Chapter 23
D RIVING A GOLF CART AT FULL SPEED ON A DARK ISLAND ROAD is strangely liberating. The warm breeze and steady clatter of the little engine are soothing, and each bump on the pavement sends me flying a few inches above the seat.
After the interview with Natalia, I helped James break down the lights because he still wasn’t feeling well. I suggested he get some rest before we have to be back in the studio. But I needed some air. And a little perspective. Natalia and René recording a duet together again is huge. Who cares how I found out. We finally have access to something significant. Something I can actually show Maureen this weekend.
After about twenty minutes, I find the small dock right where it’s supposed to be, with the open-air restaurant the chef said we should try.
The Rusty Anchor’s style is loud and vibrant. Multicolored vinyl tablecloths, giant cardboard cutouts of beer ads against the walls, and pelicans everywhere. Porcelain pelican figurines, wooden pelican sculptures, pelican paintings. Maybe the owner said they liked pelicans once, and since then, it’s all anyone’s ever gotten them for Christmas.
There are a few couples waiting outside for a table, so I head straight to an open spot at the bar. I’m only a few feet away when I see Camila is seated next to the empty stool.
“Busted,” she sings. Her intense vanilla-scented perfume now has a strong bouquet of rum. She smells like a boozy birthday cake. “Busted,” she repeats once I’m seated. As though she’s the one who just arrived and I’m the one who’s been drinking. There’s an avocado stuffed with crabmeat on her plate that’s barely been touched.
She reaches over and gently taps the bartender’s hand. “ Dame otro palo. ” Then, she whips her head to me. “‘ Un palo ’ is a drink.” Her eyelids drag way down to where they’re almost shut.
The bartender refills her glass with dark rum, then waves the bottle at me.
“No, thanks. I’ll have a palo of sparkling water. And one of those, please.” I point to Camila’s dish. “And can you bring me the check, please? I’m in a hurry.”
The bartender finds this amusing. I gather most visitors don’t come to this island just to be in a rush.
Behind us, a dinghy pulls up on the dock and an older couple steps off it and right into the restaurant. A few feet away, a group of enormous dark blue fish are clustered by a table nearest the edge of the dock, where a child is tossing bread in the water.
A classic love song comes on over the restaurant’s speakers, and Camila’s head moves to the beat. The song is a well-known Spanish ballad and she’s trying to sing along, but in her drunken slowness, she can’t keep up with the lyrics. She repeats only a word or two a few seconds too late. How come. Without you. Impossible.
“So, how are you doing?” I ask as carefully as I can.
“Good. I’m good.” She picks up her fork and pushes the crab meat around. “No, I’m great .”
She’s definitely not great. When my food arrives, an unsteady Camila bumps into me, knocking the crab off my fork. Does this have something to do with Natalia’s arrival? Is Camila jealous?
I’m about to ask her what she thinks of the duet, when two teenage girls walk up to us and ask her for a photograph. They circle around her and take a bunch of selfies. As the girls walk away ecstatic and reviewing their photos, one of them shyly returns and tells Camila to send René a kiss. Camila promises she will, and I’m impressed. Ever an ambassador for René. Even inebriated, she’s done a decent job.
“Is it hard sometimes, you know, working for René?” If Natalia’s the reason Camila’s drinking like this, maybe she wants to talk about it.
She watches me for a moment through the slim panel of eyelid that’s still open. “It’s not hard. All of this, it’s not hard.” She motions to the condiments on the bar.
I try to get her to have some water and food, but she only nibbles on a small scoop of crabmeat. I devour my meal and pay for the bill. “Do you need a ride back? How did you get here?” I need to run, but I can’t leave her like this.
“She’s gone too far,” Camila grunts, ignoring my questions. “It’s not right. You should have seen her with him.” She brings her hands to her heart, eyelids hanging even lower. It’s official—her eyelids are the drunkest part about her.
“Do you mean Natalia? Listen, I’ve got to get—”
“It’s like she’s forgotten what really happened. She’s going to hear from me.” She sounds definitive. “Don’t get it twisted,” she mumbles angrily to herself.
She attempts to unlock her phone but doesn’t get the code right.
“She better be on her best behavior.” She tries the code again and manages to get it right.
