"This, you hide from us! This...girl--have you gotten her into trouble?" Ma Mere bleated. In very loud, very agitated French.
"Trouble?"
"Oh please, you know what I mean!" she cried, tossing arms skyward. I even got a little foot stomp along with the wide, wild eyes.
They'd flown in of course. Because it had gone much as I'd expected. This one calling that one and then, finally, that "I'm afraid your son's been kidnapped" call that had turned my mother into the screaming shrew gesticulating so madly before me...
They had even reserved an adjoining room at the Ritz, refusing to allow me to stay at the loft "unattended." And of course, the whole Rae thing had been forgotten not just by them but by the public as well, for the most part. Though I hoped the brief flurry of speculation had lasted long enough for Rae's ex to raise an eyebrow at least. Bastard...
I, myself, had not slept for two days and had only come to the Ritz, rumpled and red-eyed, to greet and reassure the parents having spent long hours in that big beige box waiting for word from Cici or someone who could tell me what was happening to her. Cold and intentionally uncomfortable building it was, that detention center. Bustling with people trudging toward fates similar to and perhaps even worse than Cici's. Families and lives being destroyed right before our eyes.
The sobbing children saying last farewells to nanas and papas and mamas and such broke my heart again and again. Yes, they'd been here illegally but some had been here for decades and had built solid, respectable and even enviable lives.
One man had built a business that eventually sent all of his kids to college--none of it mattered. His now adult children had to almost carry his grieving wife to the parking lot. And took a piece of my soul with them...
Victor and Lupita—who somehow felt responsible for her being there--kept vigil, too. Along with a constant stream of heartsick colleagues who'd fed the homeless and marched in protest beside her.
One of them bear hugged me breathless and cried, "You made her so happy and hopeful..." Before bursting into shoulder heaving sobs.
Which of course reminded me that Cielo was that once-in-a-lifetime, "There is a God" person who'd turned on the lights in my life in every sense of the world. Nearly all the women I'd met, in fact, had been little lights in the darkness. Harbingers of the even brighter, everlasting one to come.
So perhaps I'd been fated to "jump." As part of that larger and often seemingly incomprehensible Plan that only some higher power knows. I wanted Lupita to understand that. When she got over wanting to kill Chucho...
But drained by my mother's rage, I plopped down, spent, onto one of the love seats and said, "No, she's not pregnant. If she were I'd be trying to tunnel into that detention center with my bare hands..."
And she hissed, "Oh my God," and walked to the patio doors perhaps hoping the majestic mountain view would soothe her frayed nerves.
My father, ever the "stiff upper lip" sort of Brit, sat beside me, smiled quietly...cautiously...and said, "Well, you do look a fright, dear boy."
But there was something in his eyes—a deep warmth I'd honestly never seen before.
Might well have been about the man for whom he'd been named, who'd sacrificed his life for love. Of course, the border wasn't Buchenwald by any means. But I think my willingness to put myself in harm's way for someone had forced him to see me more clearly. Or at least...differently.
He held me with those warm eyes for a moment—too British to express all that verbally, of course. Save to say, "Gave us a fright, as well. The others will be here shortly, by the way. Piers and Clemence."
"Can't imagine why," I said. "I'll be at the detention center most of the time."
"Just...to have us all in one place for a bit," he said. Which seemed fair enough, given the circumstances.
But then he retreated to his diplomatic persona and said, "I have a colleague who's about as well versed in this sort of thing as it's possible to be. Of course, he deals with refugees in Europe mostly, but he knows the law and the loopholes. Problem being the law knows the loopholes in America now. And uses them to circumvent the laws they vowed to uphold. Especially in cases like this."
And Ma Mere spun round and snapped, "Well, Chastain was breaking the law! Or was willing to. I'm concerned, naturally, but when I think of what might have happened it makes my blood boil! If you love this girl so much, how could you put her in so much danger?"
My cell buzzed just in the nick. And as soon as I accepted the call, Patti blurted out, "What the hell? Are you all right?"
"Physically. But they've got her in detention and I don't know...well, they're being deliberately obtuse."
