Chapter 1
Cathy Hendricks had a full two weeks off from her job as a legal secretary at one of the busiest firms on prestigious La Salle Street in Chicago, and was determined to make it her best vacation ever.
Even though the young secretary had been scrupulously saving her money to invest in a new Chrysler Reliant K car, she derailed her own self-imposed austerity program to line up a trip through her travel agent to the charming tropical setting of Acapulco, Mexico.
The reason why she decided to opt for a foreign setting rather than investing in a more economical vacation in the picturesque lake region of the neighboring state of Wisconsin, stemmed from a recent personal tragedy in her life, which made her decide on a more expensive and remote region as a means of forgetting. The beautiful young blonde woman had broken off an engagement to a professor of English at a Chicago junior college little more than a month earlier, and the sorrow she felt made it, at least in her own mind, necessary to travel to a remote tropical region to forget to provide constructive therapy to make the hurts disappear.
Cathy had never traveled out of the country in her twenty-five years, and the farthest she had ever traversed from Chicago, the city in which she had been born and raised, and had spent all of her life, was during a vacation trip that she had taken with her parents to New York City when she was in her late teens.
As the plane swooped down for a landing at Acapulco Airport, Cathy fastened her seat belt, looked out the window at the blue skies and the landscape of Acapulco looming progressively closer into view, and resolved in her mind that John Macon, the man from whom she had broken off her engagement, no longer existed. In the warm Acapulco sunshine she hoped that John Macon would be forgotten and that her life would become truly meaningful once more.
After disembarking at the airport and picking up her luggage, Cathy immediately caught a cab which would take her to her destination, the Hotel Imperial on the sands of Caleta Beach.
Cathy had chosen Caleta Beach rather than one of the newer, more densely populated areas of Acapulco because of its picturesque setting and the fact that rooms were available at more modest prices than was the case at some of the posher hotels in the newer section along the highway which, when lit up in neon at night, looked very much like the Strip in Las Vegas, Nevada.
It was remoteness that she sought, and even though her travel agent had told her that the Hotel Imperial was a popular enough spot, the beach was large enough so that she could almost assuredly enjoy a substantial measure of privacy whenever she sought it.
By the time that Cathy arrived at her hotel and unpacked her belongings, she was perspiring to the point where she felt that a shower would refresh her, and once that she completed her shower, she put on a cheery blue sun dress that she had brought along and had left her room for dinner.
Cathy decided to dine on the terrace of the hotel, where she could overlook the bright blue waters of Acapulco Bay and the glittering red and gold streaks of the approaching sunset.
Just as she was finishing her lobster dinner, the polite young Mexican waiter arrived with a fresh bottle of champagne.
"There must be some mistake," she shook her head. "I never ordered any champagne."
"It was sent to your table compliments of the gentleman over there," the young waiter told her, an apologetic look on his face stemming from the look of embarrassment Cathy had given him. "He said that he had met you before."
Even before turning around to acknowledge the other party's presence, Cathy Hendricks was certain in her own mind just who the man happened to be. She turned her head and quickly confirmed her hunch.
He was a slender, slightly balding man with sandy hair who had attempted to start conversations with her when they had been walking from the plane after disembarking at the airport, and a second time at the luggage counter. Both times she had tactfully excused herself and had walked on, leaving the man with at least the beginnings of a frustrated frown on his face.
Now he was trying again and, apparently, they were both staying at the same hotel.
The moment that she turned and observed him, a smile flashed on his face. Loving the recognition, even if it had been forced upon her by his gratuitous gesture, he got up and strolled in a confident, nonchalant gait to her table.
"Hello, my name's Tom," he said, now standing just above her as the thoroughly perplexed waiter continued observing the unfolding galaxy of events. "We took the same flight here. We met briefly at the airport. As fate would have it, I guess we're also staying at the same hotel."
"Yes. I remember," she replied in a somewhat strained tone.
"Since we're obviously both alone I was wondering if I might join you so we could talk and share some champagne."
"No, thank you," she shook her head. "I appreciate your generosity, but I really don't care for the champagne. I . . . I'm sorry. I know this is going to sound very unsociable, but I really don't feel much like talking now. Thank you all the same."
This time the expression of frustration that had not quite made its presence felt during their previous two meetings surfaced in full measure on this occasion. In addition, his chin dropped and began quivering slightly as he looked at her.
"I'm sorry, I really am," she said after a long and embarrassing moment of silence had set in.
"I'll bet you are," he grumbled in a tone that carried more than a measure of hostility.
"Take this champagne to my table and I'll drink it alone," he said to the waiter a few moments later.
"Yes, sir," the waiter said.
The man turned on his heel and walked rapidly back to his table, hostility evident in every step.
A few minutes later Cathy finished her dinner. She signed for her check, then went back to her room, never turning around to observe Tom, who sat gulping down champagne, consoling himself over having been rebuffed by Cathy.
