Ringer (31 page)

We must end the time lapse at sunset for some important action.

Gina and I stepped out onto the veranda, goblets of wine in hand. She was in a simple white cotton peasant dress that on her could just as soon have been something from a Paris runway. I was in a black collared shirt and my white suit pants.

“Beautiful!” Gina smiled at the sunset, the orange light dazzling in her blue eyes.

“Yes, very beautiful.” I said this looking at her.

“Now don’t go getting all smitten on me, Morty.”

“Do I look smitten? Nonetheless, I think you should know I appreciate your beauty
almost
as much as your cunning.”

She looked at me suspiciously, but laughed. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“No, thank
you.
A most passionate afternoon.” If I do say so, she was coming along nicely.

“Back at you.”

We clinked glasses.

My mood shifted as I looked back in the direction of the living room, and then led Gina to the veranda railing. “I have to show you something. It was in my room when I returned to change for dinner.”

I handed her a folded note, which she unfolded and read in a whisper.

“
Meet me on the west end of the Ramparts at 9:00
P.M.
I have something important for you, Purity.
What’s this about?”

I shrugged. “I cannot imagine.”

“But you just left a note for Dixie to meet you at the helipad to lure her away so I could get at Grant.”

“Yes, now there are three notes.”

“Purity is trying to cozy up to my guy? And my guy is trying to cozy up to Dixie. And Grant is trying to cozy up to me.”

I began to say one thing, cocked an eyebrow at her, and said something else. “Three notes?”

“I got a note of my own, shoved under the door when I took a shower. Here.”

I unfolded a very similar piece of paper and whispered aloud.
“I have not forgotten our kiss or swim, and wish to continue. Meet me on the yacht at 9:00
P.M.
RTG.”

We shared a mutual moment of perplexity, holding each other’s notes and squinting. Or is it perplexion?

*   *   *

The camera is on Dixie as she enters the living room and sidles up to where Grant is pouring himself a Scotch. The audience can see Gina and me on the veranda in the background.

Dixie had a wary eye on us. “Cuddlekins, take a look at this.” She handed Grant a folded piece of paper.

Grant knitted his brow and whispered the note. “
Querida, we must meet, the helipad at
9:00
.
9:30, I have some important information about Grant you should know. Regards—Sr. MM
. Information about me? Like what?” He probably suspected I was going to spill the beans about Gina’s stolen moonlight kiss.

Dixie looked vexed. “Robbie, Morty is merely saying that to get me to meet him. We’re in the home stretch here, so try to stay sharp.”

“Why would he want to meet you?”

“Why do you think?” Dixie wiggled her hips. “When you came in the other night, with Gina, I have to tell you, Morty was making advances.”

Grant scowled, his face red, his eyes turning to me on the veranda.

She patted his arm. “Now, now, sugar, nothing happened, and I’m only meeting him down at the Ramparts briefly to lure him.”

“He did
something
! What?”

“He felt my bottom.”

Once again, Dixie thought she was pulling Grant one way, keeping him focused and determined in the stretch. Yet at the same time she was pushing him toward Gina. Grant not only wanted me convicted of murdering Purity, but he also wanted to make sure I didn’t get Gina. His spite meter was in the red zone.

I know it may seem a little odd that he was angry at me for trying to
cheat with
Dixie when he in fact was intending to
cheat on
Dixie. Alas, this is the way men’s minds work sometimes.

*   *   *

Cut back to Gina’s and my thoughtful pause on the veranda.

Gina spoke first. “Imagine if I gave Grant a note—then there would be four notes and probably four meetings at nine o’clock.”

“I changed my appointment with Dixie to nine thirty. That should still keep her out of your hair so you can meet Grant at nine.”

“So you’re going to meet both Purity and Dixie?”

“I think I must. For all I know, Purity has something genuinely important to tell me. She is troubled, and I admit to feeling somewhat protective of her since I have saved her life twice.”

“Mm hm. Just keep it zipped, bubby. I know how charming you like to be.”

“
Querida,
you have my word. Three notes. Coincidences like this are like a tarantula in the bathtub. Obvious but unwelcome. You kissed Grant?”

