Chapter 8
“I GOT THIS FOR YOU AND J AMES.” á NGEL, R ENé’S MANAGER, leads me to a bright red golf cart. “There are some taxis on the island, but it’s not always easy to get one.”
“That’s very nice. Thank you! Has everyone arrived?” I can’t help but watch René as he drives off in the yellow Mustang that was waiting for him in the parking lot of the small airport.
“A few folks got here last night. A group of them are out on the boat now. Everyone has agreed to being filmed. The producer and technicians.”
“Oh, perfect.”
The road is dark with only an occasional streetlight. The farther we get from the small airport, the more the island seems uninhabited. We hit a bump. Followed by another quick succession of bumps. Then we ride over a deeper hole and both of us bounce a few inches above our seats. I press down on my blazer pocket, holding the cassette in place through the fabric.
“How do you think René’s feeling about the behind-the-scenes?” I ask, making conversation.
ángel is quiet for a little too long. “He’ll be fine. He’s a professional,” he adds, his whole energy filled with pride. From my research, I know he’s part of René’s tight circle of friends. He, René, and Camila all met at the visual arts college in San Juan. Thanks to René, he has a growing roster of clients.
Twenty minutes later, we pull off the road and are waved on by a guard standing near the fence. We park in an open field next to the yellow Mustang and two large SUVs. The instant the cart stops moving, we’re blasted by sounds. Crickets, other chirping creatures, frogs, and a wind chime with deep tones. They all take turns, working together as though they were a band. Chime, chirp, chirp, co-kee, chime, chirp, co-kee.
ángel leads me across the lot toward a dark patch of trees. “It’s a really special place. I wish I was staying.”
“Oh?” I don’t hold back my disappointment. He’s been my main contact the past few weeks as we’ve prepared for this. The way things are going, I could use his support.
“I’ll be heading out tomorrow. But you’re in good hands. Let me show you around and we’ll get you some help for your bags.”
He opens a small wrought iron fence. We make it to the top of a mound and golden lights come into view, illuminating a narrow wooden walkway that splits off in different directions. More warm light spills out from the handful of small cottages sprinkled on the next hill. Beyond the glow of the lights, we’re surrounded by the darkness of lush vegetation.
The photos on the website were deceiving. The property is much smaller in person. Everything is more compact and closer together. Each cottage is a miniature beach house. Narrow rectangular structures with circular windows, each with their own tiny front porch. There are hammocks here and there and an outdoor seating area with wicker chairs in the shape of flowers. It’s opulent but also quaint. Like a bougie fairy village in the middle of the forest.
“You and James get the second floor of that house.” ángel points to a cottage on the bottom of the hill. “We have a great cook from San Juan staying with us,” he continues. “She’ll be preparing all the meals. She’s left dinner in your room. The kitchen is in the main house, and over there’s the pool.”
This was the former home of a well-known Mexican telenovela star. He used the separate cottages as guest houses and a gym. Now it’s a boutique hotel typically used for yoga retreats. For the next month, the label has rented out the entire place for René to record his album.
ángel points at one of the wooden paths. “That way’s the beach and the dock. We’re on a tip of the island so we’re surrounded by the ocean on three sides. Wait till you see it in the morning.” His enthusiasm is endearing. “There’s a neat vintage bar on the second floor of the main house, and the studio’s just over there,” he says, pointing back toward the pool as we arrive at my cottage.
“What time will we get started tomorrow?” I feel nerves kicking in.
“I’m not sure. But René’s personal assistant will put a schedule under everyone’s door at night.”
“Oh, okay.” I force a smile, sad to see him go.
I say goodbye to ángel, and climb up the narrow steps. There are two doors down the hall from one another. The one at the far end has its key dangling from the knob, so I head toward it.
The room has unpretentious retreat vibes. There’s an antique wardrobe and a bed with a wooden spindle headboard covered with mosquito netting. Over a small table and chairs is a dark painting of Mona Lisa with an eye patch. Thick wooden beams run along the ceiling, which is decorated in thatch that comes down the corners of the room and all the way to the floor.
The room is also stuffy. It takes me a moment to figure out how to open the large circular window opposite the bed. Pushing it away does the trick. I slide the glass door open, too, and the sound of waves crashing immediately fills the room along with a warm, gusty breeze.
The balcony is inviting. There’s a plush lounger with a wicker base and a collection of different-size cactuses in colorful pots. I look outside to the ocean and the empty boat dock at the end of the slim, meandering deck.
I snap a few pictures of the room to share with Meri later, push aside the mosquito netting, and sit on the edge of the bed.
A strong breeze lifts the curtain, and the scent of the ocean flows through the windows. Tomorrow is a new day. Buck it up, Buttercup. I want to feel more confident about the weeks ahead. I’ve written up pages of interview questions to hit René with at different stages of the recording process.
I know I can help René if I can just get him to open up. We’ll also need to work on making him seem less cocky and obnoxious. But baby steps.
I unzip my suitcase with intention. This is me officially getting down to business. I blink and hold up a pair of white denim shorts, perplexed. There must have been some mix-up at the baggage claim. I don’t recognize any of these clothes. But beneath a few more items that aren’t mine, I find my black linen blazer. Meri. She must have slipped these in my suitcase. I’m relieved to find she hasn’t taken out any of the things I packed. She’s simply added a bunch more. More color . A lime green wraparound dress, bright pink silk camisole, a red strapless top I’ve seen Meri wear that is, in essence, a glorified bandanna, and a yellow lace lingerie set with the tags still on.
We’re the same size, but my sister and I have such opposing styles, we never borrow each other’s clothes.
I snap a picture of the open suitcase and text it to her. How dare you make my bag this much heavier. I hope you’re happy. I could be in jail right now for lying to airport security when they asked if I packed the bag myself!
In truth, I feel loved. She’s always trying to help however she can. Though I feel neither one of us has packed properly for this place. Everything here is so close together. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could walk to the kitchen for a glass of water and run into René. I wish I’d packed something to wear around at night. There has to be a happy medium between pajamas and a blazer.
I take the quickest shower of my life, thanks to the small, shiny brown frog perched on the shampoo bottle. I text Meri a photo of said frog and get into bed, tucking the netting around me in tightly.
Tomorrow, we’ll hit the ground running. In bed, the clear plan I had for tomorrow crystallizes into something better. We’ll capture René getting settled, meeting his musicians and technical crew. We’ll be there to film the exciting first moments. All I have to do is not let him press my buttons. And pretend I’m on another island.
I text James that I’m crashing early and make a plan to meet in the morning to go over the schedule. At some point tonight, Camila will slide it under our doors. She’s probably out on the boat and will get to it later. I imagine it will be fairly simple. A basic itinerary with studio hours, breaks, and mealtimes. Feeling exhausted from a lack of sleep over the past few weeks leading up to this, I set my alarm for 7:00 a.m., a reasonable hour. Musicians are never up too early.