Chapter 9

Dave’s turn:

Didn’t one of those pop-singer slut-puppies have a song, “Whoops, I did it again”?

Well, I did. I didn’t sleep well all by myself in the hotel room. I was doing an overnighter going to deep South Texas to look at a facility that was self-generating its electricity and they wanted options.

That part’s easy enough. My former employer had a couple of those.

Hotel, though. Bed’s just plain empty. Damn, I’m spoiled. So lovely to roll over in the middle of the night and run into a desirable female form, Lita or Brindy, and know that if I just touch, I get her forming up against me. Fridays and Saturdays, those nights are ‘free play’ nights and two AM sex is wonderful.

So I slept fitfully.

It’s a long drive home and an hour into it I was already drowsy, so I pulled off into a big service station truck stop and parked around the back next to some big trucks. Dozed. Woke up with a start. Swarthy gentleman with his hand around the thin arm of a young girl. He came up to my window.

First move – check for the butt of my pistol in the holster under the dash. Second, crack the window. Probably a stupid move, but something about the situation. The girl. Eyes frightened, sad. I remember a pair of big sad brown eyes from a couple of years ago.

“Yes?”

“Señor, por favor...” the man said.

“No hablo español,” I said. Well, I habla a little, but not enough for conversation.

“Señor, these girl, she is ... I seel her...”

“You’re selling me a girl...”

His eyes brightened. I guess he was happy to not be rebuffed on the first statement. The girl, though ... dressed shabbily, thin. Frightened. Resigned. Beaten.

“Why are you selling this girl?”

“She ees ... prop-er-ty. You buy her, she is yours for all things...”

I caught that implication. I also caught a bit of desperation as his eyes darted around the somewhat busy parking lot.

“How much?”

“¿Qué?“

“Uh, dinero.”

“Four hundred dollars.”

I was stunned but kept that to myself. I figured a few thousand, maybe. Okay, think ‘fire sale’. He’s REALLY looking around.

“Too much. She is too young and too skinny and too small. One hundred dollars.” I don’t think he caught onto my descriptors, but a hundred dollars was within his vocabulary.

“Two hundred dollars, Señor.“

Okay, I have two hundred dollars in my billfold, but ... suppose Pancho Villa here gets ideas ... I reach under the dash, check the pistol. His eyes follow. I pull my billfold out, draw out a couple of hundreds, watch his pupils dilate. Rapid-fire Spanish to the little girl. She walks around to the passenger side of my SUV. I unlock the door, reach over, open it. Surprisingly she gets in, a resigned expression on her face. She at least has the presence to close the door and put on a seatbelt.

I hand him the two bills and take off. Didn’t even get a receipt. Wonder if Bill’s gonna let me claim this purchase on expenses without it.

One thing about it. Now I am totally awake. Once I’m out of the guy’s sight, I ask the obvious question.

“¿Hablas inglés?“

Black hair, short haircut, little bit longer than the bob that my Carlita has settled on as HER look, shook in the negative.

“Hablo un poco de inglés,” she said.

“Oh, boy, this is gonna be fun,” I thought to myself. “Hungry? Thirsty? Uh...” Dammit. The downside of ‘I will speak English’ from Carlita is that my Spanish was deficient. Badly so. Ran down my sad excuse for Spanish vocabulary and came up with “Agua? Comida?” hoping that inflection would help.

“Si.” Okay. That much I understand. Then (Carlita swears it’s universal), “McDonald’s?”

“Si.”

Okay, manners require... “¿Cómo se llama?“

“Camila Mendez, senor.”

“Camila, I am Dave. Dave.”

“Si. Dave.”

This truckstop had a McDonald’s. Makes it easy. Drive-through. Breakfast menu. I glanced at the frightened little thing next to me, ordered the breakfast tacos and a coke and a coffee for myself.

She was wolfing one of them down before we made it back to the highway.

“Gracias, senor.”

“De nada.”

I let her finish her meal before my next step. Cellphone. Dial Carlita.

This is one of those moments.

The phone rang, I visualized the face that went with the voice.

“Carlita, mi Corazon, this is really a strange call. I am giving my phone to this young girl. She speaks only Spanish. Talk to her. And Lita? I am only trying to act properly.”

“My Dave?”

