Playing With Fuego Part 13

From Mari's descriptions of her beloved Mima, I expected a spry woman who doled out sweets to the little ones on the sly. Instead, we reached the kitchen to find an elderly woman in a wheelchair, singing to a small boy who was sitting on her lap.

"That's Mima and Emilio, the birthday boy," Mari said softly, obviously not wanting to disturb the precious scene.

Emilio sang the last few words with her, clapped his hands and scooted off her lap to run after the other children.

"Mima?" Mari kissed her grandmother and spoke to her in Spanish. When she spun the chair in my direction, I realized the woman had suffered a stroke that paralyzed the left side of her face and body. "Mi novia, Daphne."

Her Girlfriend. I liked that a lot.

"It's very nice to meet you." With Mari translating, I was able to tell her what a lovely home she had, one that was full of beautiful things and many people who loved each other.

It was interesting to me that Mari had talked so much about Mima and never mentioned her condition. I guess I wouldn't have either, not if I wanted to believe she'd get better.

I stuck close to Mari's side and met still more family members, including her mother, Estrella. Without ever seeing Mari's father, I knew she looked just like him, because she and her mother could not have been more different. Estrella was a couple of inches shorter than I was and several pounds heavier, with bold facial features and wavy hair. I learned she was technically still married to Mari's father, who was in Cuba, but lived with her longtime boyfriend Cesar about an hour north of here in Coral Springs.

I wouldn't exactly call Mari's demeanor toward her mother cool, but it didn't compare to the warmth she seemed to share with Pepe and Lucia, or the love she showed for Mima. According to Mari, Estrella didn't normally attend events such as these, not surprising since this was, after all, her estranged husband's family. It was hard not to wonder how she felt about Pepe taking over her family after her husband left.

By the time we circled back to the living room, Felix had arrived...without Robbie T, of course. It was too bad he couldn't find acceptance with his family, but the cultural expectations for Hispanic men are difficult to overcome. I was glad for the familiar face.

"Ladies, good to see you again."

"I have a bone to pick with you," Mari said, steering him by the elbow into the corner. No doubt, she was ranting about Michael's behavior at the club and her concerns that Felix could suffer from the fallout.

I waved across the room to Pepe and Lucia, who were working the room with smiles and hugs.

"Wow, I didn't expect that," Mari said when she returned. "Felix said Pepe called him and asked him to show Michael a good time at the club. He's brought Michael on as a client after all."

"I thought he wasn't going to do that."

"So did I. Can you excuse me for a minute while I talk to him?"

I found a stool in the corner from where I had a great view of most of the action. Mima's caretaker had wheeled her into the dining room so she could watch the party, and Felix was having his turn at her knee.

Mari and Pepe weren't being festive at all. On the contrary, they seemed to be having angry words until Pepe threw up his hand dismissively and stormed into the kitchen. Mari glared after him for several seconds, and then shook it off before returning to my side.

"From here, that looked like it didn't go well."

"I don't know what's up with him. It's fine if he changed his mind about Michael. He doesn't have to answer to me about that, but I've been sending him e-mails for the past three days so I can make sense of what's going on with a couple of my clients' portfolios, and he hasn't gotten back to me about any of them. And he doesn't want to talk about it tonight because it's a birthday party, not a business meeting. I've never seen him be so rude. I told him if he'd just answer my e-mail, I wouldn't have to keep bothering him."

It was hard to imagine Pepe being anything but polite, especially to the niece everyone said was his favorite. Whatever was bugging him obviously didn't last. Before long he was calling the family together to cheer on Emilio as he opened his presents.

When he got to the dinosaur book, Mari urged me closer to talk to him.

"Do you like dinosaurs?" I asked.

He nodded as he studied the writing inside. "Es espanol o ingles?"

"It's both. Spanish on this side and English over here." I pointed to the facing pages, and decided to try one of the few Spanish phrases I remembered from high school, in honor of his birthday. "Cuantos anos tienes, Emilio?"

His curious look, combined with a few giggles from some of the teenagers in the room, had me rethinking what I'd said. Spanish speakers don't ask how old you are, but how many years you have.

"Digale uno solamente," Talia said, snickering.

"Only one?" What had I asked? Cuantos...how many. Anos...oh, no. I could feel my face heating up, and from the laughter that grew around the room, I was now sporting a deep red blush.

