Curveball (18 page)

“Let’s face it, she’s probably going to need one in a couple years anyway.”

He pulled into the hotel parking lot and put the car in park. Cat turned around and
poked her head in the back.

“Paige, get up.”

She didn’t move.

Cat jiggled her leg. “Paige.”

Junior stepped out of the car, pushed his seat up and sighed. He bent over, looped
his hands under her shoulders and tugged her out.

Paige moaned. “Mm. What’s going on?”

Her feet flailed around until they found pavement. She pushed Junior off of her and
looked around.

“How’d we get back to the hotel?”

Cat and Junior exchanged exhausted smiles. “Isn’t my life fun?”

“Do you want me to help you take her up to the room?”

“I don’t need anyone’s help!” Paige stormed toward the hotel doors.

Cat sighed. “Guess not.” She took a step after Paige and turned to Junior. “Hey uh,
thanks for helping with this.”

“I had fun tonight, you know, except for all of …” He swirled his finger at Paige.

She smiled at him. “Me, too.”

“Cat! Come
on
!” Paige was holding the lobby door open.

Cat pointed behind her. “Well, I better …”

“Yeah.”

“Bye.”

She gave him a short wave. “Bye.”

Cat hurried over to Paige. They silently walked to the elevator. As the doors closed
and the compartment lurched up the shaky shaft, Cat took a look at Paige’s face. Most
of her foundation had smudged off on Junior’s windows so it was easy to see that the
color had left her cheeks. Her eyes became watery. Her dry lips began to quiver.

Uh-oh.

Paige might have made it out of Junior’s Italian pride and joy without redecorating
its luxurious interior but the
La Concha Gran Hotel
was proving to be the real gamble. The elevator continued to wobble up each level.
Paige’s hand covered her mouth at floor five and just as the bell dinged six, she
shook her head and went to her knees.

“Cat, I can’t—”

Splat.

As she stood up and wiped her mouth, the doors opened. The six guests waiting to board
the elevator shrank away from the doors, gasping and covering their mouths. Cat responded
to their horrified expressions with muttered apologies as she led Paige past them
and down the hallway.

Paige gave her a meek smile. “I feel better.”

Cat squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll bet.”

She fumbled for her key card and opened the door. Paige pulled her pocketbook out
of the top of her dress, threw it on the floor and careened for the beds. Cat stopped
her and rerouted her toward the bathroom.

“Why don’t you take a hot shower first?”

Cat’s knockoff shoes might be nothing special, but at least they didn’t have regurgitated
rum on them. She followed her charge in, turned on the lights and got the water running.
Paige sat on top of the toilet with her knees knocked helplessly together. Cat studied
her.

“You’re not going to pass out or anything, are you?”

She stumbled to her feet and began to shimmy out of her dress. “No. Vomiting always
helps.”

“Maybe you can remember that tomorrow when you give the maintenance staff a generous
tip for cleaning up your biohazardous waste.” Cat waited for Paige to give her an
acknowledging nod before shutting the bathroom door behind her.

“Ugh.”

This night just kept on coming. Her cell phone sat on the table, silently barking
at her with its angry green message light. She gulped. Almost nervous, she dialed
her voicemail, knowing full well what was to come. There were seven messages, all
from a sci-fi lovin’ professor who sounded angrier after each beep until the last
two, at which point the messages assumed a frightened, quiet tone.

She swallowed. Hesitating for a second, she slowly pushed the callback number. He
answered after one ring.

“Cat?”

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

“Do you know how long someone has to be missing in Santo Domingo before the police
will look into it? Because I do. It’s twenty-four hours.”

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry. I forgot my phone
on the charger.”

“You said to call you at seven.”

“I know. We went out to dinner and Junior was supposed to bring me back by before
the game but we forgot—”

“Who the hell is Junior?”

“Junior DeLeon, the son of Roberto DeLeon, the pitcher?”

Benji didn’t respond.

“We went to LSU together and he’s working as a coach down here.”

“How nice that you found an old school chum to dine with until—well, let’s see here
… one a.m. local time.”

