Playing With Fuego Part 11

I wouldn't go that far, but it was hard to argue from her perspective. It was a perfect night-eighty degrees with a balmy breeze, a half moon over Fisher Island, and no one else's music a.s.saulting our ears. The only disturbance, if you could call it that, was the intermittent rumble of a low-flying jet on its way out of Miami International. For me, they have a certain cosmopolitan appeal, especially when they bank right toward South America. I picture exotic people like my neighbors Ronaldo and Tandra jetting back and forth to Rio or Buenos Aires.

"I've had some trouble adjusting to Miami, I have to admit. I feel like a total outsider most of the time."

Mari shook her head and leaned across the table to squirt lemon juice all over my cracked crab claws. "You do that to yourself. Miami opens its arms to everyone. All you have to do is walk in and make it yours."

"Which is a whole lot easier if A, you speak Spanish, and B, you have a boatload of cash."

"Have you tried to learn Spanish? They teach it practically everywhere."

I wanted to snap that I shouldn't have to learn another language to get along in America, but not at the expense of marring this perfect night. "I studied it in high school but I forgot most of what I learned. And even if I were fluent, there'd still be that little cash problem. I know I shouldn't complain because I'm better off than a lot of people in Miami, and I'm lucky enough to live in a good neighborhood."

"Even if you can't afford it," she added with a wink.

I thought she'd push me again to let the bank foreclose, but that single teasing jibe was all she had. We spent the next thirty minutes savoring stone crab and fresh greens salad, and then she cleared the table of all but the wine.

"When my family first came to Miami," she told me, "they lived together in a small house in Little Havana. Everyone found work, even my father and Pepe, and they were just kids. Fifteen years later, Mima owned a dozen convenience stores and a huge house in the Gables. They went from having everything in Cuba to having nothing here, and then having everything again. This is a land of opportunity for those who dream big."

I remembered her explaining how even Saraphine could build a comfortable nest egg for retirement, but that wouldn't work if she got sick or her company sold the supermarket chain to someone who didn't keep up her benefits. Mordy was right when he said the rules don't work for workers anymore.

So while I didn't want to sound argumentative, I didn't share her optimism. "I used to believe that too, but it's not as true as it was even ten years ago. The game's rigged now in favor of people who already have money. Don't take this the wrong way-I'm not judging you or what you do-but these people who make billions of dollars and then try to squirrel everything away in offsh.o.r.e accounts so they won't have to pay taxes are killing the rest of us."

"I'll give you that-some people are just plain greedy-but they aren't the only ones gaming the system. People of all income levels work off the books so they won't have to pay taxes. And we're all complicit. I saw you write a receipt to that guy from the hardware store for two bathroom cabinets when one of them was damaged. It was nice they donated but they got an extra tax break they didn't really deserve because you gave them credit for two and threw one away."

Moses on a moose! I couldn't believe she remembered that. "But I didn't do that for myself."

"I know. I'm only pointing out that hiding from the taxman is a widespread problem, something that's become normalized across all of society. It just shows up more among the rich because it's obscene to want tax breaks when you have more than you could ever spend."

"Do you think I'm a hypocrite?"

Mari reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "I'm not judging you either. I like how pa.s.sionate you are, and we don't have to agree on every little thing. Like I told you, I think you're cla.s.sy. You have no idea how refres.h.i.+ng it is to talk to someone who isn't totally wrapped up in herself."

A compliment for me and another dig at Delores, who must have been a real piece of work. To her other unpleasant traits, I'd have to add stupidity for letting someone like Mari get away. "I don't even know Delores and I think she's an idiot."

She huffed. "She's been calling me...wants to meet for dinner. That's what that message was at work."

"The one you threw in the trash?"

"Yeah, my friend Gladys-one of the girls I was with at the Wallcast-says she wants to smooth things over because we have all the same friends and it makes people uncomfortable. But then Clara thinks she wants to go out again, which is absurd. What, she thinks it's all okay now since I got my record expunged? That's insane."

Except there was something in her voice that sounded more like hurt than incredulity. I would have preferred foaming-at-the-mouth fury, especially after experiencing firsthand the siren's song of familiarity when Emily had called. If I could entertain the idea of taking a sleaze like Emily back, Mari could do the same with Delores.

