“Okay,” Beth said when they returned to the lobby, “I’m going to grab a cab and find a nice restaurant. Do you want to come along?”
“No Beth, all Herminia’s friends watching; we go to dining room, please.”
Beth looked to the bar doors and, sure enough, two bar girls stood at the door excitedly watching their every move.
“Well, I’m not sitting next to anyone,” she insisted.
“Si, si, I know. You no wan Leon bothering you and you wan seet alone. Herminia do. I make heem forget all about you.” Words of faith: somehow, they weren’t particularly comforting, but Herminia was already sweeping through the open doors to the dining room. They found ‘Ed Lyons’ and his companion in a booth. Clearly, the later, a man of slight proportions, wearing glasses and a vest with many pockets was confused and uncomfortable as they approached – that was a good sign, wasn’t it? Gawking at the approaching women, he pulled himself to his feet in the narrow space between chair and table.
“Seet, seet,” Herminia instructed, using her lips to indicate the spot he had just risen from. Withdrawing from her incessant stare, he lowered himself and received as his reward a radiant smile. Satisfied, she continued wiggling into the booth to sit at Leon’s side. The place remaining was opposite Leon’s friend, not beside him, just as promised: Beth eased in. The man looked intently at her through lenses that magnified his eyes. He then spun to fix Leon with a hard stare.
“Okay Ed, what’s happening?” he snapped, “Who are these women?”
“Relax, George! They’re friends I have invited to dinner with us.” Beth could recognize in Leon’s carriage and slight gestures an imitation of his brother’s politician’s polish, but his companion didn’t appear particularly impressed.
“Ed,” he called across the table, drawing bushy eyebrows together and wrinkling his forehead, “the bank paperwork we were supposed to review is ready. I thought that’s why we were getting together. We don’t have much time remaining, you know.” Turning, he faced Beth, pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled feebly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but we have pressing business matters and I hadn’t expected company.” His attention returned to ‘Ed’ who was lifting a shoulder against Herminia’s playful attempts to whisper into his ear. “Oh, great! Just great! So, now what, huh?” He snorted and slapped a palm flat upon the table.
Leon pressed a restraining fingertip over Herminia’s pursed lips. “I don’t know what you are so worried about, but okay,” he answered shrugging regrets to Herminia. Although silenced with his finger, she remained in charge, baby-face pout and doe-eyed gaze captivating him. He gave up all pretense of high roller intent on impressing his companion, and allowed her to pull him close for the cheek-to-cheek delivery of her secret. In that position, hidden from the men, she grinned and lifted her eyebrows in rapid succession. It was a performance such as Beth had never seen and caused her to smile broadly.
“Considering your personal problems,” Leon said to his companion while peering around Herminia, “naturally, I thought you would appreciate a little female company,” his eyes flicking towards Beth. When George’s gaze lit upon her, she found herself still smirking at Herminia’s manipulations. Immediately, she composed herself and offered a meek smile.
“I’m sorry again,” he said, “about him, that is. He made assumptions about things that are none of his concern and now we have this uncomfortable situation. Perhaps you should stay for dinner anyhow. However,” he said, with a little frown,
“I’m afraid I will have to excuse myself immediately after.”
“No, no, don’t apologize; it’s okay. This is fine,” she replied, appraising him as she spoke. A collection of pens and pencils protruded from one pocket of his vest and from another a second pair of glasses. “Your friend already knows that I too am only able to stay through dinner.”
“He did? He knew that?” They both glanced in “Ed’s’ direction. His hands were busy beneath the tablecloth. He squinted, groping lower with no attempt to disguise his movements. George shook his head slightly then returned his gaze to Beth with his cheeks visibly reddened. “Then I’m the one who misunderstood. I’m sorry. Okay then, Ed, let’s eat.” George said, tossing a menu across the table.
