Chapter 9

Mr. McTighe dropped us off at the airport, bright and early. We took a short flight to Atlanta. I imagined I knew what was going on in the cockpit. I’d flown a little single-engine plane the previous summer so I was an expert now. Actually, I’d looked at the cockpit before walking back to my seat. It looked ridiculously complicated and therefore required qualified and experienced pilots. I decided to relax and let them take care of it. We switched planes in Atlanta. The William B. Hartsfield Atlanta International Airport is enormous. I felt like we all looked like hick tourists.

The flight to San Juan was a little over three hours. Kim and I sat next to each other. She had the window seat because it was Kim McTighe month. There were two Puerto Rican women across the aisle from me and they talked for the entire flight. I tried to follow their conversation but they simply spoke too fast. I read most of my first Robert Parker novel before we landed and was glad I had brought a couple more.

Veronica picked up a rental car and it was a short drive to our hotel on Condado Beach, just outside Old San Juan. I changed into shorts and Kim and I rode the elevator down. It didn’t take long to find a pair of hammocks between palm trees. We faced opposite directions and I could see the pool and bar from mine and she could see down the beach in the other direction. It was warm and there was a light breeze coming in off the ocean. I reached over and swung her hammock and then she reached out to mine. Heaven on earth.

We’d both been reading for about ten minutes when someone from the hotel approached us.

“Can I get you anything,” she asked in perfect English.

I decided to try my Spanish and said, “We’re both hungry but I didn’t bring any money with me.”

She switched to Spanish and answered, “You can bill it to your room. Do you have your key? That’s all I need.”

“Yes. We just got here. What do you recommend?” This was awesome. I could do more than just talk to other landscapers.

“Why not try the empanadillas? They’re very good.”

“What are you two talking about?” Kim asked.

“Lunch. Hungry?”

“Starved. Order something for me, too.”

I ordered two empanadilla specials and fruit smoothies. Fifteen minutes later, she was back with lunch and it was great. Empanadillas were like little fried pot pies and each one had a different filling. One had crab and another had chicken or beef. We ate those like finger food, washing them down with amazing fruit smoothies. I was sure they must have just picked the fruit.

Laying there in my hammock, Kim by my side, small waves lapping at the shore, kids laughing at the pool in the distance, with a cool breeze, and a good meal inside me, I decided that I liked Puerto Rico. A lot.

Thirty minutes later, our waitress returned with dessert. I hadn’t ordered it but it looked good. She said it was quesitos, which was a pastry filled with cream cheese. We talked for a few minutes since they weren’t busy. I asked her how my Spanish was. She said it was good and interesting, and then asked where I learned to speak Spanish. I told her Charleston.

“We have visitors from all over but your Spanish is unique,” she said. I asked why and she hesitated. “You use a very friendly Spanish. It is definitely Mexican Spanish. I don’t think you learned in a classroom.”

“I did at first but then, I spent the summer working with guys, and we all spoke Spanish as much as possible.”

“Ah. That is it then,” she said, but that didn’t explain it very well.

“Okay, now I’m curious,” I said in English. “What is it that is so different?”

“This is a very fine hotel. Very expensive.” She didn’t want to continue.

“My Spanish is working class,” I suggested.

“Yes. It’s charming.” Huh.

We talked a bit more about the particulars and she left to let us enjoy our quesitos. Working class Spanish. I was good with that. We finished and lay back in our hammocks.

I was about to start my book, when Kim said, “I changed my schedule. I’m taking Spanish one next year instead of French three.”

“You don’t have to take any more language classes, you know,” I said.

“I like language classes. I’m taking Spanish so we can talk together. It’s no big deal here but in Charleston, it’s almost like code.”

“Cool. You take classes in Spanish and then I’ll teach you how to talk like a working girl,” I said.

That stopped things. “Did you hear what you just said?” Oh, oh! Whatever I’d just said couldn’t have been good.

“Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to.”

“Good thing. You said you’d teach me to talk like a working girl.” I didn’t see a problem with that. She looked at me and recognized that I was clueless. “Working girl is slang for prostitute.”

“Whoops. Well, then, I guess I won’t do that. I wouldn’t even know what they sound like. How would I?”