Just as Mari had saved me from myself by asking me out to Mahler, I was obligated to return the favor. "Yeah, it's crazy to even think about it. Why would you want to give her another shot at your client list?"

"Exactly!"

"Okay, Mari. What are you not telling me?"

"Beg your pardon?"

I started counting her attributes off on my fingers. "You like romantic dinners on the terrace, intelligent conversation...and you help people like Saraphine when there's nothing in it for you. You're an incredible kisser, to say nothing of your other talents."

She rolled her eyes indulgently before draining her winegla.s.s.

"I just don't understand how you can be single. There ought to be a dozen women out here trying to toss me over this railing."

"I could say all those things about you too, you know. And yet, here we are...the two of us, all alone and desperate." She poured another touch of wine in both gla.s.ses, and then corked the bottle. "I'll fess up if you will."

"You want me to spell out why Emily dumped me?" I could offer excuses and my elaborate rationale, but I own what I own. "I guess I stopped being fun. I tried really hard to like it here, but after she started working long hours, we quit doing all the things that make this a cool place to live. My whole life was driving to work in gridlock, fighting with people at the deli counter and coming home to eat dinner by myself. I complained...a lot."

"Sounds like you had a right to."

"I certainly thought so, but she said that's why she"-trotting out my dramatic voice-"sought comfort in the arms of another."

Mari huffed. "Le ronca el mango."

"Mango?"

"It's a Cuban expression-literally speaking, it snores the mango. Mima says it all the time. Don't ask me why, but it's what you say when you think something's ridiculous. It's never your fault when your partner is unfaithful."

Snoring mangos means something is ridiculous...works for me. "She was probably right about the complaining. I'm sure it was a real drag to listen to it all the time, so I've tried not to be negative about everything, at least out loud. I don't want that to define who I am."

"That's one of the things I like about you, Daphne. You own up to your problems and try to fix them. Everyone should do that instead of blaming others. I still get mad at Delores for having me arrested, but I'm the one who lost her cool. I need to own up to that."

I have a special fondness for conversations that include things a beautiful woman likes about me. It's true I'm in a constant state of fixing myself, and I'm not above specifically fixing things to appeal to Mari. That said, learning to speak Spanish probably isn't on my list.

"What about you, Mari? What's your fatal flaw?"

"My fatal flaw..." She slowly twirled the stem of her winegla.s.s. "I've been told I can be a bit...clingy."

"Clingy?"

"Apparently I don't give people enough s.p.a.ce. I personally think being in a relations.h.i.+p is all about sharing s.p.a.ce, but some people don't see it that way."

"Some people...you mean Delores."

"Let me give you an example. We both saw clients in the evenings sometimes. No big deal. But she used to get bent out of shape because I wanted her to call me if she wasn't coming home for dinner." She gestured at the table. "The last time I set a table like this out here, she didn't even get home until ten o'clock. No call, no text, and my calls kept going to voice mail. Then when she got home, she realized I'd been waiting for her. Instead of apologizing-what a concept-she gave me grief for expecting her to be here...said she didn't want to have to check in like a teenager with her parents."

I was unbelievably tempted to tell her she could cling to me all she wanted, and that I'd happily call and text her a dozen times a day to tell her exactly where I was. "It's just common courtesy."

"Right, but she said it felt like a leash. And to be honest, my girlfriend before Delores told me kind of the same thing, so there must be something to it. Maya said she was worried about losing herself, that she wasn't ready to be a single ent.i.ty with someone else. She was only twenty-two, so that's reasonable, but still...I guess I just have a different view of relations.h.i.+ps."

"I get what you're saying. When you're partners with somebody, you really do turn into one ent.i.ty. You can't make decisions just for yourself anymore because you have to consider the other person, even if it's just dinner."

"Exactly, because when you don't, you start taking each other for granted."

"I don't know, Mari. As fatal flaws go, that one's not much to write home about. Tell me the truth. Do you sleep in your socks? Snore like a mango?"

That drew a laugh at first, then a serious tease from that deep, s.e.xy voice that turned me into jelly. "I can't reveal everything at once. I'm like a present you have to unwrap slowly."