A sense of alarm washes over me. “Uh, I’m not sure about—”
Camila slaps her chest with her hand. “I’m the reason you’re even here. Me!” She shouts this last word so loudly, our bartender looks up from the bar.
“Um, okay.” I check the time on my phone. At this rate, I’m going to be a few minutes late. I ring James to let him know, but the call goes straight to voicemail. A jolt of panic shoots through me. He was going to take a power nap. I’m supposed to be his wake-up call. I try again and it does the same thing. I think he’s shut the phone off.
“She’s not getting away with this.” Camila’s voice quivers.
I lean my body over the bar and get our bartender to bring me Camila’s check. “You can tell me all about it on the ride back.”
She places a hand on my arm and squeezes hard. “Don’t you think she’s out of control?”
“Uh, nope. I don’t think so. Not at all.” My hands are shaking as I try to pull the credit card out of my wallet.
Then Camila slumps to the ground in one go, as though her knees have given out.
“Are you okay?” I find her folded up with her back against the bar, sitting on the footrest. “It’s time to go, don’t you think?” I squat and maneuver around until I’m sitting on the footrest next to her.
Camila’s holding her phone out in front of her and I can see that she’s dialing Natalia. And that, for some reason, this is going to be a video call.
“If she doesn’t like it, that’s her problem!” Camila screams loudly into the phone, though it’s still only ringing.
Everything in my body is telling me I can’t let her make this call. Natalia getting yelled at by a wasted Camila is the last thing she or René need right now.
All I can see is the calendar. He only has a month to record this album, and almost a week has gone by with nothing but disconnected snippets to show for it. For the first time, he’s going to make actual progress. Anything Camila has to say should wait. At least until she’s sober. And less angry.
“Here, let me help you.” I take the phone away from her and hang up the call. Camila lets out a shriek. Before I can say anything else, her hands are on my face.
“Hey, hey, come on.”
“Give me that!” Camila howls, pulling down at my ears. The pain is surprisingly intense. I’ve got only one hand to protect myself, because the other’s one keeping the phone away. There isn’t any room for us to get away from each other. We’re crammed between barstools and the bar, with people sitting on either side of us, and a family dining at the table a foot away.
Camila reaches my fingers and tries to peel them away from the phone.
“I’ll give it back when we get home,” I try to reason. Just then, her phone starts to ring. Natalia’s full name appears on the screen. When Camila sees this, she squirms like a snake trapped in a small space.
Squabbling at such close proximity is painful. With all the pulling and pushing, everything hurts. My ears from being yanked on, my arm from holding the phone up high to keep it from Camila, and even my butt from the lip of this footrest.
But I need to resolve this below the bar. If I stand, photos of us could end up online.
“Camila, listen to me. There’s clearly something important you want to say, and you have every right to do that.” It’s a struggle to get the words out without losing my grip on her phone. My face is strained, shoulders are hunched. I bring the phone near my chest, arm tucked in like a football player running the ball. “But believe me, whatever it is, it would be better in person.”
Camila rages and digs her hands into my chest.
“Your little fingers are… so… strong.” I free my hand from her grip, snapping my arm away from her too abruptly, and the phone flies out of my hand, sails across the few feet of dock, and plops into the water.
“I’m so sorry. Shit. I’m sorry.”
Camila doesn’t move or say a word.
“I’m sure you have everything backed up. The cloud still—”
Camila pushes the stool away loudly, and rises.
“I’ll order you a new phone,” I promise, struggling to get up. A man sitting near us at the bar watches us curiously, but otherwise I think our skirmish has gone unnoticed.
Camila walks slowly through the crowded restaurant, and I follow a few steps behind, feeling awful. We step outside and I try calling James, but it goes straight to voicemail again.
I reach the golf cart, but Camila is still shuffling slowly across the parking lot, dragging a large cardboard beer poster she’s taken from the restaurant.
I feel trapped. This can’t be happening. I need to get back to the studio. What if James is still asleep? I turn the golf cart on and pull up next to Camila, who abandoned the cardboard beer poster a few feet away and has stopped moving.
“Come on,” I urge gently. “We’re on the other side of the island. If you don’t want to ride with me, let me get you a cab.”