"Sixth grade English, please."
"Doing a lot of hemming and hawing," I chuckled. Grateful for the levity. "Playing dumb to aggravate us."
"Well, she shouldn't volunteer to go! Madame's working that angle."
"Actually, volunteering would be quite wise," Guy disagreed—they could both hear Patti yelling at me even before I put her on speaker to make it a wee bit easier. "It's rather like bankruptcy. All the threats stop once you've declared it. And the penalties are far less dire. She'd be eligible to visit and even re-apply in say...three years, I believe."
"Where will they fly her to?" Patti asked. "Can we do it? I've got the G6 now."
"Things went very well over there, huh?" I teased.
"Oh yeah. But we'll talk about that later—can we do it?"
Ma Mere frowned a bit, no doubt wondering who this bitch with the big jet was.
But Guy chuckled and said, "I'm fairly certain there are rules about that sort of thing. Though I'm sure it's not a common request..."
"She was born in Honduras," I told Patti.
"Oh, she can't go there! Nobody should go there! You're not thinking of going, are you? I mean, that face and that voice—it'd be like wearing a sign saying: Kidnap me."
"She's the one to worry about, Pats. Her father was assassinated. Everyone else, too, except her and her mother. There are probably all kinds of people who'd love to get their hands on her, after what that family did back in the day."
"Well, Madame's politician pal is raising holy hell right now--how on Earth did they grab you, though? God, we were frantic!"
"There were two men—friends of the man I'd paid to help us--who wanted to impress some sort of gang on the other side. Drunk as two skunks—they shot each other."
"Tell me you're joking."
"Well, I have these little one-shots that look like Maglites. And they were fumbling around trying to turn them on. It was like a Marx Brothers movie."
"The two Stooges," Guy chuckled. "Very apt description from those cops."
"Darling, your phone," Ma Mere said to Guy. Finally returning to some semblance of her normal self.
And as he picked up and Patti and I rang off, she also removed her earrings. Always a sign that she was moving from her public to her personal persona.
"Would she come to us, your girl?" she asked me. "In England or--"
"Married to whom?!" Guy cried, interrupting her brief attempt to bury the hatchet.
"Who's married?" she cried, leaping right back into "ninja mom" mode.
"Well, apparently this girl is," Guy said. "To some...college professor or—"
"It's not a real marriage!" I snapped. "My God, how many phony visa marriages has Guy had to sort out over the years? Remember the woman from some Middle Eastern country you actually helped to get one? For the very same reason?"
Nostrils and eyes flaring, Ma Mere bellowed, "Well, of course one has to ask if this marriage only became phony after she met a very wealthy, very pretty young man!"
"She would never do that!" I screamed. And Ma Mere gasped as if she'd seen the actual Devil.
But after a long pause for both parents to recover fully—and for my father to get the rest of the story from his friend--Guy asked, "Chastain, her family were among the most notorious traffickers in the world a decade or so ago?"
"And they're all dead now!"
My phone fortuitously buzzed yet again. And when I swiped, Richard said, "Listen, have your fan club back off a bit. This is Arizona where people would rather die than obey an order to wear a mask. So, a flood of calls from bourgie Boomers will only get their backs up. Capiche?"
"Very perceptive," Guy said, eavesdropping again—they were all speaking in loud, anxious voices, my friends.
But I wanted to send Guy one of Richard's videos and say, "How do you like him now?"
"Are you faring well?" Richard asked. "I rather doubt it, but I thought I'd ask."
I turned him 'way down—in case—and warned, "Don't send anything to cheer me up!"
"I'm afraid this is far too serious for that sort of thing. Two Border Patrol agents were lost doing battle with her family. They were cooperating with another cartel of course, which was a huge embarrassment that they've worked very hard to sugar coat. But some of their former colleagues who've moved up in that world are pretending to be very suspicious of your girl's deep interest in border issues."
"What in God's name..."
"How better to create a new network than to become very well versed in the various routes and routines? And to have access to them through a reservation full of people quite willing to do business with the bad guys? Did she set you up to be taken? To impress the gangs?"
