Chapter 7: A House of Pomegranates

I had a snack before I returned to the room to have a long, hot shower. I was still drying my hair when there was a thumping on the door; I pulled on a bathrobe before I opened the door to allow Trudy and Consuela to tumble in. “It’s not Maria’s fault, Andrew,” Connie gushed. “She’s been taking pills to help with her period pain, and they don’t mix with alcohol. She’s passed out on my bed at Momma’s.” There was a long pause. “She’ll be Ok to drive tomorrow.”

There was something strange happening. Women have periods every month, but this particular episode seems to have caught Maria unawares. So far as I knew, the only thing that was different this month was that she was about to start a new life in another part of the country, but that hardly seemed enough to account for her strange behavior. “Does she take these pills every month?”

That simple question brought a strange reaction. Trudy sniggered and Connie went pale and began stammering. Eventually she was able to tell me that it was the first time she had tried those particular pills. Trudy suggested that she had taken them for my sake although she was still sniggering and giving Connie knowing glances. I thought that their behavior supported my theory that Maria was regretting her promise to move to El Paso with me. It seemed unlikely that they would confide in me; what I wanted was a good night of sleep so I would be fresh when Maria dumped me in the morning.

I had my hand on the doorknob to escort them out when I asked Connie if she would be driving her mother’s car in the morning. “Oh no, I’m driving Benji’s car. It was cheaper to buy the truck than to rent it, so he’s going to sell it in El Paso after he drives it down there.” That was similar to what I had decided when I bought a cheap car rather than go to a rental agency. It probably meant that Ben would remain with us for a few days, but I expected to see very little of him after we arrived.

On the morning of the thirty-first of May, I was at Momma’s house by six in the morning. There was a box van in the drive and Ben was directing several men carrying small pieces of furniture and cardboard boxes out of the house. He greeted me with a cheerful grin. “That’s the last of it just going in. The guys stayed on after the party to help.” Then he pulled me round to the side of the house away from the others and his face took on a worried look “Can you drive a stick-shift?”

Being English, I had hardly driven anything other than a manual gearbox. The owner of the truck had driven it to Momma’s the previous evening, selling it to Ben after it was parked on her driveway. It was not until he stowed his suitcase in the cab that Ben noticed that the vehicle did not have automatic transmission. “You’re an engineer. You should know how to drive the truck. You do, don’t you?”

My temper was beginning to rise. I assured Ben that I could and would drive his truck, sending him scurrying to ensure that I was covered by his insurance. Things got worse when Maria appeared, obviously hungover and struggling to look me in the eye. I told her to round everyone up and move the wagon train to the diner where we would fill up on food before we set off on our epic voyage. She said that she did not think she could eat anything and I, rather cruelly, told her that it was now or never since we were stopping for nothing and no one once we were on the road.

I did notice that she ate well and that she had the cook provide a box of sandwiches and snacks with a cooler of soft drinks. Drunk or hung-over, Maria is a good organizer. We agreed to journey in a loose formation using the truck as our focus, since it was big enough to be seen from half a mile away. We might have had trouble when we got close to Phoenix, but I hoped that the rough edges would have been worn off by then. If all else failed, we had our mobile phones.

The truck was powerful enough, but the steering was heavy. It was acceptable on the Interstate highways we would be using but it would have been a nightmare on twisting country roads in England. The need to keep in contact had an effect on our speed that surprised me; in the first two hours on the road, we travelled a little over eighty miles. Ben had insisted on riding with me in the cab of the truck, so I had him call the others for a pit stop. He is a nice enough guy, but I wanted to think and concentrate on the truck while he wanted to ask questions.

Two hours was as much as I could take. Maria rushed up to me as I climbed down from the cab, clutching me in a warm embrace. “I was so afraid you’d back out, Andreas. I’ve been a bitch for the last two days, I know, but it was mainly because I couldn’t believe that you would really take my whole family. Brad said it was trick and I let him shake my faith. Can you forgive me?”

“There are a lot of things I don’t understand, Maria, but now is not the time to discuss them. We’ll need a secure place to leave the truck overnight. Did you think about that when you booked the hotel in Phoenix? The most important thing you can do now is to get Ben out of my cab – he’s driving me nuts!”

We used the restrooms and bought a few snacks. In less than five minutes we were back on the highway with Ben and Momma driving their own cars; Connie drove ours and Maria sat beside her mother organizing accommodation for the truck close to our stopping place for the night. We had two double rooms booked, one for Momma, Connie and Angelina and the other for Maria and me. Ben, typically as I later discovered, had ‘forgotten’ to make a booking.

The hotel was full and, rather than split the party, I was persuaded to share a room with him while Maria joined the other ladies. I went to bed early to avoid more questions, claiming that driving a stick-shift was tiring; Ben stayed up late, noisily eating crisps and watching some rubbish on television. He had the sound down low, to be fair, but he constantly asked questions of the television presenter. I was not in a happy mood when we set off at eight for the final stage of our journey. The remainder of the party gave me a wide berth at breakfast except for Ben who had a million questions about El Paso.

