Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Putting on mascara was a real adventure that morning, because my hands would not stop trembling.
Today I would meet Matías. Matías the human, not the amalgam of emails and fantasies.
I had spent so much time imagining him and so little time knowing him—how could he live up to the ideal I had created?
But what if he exceeded it? The possibility that reality could be even better than my imagination both terrified and titillated me.
But nagging thoughts of Adrián seeped into my daydreams, tempering my excitement with sadness. Was he in Panamá with his father? Was he doing okay? I attempted to push away these questions as I tried on clothes in Eva’s room.
“What do you think?” I asked, tugging my jeans on. “Are they too tight?”
“There’s no such thing as too tight.” She felt the fabric of my tank. “But don’t you think you’re going to be a little cold?” She went to her closet and pulled out a beautiful silk blouse for me.
“I can’t. It’s too nice.” It was ten times nicer than anything I owned.
“That’s the point. You said you have an important work meeting.”
“But what if I spill coffee on it?”
“Then we’ll wash it.”
“But what if it doesn’t come out?”
“It’s a thing, Dee. It doesn’t matter.” I looked at her. The proverb came back to me: Each person is a whole world. Eva valued things and appearances so much. But at the same time, she didn’t.
“Thank you.” I put it on and admired myself in the mirror. I looked good. I never thought I looked good.
Eva looked at me keenly. “It’s just a work meeting?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What’s happening with Adrián?”
“I think it’s over.”
She looked disappointed. “Is he still in love with his ex?”
I shook my head. “We just aren’t the right fit.”
She looked over my outfit. “I hope the new guy is.”
Damn, she was good. How did she read me so easily when half the time I didn’t even know what I was feeling? I thanked her again for the shirt and hustled out before she could see all my thoughts.
When I arrived at the outdoor café of the Gran Hotel, I was a nervous wreck.
There were umbrellas over the tables to keep out the sun, a fountain sprayed mist to keep out the heat, and hundreds of little birds kept out the bugs.
Tourists picked at baked goods while older Costa Rican men sipped espresso and smoked cigars.
I sat back in my chair and tried to relax, concentrating on the sound of birds and traffic jumbling together to form a cosmo-tropical mix.
I had picked a prime location. My back was to the hotel and I was facing the plaza.
Now I could scrutinize each passerby while I waited for Matías.
It would have been perfect except for the fact that an unseasonably cold breeze raced across the plaza.
So I sat there freezing, stomach rumbling.
I hadn’t eaten anything today. Why, why hadn’t I eaten?
I rubbed my shoulders and checked my watch.
Twenty after three. I looked at the mafiosos and thought about the exquisite sounds emanating from my stomach.
I was so enthralled by my own misery that I ceased to scrutinize the newcomers.
I didn’t notice that someone had approached me until he was standing two feet away. I looked up.
There he was. Six-feet tall, or seven, who could say?
The TED Talk video had not given a proper sense of scale.
He was muscled but not beefy, with a fierce jaw, burnt amber skin, and hazel eyes that seemed to set off sparks.
I stood up, feeling weak all over, not just in the knees.
Whoever thought of that stupid, inaccurate expression?
“Dee?”
I nodded.
“You’re real!” He smiled. “And even more beautiful in person. I love how you’re three dimensional.”
Me? Beautiful? I was dying. But I had to pull myself together. “Sure I’m not a hologram?”
I went for a handshake, but he pulled me in for a hug.
I could feel the outline of his chest muscles against my body.
Heat rolled over me in waves. When he finally let go, I sat down quickly to hide my trembling.
He took off his jaunty brimmed hat and sat down, gracefully arranging his linen-clad limbs.
“So,” he said, shifting in his chair. The sun was behind him, and his wavy hair glowed like a halo.
As if the universe was saying, “He is our chosen one.” I stared at him.
I could tell he was struggling to say something, but I couldn’t help him.
I had immediate onset laryngitis. Finally, he gave me a shy, questioning smile. “We reunite at last.”
I almost fell off my chair. Did he have to start with that?
Was he going to quote me? I looked up for a moment to see what he was thinking, became terrified by his fond expression, and went back to rattling my ice cubes.
We sat there in charged silence. You just can’t have this kind of conversation in the daytime, especially without alcohol.
Evidently, he came to the same conclusion.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing your photos,” he said in a more neutral voice. “Of the co-ops. You’ve been shockingly slow putting them on your website.”
“Yeah, I don’t really maintain that site, per se.”
“Can I see them, per se?”
“Sure.” I was relieved that he wasn’t going to remind me that I had written, “I think I missed you.” I was also relieved to have a prop.
He wouldn’t be looking at me if he was looking at the photos.
I pushed my iPad bashfully across the table, open to the Las Nubes section.
He took it every bit as bashfully, made uncomfortable by my discomfort. Shyness is a highly contagious disease.
He scrolled through the pictures, taking his time.
We ordered coffee and I pretended I wasn’t staring at him staring at my photos.
His tranquil eyes focused on one image. I began to sweat despite the breeze.
When he looked up, his eyes weren’t tranquil anymore; they were passionate waters.
“Have you ever thought of being a professional photographer?”
“No,” I said, unhinged by his eyes. “It’s just a hobby.”
“If I were half as good as you were, I’d think seriously about it.”
I hid my blush and extreme confusion in the coffee that had just arrived. “It’s impossible to make a living as a photographer. It’s a job for people with rich parents. Like being an architect. Or influencer.”
“It is very difficult. But you know the saying, cream rises to the top. The best still find work.”
“I’m not the best.”
