Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Early the next morning, Adrián picked me up.
As we drove to the university, we passed people still celebrating New Year’s.
It gave me the sensation that I had never slept and that yesterday just hadn’t ended.
It hadn’t for the Professor; we found him slumped over his desk.
After we roused him, we hopped into his Jeep and went downtown to pick up Tomás and Mario.
I knew Tomás would want to be at the conference when we showed the video.
I also knew he would look at it as a business opportunity.
“There’s going to be lots of people there, right?” he asked, holding a bag full of rubber cows and chickens. “With disposable income?”
It was nearing eight a.m. by the time we got to Alajuela. The Justice Alliance video wasn’t scheduled to show until noon, but we still had to get to the hotel, scout out the area, and figure out a way to show the video the whole way through without Suzanne stopping it.
When we got to the Fantasía Resort, we fanned out.
Tomás and Mario went to secure the goodwill of the hotel employees, Adrián went to find out who the manager was, and I went to assess the tech situation.
The Professor was going to locate representatives from Ethical Coffee International and give them copies of our video.
I was apprehensive about my mission. What if there wasn’t a separate area we could secure to upload our video?
What if it was just a laptop in the back of the conference room?
I finally found the empty Esmeralda Ballroom, where disco balls and fake trees coexisted in uneasy harmony.
There was a bar on one side and a small stage with a screen and a podium.
There were no windows, the ceiling was high, and the floor was smooth linoleum.
It reminded me of a high school multipurpose room.
Completing the effect were hundreds of folding chairs set out on the floor, facing the stage.
I scanned the room and saw an enclosed control booth in the back, about twenty feet up, right above the crowns of some plastic palm trees.
I couldn’t see any doors leading to it, so I decided to look backstage.
To get to the control booth in my high school theater, you went up a backstage stairwell, then crossed the length of the theater in a second-story hallway.
This layout was similar. I found the door that led to a staircase and went up.
The control booth was also just like my high school control booth, without the marijuana butts or used condoms. There was a laptop on a desk and a control panel. Now I would just have to figure out how to keep Suzanne out of the booth.
Reconnaissance completed, I left the ballroom and met up with Adrián, Tomás, and Mario in one of the smaller hotel bars.
It felt like midnight in there, with maroon plastic booths and dark purple walls, candles in the middle of tables, and Mexican ballads coming from the stereos.
It was only ten a.m., but people were already knocking back drinks, in denial that last night had ended and a new year had begun.
The four of us took a booth and ordered Bloody Marys.
I was way beyond policing Tomás and Mario’s alcohol consumption; as far as I was concerned, they were adults now.
“We need a way to secure the door to the control booth,” I said, batting the celery stick around my tomato juice, wondering if the antioxidants from the vegetables counteracted the toxins from the booze. I mean, they had to be doing something .
“We’ve figured it out,” said Adrián, sipping his drink like it was water. “Tomás is going to pose as a hotel employee and Mario will be a lookout. They’ll hang around the door to the staircase and make sure Suzanne can’t get into the control booth.”
“No way she’s getting past me,” Tomás said smugly, enjoying his role as “the muscle.” Mario’s eyes widened with concern. Perhaps he was not as enthusiastic about the plan.
“But what if she causes a commotion?” I asked.
“I’ll pretend to call the manager,” said Tomás.
“Then I’ll take over,” said Adrián.
“Why would she believe you’re the manager?” I fiddled with my straw. “And what if the real hotel employees hear her complaining?”
Adrián pulled out a name tag from his pocket. José Rivera, Assistant Manager . “We had a little ‘chat’ with the staff.” He rubbed his fingers together in the gesture of a bribe. “No one’s going to bother us.”
“She’s going to freak out when she sees the video. She’s going to bust through that door if she has to.”
“I’m taking care of it.” He put his arm around me. Little thrills traveled from my waist to my head. “ Tranquila .”
I tried to relax, but I couldn’t stop thinking of all the things that could go wrong.
The tech person could refuse to swap videos.