She chuckled. “Boy, Mission Control has nothing on your time conversion skills, huh?”
When he didn’t respond again, she added, “Paige came too. She and Junior used to be
a couple, apparently.”

“Oh.” His tone lightened. “I was worried when I couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It was perfectly innocent.” Cat closed her eyes as she said it,
flipping them open when Bachata images appeared.

“So what’d you do?”

Again the image of Junior’s hips locked with hers snuck in. “Um, we went to a baseball
game.”

Not a lie.

“How was that?”

“Hot.” She cleared her throat. “Out, that is. Hot out. It’s pretty warm down here.”

“Well you’re not missing anything here. I’m grading lab abstracts and counting the
days until finals. I’d give anything to be in the Caribbean with you right now.”

“Is that so? Well, I see doing homework and raise you waiting for Paige to wash the
vomit off so we can go to bed.”

He groaned. “I fold.”

Cat heard the shower shut off. “The water just stopped. I think she’s either done
or she passed out and smacked her head on the faucet.”

“Which way are you leaning?”

“Leaning or hoping?” She sighed. “I better go check it out.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling me back, I really was ten minutes away from calling the
U.S. Embassy.”

“That’s sweet.” She paused. “In an annoying, overbearing, clingy from three time zones
away kind of way.”

The silence on the line said more than if he’d shouted.

“I was just worried, that’s all.”

“I was busy. I’m down here working, remember?”

Benji scoffed. “Working? Until one a.m.?”

“As a matter of fact, I was. In fact ... never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly grasp the complexities of a baseball game. Tell me again
how many strikes there are?”

“On that note, I think I’ll let you go. I’ve got to get up early for more
complexities
.”

The dull hum of dead air filled the line again.

“Fine. I love you.”

She paused before replying, “I love you too.”

Cat stared at the cell phone after she hung up, immediately regretting her attitude.

“He’s mad, huh?”

Cat jumped and whipped her head around. Paige was already in her satin pajamas.

“What? No. It’s just being apart, that’s all. It isn’t easy.”

She flipped her head down and wrapped a towel around her wet hair. “Funny.
Easy
was exactly the word I was going to go with.”

Cat was too tired to take flack from a girl who just splattered an elevator with
La Puerta del Infierno’s
drink special. “Got something on your mind?”

“I saw the way you were dancing with Junior.” She picked her purse off the floor and
pulled her cell phone out. She pressed a few buttons and wiggled the screen at Cat.
“I’ve even got photographic evidence.”

Cat moved in closer to see the tiny screen. She recognized the devilish dance floor
and worse—the image that she couldn’t get out of her head a minute ago was now embedded
on Paige’s micro SD card. Cat reached out for the phone and Paige snatched it back.

“Uh-uh. I’m keeping this as a reminder that Mrs. High and Mighty turns into Ms. Down
and Dirty after the street lights come on.”

“Paige, seriously, erase that. We were just dancing, but if someone else were to see
it—”

“Someone like … Benji?”

Cat sighed. She knew she was busted. “What do I have to do to get you to erase it?”

Paige snickered. “Everybody has a price.” She tapped thoughtfully on her chin. “Let’s
see, what do I want?” She turned to the closet and frowned. “You certainly don’t have
any clothes I’d want to borrow.”

“Not that you could fit into them anyway.”

Paige ignored her. “And I wouldn’t wear your shoes if I was a lumberjack.”

“A lumberjack is the only person who could match the size of those clodhoppers you
call feet.”

“Ah, I know what I want.” Paige focused on her. “Let me sleep in tomorrow.”

“I’m not your boss and I don’t make your hours.”

“Ha!” Paige wobbled over to her bed. “We both know that the only person who gives
a rat-a-tat-tat what time I come in is you. As long as I’m happy, my dad’s happy and
Joe’s happy.”

“Fine, whatever. Sleep the day away. Fall into a coma for all I care. You’ll delete
the picture?”

“Cross my heart. From one good girl to another.” She attempted to maneuver her eyelid
into a wink, but the motion ended in an exaggerated blink.

“Now.”

Cat stood over her shoulder as Paige’s smooth pink nail hit the delete button.