“It was the only way to get him to cough up the ring.”

“The
fake
ring.”

“Are you saying I’m cheap?”

“I’m saying that you are cunning and yet beautiful.”

“You two arguing?” Purity limped out onto the veranda with a green margarita glass. She was in a blue patterned bikini and matching shawl skirt. “Morty, could you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“I have some earrings, and I think they’re down at the yacht, down that path. I twisted my ankle. Could you go down and get them? I remember hooking them onto a chain hanging from the compass in the bridge.”

“At your service.” I smiled, set my wineglass on a table, and went off to retrieve the earrings.

Purity and Gina were alone.

“So did you and Morty fuck really hard this afternoon?” Purity said this as casually as if she’d remarked upon the weather. She sipped her drink.

“Hm.” Gina could give as good as she got. “On the hard-fuckness meter, I’d say it was about an eight. Night’s early, though. What do you have planned?”

“Vivisection, the usual.” Purity’s phone chimed, and she peeled away from Gina just as Grant and Dixie emerged from the bar area. Grant looked like he was ready to play tennis, with a sweater tied around his shoulders and a Scotch in his hand. Dixie was in a snazzy orange jumpsuit with a halter top and a glass of white wine.

We see her texts witten on the screen.

Skip: M here—hotel mar del cruz—CU n town?

Purity: yoyo [you’re on your own]

“Looks like we just made it in time for sunset over Land’s End!” Dixie tilted her head at Grant and then blinked at Gina. “We’re so glad you could join us here at Villa Destino.”

“I certainly appreciate you having me. This is quite a treat.”

Skip: ??? wrud [what are you doing]

Purity: OMW out

“Where’s our Mr. Martinez?” Grant asked, hoping that I had gone back to La Paz.

“Went to fetch something. He should be right back.”

Dixie adjusted her halter top. “He’s missing a nice sunset. Life’s too short to miss nice sunsets. We’re going on a romantic boat ride later to see the lights of the town. We’d invite you along but it’s just the two of us.”

Skip: with Morty?

Purity: he left me a note, wants me 2 meet him @ 9 @ ramparts

Purity was in the background and looked up from where she was texting on her phone. “You should take the yacht and do a hot tub.”

Grant shifted uncomfortably. “Not a bad idea.”

“A sailing yacht?” Gina sipped.

“She’s called
Premiere
.” Grant puffed with pride. “A motor yacht, a classic from the fifties, she was built by a shipbuilding magnate who had it custom built. Later it was owned by a Hollywood producer. He entertained many famous movie stars and personalities of that era on
Premiere
, in fact some even motored with him to Cannes.”

Gina acted impressed. “She sounds like a one of a kind.”

“She is.” Dixie grinned, and turned. “Purity, what are your plans this evening? You’re not planning on taking that scooter out on the local roads, I hope.”

Skip: Ramparts a bar?

Purity: CD9 [parents in room] VCDA [vaya con Dios, amigo]

“My plans are to chill.”

*   *   *

I may have been missing the sunset, but I was becoming more familiar with the geography. On my way back from retrieving Purity’s earrings, I became lost, which with all the paths around the grounds of Villa del Destino Ganado was not hard to do. When I came up the stairs, I zigged instead of zagged, and found myself at the edge of the garden and property where the land abruptly returned from the lush plantings to an arid scrubland. I found a signpost there with an arrow marked
THE RAMPARTS
. It pointed along a path that wound down the cliff face to a small beach in the distance. Looming over this beach were towering pointy rocks that isolated the little beach from all but Grant’s villa.

