cont’d from Mi Calculador

I awoke sometime that afternoon completely ravenous. It probably wasn’t the most sanitary of choices, but the street vendors had some of the best food around. Who knew where the meat came from? Who cared? I’d had the runs from the moment I’d got here, but I was eating like a king. For one peso you could get a soft tortilla taco. I’d been eating them for most of the week and could put down about ten without getting full.

The day was already hot as I stepped outside the Toledo. At the curb, Cesar was leaning on his taxi, reading the paper.

“I didn’t know you could read, Cesar,” I joked.

“Ah, amigo. Good morning.”

I invited him along, but he wanted to treat me to something better.

“Today we eat tortas.”

He even offered to pay. But he seemed a little annoyed with me.

“It was a simple misunderstanding,” I said as we drove along Paseo de la Reforma. “How was I supposed to know she wasn’t a whore?”

“I tol you last night, amigo. Camila like you.”

“She likes my money, she likes that I’m American. She thinks I’ll save her.”

“You dance all night with Camila,” he said, “you turn away other mujeres. When I drop you off at Toledo you say you love her. Borracho, of course. But she. . . she is young. Tiene dieciseis anos. She take to heart what you say.

“Escuchame,” he went on. “We go to Mekano tonight. You see Camila. You talk. Tell her sorry. Say ‘yo siento para ayer’. Simple.”

“No. Screw it. I’ll give her some hush money. I can’t go to jail in Mexico. I don’t have the constitution for it. We’ll have to find some other girls.”

“Amigo, Camila not good to you?”

“No, she’s goddamn terrific. Young, but responsive. Like she was born for it. How old did you say she was?”

“You have a good heart, amigo. I know. You tell her. She understand.”

“Are you not hearing me, man? To hell with her, I didn’t come here for little girls. Why do you keep trying to push this jailbait on me? Forget the kid. Let’s get some real women. With long legs and big round asses.”

“Ok, ok. Whatever you say, amigo.”

And I almost thought I heard the bastard say it’s your money under his breath.

That night at Mekano, Cesar got us in for free. He’d whispered something in the doorman’s ear and the guy smiled while looking at me, then waved us through. Again, Cesar took off once we were inside and I went and got our drinks, more screwdrivers. For some reason the place didn’t carry bourbon. You couldn’t find bourbon in all of Mexico. If you ordered whiskey you got scotch. But you had to be in the right mood for scotch, a pretentious mood, sitting in a dark restaurant with a cigar and a porterhouse steak, feeling superior. That mood rarely came to me. I found another table near the dance floor and waited for Cesar and whatever entourage he’d put together.

To my surprise he came back with five girls. Who knew what he was telling them to get them to come over here. I never bothered to ask. I could tell they were much older than Camila, though. We were introduced and the heaviest of the five sat in my lap. Angeles. She was a human tick of a girl. Fat with the blood of some other gringo she’d latched onto. She had no neck and her arms shot out at her sides like feelers. She was crushing me. The worst part was I couldn’t reach my drink. There was no leverage. Cesar must have realized my helplessness because he darted around to my side and pried her out of my lap. “God damn it,” I said. “What’s with this beast?” He laughed at me and pushed Angeles toward a chair.

Suddenly one of the girls jumped up and clicked a heel on the floor and said, “Bailamos!”

It was more loud techno music. We went out to the dance floor, each of us with a drink in our hand. The floor was crowded with bodies and overpowered by the stink of colognes. Hispanic men were decked out and groomed with razor precision. Latin machismo was something that eluded me. There was a hint of homosexuality in that crisp masculinity, a sort of fashion ad androgyny. But the fragility of their appearance masked the fighter in them, making them more dangerous than your typical street fighter.

As we danced I tried sipping from one of the girls’ drinks but it came off clumsy and I spilled vodka down the front of my shirt. The girl laughed then grabbed my hip and pulled me in to lick the vodka off my chin. This little move turned me on and before she pulled away I dropped my head and gave her a quick peck. She was a tight little package, but I had my eye on another of the girls. The one with long black curls and nice hips. Rosalita. She had a constant look of hatred in her, a perpetual glare from high arching eyebrows and it made me want to get her back to the hotel and burn in her fury.