It had been Cathy's original intention to take a walk along the beach after dinner, but the unpleasant episode with Tom had slightly unnerved her. She had wanted to be by herself in the worst way, and Tom had done his best to force himself upon her.
She turned in early that evening, then had breakfast in the hotel coffee shop, after which she returned to her room, slipped into a white bikini, and made her way to the beach.
Cathy had taken a book with her, and as she lay on her beach towel on the sandy beach, her light skin quickly reddening under the intense rays of the warm tropical sunshine, a slender, dark-haired native surfaced, plopping himself down next to her. Since she had been concentrating on reading her book she did not even notice him until she heard his body make contact with the sand.
"Hello, senorita, my name is Juan," he said, smiling brightly.
"Hello," she replied, taken aback by the suddenness with which the young man had loomed into view.
"I noticed you sitting here alone and thought you could use my company, just like I have given company to so many beautiful American women who come to Acapulco," he explained in a matter-of-fact tone that did not come across as being even faintly boastful. "I am very skillful at piloting small boats. I also know Acapulco like the back of my hand. I was born in Acapulco and have lived my whole life in Acapulco, senorita. I am a very good guide. In fact, I am the best. I have my own car and can take you to see the whole city, including a lot of interesting places that most tourists don't even know about. They can't know about them because most of the people living in Acapulco do not know about them, either. But Juan knows."
"How fascinating," she replied, still taken aback by the young man's sudden intrusion and the facility with which he had launched into what she was certain was a standard operating pitch. Of one thing she was certain; Juan had indeed squired many American women around Acapulco. For a man who could not have been anymore than in his early twenties there was an air of confidence present in his make-up that is the inevitable byproduct of experience.
"As a matter-of-fact, there is a place down the road that serves a delightful lunch, and from there I can take you by boat to an island that is very nice," he told her, continuing in the same matter-of-fact tone. "My car is parked across the street. I would be happy to take you there. You will enjoy the Acapulco I will take you to see."
"I'm sorry, but I wouldn't be interested," she shook her head with enough emphasis to attempt to convince him of her steadfastness.
"Then maybe this evening you would like me to pick you up and take you to some nightclubs."
"I'm sorry," she shook her head once more.
"But you are here alone?"
"Yes. That's right."
"But I can be very good company. You will be alone, all by yourself. Surely you cannot enjoy the beauties of Acapulco that way."
"I'm sorry, Juan, but I'm here in Acapulco not to socialize, but to get some rest and relaxation."
"You are married?" he looked at her, somewhat incredulously.
"No. I am not married."
"Then what a pity. You are here and there is so much romance and adventure. Juan would like to show it to you and you say that you are not interested."
"I'm sorry, but I happen to want to be by myself," she said, this time with a measure of exasperation in her voice.
This time there was defeat in Juan's eyes. He sighed, after which he hurled his athletically trim brown body up from the sand, sighing with frustration as he did. Cathy derived the distinct feeling that he was more upset by his rejection and the wounding of his vanity and machismo than any potential loss of dollars over not securing her for the period of her vacation.
The handsome young beach boy stalked off angrily for a few steps, by which time he had shrugged off at least most of the frustration as he ambled toward another woman.
Before returning to her reading, Cathy's curious eyes focused in Juan's direction. He was talking to a moderately attractive, brown-haired woman who appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. A bright smile surfaced on the brown-haired woman's face as Juan sat down next to her.
Cathy returned to her reading, or at least attempted to, in that she was once more interrupted.
This time it was not a case of a beach boy attempting to secure her interest and, ultimately, her American dollars, but the arrival of a family which consisted of a slightly rotund, red-faced husband, his mousy wife with bleached hair which was a cross between yellow and orange, and their three children.
The children proceeded to make so much noise and kick up so much sand in the immediate area that Cathy, completely frustrated, decided that she would have to move to another strip of beach.
Just as she was gathering up her beach towel in anticipation of finding a quieter spot, however, her eyes fastened on her skin. She immediately noticed that her arms had already turned pink and were bordering on redness. She had been warned by her travel agent that the sunshine was intense and should be absorbed gradually, particularly by someone as fair as herself.
Cathy immediately decided that, rather than finding another strip of beach to lie on, that the best thing she could do for herself was to go back to her room. She already felt a little drowsy from the tropical heat and the sunshine she had absorbed, and so it would be very easy for her to fall asleep. She decided that it would be a good idea to go back to her room, perhaps read for another half hour, then take a lengthy nap.
As Cathy slipped into her thongs and began walking along the sand back to her hotel, she observed the same brown-haired woman and Juan. At one point they passed within a few feet of her. The woman was carefully absorbed in Juan's conversation. Eventually they crossed the street and the last image Cathy saw was that of Juan holding open the door on the passenger side of his yellow Chevrolet Impala as the woman entered the car.
By the time she arrived back in the air conditioned comfort of her room she heaved a sigh of relief. It felt so good to be alone, to be away from any and all forms of pressure.
Cathy went back to her reading. Within a half hour she became drowsy enough to go to sleep.