worried about what Mariella thought about her.
Knowing Larry, I’m sure he probably noticed something was wrong not long after they went out, but Isabel said he didn’t say anything until that evening. They were at dinner, the seafood barbecue poolside at the Las Palmas Hotel.
Unusually for them, their conversation lagged. Larry tried numerous times to get it going, but Isabel was unresponsive. Her mind was a million miles away that night, she told me. She was sure Mariella was upset with her. She feared the next time she saw her cousin, Mariella would ignore her, shunning her the way Isabel had seen Mariella shun others in the past. She had no idea how much she had fallen under Mariella’s influence, and how much she'd come to need Mariella’s approval in everything she did.
At one point, when the conversation had fallen into one of those long silences, Isabel looked up and found Larry staring at her.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“It’s just that you’ve been staring at your food for the last five minutes but not eating anything.”
“I guess I’m not that hungry.”
“It’s more than that,” he said. “You’ve barely said a word to me since we got here.”
She tried to smile. “A headache, that’s all.”
“Are you feeling sick?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
Larry pushed his chair back. “I’ll get you some aspirin,” he said as he stood.
He looked so eager to help that she said, “Okay.” She didn’t think the aspirin would work, but hoped that getting it would distract Larry long enough to give her time to shake herself out of her funk.
It didn’t.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The dreaded encounter with Mariella came the next night. After dinner the night before, Larry had suggested they call it an early evening. And though Isabel’s sleep was not completely sound, she did wake up in the morning feeling better. By the time they went out that night, she was even in a good mood again.
Isabel told me they had planned on coming by The Lounge that evening, but for some reason ended up at Slo Joe’s, one of the biggest bars on Fields. On any given night, their lineup had more than seventy dancers. Counting waitresses and bartenders, there were nights when over a hundred girls would be working.
I hated the place. There was no reason for it to be as big as it was. The old adage “quantity doesn’t always equal quality” described the place to a tee. They didn’t really care who they took on, and all the girls knew if you lost your job and couldn’t get one anywhere else, you could always get one at Slo Joe’s. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Veta had ended up working there.
Slo Joe’s was a hive of drug addicts and bad attitudes. The girls would literally push each other out of the way to get to a potential customer. Some guys liked that kind of experience, and there were apparently more than enough of them to keep the place in business. To me it represented the worst of Angeles.
Isabel said they got there around ten p.m., and even though she walked in with Larry’s arm around her waist, the girls ignored her and pounced on him, pulling him toward empty tables in different directions. By the time order was restored, Isabel and Larry were seated in one of the cushy, velvet-covered booths along the wall. Two or three of the more persistent girls stayed with them, hoping to scam a few lady drinks or maybe, if the money was good and they were desperate enough, a bar fine and a threesome. But Larry was having none of that and soon made it clear he wasn’t going to buy any of them anything. One by one they drifted off in search of other prey.
“I don’t know why we stayed,” Isabel said as we sat on the beach watching evening descend over Boracay.
“Was it Larry’s idea?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think he was comfortable, either, but it was like neither one of us wanted to say, ‘Come on, let’s go someplace else.’ After the emptiness of the night before, I think we both thought we needed a party.”
“And the best thing you can say about Slo Joe’s is there’s always a party,” I said, finishing her thought.
She nodded. It was clear from the look in her eyes that the memory was a painful one. “The music was so loud,” she said. “Louder than we ever had it at The Lounge on our busiest nights. The only time we could really talk was between songs. The girls kept trying to get Larry’s attention, but each time he would pull me a little closer or kiss me or run his fingers through my hair, so I didn’t mind.”
Then, without warning-but what warning could there have been? — Mariella was suddenly standing in front of them. And though she was wearing her all-purpose ear-to-ear smile, there was something in her eyes that belied any sense of well-being. She wasn’t alone, either. Bibiana and Elana, another girl Isabel had seen once or twice at Mariella’s place, were with her.
“Isabel. Larry. How are you?” Mariella sounded surprised, but Isabel got the sense she wasn’t.
Mariella leaned down and gave them each a hug and a kiss. “Have you been here long?” she asked.
“A little while,” Larry said.
Mariella leaned in toward Isabel and said in a hushed voice that was still loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t worry. I’m only saying hello.”
Isabel tensed.
“How do you like this place?” Mariella said to Larry. “I think it’s great. So many pretty girls. But, of course, you already have the prettiest one,
“Do you want to join us?” Larry asked.
“No, I couldn’t,” Mariella said. She glanced at her two companions. “We only came in for a drink and to see if there was anyone here we knew.”
“You know us,” Larry said.
Mariella laughed loudly. Larry’s response obviously wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “You’re right,” she said. “Maybe for just one drink.”
She sat down on the other side of Larry while Bibianna and Elena, both looking bored and annoyed, sat next to Isabel. Almost on cue, the waitress showed up to take drink orders.
“White wine,” Mariella said.
Bibianna and Elena had the same, but before the waitress could walk too far away, Mariella called her back. “I have an idea.” She leaned across Larry so she could squeeze Isabel’s hand, her right breast rubbing up against Larry’s chest. “Why don’t we celebrate? Every night your Larry’s in town should be a celebration.”
“Sounds good to me,” Larry said.
Mariella laughed and leaned into him for a moment. “You’re a funny guy.” She turned toward the waitress. “Tequila shots. Five of them.”
If it hadn’t been a party before, it was then. Even Bibianna and Elena loosened up after a second round of shots. “Maybe for just one drink” became tray after tray of wine and beer and shooters. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Even Larry didn’t seem to mind Mariella’s presence.
But for Isabel, the good feeling that had returned to her during the day was slipping away again. It was Mariella, of course, but it wasn’t so much that she was paying too much attention to Larry, it was the attention she was paying Isabel. For the most part, it was none, but a few times when everyone was looking elsewhere, Isabel caught Mariella glancing her way with eyes hard and piercing and no smile on her face.
Sometime after midnight, Larry began talking about going home, but Mariella would have none of it.
“It’s still early,” she said. “We should go dancing.”
Larry protested some, but finally said, “If Isabel wants to go, I guess it’s okay.”
Of course Isabel didn’t want to go, but even without the quick, reproachful look she got from Mariella, she knew she couldn’t say that. “Yes,” she said. “It sounds like fun.”
When the waitress came with the final bill, Larry said, “I’ll get it.” Isabel knew he needn’t have said it. No one