“You wouldn’t. Oh, poor baby. You should see your face. You look apologetic, clueless, and naïve all at the same time. I know you weren’t saying you would teach me to talk like a prostitute.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. Whew.

We relaxed back into our hammocks and I tried to read. I fell asleep twice. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that relaxed. I woke up smiling, with Kim gently shaking me.

“Time for dinner, Lazybones.”

“Wow. What time is it?” I asked. How long had I been asleep, anyway?

“It’s after five. Your mom came down, laughed, and went back upstairs to change.”

Thirty minutes later, Veronica drove us to Old San Juan. There was a lot to see. The drivers in Puerto Rico were all in a hurry. They drive at a super-fast pace that would make me nervous but Veronica was great. When we got to Old San Juan, the pace slowed down, the streets got narrower and the buildings were older and more colorful. There was a lot about it that reminded me of downtown Charleston. Most of the streets were brick, one-way, and very narrow. The houses and shops were colorful and a lot of them had ornate ironwork, sort of like the French Quarter in New Orleans. I rolled down the window, expecting to hear music. I heard guitars playing once or twice but nothing like New Orleans. It was still early and it was Monday so who knows what it would be like on a late Friday night.

Mom and Veronica had been shopping all day and had a recommendation for dinner. They shopped all day but didn’t buy a thing. Who can understand the mind of a woman? Veronica found a place to park and the two of them looked at the map one more time before we set out on foot. Mom and Veronica led the way and I positioned myself nearest the street because I’m a gentleman. We played this hand-squeezing thing that seemed like a game. If Mel and Bobby told me they did it I would have thought it was cheesy or syrupy or something but it was Kim and me so it was okay. Kim’s neon clothing didn’t look out of place at all and I thought that was cool.

Without a sign, you couldn’t tell the difference between a hotel, a church, and a restaurant. Good thing there was a sign. We went into El Jibarito and were seated. The inside of the restaurant was colorful with a couple of familiar-looking masks on the wall. The mask thing seemed to be a big deal. I read over the menu and found what I wanted. Everyone else was still trying to figure it out.

Our waitress came and introduced herself as Sofia. Her English was fine but I spoke to her in Spanish because I wanted the practice. Plus, I kind of wanted to show off a little. Okay, I wanted to show off a lot. I ordered pollo en salsa criolla, then clarified a couple of items on the menu for everyone else. Mom ordered pastel de masa de platano relleno de cerdo, since it had the longest name. Kim ordered pollo de ajo, and Veronica had carne guisada. Mom was disappointed there weren’t pictures on the menu but we were all in an adventurous mood so it didn’t matter.

A little after seven, a guy walked in with a guitar, sat on a barstool near the front, and started playing softly. No one else was surprised. Kim asked and Mom and Veronica told her about their shopping expedition. I managed to stay awake the entire time and even nodded a couple of times, just as if I was interested.

When our food arrived, we got extra plates so we could each try everything. It was all good. Mom’s plantain tamale with pork had a sweet taste to it. Kim’s garlic chicken was good but not really unusual. Veronica’s beef stew was really tasty, and my chicken in creole sauce was too good to share but I did anyway. We all had piña coladas, the national drink of Puerto Rico. I was pretty sure rum was the actual national drink of Puerto Rico and Kim and my drinks didn’t have any.

The ladies had three different desserts made with guava and I had amarillos, which are fried ripe plantains. They were supposed to be a side dish but they tasted like dessert to me. We finished and walked out to the street. I saw Mom tip the guitar player and he nodded ‘thanks’. It had gotten dark and I was completely turned around. So were Mom and Veronica so Frontier Woman led us back to the car.

Rather than explore in the dark, we drove back to the hotel. Police cars drove past us with their blue lights flashing. As we got closer to our hotel, there seemed to be more of them. We tried to imagine what calamity had brought out so many police. It couldn’t be good. What was strange is that we didn’t hear any sirens. Back at the hotel, I asked the concierge what the fuss was about. At first, he didn’t understand. Then, he explained that the police always used their flashing blue lights at night. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me. If you were doing something illegal, the lights would let you know to act innocent. Who knows?