"You cannot be serious."
"I'm not. But they are," he said, rather wearily. "And something smells. But the source of that stench is proving more difficult to discover than I expected. There's some good news, however."
I rubbed a throbbing temple and said, "I could use some, don't you think?"
"Well, on the Exclusive Encounters front, the home office abroad is nervous about your family, actually. And how many kinds of hell they could raise if they knew. Your father still has a great deal of influence with government officials in countries where EE is already under scrutiny. So, they'd rather not rile him."
"Meaning?"
"If you truly wish to step away, there'll be no hard feelings. Save mine."
I smiled and said, "What'll happen to Kat?"
"Oh, she's moved up in the world! Your actress has convinced several friends to work exclusively with the Tucson office. And to that end, I believe the girl who recruited you has found them some very good-looking theater majors who were more than willing to be on call for red carpet events. They're leery of the losers who've been waiting tables and sucking director dick too long to call themselves aspiring actors any longer. These are sweet young college boys who may actually have talent—they're quite pleased."
"As are you..."
"Oh, no one will ever be quite as intriguing or insightful as you. In fact, you've almost restored my faith in humanity you gorgeous creature. So, keep your head down, please. Pretty faces can be a hindrance in situations like these. I'll be in touch with more soon—love to all."
I didn't get to send any love back—he rang off abruptly. His inner cynic chafing from at the cooing no doubt.
So, I sighed and sat back to try massaging both temples. But then my phone buzzed again.
And after the pre-recorded "This call is from a detention center" spiel, I heard, "Papi, I don't think I can do this! I don't think I can do this!"
I managed to squeeze, "Talk to me, my love," past the lump in my throat.
And then, truer to form, she said, "God, what a whiny little bitch, huh? I'm sorry."
And I put her on speaker, quite deliberately for my parents to hear, and said, "Please do whine! Give it all to me, love. Give it to me."
She sniffed a bit, but there was a smile in her voice when she told me, "I just never let myself need anyone this much before. So, when I hear your voice I just...fall apart..."
And I said, "Well, an awful lot of people need you. Dozens of them are sitting in the waiting room, pacing around the parking lot—"
"Oh, word?"
"Of course! And I'm going to have to put Lupita on suicide watch. She's so upset with that ridiculous cousin of hers."
"Oh, baby, tell them I'm okay, okay? Cause I am, I just...they're being so cold blooded with me here. Nobody'll look me in the eyes, nobody'll talk to me except to bark orders at me. Go here, do this, don't do that..."
"Well, posh people pulling strings hasn't set well with them."
"It's 'way more than that. But listen, I just wanted to tell you to stay up, okay? I know this is rough, but I need you to keep it together for me. God, I miss that face..."
My parents exchanged glances. Guy reached for his cell...
"I'll be here and anywhere else I need to be," I told her. "Remember I've got those planes you love to tease me about."
"No, see, that's what I don't want you to do," she said—again sounding very much like the Cielo everyone adored so much. "I did this. Everything that happened, everything I dragged you through, that's on me and my family—you know the whole story now, right?"
"None of which has anything to do with you. And they were dirty, those agents."
"Doesn't matter to a cop. And I understand that, okay? I do. I'd feel the same way."
"No, you wouldn't. You forgive, Cielo. Even when you shouldn't..."
"You didn't need me to forgive you. You needed to forgive yourself."
"Well, be that as it may, I found you in the process. And I'm not going to lose you—you must believe that, all right? I'll be seeing you soon. Very soon."
"Well, wherever they send me, I know how to get back up there, right? My mother taught me."
"Not...the best laid plan..."
"I feel you, but if I let you do everything all the time, I won't be the woman you fell in love with anymore. So, let me be that woman, okay? When I get close enough, I'll call. And you'll come down and get us a nice room with a big old bed..."
I laughed and said, "Honestly, it's not wise for me to think about that just now."
"Oh, tell me about it. You're like some kind of sexual heroin or something. Jonesin' like mad right now."
"What'd I just say?"
She laughed then. But the line went dead. No warning, just "click." Gone.
And my mother burst into tears.