The day improved for me after the first of our many stops when Angelina joined me in the cab of the truck. It was like going back in time having a lively, bored youngster sharing a long tedious journey. I dusted off all the silly games I once played with Mark and Penny, finding that they were as effective in Spanish as in English. I was also reminded that little jugs have big ears and have few inhibitions in passing on what they have learned. Everything was interpreted, of course, from the perspective of an eight-year-old, even one as streetwise as Angelina.

Gran is looking forward to living in a mansion where she only has to clean for and wait on family members. I thought at first that Angelina was telling me that her grandmother had consulted a doctor, but I rather think she was diagnosed by a fortune-teller. It was all a little confusing. There is a new man in her future although there are serious questions about whether or not Ben Merry fits the criteria. Consuela is looking for my clone, according to the child. She is planning on a change of career when she settles in El Paso.

My interest was engaged when she talked about her Aunt Maria. She talks about me all the time, apparently, although she could only shrug, noncommittally, when I asked if she said nice things. I suppose I must just accept that all publicity is good publicity. I certainly am not the subject of derisory laughter, the fate of poor old Ben. Since we returned to Las Vegas there have been a number of whispered conversations amongst the three women, leaving Angelina as frustrated as I was when she hit me with this news.

Our stops on the journey were frequent but short and I had not exchanged more than a dozen words with Maria before we pulled into a filling station in Las Cruces. There she sought me out to give me my instructions for our arrival at the apartment complex. I was to park the truck in the street until called forward by the concierge. “We’re all exhausted, Maria. Do you think the Super could round up some people to help us unload?” Her frown lifted and she beamed at me: “All taken care off, like a good little PA!”

She refused to say any more, so we chatted about Momma’s need to settle quickly since the journey had tired her. Angela had been excused from driving duties for most off the day, taking the wheel for brief periods to allow Maria to make calls to the reception committee in El Paso. For those few minutes in the forecourt of an anonymous filling station, we returned to the easy relationship we had enjoyed before we returned to Las Vegas. “I’ve missed you these last few days, Maria. Have I upset you in some way?”

Her smile faded and I could see the sadness in her eyes. “I just need a little time, Andreas,” she said with a little sob, reaching out to rub her hand gently up and down my bare arm. “We’ll talk after we get this lot settled.” I asked if we could have the talk that evening, but she shook her head, simply insisting it would be soon. Then Angelina bounced up demanding that she be lifted back into the truck for the final forty miles or so of our epic journey.

I could see the problem as soon as I parked in the street by the car park entrance to the apartment block. Entry was through a gate probably too narrow and certainly too low to accommodate the truck. Angelina hopped down but, before I could speculate, the smiling face of Mick Gonzalez appeared at my open window. I had met him as Caroline’s gardener but now he was here, recruited by Maria, to move Angela’s furniture into the empty apartment. He was still explaining when Ben jumped into the passenger seat carrying a clipboard.

Ignoring Mick completely, he handed me a copy of what was evidently the manifest of the contents of the truck. “Right Andy,” he spoke English. “I’ll take command of the unloading. You station yourself at the top of the elevator – that’s the bottleneck where these cretins will get it wrong.” I was watching Mick, pleased to see that he had not understood a word. Just then a roller door in the blank end wall of the apartment building disappeared and Mick told me to pull forward and back through the gap.

Ben demanded to know what Mick had said while I gulped at the prospect of squeezing the enormous truck through the tiny opening. I am sure that Mick recognized my nervousness since he guided me slowly and carefully into an open yard with wheely bins scattered around it. I tuned Ben out, although he continued to ask questions, many concerning my competence as a driver, I am certain. When Mick gave the door a thump to indicate I was in position, I had the engine shut down, the parking brake on and was out the cab in one less than graceful movement.

I did remember to take the keys with me, and I was unlocking the rear doors when Ben strutted round. “Leave it locked, Andy, until I have a chance to address the troops. Better to be clear before we start.” Mick and four of his men were patiently waiting, so I raised my eyebrows at them and waved Ben forward. Mick would have spoken but I put my finger to my lips enjoining silence. They may not have understood a word of Ben’s speech in Boston English but there was no mistaking his patronizing tone.

As soon as he finished, I gave them a brief summary of his history, asking for their tolerance and reminding them that I had been forced to endure Ben’s company for the past two days. I concluded by promising that I would get the beer in after I had a brief word with the ladies. Ben, presumably satisfied that I had accurately translated his remarks, unlocked the truck so Mick and his crew could move the contents into the building. I carried a couple of table lamps as I followed the first pair of laborers into the elevator. Angela had found a deck chair and was sitting in the middle of her new living room ready to direct operations. There was no sign of her daughters, but her granddaughter put her hand in mine to drag me off to view the swimming pool and play area.