I squinted, wondering about that note. Did Purity want me to service her on that little beach? Would I once again have to explain to her that I was not attracted to her sexually? If she wanted me alone, and it was not about sex, why would she want me to come all the way down that path at that little beach? I also had to think about Dixie. When I met her at the heliport, how was I to delay her there without attempting to make love to her?
If so, should I?
To be brutally honest, even though you may not believe it based on my roving eye, I have never been one to double up on my women. I simply do not enjoy charming two women back and forth. No matter which one I am with, I imagine I am with the other. I end up only half as passionate with both, which serves nobody’s purposes. Besides, what kind of idiot would I be to jeopardize what I had going with Gina, one of the world’s great beauties, for an overly mannered southern belle slipping past her prime? Yes, even considering her notable bedroom skills and that whole thing she did with the silk scarf. Besides, I was genuinely coming to feel Gina and I were on the same page, that after a couple weeks our relationship would not become a protracted shopping spree punctuated by afterthought sex, and that she would not attempt to lower my cholesterol or enroll me in a tantric yoga course. To many women, every man is a fixer-upper, and when they have him fixer-upped, they have no further use for him other than as the bearer of their shopping bags.

Gina was disadvantaged by being overly attractive. She did not trust men because few to none of them had been able to get beyond her utterly devastating outward appearance in order to actually listen to any of the words that came out of her mouth. She did not trust women because few of them had ever been able to forgive her for her utterly devastating outward appearance. This disability had ruined her chances for both love and a career.

I am perfectly suited for this type of woman, and I will tell you why. From this film treatment you have seen that I genuinely love all types of women, and I get a great deal of satisfaction charming them and making them feel special, whether it is the plump one from the hotel desk, Dixie with the implants, or Gina, the very picture of female perfection. I greatly appreciate Gina’s body, don’t get me wrong. She is one of the few women I’ve ever encountered who was more spectacular naked than partially clothed, and that says a lot, but looks and sex appeal are not an end-all for me. Crazy, I know. I can be with Gina and not be smitten, which is the only kind of man she can trust.

Anyway, time is short. I had better get off my soap container and relate my wanderings through that garden, along the winding path, past the gardener’s shed not far from the trail to the Ramparts. I heard a low and serious voice from within the shed, speaking in Spanish, almost like a chant. Curious, I put an eye to the partially open door.

Shadows of rakes and pitchforks and scythes danced on the walls by the light of a candle. Kneeling before the candle on a packing crate was the clumsy airline steward. In front of the candle on the crate was a crude hatchet. I recognized it as the type Mexican field hands use to harvest pineapples. Held reverently in his hands was the amulet, and even from where I stood I recognized it as the image of Santa Muerte.

I stepped back from the door and continued on my way. Hey, whatever floats your boat, right? Live and let live. Or whatever.

CHAPTER

FORTY-EIGHT

LET US FAST-FORWARD THROUGH DINNER
at the oversized Moorish dinner table because it was a formality. Everybody’s mind was elsewhere, yet conversation was necessary. Of course, Dixie did most of the heavy lifting in that department, complete with mild put-downs to Gina and regular boasts about the ardor she and Grant shared for each other.

Purity texted through most of the meal and said nothing and was pretty much ignored as she had been on the flight. Grant and she never even looked at each other. Not then, not ever that I saw.

So we zip through the meal, candles burning down, the wine bottles being depleted in direct proportion to the growing tension and anticipation over the evening to come. I would venture that if there were any lapses in judgment that fateful evening, ones that seem curious in hindsight, you might ascribe some of that to the wine. Everybody was half in the bag when we scuttled away from the table.

I think we can see the initial deployment of various schemes best using a crane shot at the back of the villa. Panning slowly right to left. Grant and Dixie—carrying a small duffel bag—trot down the path toward the marina.

As we pan farther left, Gina, seen through her balcony in her bedroom, is holding the fake ring and tucks it into her most delectable bikini top, adjusting it so it doesn’t show in the mirror. The mere thought of her doing so gives me a manly shudder. The ring secure, she picks a tropical shawl off the bed and wraps it over her shoulders for warmth.

The camera comes to my room, and me seen from my veranda. I am brushing my teeth and checking the whiteness of my smile in the mirror, adjusting my testicles. Yes, ladies, they need adjusting, it isn’t something we do for fun.

Then the camera comes to Purity’s room, where we see her slip into a flashy short dress, her hair carefully messed and moussed for a night out on the town. A clever girl, spirited, and I admit that I still like her spunk even if she did make the effort to frame me, the man who more or less saved her life twice.