“Carlita, I bought her from a bad man for two hundred dollars.”

“You bought a girl?”

“I got her away from him before he sold her to bad people, Lita. She needs help. Talk to her.”

“What is her name?”

“Camila. Here she is.”

I handed the phone to Camila. “This is mi esposa Carlita.”

“Hola,” then a lot of Spanish I didn’t follow.

She handed me back the phone.

“Was that an explanation, my sweetness?”

“It was an explanation, my Dave...”

“I’m still ‘your Dave’?”

“Forever my Dave,” Carlita said. “And you have rescued again. You are bringing her home?”

“I think you’re the very best one to find out how we can help her, my Carlita,” I said. “I can’t talk to her. She’s tired and skinny and dirty and...”

Softly. “I know ... how she is feeling. Of course we will try to help. Let me talk to her again.”

More rapid-fire Spanish, but Camila’s tone took a definite upturn.

Then in halting English. “Where are we?”

“Wharton,” I said.

“Wharton,” Camila repeated, then more Spanish. Then she handed me the phone back.

“She doesn’t look as scared, punkin.”

“I told her that you only ate one or two young girls a day and that you have your selection waiting at home.”

I smiled at the double entendre. Don’t know if I’ll get to eat either of my wives tonight. This is going to severely alter the dynamics of our household.

“You’re terrible,” I told her.

“I did not tell her that, Dave. I told her that you rescued me and that you are rescuing her and that things would get much better.”

“You’re a jewel, my love.”

“Uh, Dave?”

“Yes, my love?”

“You are to NOT bring any more Guatemalan girls into your home. You have me. You have Brindy. Okay? I will speak to you about rescuing Guatemalan girls later.”

“Okay.”

“Now drive home safely. Brindy and I will get the guest room ready for Camila.”

“Thank you, princess.”

“I love you, Dave Johnson. We will do this.”

“Bye, little love,” I said. “Let me drive.”

I ended the call, put the phone back in its cradle. Glanced at my passenger. Kid could use a bath and some clothes, for sure, but at least her expression has taken an upswing.

Three more hours of driving. Camila’s head was on a swivel absorbing the scenery as we passed south of Houston proper, no less heavily built up, then past the petrochemical plants and finally into the farmlands, repeated a slightly attenuated version in southeast Texas, and then finally Louisiana, and home.

I clicked to open the garage door, glad that nobody was outside to see me bringing my contraband home. The door closed behind me and Brindy and Carlita came out to greet me and Camila.

At least my two were smiling. Poor little Camila was trying to be brave.

Once we got inside we sat down to a family meal, then Carlita and Brindy talked with Camila. She disappeared into a bathroom.

“I think she can wear my clothes,” Carlita said. “Until we can take her shopping for the proper sizes. We can wash these, but...”

“It’s sad,” Brindy said. “Who could do that to her?”

“Bad people in the world, Brindy...”

“I know, but she ... so young.” She paused. “Of course I...”

“Do not go there, Brindy,” Carlita said. “We have our Dave back. And now we have Camila.”

A voice from up the hall in Spanish.

“She is finished. Let us show her our home.”

Brindy stayed with me. “You just can’t stop being a nice guy, can you?” she said, brushing a kiss across my lips. “Weird, though...”

“What’s weird?”

“She reminds me of Carlita, early on. Carlita now, she’s got presence. She acts like she’s in control. Mila...”

“Mila?”

“Carlita called her Mila. She said her mom used to call her that. Made her happy.”

“I want her to be happy.”

“Me too, Dave. We’ll do what it takes. Carlita’s going to explain about our marriage.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“She knows Lita is your wife. What kind of impact do you think it would have if she walked in and found me and you knotted up together?”

“Good point.”

“And you know how often we hug.”

“Lovely fact of my existence, baby,” I said. It’s true, there’s something about the lushness of slightly plump Brindy that defines hugging. And she likes doing it. And if it’s the THREE of us, wow...

Now I’m thinking about bedtime.

Carlita and Camila came out to join us. She looked at me, a much prettier young girl now that her face was clean and she wasn’t worried.

In halting English she said, “Thank you, Dave.”

“You’re welcome, Mila,” I said.

“Carlita...” halting English again. “ ... will teach me English. And ... Brindy. Mi hermana.”

“My sisters,” Brindy said.