Suzanne could find out that the Professor was distributing videos to Ethical Coffee International reps and cancel the presentation.
If we didn’t have the audience as witnesses, we’d lose the crucial social pressure aspect.
I was so nervous, I decided to order a coffee to balance out the Bloody Mary.
It was steaming, but I took a sip anyway.
“How is it?” asked Adrián.
“Nice,” I said. “It has a full, creamy body. Hazelnut and... hmm, nectarine.”
He looked at me, amused. “You’re like a professional taster now.”
“You’re right!” I looked at the cup, amazed. “I am!”
“So, have you decided, do you like single origins better, or blends?”
“Both.”
“But he asked which was better ,” said Tomás.
I placed my hand on Adrián’s and looked at him. “I decided that maybe what you like doesn’t have to be your whole identity. Maybe you can be multiple things.”
Adrián smiled so tenderly. He understood. “ Cada persona es un mundo .”
I nodded. “ Cada persona es un mundo .”
“Well, I like Bloody Marys better,” said Tomás.
The guys ordered another round while I enjoyed my hazelnut-nectarine coffee.
Adrián left his arm around my waist the whole time, and amid my anxiety, I had to admit I was happy.
When I was near Adrián, my whole body just felt good .
Did that mean this was right? Was my body telling me something my mind was too stubborn to hear?
The Professor slid into the booth next to Tomás and Mario. “Ethical Coffee International will be at the Justice Alliance presentation at noon. And they will have a meeting with Justice Alliance at two.”
“What if Suzanne finds out between now and when we show the video?” I asked.
“I told them you were the point person. Besides, they’re all in different meetings right now. They’re not going to see Suzanne.”
“So we’re all ready?”
“Yes.” The Professor picked up a glass. “To our first collective revolutionary act.” We all clinked glasses. “May it be the first of many. No machetes required.”
* * *
At eleven forty-five the five of us sailed through the open double doors of the Esmeralda Ballroom.
Well, the Professor and Adrián sailed, and Tomás, Mario, and I staggered.
The Professor took up a position near the front.
He was in charge of keeping an eye on Suzanne and Matías during the showing of the video to make sure they didn’t take over the microphone.
Tomás and Mario went backstage to man the door to the control booth, and Adrián stood in the wings.
I scanned the room. My penultimate task was personal.
I wanted to see Suzanne and Matías one last time.
I needed to show Suzanne that she hadn’t beaten me, and show Matías that he hadn’t diminished me.
Finding them was difficult. The Esmeralda Ballroom was packed to the gills with people dressed in black and charcoal, in accordance with the rules of protestor chic.
I had chosen today to sport a new red dress Eva had helped me pick out.
This was a new year, I was a new person, and also, I wanted Matías to be sorry.
The assembled used-clothing couture crowd gasped as I walked by. I was so unfashionably fashionable.
After traversing the length of the ballroom several times, and eliciting more than one judgy look, I spotted Suzanne at the far end of the bar, sipping mineral water.
As usual, she managed to look elegant without looking out of place.
Matías was by her side. I stopped to watch them.
When she laughed, she leaned in closer to him.
Waves of ill-defined emotions crashed over me.
I didn’t know if I was jealous; I only knew that I hurt.
And that I had had a reason for going to see them, but I’d forgotten it.
I was about to go backstage, but then Suzanne turned to Matías and pecked his lips. And for some reason, I had to go forward. I pushed my way through the tipsy bullshitting multitudes, ignoring anyone who said anything like “Ow,” or “Hi,” or, “What do you think of American hegemony?”
Suzanne and Matías were talking with two people I didn’t know. The woman had bleached, spiky hair; a black denim miniskirt from the eighties; and a hand-sewn blouse from Mexico. The man was tall and painfully skinny, with a scruffy goatee and a green ski cap.
“But the Roman Empire fell,” he said.
“It was overextended,” the woman replied.
“Are you really defending the present expression of Manifest Destiny?” he asked.
