On His Turf (29 page)
“We’re at an altitude of 2500 feet here so you’ll have to be careful to stay hydrated,” Donovan explains, appearing beside me. “Even walking up stairs can make you feel like you’ve run a mile.”
I wish I could tell him that it’s more than just the altitude that’s making me dizzy but I’m nowhere near ready for that so I just nod and smile. Renzo returns from dropping my bags and asks for Donovan’s key card so he can deliver his cases as well. He hands it over and Renzo bows his head and disappears.
“Should we be worried about leaving our stuff with him?” I ask, thinking back to all of the travel websites that warned of rampant crime in Venezuela.
“We’re fine. Do you know Luis from Accounting?” he asks and I nod. “Renzo is his cousin.”
“Well, that’s good I guess,” I sigh, closing my eyes.
“You’re nervous,” he states.
“Of course I’m nervous. We’re in a foreign country and the paper has paid a lot of money for us to meet a source that may or may not be telling the truth,” I say, expelling a breath.
“I wouldn’t worry about the paper. This isn’t exactly a five-star hotel,” Donovan says good-humoredly. “And we believe in the story you’ve put forth. I believe in you,” he adds, staring into my eyes in a way that makes me uncomfortable to the nth degree.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I say, staggering as I get to my feet.
“Whoa, take it slow!” he quickly jumps up and catches my arm. “I warned you about the altitude.”
I blush and give him a shaky smile, hoping that my bouts of nausea and dizziness taper off so he doesn’t get suspicious.
“Do you know if there’s a restaurant in the hotel? I’m starving,” I say, quickly changing the subject.
“There is but not a very good one I’m told,” he answers. “Why don’t I take you up to your room and I’ll have Renzo bring you something to eat before the meet.”
I check my watch and I’m shocked to see that there’s only about an hour before we are due at Bolivar Square in the Plaza Mayor so I let Donovan walk me to my room. Once inside I see that he was right about one thing - it’s definitely not a five star hotel. The furniture is old and dusty and there are a few suspect-looking dark stains on the carpet but the view from the window of the lush green mountain makes up for it. Donovan excuses himself and I don’t know what else to do so I unpack. Since we are only staying for a few days I didn’t bring much so it doesn’t take long at all. A knock on the door interrupts me and I look through the peephole at Renzo. He’s holding something in his hand that I can actually smell through the door and when I open it he passes me something that looks like a pancake.
“It called a cachapa. Corn fritter with ham and cheese,” he explains in broken English. “I bring you also una botella de agua.”
I smile at him gratefully and dig into my pocket for some money which he quickly accepts. “You need anything, senorita, tell Mr. Tate,” he says before taking off down the hall.
I close the door and bite greedily into the warm fritter. I’m halfway through scarfing it down when my stomach takes a violent turn and I have to run to the toilet. I barely make it before the whole thing comes back up and tear pour down my face as I retch into the toilet. Once I have it all out of me I lean my forehead on the cold tile floor and I start to question what I’m even doing here in a strange country at eight weeks pregnant without the man I love by my side. But like I’ve had to remind myself over and over it’s been a week without a call or a text and seeing Allison at his place confirmed my worst fears. He made it perfectly clear when he walked out on me that he didn’t want me unless I chose his life and his silence has made it even clearer that he doesn’t want this baby. And as much as this baby isn’t what I planned for and is the worst possible timing I know what it feels like to grow up unwanted. So I won’t, not even for a second, let this tiny life inside of me feel anything but completely loved.
“You hear that baby?” I croak, licking my lips that feel as dry as the desert. “I love you already even if you have me puking up Venezuelan food on the dirty bathroom floor of a hotel.” I struggle to my feet and toss the rest of the fritter into the trash before gulping down the entire contents of the bottle of water. I brush my teeth and wash my face before heading back down to the lobby. Donovan is waiting in the same chair I vacated earlier and his eyes light up when he sees me.
“Are you ready to do this?” he asks and I nod.
“I’m ready.” I say, following him out to the street where Renzo is waiting with the car.
