Songs for Perri (7 page)

"Better?" he asked, after she regained her composure.

"Yes.” She stiffened her back, lifted her chin. “We aren't always as strong as we think we are."

"You're right." A moment of silence rested between them before he spoke again, more slowly. "I want to apologize for my behavior this afternoon." He shifted his weight on the chair and leaned forward. "You caught me in a bad situation. I...uh, have been trying to discourage Anna Meyers."

"Why? And what does that have to do with me?"

"Nothing, except Anna’s been coming on strong ever since she arrived; taking my picture, following me, inviting me out. I don't mind a woman letting me know she's interested, but I do want her to back off when I don't respond."

"You must have given her some encouragement."

"Not that I know of. I've run into her kind before; hints are ignored. Being rude is the only way to discourage them."

Perri smiled as her memory re-pictured the scene. "And I invited her to share the cab."

"That you did. I had to keep acting like a jerk or have her start chasing me all over again. I'm sorry."

"Maybe you ought to figure out a better way to rid yourself of unwanted attention."

"I'll work on it. But my method does have results. She's leaving me alone. Kindness only encourages."

At that moment Miguel arrived with their meal. It was excellent fare, hot and spicy, and Perri ate heartily, making up for not eating all day.

Hugo seemed deep in thought, for he made few comments during the meal. Perri cleaned up everything she had, and finished off his
Buñuelos
when he said he didn't want the crisp fried cookies.

Finished, he scraped his chair back and stood up and she stood too.

"Look, love, I've got to go. I've business to attend to. I'll see you back to the hotel."

"What kind of business?"

"Phone call."

Since she had to return to the hotel, Perri agreed, only slightly bristling at the endearment he had used almost absently. He paid the bill and joked briefly with the waiter before they walked back toward the hotel in the now moonlit night.

The air was warm and mellow and with the right man, under the right circumstances, it would have been very romantic walking up the narrow street.

So why did it seem so right to be walking beside Hugo?

There was a charisma about him that attracted her...and probably other females too, which was why he had trouble with Anna. It was the challenging attraction of the rebel, the anti-hero type who defied good manners and soft ways. She must be careful to recognize it for what it was.

A yellow bus approached and he waved it down. It was overcrowded, yet they squeezed in, Hugo placing her one step above him while he stood in the open door, indifferent to the pavement streaking just beyond his feet. The protective gesture was reassuring, advancing him one notch upward in Perri's estimation.

As they entered the hotel lobby, he stiffened slightly, muttered a quick, "I'll see you around," and left with a flick of his hand.

"Thanks for the meal," she responded, but even as she spoke he was turning to go. She knew she hadn't been a good companion, going all emotional as she had.

It was probably just as well, Perri realized, as she waited for the elevator. She couldn't afford to get anyone else involved in helping Owen. It could be dangerous... although Hugo looked able to take care of himself.

"Hi." Anna walked up, looking curious. "I saw you with Hugo. Did you go out with him, after all?"

"Yes."
And I bet he saw you, too.
"But I don't think I made much of an impression." The doors opened and they entered, Anna punching the floors for them both.

"Did you want to? He's the rudest person I've ever met."

Anna looked disgruntled and Perri decided that Hugo's ploy had worked. "His manners aren't all that polished ...but he did know a good place to eat."

"A free meal—like I suggested? Was it worth it?"

"A question I asked myself," Perri said with a laugh. "But I don't think he'll be hanging around. I sort of dampened things down."

"Serves him right. See you." Anna stepped off and Perri continued to her room, a smile on her lips as she recalled the unconventional "date."

Hugo intrigued her — his lazy manner and dark glasses hiding a personality the power of which she had briefly glimpsed.

Hugo. She liked the name; probably because her mother had often talked about a man called Hugo Donnelson...the one who had given her the ivory pendant. Perri had never met him, but her mom had described him, saying he had the most beautiful gray eyes she had ever seen on a man.

Hugo’s were dark brown. And his voice...did he practice talking like that or was it natural?