With that one simple declaration, I realized Mari Tirado was mine to lose. She liked me as much as I liked her, and despite all the things she had going for her, she was every bit as insecure about romance as the rest of us. We wanted the same thing-a loyal partner who was truly a partner. All that remained was ordering the invitations and planning the honeymoon.

"In that case..." I pulled her wrist closer to unfasten her bulky gold bracelet. "Why don't you pick out the room where you'd like to be unwrapped?"

Chapter Thirteen.

Skirted leggings. Who even knew they made such a thing? It was the perfect cover for the skirt-averse like me, since it was actually a short, tight band of black spandex wrapped around brown tights that came to just below my knee. It looked especially good with my off-the-shoulder white Lycra top. Not actually me, but hip. That says a lot.

But this was absolutely the last outfit I was buying until next spring. Or until I won the lottery. Lucky for me, I'd scrounged it from the sale racks at Loehmann's, the mother of all discount stores. The only way I can pick up well-made expensive labels is after they've been s.h.i.+pped out and marked down at least sixty percent from when they were outrageous at Saks, Bloomingdale's or Nordstrom. Finding this outfit on the clearance rack meant it had lingered even longer. In a nutsh.e.l.l, that's why my fas.h.i.+on sense lags several seasons behind everyone else's.

Without my last-minute shopping spree, I'd have been forced to turn down what was probably my only chance ever at getting past the ropes into a trendy nightclub on South Beach. The DJ on Sat.u.r.days was the current boyfriend of Felix, Mari's gay uncle, and that was good enough to get us into the VIP section with whatever Hollywood or sports stars were in town this weekend.

But this. .h.i.tting the stores for a new outfit every time we went out? That has to stop. My budget can't handle it, even at discount prices, and I could run out of fas.h.i.+on sense at a moment's notice and humiliate myself forever. Tonight, however, I was determined to have another brand-new experience of a lifetime.

Mari had promised to go with me next door to formally meet Edith and Mordy, who were feeling positively parental about making sure I didn't fall in with the wrong crowd or get my heart broken by someone who thought of me only as a plaything. I didn't tell them the plaything part didn't particularly bother me.

I had no delusions that Mari would sweep me off my feet and make me her princess. We were from two different worlds, and while it was true that she actually had swept me off my feet, I fully expected to find myself back on earth eventually. That could happen when I failed to dress with the appropriate flair or when I turned down an extravagant invitation because I couldn't afford it. Or it could happen anytime we were out together and ran into her Spanish-speaking friends. Any of those could awaken her to our stark differences.

Until that moment, I was happy to go with what we had. Mari and I were still getting along famously without ever having discussed the nature of our relations.h.i.+p. She wasn't that far removed from the Delores Disaster-which I could tell still bothered her-so I couldn't honestly expect her to get serious again anytime soon.

All that said, I was perfect for her, even if she hadn't realized that for herself. We fit together, not only in bed-where we'd spent a great deal of time over the past six days-but also in our temperaments. To me, that's what it really means to be compatible.

She deflected a lot of the anxiety and frustration I felt about Miami by unlocking many of the things that seem so foreign to me. It wasn't the yachts or trendy nightclubs, though it was nice she could give me those experiences. It was more the everyday things, and it had a profound effect on how I saw the whole city. We'd gone out Wednesday night to Versailles, the iconic restaurant on Calle Ocho-Southwest Eighth Street, the heart of Little Havana-where all the politicians stop by to schmooze the Cuban vote. My only other experience there-four years ago with Emily-drove home my feelings of "otherness." It took us fifteen minutes just to get through the English translations on the menu, and even then I ended up with something I hadn't meant to order and a waiter who treated me like I was an idiot.Things like that didn't happen when I was out with Mari, who not only handled all the translations, but also the social parlance that got us a great table and a waiter who fell all over himself to make us happy. I could learn to love just about any place where I was treated like that.

And what had I done for Mari? Nothing short of saving her life by pointing out that just because her car could go from zero to sixty in four and a half seconds didn't mean it should, especially when all three lanes of Dixie Highway are stacked up ahead. When that argument failed to sway her, I pulled out the big guns and told her she was scaring me.

For a second or two, I considered mixing and matching my earrings again to convince her I really had done it on purpose the first time, but then I decided that would dangerously undermine my already dubious fas.h.i.+on sense. The only way I could pull off blending in among style mavens was not to get noticed at all.

