Chapter 17

For the rest of the day, Mark threw himself into his work. He attended meetings, picked up handouts, took notes, consulted with peers, and rubbed elbows with the elite in his field. He was expected to give a summary presentation upon his return, and in that one day, he accumulated twice the material that was required to fill the allotted time.

By the time he was anywhere close to a telephone, it was mid-afternoon; not that he'd been expecting to call Gary anyhow. Around five o'clock, he went back to his hotel room and took a thirty-minute nap. Afterward, taking note of the three-hour time difference, he decided to fulfill his spousal obligation and give Julie a call before she turned in for the night. The resulting brief, awkward conversation somehow provided a degree of perspective. Keeping the phone in hand, he called Katie, then he called Lauren; both were thrilled to hear from him. Mark was grateful to be able to fall back upon the familiar; he felt like order was being restored to his cluttered mind.

He ate dinner in the hotel restaurant, alone, finally permitting himself to reflect upon the roller coaster ride he'd experienced over the past twenty-four hours. He'd gone down to Tijuana, expecting to find nothing more than a little harmless fun. But last night's glimpse of the scene, fleeting though it was, had shown him that there was more to be experienced than he ever could have imagined. For a contemplative, flawed yet sensitive man such as Mark, the highs promised to be higher and the lows threatened to be lower than anything he'd ever encountered in his lifetime. And he was already beginning to understand what had turned Gary into the cold, conscience-bereft scoundrel that he was. It was a defense mechanism. After spending as much time in that environment as Gary had, how could one not become cynical and jaded with regard to relations with the opposite sex?

Mark realized that by no means should he have been surprised that Gary had hooked up with Yadira and Esperanza previously. After all, he'd probably screwed the majority of the women in that bar. But it still seemed creepy to Mark. Even more disconcerting was Gary's blasé attitude about sharing sex partners with friends. Oh, he wasn't sure that he could call Gary a friend, not at this stage. Gary's views toward women and sex were repugnant to Mark, however ironic that may have been. He knew that the more time he spent with Gary, the more likely it would be that they would lock horns on that subject.

To Gary, all the women in the Zona Norte - in fact, all women, period - were nothing more than potential rows on his spreadsheet. Yadira, Esperanza, the other girls in the bar, Griselda at the Mexican restaurant, any female on the entire planet ... they were all the same, with the only variables being integers he could plug into the columns of that infernal Excel document. That was part of the reason why Mark had had such a negative reaction to that morning's bombshell. Though he'd paid Yadira for sex, which essentially made him a partner in crime, he'd greatly enjoyed her company. He'd seen her as a sultry vixen, a shrewd businesswoman, a happy-go-lucky diva who knew how to make him laugh, and a single mom trying her best to support an extended family. He pitied Gary for being unable to see that, as well.

Jealousy and possessiveness, Mark knew, had no place in this type of setting. He was also aware that Yadira, and all the other ladies of Adelita, regularly serviced guys who were even more slimy than Gary. Mark promised himself that should he decide to go back there, he'd find a way to steel himself against that knowledge. But that's the first step in becoming jaded, he thought.

When he cut through to the core, he identified what it was that bothered him so. He'd been in the early stages of the partitioning process that he'd discussed with Shauna on that snowy night back in February. He'd hit it off with Yadira, and had been under the impression that everything was smooth sailing. But Gary's revelation had toppled that fragile partition, and had in fact invalidated any hopes he might have had that one could be constructed. In a sense, he'd become instantaneously enlightened. It didn't matter whether Yadira liked him or not; a house of prostitution is a nothing more than a mini-economy, where services are exchanged for money. Feelings aren't accounted for, and any one-on-one interaction between provider and client is solely dependent on how much cash changes hands.

But when all was said and done, Mark was not one to back down from a challenge, especially one involving attractive women. I'm really no better than Gary, he said to himself a short while later, as he once again boarded the southbound trolley with darkness falling all around him.

Mark handed tonight's cab driver his fare and tip, and stepped out of the rumbling yellow vehicle. He glanced at his watch; it was five before nine. The black curtain lay in front of him, as if held by a matador within range of a charging bull. Last night, he'd laid eyes on that curtain for the first time, and was completely oblivious as to what lay behind it. Tonight, though he'd already gotten a taste of the bizarre, fascinating world beyond the fabric barrier, he was no more certain as to what awaited him once he crossed the threshold.

Letting the curtain drop back behind him, he took a quick look around. Though the music was every bit as loud as the previous night, the crowd had thinned out quite a bit on this Monday evening. The ratio of women to men had increased, however, and Mark realized that being here on a weeknight had its advantages.

And then, he was blind-sided by what seemed to be five-foot-tall, soft, curvy bowling ball. Mark grinned as Yadira threw her arms around him and pressed her tiny body against his. She kissed him on the cheek and chirped brightly, "You miss me?" Mark wondered, Is it my imagination, or was she waiting for me near the entrance?

She yanked him by the hand, pulling him toward a vacant booth. "I just started working," she said as they got seated. "How was your work?"

Mark struggled to answer the question; Yadira had already run one hand up under his shirt, and was playing with his chest hairs. Her other hand wandered downward toward his groin, where Mark's member had already stiffened in response. "Ooh," she said with a knowing smile, "you do miss Yadira."

