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Samantha assumes a new make-believe persona and get Max to join in as Ari has an intense telephone conversation with his publisher.
Chapter 12
Ari sat forward in his seat cradling the cell phone and lighting a Gauloise. Burt automatically rolled the window down, took out his Camels and lit up as well. “Three weeks,” yelled Ari. “I’m in Mexico, God Damn it. How can I put together…? I know you’ve got plenty to choose from, but they’re my paintings and… the hell they’re not. You paid… you paid to own them privately, not publish them… not without my… I know… I’m not getting uppity, God Damn it, Harrison, it’s just the idea of a cover right out of the chute, and how many pages? Shit… my… your ass is on the line! What if nobody gives a damn about my impressions?” Ari smiled, took a deep drag and exhaled with, “Thanks, Harrison. Thanks, but you don’t need to candy-coat the issue to get my attention. Just … do me a favor. Go ahead and pick one for backup but sit on it a few days. Don’t ask me why, but I think the cover is down here somewhere.”
Ari snuffed out his cigarette and gazed down the highway at the Bentley pushing 90. “Yes… here. Mexico here. This woman is taking me down roads I never thought were on her map. Good? Images nothing like you bought. Different. Maybe… whole new image. Yeah… kids, husband, stuff that usually loses readers. I know, ‘except when your name is Samantha Turner.’ I’ll call you in a couple of days. What? You still want me to grab that crazy yacht party this weekend? And if Max and Samantha don’t go? It is their honeymoon, you know. ‘Go anyway.’ Yes sir. What? Just a couple of days, yeah. I believe you, Harrison. Hurito will cut both our dicks off with that sword of his if it doesn’t sell big. Yeah… Let me know which piece you pick.”
Ari pocketed his cell phone and contemplated a moment. Then he shook his head and quietly laughed. “The guy’s a madman…”
Burt looked at the speedometer and smiled back. “Yeah.”
Ari glanced over, “Harrison, I mean.”
“Yeah, if you say so...whoever that is. Tell me something. You know anybody sane?”
Ari shrugged. “Here and there.” He turned his attention to the windshield again. “Max must be looking forward to bedtime.” He glanced at the speedometer, “Ninety-four. Not bad for a Winnebago.”
***
Max wasn’t thinking about bed, at least at the moment.
“Of course I’m not comfortable,” he shouted above the wind with a mix of laughter and anger. He gripped the wheel trying to ground his frustration. “Who in their right mind would be comfortable on their honeymoon with a wife who wasn’t there. God damn it, Sam…”
Sam—or Lavinia as she had identified herself on waking this morning—turned her body completely around, pushed herself into the corner of the Bentley’s kid skin leather seat and drilled him with, “Roger… stop with the illusions, you hear. Whatever possessed you to take on this attitude is beyond me. Your wife? Only in those perverted dreams of yours. You just get me to the hotel, I’ll take care of business and you can, for all I care, daydream your ass in any direction you want. But, until I deliver the message, you drive, I ride. After that… whatever turns you on. Want to be a husband, Roger? Shazam! You’re a husband.”
Max humored her with, “Okay. Deal me in. Tell me more.”
She turned away and gazed out at the sand and sparse vegetation in silence.
Max pondered. What a perfect third day of a honeymoon. Not only is she in denial of the honeymoon, but now I only exist as Roger for today’s game. Roger who? Roger what? Serves me right. I should know better. He glanced over at her again and thought back at how persistent he had been that morning in getting her to leave the Mexican family, a persistence that precipitated her swing into Lavinia. She had lain awake for a long time as the sun came up, staring straight up into an orange and blue morning cover. As she rose from the grass mats that had served their adventuresome night’s rest, she said, “If we’re going to be bored again with this insufferable drive, I’m going to visit someone else.”
Someone else? What is she talking about? We’re in Mexico for God’s sake, she doesn’t know… then it hit him.
By the time Sam had tearfully said her goodbye to the children, Lavinia was ready. As he drove back up the rutted dirt road she began revealing the woman that needed to be there now, the personage that was there to relieve what Max could only perceive as a new and unfamiliar pain. He could only think that something profound must have happened above the obvious joy she experienced yesterday and—Max had to check his own frustration. Where was she going with this Lavinia person? He knew she was not happy leaving the children. Does she blame me? Is this my payback? He wanted to honeymoon, but he knew the first level of consciousness in him was the “doctor,” and doctors don’t subjectively deal with patients. The overwhelming facts were undeniable to Max. Sam was still a patient no matter how he wished it otherwise. His choices were obvious—and limited.
With her arm resting on the door, she fingered her mouth, the prelude to nail biting, a behavior that was not a habit, but a tell-tale signal in times of stress. He had witnessed it many times before, usually in a production as she came off book and began to walk the part she was playing. Max observed her moves, listened to her dialog, and hoped for a quick resolution.
“So…” Max broke the silence.
“So?”
“I’d like to know a little bit more about the ‘business.’"
“Thought you would. Well, there’s little you need to know. As my Chauffeur, you are privileged in certain areas…”
Max turned to her. Her expression told him that somewhere behind the dark glasses was a seductress and Roger was a toy.
“… and not privileged in others,” she continued. “You did bring a map, didn’t you?” Sam said as she opened the glove compartment.
Max reached into his door pocket and handed her the map.
“Good. Now, the hotel is in… let’s see…” She scanned the Baja area and pressed her finger on Santa Rosalía.
***
“If you don’t mind, this is a good place to get a ride back,” Burt said as he steered the motor home up the long drive to the check-in area of the Hotel Santa Rosalía. “God knows how long this stop might be.”
“Sure,” Ari replied, as he kept his eye on the Bentley. “We made a deal. I remember. Just pull it over there for now.” Ari lifted his camera and shot off several pictures of Samantha and Max walking into the Hotel as their bags were unloaded by the curbside bellman.
“You’re not sore at me, are you?” Burt said, pulling the rig to a halt.
Click, click, click, click. “Of course not. Why should I be.”
“I mean, I’d drive you all the way if…”
“If they would just keep driving. I know. It’s no problem, Burt.” Click, click, click. “Enough baggage for a small production, you know,” Ari ruminated as he watched the bellman close the Bentley’s trunk and followed the couple into the hotel with an over loaded cart.
Burt reached in his pocket, “I owe you $800 and…”
“Keep it,” Ari interrupted.
“Keep it? But you said…”
“I know what I said. I changed my mind.”
Burt turned off the engine. “You’re sure now?”
Ari nodded and patted Burt’s knee as he kept his eye on Max and Samantha. “Fly home. Buy your family some extra groceries.”
“How come?”
“How come you ask so many questions?”
“Okay. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
Ari kept his eye pressed to the viewfinder.
Burt shrugged. “I’ll get my stuff together.”
As Sam and Max entered the hotel, Ari noticed there was something different, something uncharacteristic about Samantha’s gait and even more noticeable, the way Max was rushing like a servant to open doors for her. Servile behavior was not his style. What was going on?
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Ron