“Your secret’s safe.” She pulled back the covers on her bed and gave Cat one last
smarmy look. “But if I were you, I’d work on a better cover story to tell my boyfriend.
‘Working late’ doesn’t fool anybody.”

Cat bopped around the hotel room in silent jubilation, doing her best to sidestep
the mess that looked like six hours into Black Friday at Bloomingdale’s. It had been
months since she had this feeling, or what Ty Cobb would call ‘fire in her belly.’
Four months of scouring for a job and barely paying her rent by selling a few freelance
articles about t-ball carpools, a new Wiffle Ball league and the opening of yet another
sporting goods store had all but extinguished her investigative drive. But now that
she had a scoop, the spark was ignited. On top of that, she could multi-task by using
her investigation time to sightsee in the oldest city in the New World.

Unfortunately, the duvet-covered mound in the full-size bed next to Cat’s prevented
her from whistling a cheery morning tune or opening the blinds to say hello to the
sunshine. The last thing she wanted to deal with was a hungover roomie who would ask
too many questions. Paige’s blackmail was actually working out well for both of them.
Employee of the Sneak got to sleep in, while Cat got to prepare for her clandestine
meeting without having to come up with a cover story.

She headed for the door, tripping over a heel buried under Paige’s Alexander Wang
mini-dress from the night before. “Damn it!” She caught herself before she hit the
floor and turned around. The duvet stirred. Cat almost wanted Paige to wake up so
she could chastise her about the mess. She stared at the shiny fabric for a short
moment. Paige had looked every bit as stunning as the model who had worn it on the
cover of last month’s Vogue. Cat couldn’t even imagine it—walking into the iconic
New York store and buying whatever she wanted, only to treat said purchase with all
the respect of a gym sock. She tossed the dress in the laundry bag hanging on the
closet door—hmm, did it need to be dry-cleaned?—and smoothed out her own sleeveless
vest. Her pantsuit may have come from the outlet mall, but at least it doesn’t smell
like puke. That thought was enough to quell her envy of the big, bottomless brown
bag. She scurried out the door, relief rushing over her when it closed without a last
minute interruption.

The cab to the Colonial Zone dropped her off right in front of Columbus Square. Cat
stepped out and immediately took in the sights like the tourist she had almost forgotten
she was. She filed up the steps with the other visitors to
Parque Colón
, the large plaza that surrounded the Cathedral. Benches were shaded by towering palm
trees, decorated with strings of twinkle lights for the season. Children skipped across
the courtyard and played in trickling fountains. Old women threw seed onto the bricks
for hungry pigeons. Vendors peddled rosary beads, flowers and shoe shines.

She headed straight for the statue of Columbus, which towered over the entire square,
making it easy to spot. A quick survey of the bronzed statue of the man she had most
appreciated for a day off of school every October told her that Cristian was not here
yet.

While admirers surveyed the sites, she took in their faces, hoping to see Cristian
pop out from the crowd. Several young men fit his description, but they were enjoying
the day with their families and friends. She was the only solo act there. She walked
around the open plaza before planting herself on the ledge in front of the statue.
Her cell phone told her that it was five after eight.

Visitors hoping to get a picture of Christopher Columbus sans the redheaded
gringa
gave her dirty looks. She offered the first few apologetic smiles but soon the smiles
weren’t enough.

“
Perdone señorita
, would you mind moving so that I can take a photo?” a man asked in Spanish.

Cat nodded to his request and moved so he could pose his family in her place. She
wandered around the plaza once more, double-checking each face she passed. She checked
her cell phone again. Fifteen minutes past their eight o’clock meeting time and Cristian
still hadn’t showed up. A group of teenagers skipped around her on their way into
the cathedral, their field trip volunteers dragging behind. The kids lined up at the
door.

Perhaps he’d intended for them to meet in the church?

She shook her head. She specifically remembered the Columbus statue.

I
did but maybe he didn’t
.

After all, he had been the one taking size ten Capezios to the ribs outside of the
Latin dance club. Could she really blame him if he mixed up locations? She scurried
over to the line for the cathedral entrance.