Approximately twenty minutes later, Mark lay naked on the bed, still drifting down from the high of yet another intense orgasm. Yadira lay in his arms, her back pressed up against his torso. He'd come quickly, furiously, and then done something he'd never imagined doing with a girl for hire. He turned the tables on her and pleasured her manually. A few minutes of that had induced her to writhe around uncontrollably on the bed, emitting cries that surely were audible a good distance down the hall. Who's paying who, Mark mused silently. But if she faked that one, she's one hell of an actress.

Tonight, her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. He could still detect the faint essence of shampoo and conditioner; Mark remembered that it was the beginning of her shift, and she'd no doubt showered in the very recent past. He also realized that she'd ditched the wig, and gone natural tonight. He asked her about it.

"I have many, many wigs," Yadira grinned proudly. "Many colors. I can be whatever I like."

"Your real hair is very pretty," Mark commented, stroking her nipple with his index finger. "You don't need to cover it up with a wig."

"I like sometimes. I can be dark. I can be blonde. I can be red... roja..."

"Redhead." Mark supplied the English word she was looking for.

"Redhead," she repeated. "Maybe you like me if I'm redhead."

Mark laughed without elaborating; he just wanted to continue listening to her broken English.

"Tomorrow," continued Yadira, "I wear redhead. Just for you."

"Just for me, huh," Mark cracked, and then took note of the stone sun pendant she was once again wearing. She wore it all the time, even, apparently, during sex.

"That's a nice pendant," he remarked. "I've never seen one like it. Where'd you get it?"

"Is good luck," Yadira explained. "It's from ... how you say... mi abuela..."

"Your grandmother."

"She give me when I was little girl. She tell me, wear all the time, and you be happy."

"Are you happy?"

Yadira closed her eyes and smiled reflexively. Turning towards him and draping her arm across his shoulder, she put her head down on his chest, her cheek flush against his skin, her warm breath barely perceptible across his flesh. The lack of an answer spoke volumes, Mark realized. He knew that she was surely very distrustful of all men, and breaking though would be an immense challenge. Therefore, he didn't press the issue, and lying next to her on the bed, just held her silently until the loud knock on the door told them both that time was up.

Despite the warning to get a move on, they showered together quickly. Before entering the bathroom, Mark placed sixty dollars on the bed while Yadira wasn't looking. The money was still there when they emerged from the shower; he didn't see it disappear until he looked into the mirror while combing his hair. A nice, tasteful way of handling the commercial end of things, he told himself.

"Buy me a drink?" Yadira asked as they got ready to leave the room.

"Of course." He offered her his arm, and escorted her out into the hall.

He ended up buying her three drinks, down in the bar, the last two of which were mineral water. She had eight more hours of work, and wanted to go easy on the alcohol. They had a chance to have a long chat. Mark learned that she lived in a part of the hotel that was set aside as a residence for some of the ladies; that she had a roommate who also worked in the bar; that she had a nice singing voice, and dreamed of being a singer; and that she loved Chinese food. Mark got a kick out of that last point. "Are there any good Chinese restaurants in Tijuana?"

"Si," she replied. "I show you sometime. You take me there."

This idea intrigued Mark; he'd never considered the possibility of taking her on a date outside the bar, with her off-duty. He knew right away, though, that it wouldn't work; with him attending the conference during the day, and her working all night, their schedules were completely out of sync. He explained that to her.

"Is okay," she said. "We do next time you come."

Mark shuddered when he heard that remark, and decided not to dwell on it. He enjoyed her company for a few more minutes. Then, abruptly, Yadira said, "Baby, I need to get back to work, okay?"

Back to work, Mark thought. I know what that means. But he'd made that promise to himself earlier.

"Come see me before you leave," she smiled. Then, patting his cheek affectionately, she got up and left. Just like that.

Mark sat there, alone, feeling a little befuddled and confused. He felt even more so, a few minutes later, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yadira heading out through the entrance in the company of a man who was quite a bit older, wider, shorter and less well-groomed than himself. He closed his eyes, once again trying to cleanse his mind of the image. Then he opened his eyes and chided himself. If you're going to hang out in a place like this, you need to deal with that sort of shit. And, remember, it works both ways.

A hand touched his knee, and he looked over to behold a cute, petite brunette with fair skin and a ready smile. She'd slipped into the vacant seat next to him. She introduced herself as Gabby, offering the information that she was twenty-one years old; she reminded Mark of a young college coed. Mark soon realized that Gabby was appropriately named; she began speaking to Mark in nonstop, rapid-fire Spanish, either unaware that Mark couldn't understand her, or choosing to ignore that fact. Mark smiled. And a short while later, as Gabby's naked, supple body thrashed about under him on the bed, he was still smiling.

He arrived back downstairs to find Yadira standing off by herself, swaying back and forth to the music. He expected to hear an inquiry as to his whereabouts, but to his relief, none was forthcoming. He bought her another drink, one for the road. He was beginning to see the true manner in which this establishment operated. Time was money. If you wanted to take a girl to the hotel, of course, you had to pay her a fee, arrived at via bargaining. If you wanted to talk to her without going upstairs, you had to buy her a drink. Sharp-eyed waiters circulated around the bar, pouncing on every man who looked as though he was about to launch into a conversation with one of the ladies. And if they spotted a girl sitting with a patron, with an empty glass in front of her, they stepped forward and insisted that the glass be refilled. For each drink, the girls received a small white ticket; they got a monetary incentive for each ticket turned in at the end of the shift.