We walked through the hotel to the pool. There was an outdoor bar that was pretty busy. Music played and people danced. We decided that Puerto Ricans have three speeds. Their slow speed gets used on almost everything. They have a fast speed that’s used for driving and emergencies. Finally, they have dance speed, and that is by far the most fun to watch. It’s also the speed they talk. Puerto Rican talk at dance speed. We found an empty table and ordered drinks when a waiter named Albierto came around. We talked about shopping, dinner, and the plan for Tuesday.

It was late when we walked back toward the hotel. We passed through a garden area and we heard some animals in the bushes. It was like high-pitched chirps. We stopped and looked but we couldn’t see anything. As we stood there, trying to see what it was, more of them joined in. We simply couldn’t find anything. A couple passed us on the pathway and they guessed we were tourists.

“Coquis,” the woman said.

“Que?”

“Coquis. Pequeñas ranas. Muy pequeña,” she said and they kept going.

“What did she say?” Mom asked.

“She said they were coquis. Tiny, little frogs. They don’t sound tiny, and they sure don’t sound like the frogs at home.” We looked some more and Kim finally spotted one.

“Oh, my gosh. Look how little,” she said, pointing. “They’re adorable.” I guess if frogs can be adorable, then coquis would be adorable.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in a bed other than my own. That’s not true. I’d fallen asleep in Kim’s bed but that was different. Apparently, I wasn’t picky because I fell asleep before I had a chance to read.

Tuesday morning, I woke up in the exact same position I’d fallen asleep in. I must have been really out of it. I felt fine though and checked the weather outside. I could almost hear Tom Selleck’s character, Magnum, say, “Another beautiful day in paradise.”

I went downstairs and out past the pool. The beach was deserted. Seagulls scavenged up and down the beach, looking for leftovers from the night before. Little waves lapped at the shore. I could see a string of hotels with colored umbrellas waiting for customers to plant them in the sand. Quiet. I set off running at an easy pace, enjoying the morning breeze and coral-colored sky as the sun looked for a place to poke through wispy clouds. Damp sand was packed down just enough to provide a bit of cushion and still be firm enough for good traction.

When I reached a point I thought was two miles from the hotel, I turned back. The breeze and sun were at my back, making the run seem completely different. If I’d had some goggles, I would have swum back but it never crossed my mind to pack them. When I got back to the hotel, the staff was preparing for a new day.

Back in my room, I poked around until I found a list of hotel amenities. Room service. That’s what I needed. Eggs Benedict. I’d never had eggs Benedict and I was hungry. I called and ordered a serving, grabbed Robert Parker’s God Save the Child, and went out to the balcony. Everything about God Save the Child was different from The Godwulf Manuscript except for the main character. I’d made it most of the way through it on the plane and had just three chapters left when room service came. I signed for it, remembering to include a tip and took the covered dish to the little table near the balcony.

I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t an egg McMuffin. That’s what it looked like. Oh, well. I sat down and took a big drink of orange juice and then cut into my fancy egg McMuffin. Except that it wasn’t an egg McMuffin at all. It was wonderful. There was a sauce on it that made something that seemed pretty ordinary into something amazing. I ate it much too fast and had to stop myself from licking the plate. Then I licked the plate. Who would know?

I finished my book, showered and dressed, grabbed the next book in the series, and went downstairs to the lobby to wait. I had planned on reading but started watching people instead. Something was different and I couldn’t put my finger on it until the ladies got off the elevator. Everyone, including Mom, Kim, and Veronica were dressed up and had makeup on. We were going to a rain forest and they looked like they were ready to go out on the town. Their clothing was great for hiking but they’d spent time on their hair and makeup. Puerto Rican women like to look good. That was my big revelation. I liked it but I could tell that we’d be late for everything since the ladies would have to match that effort. Perfect.

Veronica drove and Mom had the map out, not that she needed it. Once we were close, there were signs everywhere. At first, I wondered why Veronica was driving but she was really good at it and the Puerto Rican drivers didn’t seem to bother her at all. Mom would have been talking to them the whole time but Veronica just drove. We followed the Roberto Sanchez Vilella east for a half hour then turned south toward the forest.