Despite her initial reluctance, meeting George Dearling was becoming a semi-pleasant surprise. He wasn’t
particularly good-looking, with a beak-like nose, thin lips and bald head but, he certainly was better company than Leon, appeared more intelligent, was tall, clean-shaven, and what hair he did have was neatly trimmed; not at all what she had expected. The source of ‘Ed’s’ misconception regarding his need for female company came, he explained, from the fact that his wife of eleven years had recently filed for divorce. Yet, however inconceivable it might be to ‘Ed,’ George Dearling loved his wife and longed to win her back. His hopes, he explained rested in the quick cash he intended to earn by selling the rights of two patents he held and ‘Ed’ represented the investors who wished to buy them: hence tonight’s meeting.
George had done extremely well as a computer programmer, however, the fast paced, highly competitive Silicon
Valley life was not suitable to his gentle nature, so several years earlier, he had come to Costa Rica with his wife and the apple of his eye, his beloved daughter, to start over where the peaceful lifestyle was much more to his liking. His wife, Becky, loved it and they both considered exposure to a second culture an excellent opportunity for their daughter’s development. In the Orosi Valley, a quaint colonial area famous for its gourmet quality coffee, he bought a beautiful farm, rich in volcanic soil and there, raised flowers for export to the US and Europe. Life in Orosi was the stuff of his sweetest dreams, until financial problems destroyed it.
Leon’s antics had gone on long enough. Beth pushed her plate away. “I’m stuffed,” she proclaimed. “Sorry to eat and run, but I must go. It was a pleasure to meet you, George,” she said standing and offering her hand. “Good night, Herminia, enjoy yourself. Ed, you be good to my friend and thank you for dinner.”
She wandered into the casino and began walking among the tables absorbing the excitement. Intimidated by the fast pace of chips, cards and swirling wheels, she headed for the slot machines. Moving from one to another in a futile chase for the easy jackpot, her stack of chips ebbed and flowed, eventually ebbing completely as she slipped her last into a slot.
Blackjack proved to be more to her liking. Twenty-five dollars worth of chips grew through a thrilling winning streak to eighty-seven, dwindled to thirty-four then in increments grew again to one hundred twelve before she quit. Craps was fun to watch but beyond her: each roll of the dice would surprise her, when bets she assumed to be losers were paid and those she thought winners were hauled off with a wooden hook. Roulette was straightforward like blackjack, but more colorful and exciting, plus you could play on your feet and players were less serious. Beth moved up to the table and stacked her impressive pile of chips in front of her.
“Your date hasn’t shown up?” It was George Dearling leaning over the board to place his bet.
“No, he may have gotten delayed with his work, but I’m sure he’ll be along soon.”
“It looks like you’ve been enjoying some good luck or did you start with more?”
“I won almost all of this: it’s so exciting! I’m feeling a strong addiction coming on. Do you suppose I’m a future candidate for Gambler’s Anonymous?”
“I could use a little of your beginners luck, and maybe you would do even better if you used a little strategy: let me show you my system. Go ahead, select any number.” It lost, but he had limited that bet to two chips. Meanwhile, the five they bet on the group as well as another five each on column, odd and red all won. She went wild with excitement. “Perfect,”
George declared. A doubter of the integrity of casinos, he maintained as part of his personal faith that a pretty woman, whose excitement at winning draws a crowd to a table, has an unusual tendency towards long streaks of good fortune. Such was the simple strategy George unveiled after a brief introduction to the fundamentals of roulette. Beth was in: she blew kisses on the chips in her best ‘Lady Luck’ fashion. Jumping, shouting and giggling, she stirred the interest of other gamblers, drew a lively crowd to the table and her winning continued.
“A few more big ones like that,” he cheered, clapping her on the shoulder when the dancing tiny ball came to rest on her number, “and you’re likely to be banned from the casino.” When Beth lost on three consecutive spins, he abruptly announced it was time to cash her chips, but quickly discovered that getting her to quit was far more challenging than getting her started. She left only reluctantly, steered away by George’s persistent pressure on her arm. She could have remained had she resorted to kicking and screaming, but considering how well she was dressed she left quietly for decorum’s sake.
“George,” she complained while succumbing to the weight of his hand in the small of her back steadily guiding her towards the exit, “I was just getting going in there. Come on, I want to win some more; let’s go back.” He suggested that perhaps it would be prudent to rest a while over an espresso and pastry in the coffee shop, a delightful proposition considering her hunger after consuming only half of her dinner.