Shrugging off her wandering thoughts, Perri changed leisurely into her champagne-colored full length dress, sleeveless and draped from the shoulders. With time to spare, she pinned up her hair. It made her look older, although still not her age.

How had Hugo guessed she was older than "Junior?" Even the age-guessers at the county fairs never came close.

Tonight was the night. Tonight she would meet her contact and find out about Owen.

She could hardly wait. Although it was early, she went down to the lobby, checking at the desk for messages. There was one, an envelope with her name on it.

Hurriedly she tore it open. It was unsigned, but the handwriting was Walt's.

Perri. Urgent you return home immediately.

Confusion encompassed Perri as she stared at the message. Had Owen made it back by himself? Why didn’t it say so?

She laid the letter on the countertop alongside the envelope and studied it again. The wording of the message made her uneasy. Why was it so brief?

She could call the airlines and have them contact her credit card company for the fare, but that still left her without taxi money. It would be fastest to telephone Walt and have him wire her some. She wasn't going anywhere on three dollars and twenty-two cents.

Taking out her cell phone, she texted Walt, wondering why he hadn’t sent her a text. When there was no reply this time, she left him her room number.

Hanging up, she re-examined the envelope. There was no postmark, no return address. All it had on it was her name and room number. So he already knew that.

Puzzled, and beginning to worry, Perri showed the two clerks the envelope. "Do either of you know how this was delivered?"

One of them took a closer look. "Yes, a young boy brought that in, about fifteen minutes ago."

"Not the mail man?"

"No."

"Did he come down the elevator?"

"I don't know. I was working; just looked up when he spoke. But when he left, he went outside. Is there anything wrong?"

Yes. Everything.
she wanted to say, but replied, "I can't tell. Do you happen to have a room registered to Walt Putman?" She spelled the last name as the clerk checked.

"No. Sorry. Are you expecting him?"

"Sort of."

"Do you want to reserve a room for him?"

"No...not unless you're booked solid."

"We've always a few rooms. Except during the week of Mardi Gras."

"Then I'll wait. Thanks."

Opening her phone again, Perri called her neighbor in Arizona, asking her to check the house to see if Walt was there. She waited while the woman walked over to look.

He wasn't there, but the lady promised to call Perri if either he or Owen showed up. She also offered to check the Phoenix hospitals.

"That would be wonderful. Thanks," Perri said, adding, "Call and leave a message just as soon as you learn anything."

Hanging up, Perri stared once more at the envelope. Everything pointed to Walt being in Mazatlan. But if so, why didn't he come to the hotel? She felt like a spinning needle on a compass surrounded by metal; without purposeful direction. What was going on?

Had he found Owen; or was he just trying to get her out of the way? Why hadn't he said more in his letter?

Should she go home? Or stay?

Indecision fled as Perri remembered her contact. He might be able to tell her if Owen and Walt were okay.

A large crowd of around three hundred people had gathered and Perri joined them, sitting down at her reserved table. The honeymoon couple was close by and she waved cheerily to them.

Most of the audience was young, most were tourists, most were looking forward to the evening. Just before the room darkened she spotted the car salesman, Carl Freedman, entering, and right behind him the young man she still thought of as Junior. Both were wearing suits and looking around the crowd for a place to sit. By now it was standing room only.

Not wanting them to try to sit with her, Perri turned toward the stage. The next moment the room darkened completely, the colored spots turned on as the band members came out.

They were greeted with loud clapping and cheers, but when the star of the show appeared, the screams became deafening. Leaping out onto the center of the stage in a cloud of artificial smoke, Donegal posed dramatically, then raked his hand across the strings of his electric guitar, causing the audience to scream even louder.

His teal blue brocaded vest was partly open, displaying a muscular chest full of curly dark hair. Hundreds of sequins sparkled as he moved with the grace of an athlete. A semi-transparent white shirt, collarless and cuffed with lace, bloused out from shoulder to wrist.