I had a moment almost of déjà vu. We took the kids to Centre Parcs when Penny was about the age Angelina is now. Then as now, there was a bunch of kids playing in the pool who drifted across to stand gaping silently at the latest arrival. After a few seconds the questions started and, within minutes, Penny was the center of one group and Mark was bombing into the pool with a dozen lads his own age. The adult presence around the apartment pool was all female and all in bikinis; they waved me over, but I excused myself, citing the need to help with moving furniture.

Angelina was happy enough to leave her new friends to dig her own swimsuit out of her case. Gran was in her bedroom where Mick and a young giant were assembling the frame of her bed. The boy was Mick’s son, Rick, an all-state football player– American football, of course. Angela was calling him Enriquo to his considerable embarrassment. Back in the living room, Connie made an entrance like a houri out of the Arabian Nights, draped on a couch carried by two grinning men.

I left her to find a bikini for her daughter while I made my way down to the car park where Maria was in earnest consultation with two women. One of them was the wife of the concierge substituting for her husband who has a day job; he will interview us later in the evening. She made it sound like trial by ordeal. I left them to their discussions while I put all the soft drinks into one cool-box to send to the kids around the pool – the little gift would help to cement Angelina’s position in the hierarchy.

Maria wanted to know what I was doing, so I had to admit that I was going off in search of beer for Mick’s crew. The letting agent, the third member of the group invited me to follow her when she left so she could direct me to the best source in the neighborhood; she even knew Mick’s favorite brand. Maria smiled at me but was clearly preoccupied with the other two women. I took my time buying the beer, chatting for some minutes to the clerk who served me. Experience has taught me that it is not wise to introduce alcohol until the job is almost done, so I was in no great rush to get the beer to Mick and his men.

I will, however, admit that my main motive was to avoid Ben. It is not uncommon to have doubts about someone on a first meeting and to grow to like them on better acquaintance; I did not like Ben when I first met him, and he has shrunk on me. What were minor niggles when we met in Las Vegas are proving to be serious obstacles to any relationship going forward. Even in the smallest things, he rubs me up the wrong way. I hate to be called Andy, but Ben does so without asking permission. I think the real problem is that he lacks the sensitivity to see that I cringe every time he uses the name.

My normal method of dealing with people like Ben is simply to tune them out. In this case, I do not have that option. If Mick had understood the minatory address before we opened the truck, he would have been justified in walking off and taking his men with him. I kept them happy by ridiculing Ben. I suppose the new me that Maria wants, would have taken Ben aside and spelled out his faults. The problem is that I invited Angela to join us in El Paso and Ben is her guest. How do you tell the guest of a guest that he is an idiot?

He was still at the rear of the truck, ticking items off the manifest, when I returned with the beer. “I don’t think that’s a very bright idea, Andy,” he remarked gesturing at the beer. “Well, it means you can reduce the tip you give them when they finish, Benedict.” His eyes popped a bit when I mentioned him paying out money to the moving men, but he chose to focus his attention elsewhere: “I prefer to be called Ben.”

It was my intention to reply that I hated to be called Andy, when we were interrupted by the concierge, tired, no doubt, after working all day. “You must get that heap of shit out of my yard before dark. The city needs access to the dumpsters first thing in the morning.” He was speaking in Spanish, of course, but the tone and gestures made his message obvious without translation. Ben began to sidle towards the building, and I felt sudden rage. “The truck is his,” I told the Super, pointing at the spot where Ben had disappeared through the doors. “Talk to him about his damned truck!”

I took the cool box up to Angela’s apartment where she was holding court amongst the moving men. Mick sat on the cooler until the last few items had been removed and the truck locked. When his lads left the room, he rose so he and I could make a start; it appeared that a fiesta was imminent. Connie was still at the pool with Angelina, being admired, I was sure, by the men returning after work. Angela had not seen or heard from Maria since she entered the apartment. Ben was still missing.

When Connie returned, she chased us out to get her exhausted daughter ready for bed. We took the cool box with us to the loading bay, where we made short work of the contents. Apart from a snack when I went for the beer, I had not eaten since breakfast, so I was beginning to feel peckish. It was clear that Mick was preparing to move the carousel to another location, and I was ready to excuse myself to rejoin Maria, when she sent me a text message: “Ben and I are ordering pizza. Are you planning to join us?”

The rage I had felt earlier returned in full force but, this time, I vented it on poor Mike. I began with Ben buying a truck he could not drive, landing me with the responsibility; I related how we had changed the room arrangements the night before because Ben had made no plans; and I moaned about him running away when the Super told us to move the truck. Now, I concluded, he is up in my apartment with my woman, leaving me with a bunch of drunken Mexicans.