Even Mima was laughing.

The word for years was anos, not anos...which probably meant I'd just asked a three-year-old how many a.s.sholes he had.

"Oh, mi dios." I buried my face in my hands and then peeked through my fingers at Mari, who was smiling and shaking her head. There was no way out of this but to laugh along. When someone asked about my most embarra.s.sing moment, this would be the story I would tell for years to come.

"I'm sorry I laughed at you but that was hilarious."

"I probably scarred poor Emilio for life."

"Maybe so, but the rest of us can't wait to post it on Facebook." She gave me a sympathetic hug before breaking into giggles again with Talia.

While they were cutting Emilio's gigantic chocolate birthday cake, I retreated to a chair in the corner of the dining room, where I was soon joined by Lucia.

"I hope you don't feel embarra.s.sed, Daphne. We all made silly mistakes when we learned English."

"That poor child. Did you see the look on his face?"

She laughed and gave me a hug. "You were a good sport. I'm so glad Pepe insisted on Mari bringing you to our dinner on the yacht. You're a breath of fresh air."

I smiled. Not a real smile. The kind you stick on your face and hold so people won't know you're thinking a Great Big WTF. I remember Mari describing how she'd followed Pepe's plan to go to UM, to become an investment manager and join his business, but I never would have dreamed he had dominion over her dating life as well. Had she also reported back on the status of her "conquest"?

When I thought about the sequence of events, it didn't take long to put all the pieces together. Mari had probably mentioned the bit about taking me to the symphony...or maybe Pepe had heard it from one of his friends who shared the box at the Arsht Center. He thought it would be good PR to have somebody from a nonprofit center on hand to help schmooze his clients-until he realized they were right-wingers. Then he put on a big show of pretending he didn't like their politics when it was probably mine he didn't agree with, since he'd taken on Michael as a client after all.

Or maybe he figured I'd be a good influence on Mari after Delores. Whatever. And all he had to do was insist. n.o.body says no to Pepe.

What. Ever.

Mima's caretaker rolled her wheelchair next to me, said something to her in Spanish and left the room. I'd been ready to storm out but doing that now would be rude.

"Would you like some cake?" I caught myself acting like an idiot, enunciating slowly in a loud voice like Mima was hard of hearing. I stood up and pointed to it and she nodded.

I wanted the night to be over so I could go home, slam my door a few times and drink a whole bottle of something. Mari Tirado had a lot of nerve.

When I got back with the cake, I realized I didn't know what I was doing. I handed Mima the plate, which she took with her good hand.

The caretaker returned with a linen napkin and tucked it around the collar of her dress. "If you'd like to help, you can hold the plate up close to her mouth."

"Of course." I didn't mind helping at all. In fact, it gave me a chance to calm down a little. I wasn't looking forward to the scathing conversation Mari and I would have on the way home, and I especially dreaded the outcome. If Mari was seeing me only to please Pepe...that was so twisted I didn't even want to think about it.

Mari joined us and knelt on the floor next to her grandmother. "Mima, te gusta?"

"Si."

Of course she likes it. What's not to like about chocolate cake?

I didn't understand the rest of what they said, but when Mima finished her cake, Mari kissed her and said goodbye.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked. So innocent.

I made the rounds to say goodnight and laughed along as everyone got in a last chuckle over what I'd always call my a.n.u.s Debacle. Then I walked out to the car silently and waited for Mari to open the door.

"Is everything okay?"

I didn't know where to start, so I didn't.

"Please don't be mad. They were only teasing. Everyone likes you, I promise."

"Big deal. It only matters what Pepe thinks."

"What?" She turned in her seat to face me, making me wish I hadn't started it. I just wanted to go home. "What's this about Pepe?"

"Lucia told me you only brought me onto the yacht because Pepe insisted. Is that why you're telling Mima I'm your girlfriend? Because it's what Pepe wants?"

Her face twisted with confusion until she did the worst thing she possibly could have done. She laughed.

"Don't even!" Now I know why Edith had gone for her gun. "Well, is it true?"

"Technically, yes. I told him-listen to me." She reached for my hand and when I tried to pull away, she gripped it even tighter. "I told him I didn't want to invite you if it was going to be just another boring business dinner. I wanted you to have a good time, so I said I'd rather wait until we could relax and enjoy it. He was very excited to hear I wanted to ask you out, and he insisted I invite you. In fact, he promised to get the business discussions out of the way early so we could have a good time. So yes, he insisted."

