel path. He drove slowly through dense foliage, waiting for the moment when Diadra would hear the waterfall. The vehicle rounded the bend, and the sound of water cascading over the cliff made Diadra sit forward in the seat, peering out the front window.
“This is beautiful,” she said, looking around. “Are there other people here?”
“No, the morning is yours and mine. I brought a blanket, towels, and breakfast,” Yuñior said. “I can make us a small fire and fresh roast a pot of coffee at the side of the pool.”
“Ed, this is amazing,” she said as the vehicle came to a stop. “If you wanted to impress me, color me impressed.”
He’d planned to open the door for her, but Diadra was out of the car, kicking off her shoes and running towards the water. Standing ankle deep, she unbuttoned her blouse, showing off a lacy black bra, and pulled the skirt upwards and over her head, tossing both items on the bank. She fell back into the water, kicking in a backstroke to the center of the pool, careful to keep her head above water.
Yuñior pulled the items he’d brought from the rear of the vehicle, spreading the blanket on the soft earth, adding the basket of goodies, and unrolling a towel. Diadra bobbed up and down in the gentle blue waters, beckoning him forward with a crook of her finger. It only took seconds for him to strip down and dive in, slicing his way through the water and coming up beside her. His arms slipped around her waist, pulling her tightly against his hard body. Diadra’s legs locked around Yuńior’s hips, feeling the rise in his briefs as his mouth locked with hers, kissing her passionately.
The sound of clapping caught his attention as two men stood on the bank of the pool observing him and Diadra. Yuñior’s body was covered by Diadra as the men made obscene comments, holding her skirt. The first short, bearded, dirty-faced man sniffed the fabric, rubbing it against his crotch. The second man picked up Yuñior’s pants, searching for his wallet.
“You don’t want to do that,” Yuñior said in a calm voice.
“And why not?” The second man questioned.
Yuñior released Diadra, pushing her behind him as he treaded water towards the men. The closer he got to shore, the more the head of the yellow viper showed in the water on his chest. By the time he reached the edge of the bank, the full head of a snake could be seen and Yuñior stood up.
“The Bocaracá!” they said in unison.
The bearded man dropped her skirt. The second man released Yuñior’s pants. They issued apologies, bowing in reverence and backing up. Yuñior spoke in rapid Spanish. She didn’t know what Yuñior said to the men, but they all bobbed their heads in agreement and just as they had appeared, they vanished into the dense foliage. Diadra swam forward in the water, getting closer to him.
Instead of asking questions, she walked past him to retrieve a towel. She handed one to him and dried herself and put on her clothes. She lifted the picnic basket and placed it on the back seat of the vehicle and returned to get the blanket.
“Diadra...,” he said.
“No need to explain. I know this story,” she said. “If we stay, they will come back with more men, knowing that you’re here. You will put on a valiant display of bravery, someone gets shot, and I have to explain to your family what happened. No thanks. Let’s just go.”
“They won’t come back,” he said.
“Ed, they always come back. One will tell his cousin, who will call a friend, and they will bring along some asshole who thinks he’s bad enough to take on whatever that tattoo on your chest means and said same idiot is going to get froggy and want to jump,” she said. “Let’s just leave.”
Yuñior wanted to shoot someone. All of his plans went down the waterfall with his hopes of showing her that he was a man who could live off the earth. He had calculated catching a fish and cleaning it and show her his manly skillsets. They were going to make love on the blanket while mosquitos bit their flanks. Hot and sweaty from their lovemaking, they would rinse off in the waterfall. All of it ruined by those two ass munchers.
“Shit, I should have killed them,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Spilled them. The eggs in the basket,” Yuñior lied, covering his words, climbing into the vehicle, cranking the engine, driving quickly, and working his way towards the main road for the drive to Pérez Zeledón.
“Funny. I thought you said you should have killed them,” Diadra said, laughing. “I must have water in my ears.”
He sat tight-lipped for most of the drive to his home in the mountain. She was right. There were less than 24 hours before the notice went out that the Bocaracá he’d been seen in San José. Usually it took 72 hours to locate his actual whereabouts. Thankfully, his plane wasn’t due back at the airfield until Saturday morning, which bought him a bit of time to enjoy his weekend.
“Naw,” he said aloud.
“Ed, you said something?”
“They won’t come back if they know what is best for them,” he commented and focused on the road.
“You’re angrier about not being able to make love on the blanket and feed me the goodies in your basket,” Diadra said, touching his hand. “The sheer fact that you went to the trouble to plan such a moment for us touches me Ed. I appreciate it more than you know. You have such a beautiful soul, and I see you.”
“You see me?”
“Yes, I see you. Not the person who wears the symbol of power etched in his skin. I don’t know the life of the dude who gave me what I thought was a rock, which turned out to be worth nearly eighty grand,” Diadra said. “I see a man who wants to be loved, and I’m going to do what you need every single mutherfucking time because if you’re Clyde, I’m your Bonnie.”
“Who is this Clyde?”
“He was a gangster who...never mind,” Diadra said, noticing the smirk on his face.
“Diadra, I know this Bonnie and Clyde. I have seen the movie,” he said, looking at her with a side-eye. “Bonnie, eh?”
“Hell yeah!”
Yuñior let out a whoop, slapped his hand on the steering wheel, and turned up the music. There was love to be made before the shit hit the fan.