My source is fifteen minutes late and I can’t stop my knees from bouncing up and down nervously. I am sitting under the statue of Simon Bolivar as instructed by the security guard and eyeballing every stranger that passes by. Donovan wanted to wait with me but I was worried that it might scare the source off so I told him and Renzo to watch from across the Plaza. The square is busy and there are vendors hawking lemonade and shaved ice under the leafy trees. As the late afternoon sun beats down I start to worry that we’ve been stood up. I glance at my watch and vow to wait no more than ten minutes longer when a dark figure approaches and sits down beside me. I glance over at the nervous little man who has greasy hair and pock-marked skin. He doesn’t look directly at me but his eyes scan the square as he retrieves a cigarette from a dented metal case.
“Miss Dahl,” he mumbles my name as he lights it.
“Yes,” I answer, clearing my throat.
“Do you have what I asked for?” He asks in a gruff voice and though I’m leery of the man sitting beside me I take out the envelope that contains a stack of cash and a plane ticket to Miami. I slide it on to his lap and he briefly fingers through it before stuffing it into his jacket pocket.
“Good. My turn now,” he says in perfect English as he opens an old cell phone and presses play on a video. He tosses the phone at me and I have to lunge forward to catch it. When I see what is on screen my heart starts thumping in my chest.
It’s a Texas state senator and the CEO of Petroleo on camera and the senator is very obviously receiving a bribe. Luckily there is audio though I have to strain to hear what’s being said. The two men are talking about their plans for the refinery while snorting cocaine and giving each other congratulatory pats on the back.
“Phone is yours to keep. It’s a burner anyway,” the little man explains before getting to his feet and walking away. I watch him go and within seconds he’s swallowed up by the crowd.
I press play and watch the video again from the start. The surveillance video footage is a little grainy but there’s no mistaking the Texas politician’s face. My heart is now pounding in my ears as I consider what this means for me and for my career. And while I know I should be nothing but excitement, my mind immediately goes to is Shane and I can’t help wishing that he was here right beside me to celebrate this big win.
I watch out the window as the car glides through one of the many barrios that are scattered throughout the city. Crawling up the hill to my right are the boxy tenements that house so many of the city’s poor and off in the distance are a cluster of unfinished skyscrapers most likely filled with squatters. Even though I am only a visitor here the undercurrent of political tension is something that’s hard to miss. The street ahead is crowded with cars and horns blare at regular intervals while our driver shouts out the window in Spanish.
As we move into a more urban area of town the traffic gets even thicker and it gives me a chance to study the tall billboards that adorn the building tops advertising everything from tires to shampoo to beer.
Against my better judgment Donovan and I are on our way to one of Caracas’ entertainment districts for dinner. I am so tired and still feeling mildly nauseated but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
After the meeting with the source Renzo took us back to the hotel to shower and change before taking his leave for the night and passing us off to another driver. I glance down at the simple black shift dress I’m wearing and wish that it would magically transform into a pair of sweats and that I was back in my room watching bad Spanish soap operas.
We pull up to a building that looks more like a Tuscan villa than a restaurant and the driver pulls through the open gates to drop us at the front door. As I step out of the car I immediately notice that there’s haziness to the air that coupled with the fading light gives our surroundings an unsettling quality. I can tell from the buildings around us that we are in a nicer part of town but I can’t help but think about the warnings of kidnappings, carjacking’s and robberies that preceded my trip. Even at the Plaza today Renzo was explicit with his instructions: don’t make eye contact and if someone stops to speak to you ignore them and push past. It was a warning to be vigilant at all times and having spent the better part of my life in a rough neighborhood I wouldn’t usually read too much into it but given that Caracas has one of the highest homicide rates in the entire world it is hard to ignore.
Donovan waves the car off I rub my hands up and down my arms to warm them up. I should’ve brought a jacket because it’s colder at night than I thought it would be. Donovan must catch the movement because his arm comes around my waist as he speaks.
“You’re shivering. Let’s get you inside.”