I came from behind and tapped Matías on the shoulder. When he turned around, his eyes filled with heat. Maybe he regretted his choice; maybe it was my dress. Suzanne didn’t notice me. She was too busy discussing American Imperialism.
“You made it,” he said softly. “I was so worried when you left yesterday. I felt bad about our conversation. I felt bad about... everything.” The kindness in his voice came at me like a lifeline. But I wasn’t sure if I should take it.
“Matías.” I leaned in close. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? Please just think about it for a minute. The people at Las Nubes need Justice Alliance’s help.”
Matías’s forehead creased. “You know I want to.”
“Then why don’t you?” He looked into my eyes, then across the room, and finally to the floor.
And then I realized. Because he didn’t have the guts.
This wasn’t the man I had started to fall for.
That man only existed for moments. But the moments didn’t string together. By themselves they were nothing.
“Dee!” said Suzanne, just spotting me. “I’m so glad you came.” She gave me an air kiss.
“I just wanted to ask you one more time,” I said. “Will you help me blow the whistle on Café Alegre?”
Suzanne gave me a condescending smile. “Honey, you know how much I want to get those bastards.” She put down her mineral water, leaned into the bar, and asked the bartender for a “special water.” “But we just can’t right now.”
And suddenly their collective hypocrisy was more than I could bear. “That’s not the reason you gave me the other night. Why don’t you tell Matías what you told me?”
“I don’t know what you’re thinking of,” she said in a light voice.
“Honestly, Dee, you need to relax. You’ve been working hard and we’re so proud of you.
Why don’t you get a drink and then join us for the screening?
We’ll be sitting in front.” And with that, Suzanne took her vodka tonic from the bartender and headed off into the crowd.
Matías started to follow her, then stopped to look at me. Was it wistfully? It may have been wistfully. “Maybe we can do it later, Dee,” he said. “It’s just not the time.”
“I’m begging you.”
He hesitated. But he let go of the line. “I can’t.”
I turned around without another word and looked for a way out.
People surged at me like waves, and I knew they would sink me.
I had nothing to hold on to. I spotted a door and went toward it.
I found an empty hallway and leaned against the rose wallpaper.
I still couldn’t accept Matías’s capitulation to Suzanne.
If the people leading the fight weren’t fighting—what hope was there for change? It all felt so pointless.
As I wrestled with that horrible feeling, I heard footsteps come around the corner. I straightened up and tried to look composed. Had I been crying? My face was wet.
“ Preciosa .” It was Adrián, in his white shirt and José nametag. When he saw my wild eyes, he became concerned. He knew he wasn’t meant to witness this. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” I wiped some of the tears off my cheek. I could taste salt in the corner of my mouth. Adrián took a tentative step forward. He took my hand, and when I smiled at him through my mist, he took me into his arms. I pressed my head against his chest. He held me closer.
“It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” He stroked the back of my head. “I’m sure of it.”
“You were right. About Sartre. About life being a futile passion.”
“Oh, I’ve moved on from that,” he said, cheerily. “Now I’m reading The Plague .”
I blanched. “That sounds worse.”
“On the surface, yes. Most people would say it’s also about futility. That Camus believes there’s no intrinsic moral or rational meaning in life.”
“Great.”
“But I actually think it’s uplifting.”
“Weird take. But I could use some uplifting.”
“Well. There’s no God. There’s no meaning.” He wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “And the plague is killing everyone.”
“Do you know what uplifting means?”
He smiled and caressed my cheek. “But even though it is futile, the doctors and nurses keep showing up to fight it. Even though they’re in danger of dying themselves. If there’s no meaning, why do they do it?”
“You tell me.”
“Because we are beings that love. Beings that can’t help but care. It doesn’t matter if there ‘is’ meaning. Where there is no meaning, we make it.”
The tears came back. But they were of a different kind. “Adrián,” I said. “You give me meaning.”
His face filled with so much light, I had to kiss him. So I did. And everything that had been so unclear was finally clear. Different didn’t mean wrong; it just meant different. I could finally make a choice. I was choosing him.