The closer we got, the narrower the road. Also, the plants were darker green and some of the leaves were huge. I had learned about a lot of plants during the summer but these were different. I rolled down my window and then everyone else did, too. The air was cooler. Veronica pulled into a turnout with three other cars and we followed a path for a hundred yards to a little waterfall. I didn’t remember seeing a waterfall before. The only time we have one in Charleston is after a heavy rain when your gutters aren’t working. It was neat but it didn’t take long to look at a little waterfall and we were underway again.

We stopped at a lookout point to see lots of green. There was a mist covering the ground and it sort of drifted past us. Except that it wasn’t really a mist. We were in a cloud, which was pretty cool. Why, yes, I have been in the middle of a cloud, I thought. It wasn’t thick enough to keep us from driving up the hill to the next stop. We got out and Mom popped the trunk

“Okay, Sport, take the backpack. It’s not far but we don’t want to make a second trip.”

I put the backpack on and Mom led the way up the trail with Veronica, then Kim, and finally me. When the trail got steep, I was at eye level with Kim’s butt and I made chomping sounds. She laughed and swatted at me without looking. She missed so I kept chomping. When she got to a turn in the trail, she turned to look at me with her hands on her hips. I gave her my best innocent puppy look. I could tell she was trying not to laugh and had to turn and start walking again or lose it completely.

We arrived at a large pool with a twenty-foot waterfall. People were in the water and sitting around the pool talking and laughing. We heard a holler and realized someone was swinging out over the pool and dropping in. He made some crazy moves through the air and when he came up, everyone cheered. Someone had hung a long rope from a tree at just the right spot. There was a path from where people were sitting, up the trail, around the pool to a ledge. The rope had some knots in it to make it easy to grab. Veronica and Kim pulled their shirts and shorts off and started down toward the pool.

“I can see what’s on your mind,” Mom said, turning to me. “You don’t know what’s down there so before you go flying through the air, it would be a good idea to swim down and make sure there aren’t any obstacles.”

“A little late for that, Mom,” I said and nodded toward the rope swing. Veronica sailed out over the pool and let go. She flapped her arms like a bird and made chicken sounds, then a huge splash. When she came up, the people cheered.

“Never mind. Who’s the adult supervision here, anyway?”

We put our shorts and T-shirts together with what Kim and Veronica left and walked over to the rope swing. Kim flew out over the pool and let go, slicing into the water with a tiny splash. We got to the rope swing and Mom said, “You first.”

“Ladies first,” I answered. She hmphed then grabbed the rope and swung out, let go, and sliced into the water with a tiny splash, pretty much the same way Kim had.

When she’d swum clear of my landing spot, I grabbed the rope and swung out. The problem was, I realized I didn’t have a plan at about the same time I let go of the rope. I’m pretty sure I said something profound, like “Whoops,” did most of a flip, and landed in the water with more of a thud than a splash. Ouch! When I came up, sputtering, I got the appropriate cheers. Thanks.

“What was that?” Kim asked as I climbed out of the pool and stood next to her.

“I don’t even know. You know the high dive at Porter?” She nodded. “I’ve never jumped off it before. I hardly ever jump off the diving board at home. So, I don’t know what that was. A wounded duck, I guess.”

“It was a new standard for silliness, that’s for sure. Look. Veronica,” she said. Veronica swung out over the pool, let go of the rope and started flailing in her own version of the wounded duck. The difference was, she had a plan and collected herself before she hit the water, and sliced in cleanly.

“Is she making fun of me?” I asked.

“I think she just challenged you to a goofy contest.”

It was on. For the next two hours, we tried to outdo each other in flailing. Some of the people who’d been watching joined in, doing their own version of the wounded duck. Every now and then, someone would fail to straighten out before they hit the water and hit hard. We all climbed out around noon and were done. My stomach hurt. My sides hurt. I hurt, and I wasn’t sure if it was from hitting the water wrong or from laughing so hard. We had a blast.

Dried off and back at the car, we debated continuing up the mountain or returning to civilization. Mom looked at the map and then the brochure, my stomach rumbled and the decision was made. We went back down the mountain toward civilization and food. We got back to the main road, turned left toward town, and spotted a little hole in the wall restaurant. It might have been a little place but the food had a big flavor. We had four different types of mofongo, which is a mashed plantain dish. We were beginning to understand the Puerto Rican diet. You could cook whatever you wanted to as long as it had plantains in it. I’d never had plantains before. I liked plantains. I liked Puerto Rico. Life was good.