“May I ask you a personal question?” she queried after they had been served.
“Sure, what would you like to know,” he asked, removing his glasses and looking at her with eyes that suddenly
appeared smaller.
“How is this money you’re going to earn supposed to save your marriage?”
“For my wife, financial problems with our farm are what this divorce is all about. She is upset with me because I was taken in by a crooked lawyer when I bought our farm so, if I can prevent foreclosure, I think she’ll come around.”
“Well, I hope you’re right. What is it that the lawyer did?”
“Actually, it all started last year when I went to pay my property taxes. I didn’t happen to have the registry number of the farm with me so I asked the tax clerk to find it by searching the records for my name and guess what? It wasn’t there. It didn’t take long to discover that my lawyer had never done his job of filing the correct documents. He just took the fees and tax payments and put them in his pocket. The result was that it was still registered in the previous owner’s name and he had moved out of the country. Fortunately, I had the original documents that were supposed to have been recorded. Of course, the lawyer couldn’t be found, so I hired a new one to get it all done properly. Anyhow, while searching the registry for all documents pertaining to the property, he made another discovery that was even worse: not only was the sale not registered, but the son-of-a-bitch hadn’t even researched to discover that there was an existing mortgage. To make matters worse, the owner had abandoned some huge debts when he left Costa Rica, and to collect, liens had been registered against the farm. In one crushing blow after another, first my crop, then my farm machinery were impounded. The next thing I knew, my bank accounts were frozen and I found myself facing foreclosure.”
“Wow, that’s horrible! It’s like a nightmare!”
He lifted his gaze from his fork and fixed her with a wry grin. “But, I’m going to save the farm and then Becky won’t be so angry.
“Well, I wish you luck. What do you say about going back to the roulette table and stirring up some more excitement?
I’m still all fired up and ready to win.”
“If you accept my theory, it’ll only work once in any given casino. I think it’s time for me to move on.”
“What do you mean? Why? We were doing fine, just like you said we would. What’s different now?”
“Call me a cynic if you want,” George said, “but I truly believe that if you go back, you’ll just lose. Think about it: if we won because that’s what the casino wanted in order to attract more money to the table and that, of course, means that they control the game. So, if you go back in now with a pocket full of chips they essentially gave you, don’t you think they will try to get them back? Of course, if you accept that the tables are honest, well, go ahead, but my suggestion is that you stick to the slot machines until your friend shows up.”
“So, you’re leaving. Why so early?”
George laughed, turning his cheeks red. “Ummm, yes I am… I’ve been having a wonderful time, but… Well
frankly, my wife has always been unreasonably jealous and I’m worried that someone will see us together and make too much of it. I just don’t think this is a good time to be throwing logs on the fire with her. Understand?”
“Sure, no problem. Drive safely on the way home.”
“Don’t worry. Actually, I’m not going far. I’m rather like you; I have this feeling of a winning streak coming on.
I’m going to try my luck in Club Hollywood.” The name struck a cord: Club Hollywood was the bordello where Herminia, at the tender age of fourteen, was introduced to cocaine.
“Club Hollywood is a casino?”
“Yes, it’s owned by a friend of mine and I go there often. In my opinion, it’s the best club in town. I was warming up to go there when I bumped into you at the roulette table. I had a great time, thanks, it took my mind off my problems for a while. I’m going out this side door to grab a cab, perhaps you ought to go back inside and look around for your date before he starts thinking he’s been stood up”
“I have a confession, George. I don’t actually have a date waiting for me. I made it up to have an excuse to get away from Le… from Ed.”
“But you’re dressed for a date,” he said replacing his glasses and pushing them high on his nose.
She smiled. “I know, I felt like treating myself to a special night in the casino.” The smile continued, remembering the infectious excitement. “It’s far too early to call it a night and I don’t relish the thought of losing all my chips right away by staying here: I’m going to ride along with you to Club Hollywood. Just look at all this,” she said upending her bag of chips onto the table. “Let’s go cash them in.”