Cesar had struck gold. The girls were on fire. Even big Angeles had some moves that made me wonder. But I felt mildly uncomfortable. I kept thinking I saw Camila out in the crowd, like she was spying on me.

Then one of the girls got aggressive. Alejandra. Her smooth navel-pierced belly showed below a tight shirt and she edged in front of the other girls to dance with me. I didn’t mind. She did some move where she put her hands on her knees and ground her ass against my crotch while looking back at me. At one point her skirt edged up on her hip and I could feel her firm ass, her soft bush pressing through her panties against my leg.

Then she spun around and grabbed my hand. She was laughing as she stuck her tongue out at Rosalita and suddenly I was being dragged through the crowd. Behind us I heard Rosalita shout, “Puta!” Alejandra pulled me to the back of the club and when we came to the restrooms she pushed me through the ladies’ room door and into a stall. Her forwardness shocked me but I was intrigued. She cackled as she locked the stall door then turned and gave me a tonguey kiss.

She couldn’t have weighed ninety pounds and I imagined a multitude of acrobatics with her. I was in a fever. I pulled up her skirt and pushed my hand down the top of her panties. It was like rubbing a burst kiwi. Her hands worked at the front of my pants and within seconds she had all the buttons undone. The whole thing was dream-like, a drunken surrealism in a world of carnal uncertainties. I had a grip on her hair and was kissing her violently when the bathroom door burst open and Rosalita shouted, “Donde estan?” “Shit,” I said and buttoned my pants.

Alejandra burst into more laughter and called Rosalita over. Rosalita banged on the door saying, “Abre la puerta!” but Alejandra just laughed at her through the space of the door and frame. “Abre la puerta!” They were both laughing now. Rosalita’s eye probed the crack of the door as if searching for the expression on my face, her big teeth surrounded in smiling red. Suddenly I felt like the dupe in some elaborate hoax. The two girls whispered to each other then Alejandra slid back the latch and opened the door. She was still giggling and leaned in on Rosalita and gave her a kiss on the mouth. It was a deep kiss that seemed to make them both forget I was there. Alejandra whispered in Rosalita’s ear and I gauged Rosalita’s eyes to land on my crotch and she giggled too. Then Alejandra said, “Vamos!” and both girls grabbed my arms and led me back to the dance floor.

No one seemed to miss us or to question what had transpired in the restroom. We got more drinks, danced some more and soon I was buzzed and invited them all back to my room, even Angeles. We’d have an orgy. Hell, Cesar was invited too. This was going to be great.

Somewhere along my rant the alcohol got the better of me. The room began to swim so I sat down. The music grew louder. Mortar rounds of bass slammed my seat, my chest, sending waves of nausea through me. Blue neon hissed vehemently and sagged on the walls. And the girls . . . my God, the girls! Something tragic had overcome them. They were wild-eyed and looked like they were made of wax and were melting, their make-up spread out over their faces like they had put it on blindfolded. Cesar’s mouth of yellow teeth gleamed like some psychotic piranha chattering nonsense at me and I wondered if I’d been slipped something. I fell silent and watched everything dissolve around me. I was drooling and recall Alejandra, or Rosalita, one of those damn girls sucking at my mouth, sucking down my drool. The last I remember was vomiting on the sidewalk and one of them helping me get undressed inside my hotel room.

I awoke with a mild hangover to see sun pouring into the room. I was alone and naked with the scent of a woman on me. I had no recollection of whom I’d brought back and suddenly I panicked. My money! They definitely got it this time. I looked over the room. Clothes were strewn violently across the floor. I didn’t see my pants. Then I heard a noise in the bathroom.

Camila came out brushing her teeth. She was naked.

She said something, I couldn’t understand it through the toothpaste. I just nodded, uncertain of the night’s end, how she’d come into the picture. That maybe my suspicions of her being at the club were right. She plopped down beside me and stroked my forehead. And at that moment Camila was beautiful. It had been a long time since I felt the grounding of sincerity and suddenly I was never happier to see her.

“Yo siento,” I said.

She smiled then went back to the bathroom. I heard her spit in the sink and gargle with my bottled water.