It was already nine thirty and I was starving. I understood finally why Hispanics eat dinner so late when Mari told me we weren't even going to the club until midnight because nothing ever happens before then.

When Mari knocked, I'd just put the finis.h.i.+ng touches on my makeup, and had to admit I looked sort of okay. She was only twenty minutes late, and since I'd been persuaded to open my waiting window as much as forty-five minutes, I didn't even hold it against her.

"Hey, cutie." Seeing her smile as she eyed me up and down excited me as much as the idea of getting a wolf whistle from Olivia Wilde.

She wore a gorgeous open-back silver top that gathered at the neck over the sort of short black skirt I was afraid to wear. In her two-inch heels, her legs just went on and on. "You look stunning."

As we kissed, she slid her hands under my waistband to ma.s.sage my behind. It wouldn't take much of that for me to chuck our plans for going out, but then she gave me a firm squeeze, disentangled and lapsed into what I'd come to know as her business voice.

"I just ran into one of my new clients in your elevator, Ronaldo Garcia. I had no idea he lived in this building."

Finally, a chance to learn something about my mysterious neighbor. "I've tried to get to know him but I don't think he or his wife speak a word of English. What kind of work does he do?"

"He imports precious stones from Brazil, mostly emeralds.He's just getting his business off the ground."

"They're both so impeccable. And their baby is adorable."

"I haven't seen her, but having a family is what motivated him to start an investment account. He wants to bring his wife's mother to Miami to help take care of her."

"Wonder where he's planning to put her? Their apartment's just like mine-two bedrooms, two baths."

"Don't know. He hasn't said anything about buying something new. He's very frugal, though, and conservative with his portfolio."

"I guess that's what babies do to people." I'd be sorry to see Ronaldo and his family go, not because they were great friends, but because they were great neighbors. With my luck, they'd sell to a salsa band.

"Speaking of babies, my cousin's little one turns three on Tuesday and we're having a huge party at Mima's. I've been given orders to bring you."

"Orders from whom?"

"Lucia. She's managed to convince everyone you're a good influence on me, so don't go getting arrested between now and then."

Though she'd set me up for the perfect comeback, I stayed true to my vow not to tease her anymore about her littering arrest. Besides, I liked her thinking I was a good influence. "And what about you? Are you ready for me to meet the family?"

"Sure, it's no big deal."

That wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. Introducing a new girlfriend to the family was an important ritual, because it was supposed to be a statement to everyone that This One was important enough to bring home. If it was no big deal, maybe it didn't matter to her what sort of impression I made, or what impression they made on me.

Stewing in silence over her flippancy was not how I wanted to spend my evening.

"If it's no big deal, then why should I even go?" I didn't mind that coming off as sharp, but I hadn't meant for it to sound whiny. "Don't you want your family and me to like each other?"

"Of course, and I'm sure you will, but that has nothing to do with why it's not a big deal. I was just saying that because I didn't want you to be nervous about anything. Our family is very close and some people aren't used to that. I know they're going to like you..."-she hooked her arms around my waist again and kissed me on the forehead-"because there's nothing not to like."

Good thing I'd shown a little restraint. What I thought was glib had actually been sweet. "They won't be upset I'm not Cuban?"

She loosened her hold in a pretty clear sign I'd struck a nerve. "Upset isn't the right word, but it's not anything to do with you. Mima doesn't speak very much English, so she'll be disappointed she can't talk with you."

That's the part I just didn't get-how someone who had spent fifty years in this country had gotten by without learning the language. The whole city of Miami had been turned on its head because of people like Mima.

"At least you're Catholic. That'll count for something."

"Raised Catholic," I corrected, since it had very little to do with my actual beliefs. "I'm more of a Recovering Catholic."

"I'm a Holiday Catholic myself. Good for Christmas and Easter but not much else. I've got all the rituals down though."

"Sounds like my neighbor Mordy. Six days a week he's agnostic. On the Sabbath, he becomes an Orthodox Jew."

"He's the one you want me to meet, right?"

"And his Irish wife, Edith. Let's do that so we can go eat before I fall over."

From the hallway outside their door, we could hear Edith and Mordy shouting at one another.