“But, we can’t go there in the same taxi. Everyone will see us.”
“Oh come on, George! You’re carrying this a little too far. What are you going to do: go to the same club as me in a separate taxi, then pretend you don’t know me when I get there? We are going separately, just sharing a ride. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, you’re right, of course, but Club Hollywood isn’t for you. Let me take you instead to the Star Casino. It’s a good place and I’m sure you will have a good time.”
He wore an expression that tweaked her curiosity. “Okay, why isn’t Club Hollywood for me?” she asked.
“Well, it’s that, uh,” he hedged. “Well, it’s a casino all right, but it’s coupled with a house of prostitution. They’re in separate parts, so once you’re inside you’d never know unless you went through the connecting door, but I still suggest the Star.”
It was the same place! She could just imagine: there’d be a door with a little window that popped open. ‘Joe sent me’
or some equivalent, would be the password and inside, the narrow-eyed owner dressed in black that enslaved little girls for their bodies. “No, I’m going with you to Club Hollywood,” she said. “C’mon let’s go.”
* * *
If first impressions count for anything, Club Hollywood was just the sort of place Beth would recommend to anyvisitor wanting to experience San José nightlife: brand new shiny-bright glitz with hundreds of lights, glass, chrome and uniformed doormen, just as she envisioned Las Vegas to be, and completely contrary to her expectations. Where was the den of iniquity Herminia described? George, it was immediately clear, was a well-known regular in the club. Upon entering, they were stopped by several people wishing them a good evening, all with a curious eye towards Beth that demanded introductions.
At the cashier’s window, buying chips, they were approached by a large, powerfully built man with ginger hair. On his arm was a woman of exotic beauty. Beth was overcome when George introduced the well-dressed man as Brian Walston, the owner of Club Hollywood. She had heard much of this man: Herminia’s emotional tales of the horrors she encountered here centered about him. Now the monster had a name – and a face, a face that didn’t fit. Beth looked deeply into his eyes. Standing before her, was a man who fed cocaine to a fourteen year-old girl to entrap her into a life of prostitution, yet she could detect not the slightest trace of evil lurking there or in his body language, which always spoke so loudly if one paid attention. Radiating from the corners of wide crystal-blue eyes, sparkling with mirth, was a pattern of fine laugh lines forming a web that embraced his temples. His broad face was every bit as amicable, sporting cherub cheeks sprinkled with blond stubble. A small smile and soft but full voice also were disconcertingly warm and engaging, as was the rumbling chuckle of this cuddly gentle giant you felt you could trust with your life. Herminia had started here nine years earlier. “How long have you owned Club Hollywood?” she abruptly asked, interrupting something derogatory being said about a person named Mike. She watched for his reaction, not entirely certain what she might be looking for, but it would be wicked.
“Thirteen years,” he answered with clear-eyed innocence. “At least, in two months it will be. I hope that doesn’t mean we’re going to have an unlucky year,” he added with a chuckle. The beautiful woman clinging to his arm grazed her breasts across his upper arm while running a forefinger from his Adam’s apple to his chest and what could the teddy bear do, but blush?
“We won’t have a bad year, you can be sure of that!” she said looking askance at Beth, “because we don’t let
superstition rule the business or our lives, do we, darling?” Her name was Caroline Steepleton, Brian’s fiancee. She was striking: tall, slender, graceful and with green eyes. Long, wavy strawberry blond hair tumbled over the shoulder of a shimmering silk blouse with plunging neckline. She melted into his side and pulled his bear-like arm around her. They were both Canadian, she explained while snuggling in: she from Ottawa and he from the other side of the continent, Victoria, BC.
“Brian used to run a Vancouver disco…” she began, speaking with a debutante’s talent for mingling words with an occasional polite titter. Beth suspected that the society editors of Ottawa’s dailies were acquainted with her name. Together, they created a ‘beautiful couple’ such as she might expect to encounter at a Southern California cocktail party – not operating a whorehouse in Central America.