We had another beer while we commiserated with each other, astonished to find that the cool box was empty. We were not exactly drunk, but we had reached the stage where our inhibitions had been lowered. Mick came up with a plan which I wholeheartedly endorsed; I liked the way it tied all the loose ends together while hitting Ben where it would hurt. It may only be a skirmish, but I conducted our little war like a Commanding General.

The first thing was to ensure that our troops were properly equipped, so I sent Rick off to buy more beer. While he was gone, his father and I checked under the hood of the truck, concluding that it was worth about fifteen hundred dollars. “Rick’s a good boy,” Mick had confided earlier, “But he has no interest in gardening. With a box van like this one I could set him up as a furniture mover.” That was all it took for the connections to form in my mind.

Once the beer was safely in our magazine, we set about recruiting our ally. The Super, as the Americans called the concierge, would have preferred to moan and it took several beers to lift his mood. He really wanted to call the owners of the property to come and take charge; I persuaded him that it would look good on his record to solve the problem without interrupting their evening. I managed to get my own way in everything by giving the troops free rein on the peripheral decisions.

We spent almost half an hour speculating on what the city charges for impounding and storing vehicles. There was general agreement that it was daylight robbery whatever the actual figure and they shared stories of friends of friends who had suffered the iniquity. In the end we settled on four hundred and eighty-five dollars for the first twenty-four hours, including the towing charge, and two hundred and sixty-three dollars a day after that – it was the Super who thought the three at the end added a touch of authenticity.

I opened the offensive with a call to Maria, apologizing for missing dinner. I explained that the truck had to be disposed of and that, in the absence of Ben, I was trying to find a solution to our problem. I allowed myself a bitter little complaint that the owner of the vehicle was nowhere to be found. “Ben’s here in the apartment, Honey. I know he plans to sell the truck. I’ll put him on.” I could hear Maria explaining although I could not distinguish the words. Then Ben’s voice thundered from my receiver.

“This is really too much, Andy. It seems I must do everything myself. Leave the truck in the street and I’ll have a dealer come and see it in the morning.” If I had needed anything to stiffen my sinews, his arrogant response would have done the job; I decided there and then to drop Mick’s offer still further. “Whether it’s in the yard or the street, it will be towed to the city pound within an hour. It will cost your dealer the thick end of five hundred bucks to see it in the morning.” As planned, I disconnected before he could answer.

We had yet another beer while we waited for a response. I was feeling very little pain by that stage. There was keen betting on the outcome; most of the guys backed a personal appearance and the remainder thought Ben would chicken out and telephone back. We were all wrong. It was Maria who returned my call about five minutes later, begging me to do something to help ‘poor Ben’ who was on the verge of tears. The trouble with wars is the collateral damage: I wanted Ben to suffer but not Maria. The fun had gone out of our plan and now I wanted to end things as quickly as possible.

“I might have a solution,” I told her. “I think I’ve found a buyer for the truck, but it would have to be at the right price. Put Ben on and we’ll see what he says.”

Alone with Maria, Ben may have been on the edge of breaking down, but he had lost none of his arrogance when he talked to me. “That truck is worth two thousand five hundred dollars and I won’t take a penny less.” I laughed, keeping the line open while I told Mick and the guys what he had said. Ben and I were talking in English, of course; in fact, I was the only person present who understood all that was being said.

“It only cost you fifteen hundred,” I reminded him. “And we’ve put the best part of a thousand miles on the clock since then.” I could hear him complaining to Maria and her voice in the background making soothing noises. “I negotiated an outstanding deal.” There was a prolonged pause, before he spoke again. “What sort of figure did your buyer have in mind?” He had taken the bait; now I had to set the hook firmly and reel him in. “He says there’s something wrong with the tracking. I told him that the steering was heavy, and he had a look at it.”

“Cretin!” he muttered, quietly but audibly. “You should have let him find that out for himself; caveat emptor.” I was beginning to realize that, in his mind, he truly is the macho man he portrays. Safe in the apartment, he can convince himself that he has control of his destiny. It was time to disillusion him. “It doesn’t matter, Benedict. They would check the truck in the pound and keep it until you had paid for the repairs. I don’t suppose the city uses the cheapest mechanics.” I was prepared to admit that was pure speculation if he had challenged me, but he swallowed the idea whole.

“Will your buyer go to fifteen hundred?” There was now a quaver in his voice. “Let me ask him,” I temporized. I kept the phone open while I gave the guys a summary of the English conversation. “He’s not prepared to go beyond a thousand, cash in hand.” I paused for dramatic effect before adding: “The hour is almost up.” That was the end of the war, leaving only the peace treaty to be agreed. I had all the paperwork in the cab in case I was stopped by cops on the journey from Las Vegas, so I wrote Mick a bill of sale and handed over the ownership documents.