Inside we are greeted by candlelight and a white haired man in a bow tie and vest. He motions for us to follow him and Donovan slips his fingers through mine and leads me through to the back of the busy restaurant. I don’t want to be rude but my hand in his just doesn’t feel right and I’m about to tell him so when he speaks first.
“I had to pull a few strings to get us a table. Apparently the place books up months in advance,” he says over his shoulder. He releases my hand I let out an audible sigh of relief. The old man in the bow tie pulls out my chair and gestures for me to sit and while Donovan speaks to him about the wine list I take the opportunity to look around. The room is intimate with its low ceiling and muted tile floors. The tables are covered in sunny yellow and white table cloths and mission-style wooden chairs flank the tables. The walls are painted brick and decorated with framed vintage photos. In a word the place is…well…romantic and it makes me feel even more uneasy than before. The waiter disappears and Donovan smiles at me then drags his chair over so it’s flush with mine. He sits and the look he gives me makes my stomach turn even more than the smell of roasted meat that’s lingering in the air.
“Why did you move your chair?” I say, clearing my throat.
“I can hear you better this way,” he answers. “I’ve ordered us a nice merlot - it will pair well with the meat. This restaurant has
la major carne en Caracas
.”
“I don’t speak Spanish, remember?’ I say, a little more sharply than intended and he chuckles.
“It’s easy to forget when looking at you. You have a very exotic look.”
“I guess so,” I mumble.
“No, it’s true,” he continues. “From the first time I laid eyes on you all I could think was that you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. You still are,” he adds and the way he looks at me when he speaks has me squirming in my seat so I change the subject.
“Thank you for your help today. I still can’t believe the source showed up and the information is good,” I say, taking a sip of water.
“You are most welcome. And yes, the information looks good. We still need to have IT and the legal department look at it but I think it’s safe to say that you have the story you wanted,” he says.
“It’s all still too surreal for me to wrap my head around,” I say honestly and he laughs.
“Everything changes from here on out Carmelina. You realize that don’t you?”
Before I can answer the waiter returns with the wine and Donovan asks me if it’s alright if he orders for us. Since I’m not really hungry and I don’t speak Spanish I figure it can’t hurt so he chooses avocado salads to start.
We fall into an easy conversation about Venezuelan politics and the relatively new president and I start to feel a little more relaxed, that is until Donovan inches his chair even closer so our knees are touching.
“You haven’t mentioned the soccer player since we arrived,” Donovan says, leaning against me.
“No?” I say, my voice cracking as I reach for my water glass. The waiter returns with the two colorful salads and it’s a shame that I’m not hungry at all because the food looks beautiful. Donovan picks up his fork but before he starts to eat he speaks.
“No, you haven’t mentioned him. To be honest I was surprised that he let you off the chain long enough to come here at all.”
“We’ve had this conversation before Donovan and I believe I made it perfectly clear how I feel about your misogynistic statements. My personal relationships are none of your business,” I say as I slam my glass down on the table.
He holds his hands up in surrender before speaking. “I’m sorry. That was out of line but I’m not asking to pry. I’ve known you for years now and I am asking as a friend,” he says more softly this time.
I angle my body as far away from him as I can get before responding. “You realize that you basically just called me a dog on a leash right?” I whisper and he sighs.
“Look, I really am sorry. That’s not what I meant in the slightest. If anyone is the misogynist in this it is him.” He picks up the bottle of wine to refill my glass but stops when he sees that it’s still full to the brim.
“You haven’t touched your wine,” he says and I snort.
“Is that a question?”
“Look, can we please start tonight over again? I want to drink expensive wine, eat rich food and celebrate our success. Is that too much to ask?” he says in a pleading tone and I close my eyes and consider his words. He’s right of course - it’s not too much to ask. He went to bat for me with this editorial and supported me every step of the way so the least I can do is let go of my own bullshit for the night and have a meal with him.
“You asked about Shane?” I exhale a breath and his eyes flash before he nods. “Well I haven’t mentioned him because we’re not together anymore. And since we are not together there’s really no point in talking about him. Okay?”