“With time, you could be. Your pictures are moving. It’s one thing to learn the technical aspects, but who can teach you to have soul?”
I was both deeply flattered and deeply uncomfortable. “Don’t we all come with one? Standard issue?”
He smiled. “We’re often the last to see our own talents. And to recognize our own desires. People have a hard time understanding what they want. I know I did.”
What a relief to hear my worries from his perfect lips. “You didn’t always want to be an organizer?”
“Oh, no.” He spooned sugar into his cup. “My parents are first generation immigrants. Dad is from Lebanon, Mom’s from Mexico. They have typical immigrant mentality: Doctor and lawyer are the only options.”
“My parents want me to be a lawyer, too!”
“Something is funny about that generation,” he said. “Don’t they realize there are other high-paying jobs? Like engineer or programmer? Or, if you really want to be rich, movie star or basketball player?”
“I don’t think you’re tall enough.”
“Or handsome enough,” he said.
“Disagree about that one.”
We shared a dangerous smile. “Anyhow,” he said.
“I was more into writing emo folk songs. Then spray-painting guerrilla art on freeway underpasses. I changed paths about five times before I went to grad school. In fact, I didn’t really start to feel comfortable with myself until last year.
” He must have noticed my downturned lips.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re much smarter than I ever was.
You’re going to figure things out a lot faster. ”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. You know, Justice Alliance hires photographers as independent contractors. After you finish the Truth Trip, we should talk about it. I’d hate to see your spying talents go to waste, but I think it would be criminal of me to keep you from your true calling.”
I tried to hide my deepening blush, but it was taking over my face like shingles.
Even my own family didn’t say such nice things about me.
I should say, especially my own family didn’t say such nice things about me.
But it occurred to me that I was playing my cards all wrong.
I needed to take Eva’s advice: play hard-to-get.
“What kind of projects do the Justice Alliance photographers work on?” I asked in a cool, detached voice, trying my best to project intense indifference. Wait, was that an oxymoron?
“They document the work on our social and environmental justice campaigns, and of course the Truth Trips. It involves a lot of travel, sometimes to dangerous places. It requires someone who has more than artistic talent. They need to be brave and resourceful. You’d be perfect.
” He turned his smile to full wattage and I felt unsteady again.
Wish these seats had seatbelts. “We also hire videographers to make educational videos. You’d be great at that, too.
You could combine your detective work with your artistry. ”
I would do anything he told me to. I was a goner. But I had to keep up appearances. “I’ll think about it.”
He stopped looking at me for a moment to sip his espresso and I resumed breathing. I hadn’t realized I had stopped. He looked up again and said in a low, sultry voice, “So how are you doing with your disillusion?”
I couldn’t breathe. It didn’t even matter what he said. It was how he said it. Pure sex. “Okay. Better.”
“Do you still think co-ops are the answer to inequality?”
I nodded, light in the head. “Alternative methods of economic production are the least violent form of cultural and economic revolution.”
Matías leaned across the table and I lost what was left of my cool. “You think cooperative production is a form of revolution?”
“Yes.” I fought to regain my composure. “As more and more people take up alternative forms of production, there will be less room for exploitative forms of production.” I gave up. “Co-ops displace capitalism! It’s a bloodless revolution!”
“Yes,” he said. “A democratic one!”
“Right! The desire of the people!”
I think firecrackers were exploding over the café, but I wasn’t sure. It’s not every day that you meet someone who dreams the same revolution as you.
He placed his hand on mine, gently. “I can’t believe we understand each other so well.”
I can’t even remember the rest of the conversation.
The touch of his hand completely erased sound.
My mind couldn’t get over it. And then suddenly, my stomach made a high-pitched squeal, followed by a low rumbling.
It wrenched me out of dreamland and back into the very real world of humiliation.
Why was this happening to me? In the middle of this conversation?
My stomach whined again. I wanted to die.
“Wow,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I had no idea it had gotten so late. It’s almost five o’clock.”
“Wow,” I said, not surprised at all. It could’ve been three days and I would’ve believed it. “I have to get going.” This was a lie, but I had to create mystery. And get to a bathroom.
“And I have to get to that meeting,” he said. Pangs of jealousy pricked me. Who was he meeting? I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten the main purpose of our meeting. Getting him on board to lobby for the decertification of Café Alegre.
“Matías, before you go. We were going to discuss the corrupt co-op.”
“Ah, yes. You said there was a conspiracy?”
“They’re evading Ethical Coffee International price floors, as well as violating environmental regulations.” I scrolled through the camera roll on my iPad. “I have interviews with the laborers. I also have documentation about pricing.”
He looked at two pictures. “This is terrible.” His brow furrowed.
“But it’s incredible work on your part. I want to go over everything in detail.
” He handed me back the iPad and placed his hand over mine again.
“I can’t look at everything right now or I’ll be late to my meeting.
Obviously, I need to give something as serious as this my full attention.
Can you bring this to me on Thursday? We can meet in my hotel in Alajuela.
” He squeezed my hand, turning my balmy temperature into outright sweltering heat. “You are coming to the conference?”
“Of course.”
“Where are you staying? Did Suzanne arrange a room for you?”
“I don’t need a room, it’s not that far. I’ll take the bus in from San José.”
“That’s nonsense.” He released my hand. “I’ll get you a room. You need to be close to...” He suddenly became self-conscious. “Close to me and Suzanne. For work.”
My mouth became completely dry. “Yes. For work.”
He stood up to hug me, and his lips brushed my cheek. “I’ll see you Thursday, Chocolate,” he said into my ear. “I can barely wait.”