George chose a blackjack table while Beth explored, dropped an occasional coin in a slot machine and watched with fascination a baccarat game. Towards the rear, she found the door that connected the casino with the bar and ventured in. She may as well have traveled to another planet. It was a poorly lit, cheap, grungy and reeked of stale beer and dirty ashtrays. The wooden floor felt like sponge. On three tiny stages set into the walls nude women danced to the music of a jukebox.
Spotlights bathed them in bright light contrasting the prevailing gloom throughout the bar, broken only by the pale glow of candles under ruby-red glass. There were other women too, dressed in baby-doll pajamas. Some huddled in booths and at tables with their clients while others sat casually around the room, half-nude and chatting. To one end of the bar, populated entirely by men in various stages of inebriation were the rest rooms. The opposite end was more interesting – it had to be the entrance to the ‘back rooms’. A matronly woman perched atop a bar stool that threatened to collapse under her bulk guarded a curtained doorway. On the wall beside her was a sign in English headed by the words ‘room rentals.’ Laid over the back of her stool was a collection of hand towels, and the basket beside her, Beth was willing to bet, was filled with condoms. She was dying to stay and have a drink to watch for a while, but George Dearling walked in, appearing acutely embarrassed, his ears aglow.
“I know it’s none of my business,” he said, “but this is no place for you and I feel somewhat responsible because I brought you here. Let me get you back in the casino before these guys start thinking you work here and bother you.”
“Oh, George,” she protested. “Are you trying to tell me that after all I spent on this outfit that I look that helpless, how about svelte and sexy?” He offered a wry grin, but held her by the elbow and, practically pulling, hustled her towards the casino door.
She was in the lady’s room of the casino freshening up when Caroline Steepleton, the owner’s fiancee, came through the door, pausing as she entered. In the mirror, Beth watched her slow scan of the room that eventually came to rest on her.
Caroline pulled her hair from behind to fall over one shoulder then approached. “He’s married, you know,” she said, examining herself in the mirror.
Beth turned sharply to face her. Caroline seemed not to notice, continuing to smooth eye shadow with a fingertip.
“Excuse me?”
“Your friend out there, George,” she said, speaking to Beth’s reflection. She finished scraping with a fingernail the line of lipstick along the corner of her mouth then turned towards her. “Hasn’t he told you?”
The edge of a giggle escaped before Beth cut it off. “As a matter of fact, yes, he did. He said that his wife has filed for divorce, but he’s trying for reconciliation.” The giggle wouldn’t be restrained. She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle it. “I’m sorry, Caroline, but it wasn’t but half an hour ago that I told George he was overly concerned that someone might see us together and assume we were dating or something. But, really, it’s okay. You needn’t worry about George: we aren’t together. He was only being kind enough to introduce me to Club Hollywood.”
“I should have known but, the way he was drooling over you out there, I couldn’t help but wonder. People change, you know, especially with the amount of pressure he’s been under lately. Please, don’t be offended by me. I know I shouldn’t be so inquisitive about something that is none of my business, but I’ve known George from when he moved down here, three or four years ago. He was a close friend of my husband, so we used to see him and his wife, Becky, often and never, in all this time, have I heard of him showing the slightest interest in any other woman. So naturally, when I saw him holding your arm and fawning over you, I wanted to know what brand of perfume you use.”
“No perfume, but then, no George, either,” she joked. “You said your husband? George said you and Brian were
engaged…”
“Oh, my husband – I should have said ex-husband: the bastard’s back in France where he came from. The marriage
was a horrible experience: cocaine abuse, domestic violence; the works. Luckily, I had a court order that kept him away from me because one day he completely lost it and was arrested trying to kill some tourists. I don’t know how, but he managed to escape the country before his trial. He won’t be returning.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Beth filled her days joining tours that assembled each morning in the lobby. The trips were enjoyable for more than just acquainting herself with the sights and history of San José: they were also excellent for meeting people from all parts of the world. Speaking with inhabitants of every continent, she tried to get a sense of what their lives were like, and dreamed one day of visiting their countries. On one trip, the bus followed the twisting road that ascended Volcano Irazu. Above the tree line, the landscape took on a barren, lunar appearance, except for the greenish-yellow sulfured lake in the basin of the still smoldering crater. From the summit, she was able to see across the entire country, from the Caribbean Sea all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Far, far below was spread the entire central valley containing a miniaturized San José, all its suburbs and the airport.
