Day of the Dead

He smiled. ‘Works for me.’

The sun had moved behind a bank of clouds, illuminating them like a bright bulb in a shaded lamp.

‘Check it out,’ Daniel said.

She looked where he pointed. A pair of dolphins surfed at the crest of a wave. They leaped above its crest, plunged back into the water, caught the next swell, then shot up again, twisting in midair like a pair of dancers.

‘Better than SeaWorld.’

She nodded. ‘It’s beautiful here.’

Daniel leaned back in his chair, took a final sip of his drink. ‘How long are you staying?’

‘I’m not sure. My flight’s on Sunday. I might change it.’

She wasn’t sure why she said it. She had no real intention of changing her flight. It was just that when she thought about what was waiting for her in Los Angeles, it was easy to indulge in the fantasy of staying a little longer. Of never going back.

‘Nothing pressing back home?’

He was looking at her in that way, sizing her up, what her intentions were, what she might be willing to do.

She shook her head.

‘Are you retired?’

She laughed briefly. ‘I’m between things.’

He didn’t ask questions. Michelle wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t ready to talk about any of it, certainly not to a stranger, but on the other hand one does like to be asked.

‘This is a good place to be,’ he said. ‘When you just want to relax and figure things out.’

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad answer.

He was a good-looking man, she thought, with sharp cheekbones and a firm jaw, sky-blue eyes that stood out against his black hair and dark tan. The gray in his hair, the crow’s-feet around his eyes, made him more attractive. To her anyway.

Otherwise he would have been too perfect.

Men like that could have anyone.

‘Another margarita, ma’am? Sir?’

Daniel grinned. ‘I’m up for it if you are.’

She hesitated. This was her second of the day, and she hadn’t eaten much.

Losing control would be a bad idea.

‘How would you feel about dinner?’ she asked.

They had another drink so they could watch the sunset, ate some more guacamole to absorb the tequila. ‘There’s a restaurant not too far from here I like,’ Daniel said.

‘I’m not really dressed.’ She’d only put on a gauzy white blouse over her bathing-suit top, wrapped the sarong around her hips.

‘What you’re wearing is fine,’ he said, giving her a quick, appreciative look. ‘It’s a casual place. Lots of people go there after the beach.’

The restaurant was a few blocks away, on a street that ran up from the beach and bordered a small plaza, where there were a number of restaurants that catered to tourists. Farther up the street were shops, mostly clothing stores and handicrafts: Huichol beadwork, hand-tooled leather, embroidered blouses. Michelle had walked up there the day before.

‘There’s always lines out the door,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s one of the only decent places to get Mexican food around here.’

They waited outside, by the open-air grill, where a woman made tortillas and a man tended meats.

‘Really?’

He shrugged. ‘Well, I’m sure there are some places the locals go to that I don’t know about. Here in Zona Romántica – you can get better Mexican food in Los Angeles.’

Michelle nodded. ‘I’m from Los Angeles,’ she mentioned.

‘Oh, yeah? I love L.A. Where do you live?’

‘Brentwood.’

Of course, that wasn’t exactly true. The storage space with her things in it was in Torrance.

But she’d lived in Brentwood, before.

‘Nice,’ Daniel said. ‘Good weather, right, that close to the ocean?’

It was hot inside the restaurant, even with the fans, even though the front was open to let in whatever breezes there were. There weren’t any. The air was weighted down by heat and humidity, immobile.

Daniel recommended the tortilla soup. They both ordered a bowl. Had another round of margaritas. Mariachis played, whether anyone wanted them to or not.

‘Hey, Danny!’

The man who approached their table was soft-featured, in his thirties, wearing Dockers and a polo shirt.

Daniel shifted in his chair. ‘Ned, hey.’ Something close to a frown creased his forehead.

‘Man, I can’t believe I ran into you here. I was just, you know, on my way to the restaurant, and I saw you.’

‘Yeah, well, we’re having dinner,’ Daniel said.

Ned shuffled from one foot to the other, rubbed his hands together. ‘I don’t want to interrupt. But, look, I really need to talk to you. When you have a chance. Are you around, or … ?’

‘Can you make it to the board meeting? We can talk then.’

‘I guess … I’ll try. … It’s just … kind of time-sensitive.’ Ned looked around, eyes darting, still rubbing his hands. He reminded Michelle of the tweakers she used to know in high school. ‘Hey, you could come by the restaurant tomorrow night. I’ll hook you up. We’re running some great specials. Surf and turf. Got some good wines in, too.’ He finally focused on Michelle. ‘You could bring your friend.’

‘This is Michelle,’ Daniel said. ‘From Los Angeles.’