Page 11 of The Cocktail Bar
She pointed to a pickup truck which looked suspiciously like the same one that had so ungracefully deposited River in the middle of nowhere.
“Goodbye, River and good luck… quesera, sera,” she said with the trace of a laugh. And with that she turned, walked back to the entrance of the shack, gave him one final wave and disappeared inside.
He was glued to the spot for several seconds, until a loud horn from the highway made its intentions clear and River found himself with little option but to head over to it. Halfway to the fence he was certain that if he turned to look at the little blue hut, it would evaporate into a hot mist, a mirage in the desert, fuzzing at the edges until it was but a dot on the horizon. But there it stood, real as could be. The truck sounded its horn again, and River pivoted, then marched quickly, careful not to shake the contents of the bottle as Felix and his giant cigar became clearer and clearer. Felix nodded at him as he rounded the bonnet of the vehicle to climb into the passenger side, and didn’t stop nodding until River lodged his backpack in-between his feet, hugging the bottle to his chest.
“Cual es tu hotel, hombre?”
“The new five star place in thecentro,El Paraiso,” said River, thinking that surely Felix should intuitively know.
He started to ponder the so-called piece of his life puzzle that was ‘missing’ as his chauffeur drove silently, puffing great rings of smoke out of the window and into the sultry air, the bi-polar and chilled out opposite of his previous bout of impatience, until Felix flicked on the stereo and hummed along lightly to the mariachi music which soon filled the cabin, lulling River into a light but much needed sleep.
Forty-two minutes later and the city’s traffic jerked him awake with a start. Felix switched off the stereo and pulled over to the side of the road.
“El hotel esta al fin del calle,” he said.
River had never seen the street of his hotel from this perspective before, but took Felix’s word for it that he’d reached his final destination. He thanked his driver, a little more gratefully this time, jumped down from the top step of the cabin, and held his hand aloft for a brief and silent farewell, as he knew was now the norm. But then Felix took him by surprise.
“Una cosa más,”he said, before adding his sudden grasp of the English language, “just one more thing…”
“Yes?” said River. “What is it?”
“Belief is everything.”
“What do you mean?”
But Felix’s foot was already on the throttle. River could only watch, fascinated, as he did a masterful three point turn – for which the stream of traffic obediently, biblically, parted – and returned to wherever it was that he’d first come from, knowing full well that just like Mercedes, he would never see him again.
***
“Where the heck have you been? You missed this afternoon’s interview with the local press and the others have had to go on and film that drinks commercial I was telling you about without you.”
Lennie was waiting for River as he entered reception, shades strapped to his brooding face, New York Yankees cap concealing his dusting of a Mr Whippy hairdo as he paced manically with his mobile attached to his ear. “You can forget all about your cut, was a tidy little number you’d have pocketed for it, too.”
“Sorry, it won’t happen again.” River made for the elevator, avoiding eye contact with his manager, swinging his backpack around to his chest as if he were protecting a baby in a sling, double checking he really had placed the bottle and envelope inside, impressed with himself for his short but sweet and un-scripted double entendre.
“Make sure you’re back down here by eight sharp. We’ve got a taxi booked and a reservation for dinner atTaberna Fredericowith no less than the stars of one of Mexico’s most famous sitcoms. And for god’s sake take a shower and blitz yourself with aftershave… got more dust on you than the Sahara… you never know who you might get to bring back for dessert if you play your cards right,” Lennie yelled after him.
With the lift to himself, River wasted no time in pressing the button to his floor, but then, taking in the poster of the hotel cocktail bar and the promise of a half-decent Martini, he thought better of playing his boss’s game and opted for floor twenty-two instead.
***
River stared down at the wonder of the city sprawling out before him, seated at the thin glass bar with its panoramic view that seemed to extend to the very heart of Tequila itself. Pushing the influence of Heather’s eccentricities aside, and his childhood upbringing on the ley lines of a mystical town, as bizarre as the afternoon had been, somehow it had also made perfect sense. And he was even more reassured when he acknowledged the fact that he was still physically standing, feeling absolutely fine, that the liquid must have been all that Mercedes promised it was and more.
The Martini mellowed him into blissful oblivion as to the evening’s pre-requisite and pre-scripted ‘it goes with the territory’ duties. Lennie could swivel quite frankly, the others too – even Alice. He was done with the industry and its schmoozing.
Lack of food sent the alcohol straight to his head but he ordered a fresh Martini anyway, whittling away an hour, or two, who knew, who cared? Lennie’s agenda just didn’t bother him anymore. They’d filmed the stupid thumbs-up-to-aspartame soft drinks ad without him earlier that afternoon, and they could carry on producing records without him too. Christ, they’d hardly be the first band to change its line-up, some with more success than others admittedly, but the remainder of Avalonia were definitely noAtomic Kitten.
The punch of his first sip sent him into a world of his own once again, following the zigzags, curves and bends of the city’s streets, scanning the skyscrapers, grand colonial buildings illuminated in all their glory, as well as the leafy green parks. He let his two favourite V’s do their liquid thing, warming the hunger pangs of his stomach, as he nibbled away at the small bowl of peanuts for added effect. Once he was sure the others had left for dinner, he’d take himself out there and get lost in Guadalajara’s legendary street markets, feasting on the equally legendaryTortas Ahogadasas he bumbled along the wide boulevards with nothing but his thoughts about this exciting new fork in his own road for company. Yes, a ‘drowned sandwich’ full of fire and salsa would be a fitting tribute to the end of his music career.
He knocked back the last of his drink, rustled around in his wallet for some pesos, counting them out and adding a few extra coins for a tip, looked up to catch the eye of the waiter, but found himself catching the belligerent eye of Lennie instead, hands upon hips, trademark baseball cap pulled down, but shades removed, undoubtedly his nod at etiquette, since he was being mindful of his surroundings. River’s pulse quickened and his eyes quickly scoured the room for a second exit point.
Phew, his luck was in.
Just to the left side of the toilets, at the opposite end of the room to where Lennie was imitating the statue of a dictator, he could either make a very sharp escape, his flagship shot at official independence… or toe Lennie’s managerial line, lapping up the evening’s formalities one last time. Another exotic woman whose face would fade into a distant memory the moment room service banged on his door with coffee and croissants… and she fled before her naked size eight frame gave in to yet more temptation.
He signalled to the waiter to take his money as Lennie paced forward, swung his backpack onto his shoulder, and ran faster than he’d ever done in his life.