After nine months of Chauita’s heat, she shivered in the crisply cold air despite several layers of sweaters. Another day, she and a group of fellow tourists donned helmets and life vests to ride the wildly exciting white water rapids of Rio Reventazon she had seen from above.
When the group returned she would have lunch then treat herself to a long, hot soak in the bathtub. With her body still steaming, she’d sprawl on her wide bed and allow the slowly rotating ceiling fan to hypnotically induce first dreams, then sleep. Truman called one afternoon – to chat, awakening her. She listened through drowsy contentment as he told of being on an island in the center of a lake somewhere in Nicaragua and that she had been on his mind. They exchanged chitchat for more than an hour with Beth feeling secretly sexy, lying naked upon her bed. She rolled as she talked, seeing herself in the dresser mirror spooled with telephone cord. Tauntingly, she told of her evening with George Dearling, describing in detail her new outfit and the make-up she had worn. She then carried it further, giggling as she mentioned that they had gone to a whorehouse together. He laughed heartily and his voice came over the line with a smile in it, teasingly condemning her loose morals. She could actually see his face, laughing, with his twisted smile. Superimposed over her own image in the mirror, she imagined his. How he could pull off being so damn good-looking with a face so scared and ruined, she couldn’t understand – but he did it well. She rolled onto her back, delighting to the sound of his voice. Hanging her head backwards over the bed, she caught sight of her reflected self and, once again, he was there – a fantasy in the looking glass. However, this time, he hovered above her, as she lay naked on her back. She moistened, then shuddered and unwound herself quickly.
“How is your trip going?” she asked much the same as she used to say: “Groundwater geology. Project engineer, Beth Tierney speaking.”
She lay afterwards, under the influence of the fan’s steady rotation at the hazy edge of sleep wondering if perhaps there was a reason for the tragic events of her life, if the destruction of her career quickly on the heels of the pain suffered at the loss of her parents had been part of a plan to mature and offer her something better than a treadmill to nowhere. Truman had crossed the path of her life for a purpose, of that she was sure. Maybe they had been brought together for the betterment of both. Truman’s wartime experience had left him a troubled and lonely man, isolated behind his disfigurement. Was it egotistical to think that, was it not for her, he would have remained in his isolation, perhaps for life? Because, unlike the world, which for his scars shunned him, she alone got past all of that to encounter within a vibrant, yet gentle and honorable man. It was that part of him that could be seen to be slowly emerging from his cocoon. He’d shown kindness and understanding towards Herminia, such as Cecilia, who had known him for many years, said she had never before seen. Then, there was the basketball court for Oscar: all of this from a man who had lived his days walking about under a sullen cloud, seeking only
solitude. She too had changed through knowing him: she was enjoying life – really enjoying living it – for the first time. In Green Bay, happiness for her was something gained through accruing prestige, promotions and sound financial growth. How hollow, fleeting and insignificant that all now seemed! In Chauita, she’d found happiness that sprang from simply being in this world and sharing time with Truman without the slightest need for pretense or position. Despite occasional periods of quiet, dark moodiness, she knew that when they were together he shared her sense of vitality: it was in his eyes and every aspect of being.
She had vaguely planned to settle in the capital, but perhaps the right choice was to stay permanently, right there on the beach in Chauita. It would not be a bad life, not a bad life at all. She could continue consulting for the government. What else, go back? Back where – and to what? Green Bay and its winters held no attraction and the remainder of the country offered less. No, Chauita was her direction: it was a door which fate had opened to her. No longer was she going to be the overly cautious creature she has always been. Where had all of those well-considered choices gotten her in life anyhow? It was time she allowed her spirit to run free for a change and throw caution and mouse-woman to the wind.
She was suddenly fully awake. Previous experience had taught her that it was best to express feelings clearly, right from the be