He burst right into his first song, dancing to the music as he sang, a deep grin creasing his face as he caught the crowd together with him into the rhythm and mood of the music...and soon had them swaying and clapping and cheering along.

Perri's table was right in the front row, which seemed to her a poor location for a private meeting. The loudspeakers, placed halfway back, were turned away from her, but still the vibrations were intense, and she felt herself responding to the primitive beat of the music...so close to the beat of her heart.

The entertainer knew what he was doing. A satisfied smile flicked across his lips as he enticed the crowd emotionally along with him. Perri had to fight off the hypnotic effect. Worry had already clouded her mind enough.

Four songs later, she began to fret. No one had joined her at the table. Self-consciously, she fingered the ivory pendant, trying to draw attention to it, determined to wait. Perhaps the person didn't plan to talk, but just wanted a means of spotting her. Or perhaps he hadn't come because Owen was now safe. If only she knew.

By the sixth song she wondered if it would look too rude or obvious if she put her fingers in her ears. They were beginning to hurt...they hadn't been previously dulled by noise, and the ache in them let her know she was losing some hearing. The seventh song was quieter, a love song—a simple ballad—and she breathed easier. This one her ears could stand.

Donegal came to the front of the stage, shoulders back, his body held almost formally erect, a slight strut to the way he walked. "We are on a voyage of discovery...you and I; through turbulent seas frothed with ivory...you and I. Searching, seeking, sighing for the love we lost in days gone by...in days gone by."

His voice didn't need amplification although he had used a mike for the rest of the program. With this song, he had picked up a classical guitar and left his microphone off. Hushed, the audience listened intently, spellbound by the man's artistry.

He had black hair—thick, long and curly—that came down past his shoulders, teal blue eyes, a slightly pale face and sunburned nose. When he stopped in front of Perri, sitting down on the stage just a few feet from her table, she had a difficult time looking impressed. The singer's attire was hard to take, even though she did like the song.

"We are on a voyage of discovery...just us two; and where it takes us we cannot see...me and you. Puzzling, probing, till the masquerade is past and ends the lie."

"...ends the lie...ends the lie," the other singers in the band echoed. Perri focused on the square-tipped, heavily ringed fingers of the singer, wishing he would go away. She felt uncomfortable as he stayed, singing the tender melody as if just to her.

Why didn't he move on? This would keep her contact away for sure. Or, was he her contact? She lifted the pendant and looked questioningly at him, but saw no response.

"We are on a voyage of discovery..." the song continued. Finally he stood up and moved back to the mike and Perri was left to wonder how red her face was; for his eyes and voice had taken on a sensual suggestiveness that sent a shiver down her spine and a blush to her face.

There was an intensity behind the deep blue eyes that reminded her of Hugo. Where was he, right now?

And who had sent her the ticket? Had all the attention scared him off?

Patiently she waited, but no one joined her. When Donegal's group was finished, she decided to wait a while, then go back to her room.

There was a general shift of people towards the door and the crowd thinned. Carl Freedman appeared at her table, asking her to join him in a drink. She complied, waiting for him to mention Crystal, but he never did.

He had gone to the beach soon after they had arrived and already had a flushed face. His nose was large and hooked like a parrot's beak, and the bright red color reminded Perri of Rudolph. She gallantly refrained from staring at it while talking to him.

He acted like he was continually "on stage," and Perri found it wearing. Although middle-aged, he had not learned the lessons of discretion, and his hale and hearty manner of being friendly to everyone who walked nearby, evoked startled—and sometimes angry—glances from total strangers. As soon as possible she excused herself.

"Junior" flicked a finger in greeting as she walked by where he was propped up next to the door and she nodded her head, but didn't stop. Her pendant was in plain view. She could do no more from her end.

Her instructions had been clear. Whoever was trying to see her was going to have to say Crystal's name, because there were too many people around for her to separate him out...even if she had had some idea.

In the lobby she checked for messages, then looked around, feeling confused. Her neighbor in Phoenix had called, reporting no sign of Walt or Owen anywhere.