Chapter 2

As they neared the downtown section of Juarez, Elliott reached across the seat of the taxi and took Ruth's hand. They'd decided it best to go by taxi and leave their car at the motel, thinking rightly there would be little available parking space during the early evening rush, and fearing possible theft of the clothing and cameras in their car, if not the car itself.

Feeling the tenseness in his pretty wife, Elliott suggested, "You can still go back to the motel, honey."

She pulled her hand from his. "We've already been over that. I'm going with you, and that's final."

"Where to?" the driver asked, turning onto the garishly lit main street.

"You want to get your velvet painting first?"

"Naw, forget it. You're right. Those things are grotesque."

"Well, I'm relieved. You would've had to hang it in your study, you know. I certainly wouldn't want one of those bright monstrosities in the house."

"Drop it, will you?"

"Where to?" the driver demanded. "We are downtown. Some particular place you want go?"

"No. Let us out here," Elliott said, taking out his wallet as the driver pulled his cab to the curb and stopped.

"You lookin' for fun?" the driver asked.

"Yes," Elliott said. "We're going to take in a few shows."

"I take you to best night club in Juarez... La Fiesta. Big names from your country entertain there. Very high-class place."

"No. That isn't exactly the kind of entertainment we have in mind," Elliott said.

The pudgy Mexican face smiled knowingly. "Just strippers and dancers here downtown. You want see a special show?"

"A special show?"

"You know, senor."

The tone of the man's voice made Elliott know. "Yes, I think I do know. But I don--"

"Anything you want see. I take you."

"I'm sure you can, bu--"

"Real dirty show. Live. Anything you want see."

"No!" Elliott snapped, handing the driver a five and waiting for his change.

"I'll be around if you change your mind," the driver called as Elliott climbed from the taxi and held the door for Ruth.

"What was he talking about?" Ruth asked as they strolled up the sidewalk.

"Live sex shows, I think."

"How disgusting! You're not planning to see anything like that, are you, Elliott?"

He wasn't planning on any such thing, but he couldn't resist jabbing back at Ruth for refusing him at the motel. "Maybe later. Are you going with me?"

"You're not serious, Elliott!"

" About halfway!"

"Don't make a scene, darling," she said, calming down at once.

"Ruth, either get off your high horse or go back to the motel."

She could only push Elliott so far and she knew it. Though she didn't like any of this, she decided to go along and keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. She smiled sheepishly, slipping her arm through his and saying, "I have been a little bitchy, haven't I, darling?"

"That isn't exactly the way I would've phrased it, but yes, you have been somewhat bitchy ever since we crossed the bridge this noon."

"I'm sorry, Elliott. It's the first time I've ever been out of the United States, and I guess it upsets me more than I'd thought."

"I understand, honey. But you don't have anything to worry about. They treat tourists very well here. Their economy depends on Americans."

"I know. I'm being silly."

"Not silly. Just overly cautious."

"Well, whatever. You lead the way, darling. I'll go with you uncomplainingly for the rest of the night. After all, you do have to do your research if you're going to write a good book, don't you?"

"That's what I've been telling you, honey."

"Okay," she said, gulping. "I'm ready for anything."

Elliott laughed. "You can relax. We're not going to one of those special shows."

"Well now, I am relieved to hear that. But don't forego it on my account. I'm willing if you really think it's necessary. I can shut my eyes or something."

"Well," Elliott teased, "maybe later. If you're all that anxious to see life in the raw --"

"Now, I didn't say that, Elliott."

He laughed, putting his arm around her and hugging her, sensing that she was unwinding a bit, and glad of it. When she joined his laughter, he said, "Come on. Let's go in here."

The emcee was doing his monologue when they entered the dimly lit night club. A bored waiter motioned them toward a front table. Elliott shook his head and pulled out a chair for Ruth at an empty table near the center. He wanted to watch the club's patrons as much as the show itself, and he couldn't do that comfortably from a front table. The vacationing Americans were his prime interest of the evening. It was their reactions and antics that he wanted to mentally record for the book he was yet to start.

Ruth laughed heartily at something the emcee said. "Why, he's actually good, Elliott."

"I didn't hear."

"It was a little off-color but not at all vulgar like I was afraid it would be. He's quite funny."

A different waiter slapped an ash tray on the table and asked what they wanted to drink.

"What do you want, Ruth?"

"Oh," she said, grinning as she watched the emcee make a face while he talked incessantly on, "whatever you're having, darling. Make it something Mexican, why don't you?"

"Something Mexican," Elliott told the waiter.

"Margaritas?" the waiter asked.

"That'll be fine."

The emcee was good, Elliott discovered, much too good for the strip joint they were in. He did a long monologue of very humorous and only slightly off-color material, interrupting it twice to sing a couple of American standards in his rich baritone voice. By the time he was finished with his act and introducing the first stripper, Ruth and Elliott had absently sipped all of their margaritas and the waiter had brought them two more without bothering to ask if they wanted them.

Ruth picked up her second drink and licked at the salt- covered rim of the glass.

"Good drink, isn't it?" Elliott asked.

"Mmm... delicious. I wonder what they put in them besides salt? Grapefruit juice, I think. That's all I can taste. There's something else... can you tell what else?"

"Nope."

"Well," Ruth said, "I don't think we have to worry about getting drink on these. They're good, but sort of weak. I always thought Mexican drinks were supposed to be strong, didn't you, Elliott?"

The band played softly. The pretty Mexican girl danced sensually around the small stage. Busy watching the stripper and the faces looking at her, Elliott only half-heard what Ruth was saying. Something further about the drinks, he realized.

Smiling seductively, the dark-skinned girl on stage reached behind her and pulled open a zipper very slowly. Ruth quit talking and sat stiffly, staring straight at the girl, watching her tease the dress off her shoulders. One tit came into view, covered by a peekaboo lace bra cup. The girl palmed the large breast, licking sensually at her red lips.

Her knuckles turning white from gripping the glass so tightly, Ruth brought the margarita to her lips and took a big swallow. Then the girl had both her tits in her hands, walking around the stage and showing them to the audience. Ruth wanted to jump up and rush out.

But she didn't. She forced herself to quit squirming. She glanced at the people in the audience. She sipped her drink.

"Take it off!" someone called.

A chill shot through Ruth at the lewd cry.

"Take it all off!" a female voice yelled laughingly.

Ruth glanced back to the stage, gasping as she saw the girl's lacy bra slide down her arms and fall to the floor. Immediately the stripper kicked it away, the action causing her large globes to sway from side to side. Several men in the club groaned.

"She's really got 'em, huh?" the emcee asked, unseen and out of the light. "I'll let you in on a secret, folks... they taste better than they look!"

"Prove it! Prove it!" two young soldiers at a front table demanded.

The stripper moved to the soldiers, bending over them, holding her bare tits as she stooped and brought them near their faces. One soldier reached boldly for a brown-tipped tit. The girl laughed and jumped away. The audience roared with laughter as she strutted around the stage taking off another piece of her costume.

Ruth elbowed Elliott. "How far does this go?"

He shrugged, trying to ignore her and concentrate on the crowd's reaction to the stripper.

"It's getting vulgar, Elliott."