We drove back to the hotel and went into the little café for dessert. Sitting at one of the tables, Mom looked over the hotel amenities chart. They all got fruity popsicle things and I got a bowl of chocolate ice cream. I really did plan to start eating healthy as soon as we got home.

“I’m going to schedule a massage,” Mom said, pointing it out on the amenity menu.

“Ooh. I want one,” Veronica said. “Your massage therapist will use slow strokes and deep finger pressure to relieve tension. Ninety minutes. Schedule one for me, too,” she said as Mom crossed the café to a hotel phone.

“Four,” Mom said when she came back. “We’re scheduled at four. You should get one, too,” she said to Kim. I guessed I didn’t deserve one.

“Let me know how you like yours. Maybe I will,” she said.

We finished our dessert and went back to our rooms. I grabbed my book and went out on the balcony to read. Kim grabbed her book and joined me. We left the sliding glass door open and sat outside. We could hear little waves on the beach and kids laughing at the pool. The bar was playing Jimmy Buffet songs. The temperature was great and there was a lite breeze. We compared and found that Kim was a couple of chapters behind me. We talked about Parker’s previous book a bit and then dug in.

We had our feet on the railing, sort of brushing against each other without thinking about it. There was a knock on the door and I hollered, “Come in” before I remembered the hotel doors automatically locked. I offered to play paper, rock, scissors, with Kim to see who would answer the door but she just looked at me with one of her you’ve-got-to-be-kidding looks I was sure I’d see much more of as time went by.

“Hey, Buddy. What are you up to, oh, hey,” she said to Kim, realizing she was with me. “You’re reading? Really? You can do that anytime.”

“Mom, you can get a massage in Charleston. At least I think you can.”

“True enough. Okay, we’re going down to the spa. Veronica knows a place for dinner. Walking distance so we’ll see you in the lobby at five-thirty. Casual. Less than half a mile but you’ll want walking shoes.” And she was gone.

“I want a massage,” Kim said. I walked to her, stood behind her, and began on her shoulders. She purred, “As good as that feels, it’s not exactly what I had in mind. We have ninety minutes. What do you think you could do with that?” As it turns out, I was really stiff and Kim needed a deep, penetrating massage. We made the most of our ninety minutes and we both felt much more relaxed.

We met in the lobby and walked east up Ashford Avenue to a little restaurant with a very full parking lot. I noticed that it was next to a gallera, which was a cockfight arena. Interesting. Sofia’s looked a lot like the San Juan version of Charleston’s High Cotton restaurant. It was nice. Our waiter, Sergio, seemed to be enjoying his work. He asked questions and made recommendations. He went around the table taking orders.

When he came to me, I asked, in Spanish, “If I order the pollo guisado, would I be eating last night’s loser from the gallera?”

He answered in Spanish, “No sir. They only fight on Friday and Saturday night. You would have to come for Sunday brunch to enjoy the gallo perdedor especial.” The loser rooster special.

I looked at him for a minute to see if he was serious but I couldn’t tell. Veronica started laughing and then Sergio laughed too and said they didn’t serve rooster. I ordered the pollo guisado.

“You knew what we were talking about,” I said to Veronica. She nodded. “You speak Spanish.” Mom’s face said that she knew that.

“I do. I speak Spanish and a couple of other languages,” Veronica said.

“But you didn’t say anything before.”

“You were doing fine. You didn’t need my help. But your face when he said you could get the loser rooster special for Sunday brunch was hilarious.”

“What other languages do you speak?” Kim asked. Veronica answered in what sounded like French.

“Otra mas en Ingles, por favor,” I said.

“I lived in Europe for a few years. I speak French, Spanish, and Italian well enough to order a meal, and I learned a little bit of Arabic, which I forgot long ago.”

“Cool. What, about you, Mom?”

“I’m fair with English and I can speak Pig Latin in a pinch.”

“I don’t think that counts. I thought you tutored Veronica in French,” Kim said.