I had two choices, neither good. I could a.s.sume she was a squirmy liar and be furious, or I could believe her and feel foolish. Since I'd already set the lifetime bar on idiocy with Emilio, I decided foolish was not much of a leap.

"Do you feel better now?"

"I do."

"Good, because there's something else I want to say." She still had my hand and raised it to her face to kiss my palm. "That was so sweet when you helped Mima with her cake."

"Oh...it was no big deal."

"It was to me, because it made me realize I've fallen in love with you."

I experienced a shudder deep in the pit of my stomach, the kind that happens only after a profound surge of emotion or when your airplane drops unexpectedly. "Then I guess you've finally caught up with me, because I think I fell in love with you that day back in Little Haiti when you told me you'd been helping Saraphine figure out how to save for retirement. I thought that was the coolest thing I'd ever heard, and it showed me what a good person you were."

"And when were you planning on telling me this?"

"Verbal communication is so yesterday. I thought I'd show you instead."

The compact seating in the Carrera didn't lend itself to all I wanted to show her, but by the time her tongue wrapped around mine, I hardly cared that the gears.h.i.+ft was prying my ribs apart.

Chapter Fifteen.

What I need is a really good curse word, something that evokes the vilest, most offensive thoughts possible so I can project them from myself instead of feeling as if they're being heaped upon me.

"Sorry I'm late." I slid into a chair at the far end of the conference table from Gisela. I was particularly sorry today because it was a full staff meeting, which meant I'd kept everyone waiting. I hate when they do that to me, and since they all know it, I was sure they were taking a lot of pleasure in my obvious frustration.

Being late for work was the least of my worries. I'd arrived in a very expensive taxi after having my car towed to a shop in a strange neighborhood just past the airport. The mechanic, who spoke very little English, didn't have time to look at it, but after I signed a statement agreeing to pay up to two hundred dollars for repairs, he promised to call my cell phone with a diagnosis. At least that's what I'd thought he said.

"No problem, Daphne. I was just getting to the volunteer report."

I had my papers ready and rattled off all the relevant numbers. We had a steady stream of volunteers to tap through the end of October, but things were looking bleak for the holiday months, especially since our next project was slated for Allapattah, a mixed neighborhood of mostly Caribbean and Central American immigrants, many of whom preferred living under the radar of law enforcement, the tax man and immigration officials.

"I'm planning a corporate push through the Chamber of Commerce, and I'll revisit some of the groups that volunteered with us last year and see if they want to keep their streak going."

One by one, the various departments checked in with their updates and the meeting was adjourned. None too soon, since I had a phone message from the mechanic.

"This is Daphne Maddox, the woman with the black Mustang. Did you find the problem?"

"Abbadabba...abbadabba...fuel pump."

"Do you have the part?"

"No, but I get today."

"But it will be under two hundred dollars, right?"

"Si...yes."

"Okay, go ahead and replace it."

Good thing, because that's about all I had to last till next payday. Thirty-one years old, living on my own and working in a professional position. And still eating ramen noodles three times a week.

Gisela came into my small office and closed the door, a move that got my attention, since it was standard protocol for personnel issues. Surely she wasn't going to ream me out for being late for the first time in four years.

"Tough morning, Daphne?"

"The worst. My car gave out on the other side of Bird Road and I had to have it towed. They should have it fixed this afternoon." I knocked on the veneer desk, since it was the closest thing to wood in the room.

"I can give you a lift after work if you need one."

"That'd be great." So if she wasn't mad at me, why was the door closed?

"Something very strange happened after our board meeting last night, and I wanted to make sure you weren't...how should I put this...feeling any undue pressure." She leaned against the door and folded her arms, staring down at the floor pensively. "Marco Padilla wants my support with the board to manage our foundation's investments, which are in the millions. I found his request...frankly, alarming, and I wouldn't be surprised if the chairman asks for his resignation should he formally propose such a thing. It's a blatant conflict of interest. Then he told me you were in a relations.h.i.+p with his niece, who is a partner at his firm, as if that might influence my decision."

Surely she didn't think my seeing Mari posed a conflict for the foundation, not when her own husband worked for the chairman of our board.