Camila shakes her head ever so slightly and sits down, right on the pavement. A passing car lights up her face. She looks drunker out here than she did at the bar. And like she’s about to be sick. I park the cart back where it was, and help her move to the nearest curb.
Three excruciating hours later, I was able to get Camila to move again.
We didn’t make it very far before I had to turn the golf cart around. Even at a low speed, the ride was too bumpy for her to handle.
So now we’re back in the parking lot, sitting on the same curb again, waiting for her to feel better so we can try again. She’s slumped forward, elbows on her knees, head resting in her hands. I’m sitting next to her and she squeezes my hand whenever she gets a wave of nausea, as though it were a contraction.
Using restaurant napkins, I’ve applied cold compresses to the back of her neck, and managed to get her to drink some water. My phone died over an hour ago, so I can only hope James made it to the studio.
Camila’s definitely better. She’s regained control of her eyelids, for one. I think it helps she’s thrown up. I was so relieved for her when it happened. I sounded like the proud parent of a spelling bee champ. “Look at that. That’s a big one! Great job!”
“I thought I was better.” Camila’s voice is hoarse.
“You do look better,” I offer supportively.
“About her ,” she clarifies, slightly annoyed I can’t read her mind.
“Everything okay?” asks a woman in a bright yellow dress walking behind us on the sidewalk.
“Yes, all good. Thank you. We just need to sit here for a minute.”
“We slept together.” Camila’s hands are slightly covering her mouth, but I hear her just fine. And I’m pretty sure so did the woman, who looks back one more time, somewhat concerned.
“You and Natalia?”
She gives me a look that’s more pity than annoyance. “René and I.”
I feel an unsettling prick in my heart. “Really?”
“A long time ago.” She stares at the pavement. “After being friends for a few years. And when I woke up, he was gone. No note. I didn’t hear from him. He disappeared on me.” She speaks slowly, without moving her head. As though she’s wearing an invisible neck brace. “The next day he just came by, apologized for ignoring my texts, and told me our friendship was too important. I thought I’d be fine. Eventually. But you know when I knew that I wasn’t?”
“When you tried to pull my ears off under the bar?”
A weak laugh escapes her. “No. Well, yeah, that too.” She lifts her face. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Camila squeezes my hand and I brace myself for her to be sick again, but whatever she was feeling passes. “Last year, when he and Natalia broke up.” She lifts her head and locks her tired eyes on something across the street. “He and I were visiting some friends in Ponce and I saw this little dog. It was tied to a street post. Poor thing didn’t look good, it was so hot.
“We got her some water and sat there with her for a while waiting for her owner to come. Built a little fort around us with an umbrella we had in the car.” She cracks a smile. “She’d climb onto my legs, and then on his and…” She trails off, shaking her head ever so slightly. “I had this hope. The whole time, I kept wanting him to say it. Let’s adopt this puppy together. Let’s be together. Let’s be this little family forever. It wasn’t Natalia. It was you all along. ” She whimpers.
I sit up taller, surprised she’s sharing this with me. I squeeze her hand to show my support. I’ve seen this kind of heartache so many times. From my sister, who seems to be an expert at falling for the worst guys. And even from Mom, who for a long time acted as though she’d been betrayed by Dad for dying.
“If you felt that way, why did you stick around? Why put yourself through that?”
Camila stiffens.
“I thought about quitting, but their song was blowing up and he was getting all this bad press about the breakup. So I tried to convince myself it wasn’t anything. Tried to think about the many years of friendship. He needed me.” She shrugs her shoulders. “In a way, that made me feel better.”
“Until tonight?”
“Yeah.” She exhales loudly, then shakes her head resolutely.
“What did you do? About the pup.”
“I took her home,” she snaps defensively. “We left a note but no one called.” Her eyes light up. “Chuchi’s the best. If I had my phone, I’d show you a picture.”
I chuckle and convince her to drink more water.
“The worst part is, I’ve been seeing someone. But I don’t think I’ve given him a real chance.” She sounds disappointed in herself. “Maybe there’s something there?”
“You never know. You deserve to be happy. Everyone does.” It’s what I’ve told Meri so many times. “Maybe it’s time to stop carrying a torch and shine that light on yourself.”
She squeezes my hand and draws a deep breath. “I think I can move on now.”