“No. I got credit for tutoring her. She took French for an easy grade and we goofed off the whole time.”

We talked about languages and Veronica’s experiences in Europe. She understood the fun I was having. She also said no one spoke faster than the Puerto Ricans and that she had a hard time following sometimes. That made me feel a lot better. Two weeks wasn’t a long time but I wondered how much I could improve on my Spanish if I worked at it.

“How was your massage?” Kim asked, not really directing it at either of them.

“Dreamy,” Veronica answered.

“That about sums it up, honey,” Mom agreed. “You should treat yourself. You, too, Sport. You’ve been tough on your body. A massage would do you good.”

Our meals came and talk slowed down. My chicken stew was a winner. Kim had a mofongo dish, Mom had fresh fish, and Veronica had some sort of meat torte. We were all happy. I asked Veronica what kind of food she liked best. She said authentic Italian was pretty good but nothing compared to French cooking, especially desserts. She was enjoying Puerto Rican food. We all were.

On the walk back, Kim and I drifted behind and let Mom and Veronica lead. We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to. It was nice. Sally had been uncomfortable with silence but Kim didn’t mind. Kim and Veronica both spoke French. Now that was an interesting twist. I wondered where that might lead. Who knows?

It was dark when we got back to the hotel. “I think I’m going to check out the casino,” Mom said. “They have a balcony if you two want to watch.”

“Great. Kim and I will just go up there with all the other little kids,” I said.

“I don’t think so. I’m sixteen.”

Veronica said something to Kim in French and I couldn’t understand most of it. But even I knew what dix-huit meant. Kim had to be eighteen to go into the casino.

“You wouldn’t want to gamble anyway, Kim. Right?” I asked.

“Fine,” she huffed but I knew she was kidding. “I’ll go to the balcony with the rest of the little kids. Let’s go, Jackson. I know when I’m not wanted.” She was being funny and doing a pretty good job of it.

We went up to the balcony and looked down at the casino floor. At one end there were a couple of rows of slot machines. It didn’t take long to figure out there were different amounts you could bet with each row and there was a really big slot machine at one end. The jackpot was twenty-five thousand dollars. I didn’t think we’d see anyone win that. There was a dice game at a long table that I assumed was craps. There were a couple of roulette wheels and they were staying busy. Black Jack was next and at the far end was poker. I thought there were a lot more people in the casino than stayed at our hotel.

We watched for a half hour and didn’t see Mom or Veronica. Every now and then a slot machine’s buzzers and bells would go off, letting the world know who had just won. Kim nudged me and pointed. Veronica had changed clothes and returned. She looked good. I mean, she looked really good, and she’d changed into a dress with a lot of cleavage.

“Don’t stare,” Kim said.

“What’s she up to?”

“I don’t know. She’s checking out the roulette tables. Do they have casinos in Europe?”

They must have. Wasn’t that how James Bond always got the big bucks? We watched as Veronica eased up to one of the tables and wiggled her way next to an older guy who was getting ready to throw the dice. She leaned in close and whispered something in his ear but I think what she was really doing was giving the guy an eyeful. He smiled and handed her the dice.

Kim and I moved down the rail so we could get a better look at what was going on. Veronica blew on the dice and threw them. I couldn’t see what the dice landed on. The dealer moved a bunch of chips around and the guy Veronica had been talking to, smiled and handed her the dice to roll again. The dealer was keeping track of six or eight people and what they’d bet. I have no idea how he did it. Veronica shook the dice in her hand and when she did, everything jiggled and the old guy seemed to enjoy that. She threw the dice again. It seemed like she won but it was tough to tell whose chips were whose.

After a few more throws, the old guy decided he was done. He said something to the dealer who swapped out a bunch of one-color chip for another and then pushed them down the table. He had a pretty big smile so we guessed he’d done alright. He gave Veronica a yellow chip and she kissed him on the cheek. He seemed happy with that.

“What’s a yellow chip worth?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I bet we can figure it out. Look,” she said pointing at a stack of chips at a roulette table. “It’s a five-dollar minimum table and there is a lot of red. Must be five. Dark blue is ten, orange is fifty, I think. There. Blacks are one hundred, purple is five hundred. I don’t see any yellow chips.”