Chapter 26
A LITTLE brEEZE IS making its way across the club. It’s getting cooler. Time to leave the pool. Marianna hands Lily to me and I wrap her in a huge red-and-pink beach towel with only her head sticking out. She looks adorable, like a human enchilada.
Quickly, before she starts to cry for more swim time, I carry Lily into the ladies’ room to change her out of her wet suit.
Like all of Somerset, the restroom is a study in elegance: white marble walls and sinks with cloth hand towels, several floor-to-ceiling private mahogany stalls, gold-encrusted mirrors, and fresh flowers everywhere.
It would be the perfect place for a small wedding. Well, except for the toilets.
There’s even a separate baby-changing room with a shelf of all-natural, plant-based HealthyBaby diapers, wipes, creams, and lotions.
As I slide Lily out of her wet swimwear and into a dry diaper and a fresh yellow onesie with tiny elephants, I hear voices coming from outside, a man arguing with a woman.
Arguing, but not yelling. One-percenters don’t yell—they raise their eyebrows, not their voices—unless, like Ben, they’re in the privacy of their own home.
The argument sounds very civilized, a flurry of sharp, staccato whispers. But it’s all in Spanish.
I listen harder. I’m pretty sure the woman is Felicia. And she’s arguing with… Ben? Could it be? Yes. The tone of voice tells me there’s a lot of anger behind the words.
Damn. Why didn’t I pay more attention in Senorita Fuente’s high-school Spanish class? I pick Lily up and move closer to the door. Now I can make out a few bits and pieces.
Ben says, “No puedo… contra.” (That’s “I can’t”… something.)
Felicia says, “Si, lo prometiste!” (“You promised!”)
“No es un buen momento,” says Ben. (“Not a good time.”)
Felicia again: “Dime cuando.” (“Tell me when.”)
Ben: “No sé.” (“I don’t know.”)
More words that I don’t understand. Then Felicia says, “No, él no sabe nada!” (“No, he knows nothing!”)
He? Is she talking about her husband? Could Felicia and Ben be involved in something, just the two of them?
Suddenly, Felicia yells: “Teniamos un trato!” (“We had a”… a what?)
Those are Felicia’s final words. Then I hear her go clicking off in her shiny pink heels. Ben calls after her as the sound of her stilettos grows fainter and fainter.
But what does trato mean? With Lily under my arm, I grab my phone and punch the word into Google Translate. Trato means “deal or bargain or agreement.”
What kind of deal? Is it drug-related? Are they having an affair? It all seems vaguely ominous. But for all I know, they could be talking about going for ice cream.
Whatever it is, it sounds like something Metcalf should know about.