and the American woman were leaving in a cab. Victor was sitting with some reporters. Hernán didn’t know what to do about Victor. He would never have him arrested, but he didn’t want him dealing in the Oceano. He would ask Socorro tonight. She always knew exactly what to do.
“Sam, take me over to meet Ava Gardner, please,” Alma said. “I want to invite her to stay at my house.” She and Sam went and joined the enamored couple. On the way over Sam stopped to talk to Victor. They nodded to one another, looking down while they spoke.
Sr. Huston came back inside and sat in “his” large booth. Richard and Liz arrived. Wherever they went it was as if a grenade had been thrown through the window. Flashes exploded, people moaned and screamed, cried out, “Aah! Aah!” Chairs scraped and fell over, glass shattered. Running footsteps, running.
The couple smiled all around and waved, like for a curtain call, then sat with Sr. Huston in the booth. Liz blew a kiss to Hernán. He was already fixing a tray with a double margarita for her, agua de Tehuacán for Burton, who wasn’t drinking. A raicilla cut with plain tequila for the director. Some guacamole and salsa, the way she liked it with plenty of garlic. She was cussing away. Hernán liked her; she was warm and bawdy. She and Burton had big booming laughs, were simply in it, each other, the place, life.
Little by little the bar emptied as people went to dress for dinner. They left walking or in one of the dozens of cabs outside the hotel. Victor went on foot with five or six men, heading north, to the “bad” part of town. Sam and Alma took off in her Jeep with Tony and Ava.
Ruby, Beto and Audrey were all fast asleep. John Apple offered to take them home in Ruby’s car. Hernán knew John was thinking of her liquor cabinet and refrigerator. At least he was still in shape to drive. Memo and Raúl helped them out to the car.
Left in the bar were two old men, drinking Madero brandy in big snifters. They set up a chess board and began to play. A young honeymoon couple came in from a walk on the malecón, asked for wine coolers.
Hernán wiped down his bar, straightened and replaced bottles. Memo was already asleep, sitting up, as if at attention, on a chair by the kitchen. Hernán looked out at the sea and the palm trees, listening to Liz and Burton and John Huston. They were arguing, laughing, quoting lines from the movie, or other movies, maybe. When he took them fresh drinks Liz asked him if they were making too much noise.
“No, no,” Hernán said, “It is wonderful to hear people talk about their work when they love what they do. You are very fortunate.”
He sat down behind the bar with his feet up on a stool. Raúl brought him café con leche and pan dulces. He dunked the pastries in the coffee while he read the paper. There would be some nice quiet hours now. Maybe later some people would have nightcaps before they went to bed. Then he’d walk home, not far, where Socorro would be waiting for him. They would have dinner together and talk about their days and their nights, their daughters. He’d tell her all the gossip. They would argue. She always defended the women. She felt sorry for Alma and Ruby with no one to protect them. He would tell her about Victor and the drugs. Even Sam had seemed to be talking about drugs with him. Socorro would rub Hernán’s back when they got into bed. They would laugh about something.
“God, I am fortunate.” He said it out loud. He was embarrassed, looked around. Nobody had heard him. He smiled and said, “I am very fortunate!”
“Hernán, are you lonesome? Over there talking to yourself?” Elizabeth Taylor called to him.
“I miss my wife. It’s four more hours until I see her!”
They asked him to recommend a restaurant. He told them to go to the Italian place behind the church. Tourists never go, they think it’s crazy to eat Italian food in Mexico. It is quiet and good.
They left and then the honeymooners and chess players went upstairs. Raúl slept opposite Memo outside the kitchen door. They looked like decorations, giant tourist puppets, in their black boleros and red sashes and moustaches.
Hernán was just about to fall asleep himself when a taxi door slammed. Luis got out with the American woman. She was falling-down drunk. Pancho went to help him get her upstairs and to her room. Luis didn’t come back down.
Several minutes later there was the slam of another taxi door, a woman yelling “You dickhead!” and then Ava Gardner came in wearing only one high-heeled shoe so her walk made a hiccup sound through the courtyard and up the stairs. The same taxi door slammed again and Hernán was surprised to see Sam, with no shoes and no shirt. He had an enormous black eye, a cut and swollen lip.
“Which is her room?” “Top of stairs, second, ocean side.” Sam went upstairs, changed his mind and came back down, his hand out for the drink Hernán held out for him. He spoke as if he had novocaine in his mouth, his lip was so swollen.
“Hernán. You can’t tell a soul. My reputation will be in shreds. You see a disgraced man before you. Totally humiliated. I insulted her! Oh, God.”
Another taxi, another slam. Tony came running in, tears streaming down his cheeks. He flew up the stairs and banged on her door. “Mi vida! Mi sueño!” Other doors opened all around. “Hush up, you fool! Shaddup! Shaddup!”
Tony came downstairs. He embraced Sam, apologized and shook his hand. He cried in little gasps, like a child.
“Sam, go talk to her. You can explain. I don’t speak English. Tell her how it was too dark. Explain to her, please!”
“I don’t know, Tony. She’s really mad at me. Come on. You just go on in there and kiss her, let her see those alligator tears.”
Hernán interrupted. “I don’t know what went on. But I’ll bet the lady won’t even remember tomorrow what terrible thing happened tonight. Don’t remind her!”
“Good thinking. Our man, Hernán.” Sam went upstairs with Tony, opened Ava’s door with a credit card, and gently pushed Tony into the room. He waited a little while but Tony didn’t come out.
Sam stood in the cobblestone courtyard, holding up his card, talking to an invisible camera:
“Hi, there! I’m Sam Newman…world traveler, bon vivant, man-about-town. I wouldn’t go anywhere without my American Express card.”
“Sam, qué haces?”
“Nothing. Look, Hernán…You have to swear.”
“On my mother’s grave. Come on, tell me all about it.”
“Well…Oh, God. So we get to Alma’s and she tells the cook to make us dinner. We’re out on her terrace, drinking more. Music playing. Tony doesn’t have a head for alcohol, usually he never drinks. And I had barely started. But those two women were wasted. It was dark and we were all sort of lying around on those waterbed couches she has when Alma takes Tony by the hand and, well, she drags him into her bedroom. Ava is just looking at the stars, I’m panicking and then she notices they are gone, sits up like a shot, hauls me off with her to find them. Well, they’re on Alma’s bed, naked, balling away. I thought Ava might hit them with a blunt instrument but no she just smiles and leads me back to the terrace. Oh, Lord how have I failed? I am a disgrace. Sick. Right there in front of God and everybody Ava Gardner herself steps out of her dress and lies back on the sofa. Oh Lord, help me. My friend, that woman is magnificent. She is the color of butterscotch pudding, all over. Her breasts are heaven here on earth. Her legs, man she is the fuckin’ Duchess of Alba! No. She is the Barefoot Contessa! So I tear off my clothes and lie down with her. And there she is. Ava, warm, in the flesh, looking into my eyes with those green ones I KNOW. My dick disappeared. It went to Tijuana, my balls took off for Ohio. And this Countess, this Goddess, she did everything possible. It was hopeless. I was dying of shame. I apologized and oh fuck like an IDIOT I said, ‘Gee, I’m sorry. It’s that I’ve been madly in love with you ever since I was a little kid!’ She’s the one who hit me in the lip. Then Tony shows up and really starts beating the shit out of me. Just then the damn cook comes in, turns on the light and says, ‘Dinner is served.’ I gave