her gaze, almost ashamed of myself. I do too, I thought.
“Ana Maria, I want to see the site.”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
We went downstairs to the lobby where a complimentary computer was provided for the guests. Ana Maria pulled up the site and there was that letter again, my childish handwriting and arrogant prose. I swallowed, steeling myself against the anger, pain, and humiliation I felt when I looked at it. Ana Maria clicked on the forums then signed in and started scrolling through names.
“It’s all women,” I said.
“There are some men,” she said, and then after a pause, “not many, but some.”
“I want to find anyone who lives in your parent’s neighborhood or nearby, any police?” A loud squeal distracted me; I looked up to see a teenage girl being tickled by a male counterpart. They looked kinda drunk and like they were having a lot of fun. That’s what Ana Maria should be doing, I thought, not hanging out with a depressing fuck up like myself.
“Here is someone in customs,” Ana Maria said.
“Great,” I said, watching the kids head out to the pool deck. “We need to find as many people as possible.” Would any of them really help us? How much could I ask them to risk?
Ana Maria turned away from the computer screen. She was smiling at me. “This is awesome,” she said.
“Maybe,” I said. Leaning over her shoulder I saw a familiar face. “Malina,” I said.
“What?” Ana turned to the screen. “She is very pretty. Says she owns an entertainment facility what do you think that is?”
I closed my eyes. Malina. “We met in Juarez,” I said. When I was Sydney Rye, just a couple of months after James’s death.
Ana Maria looked up at me. “You were friends?”
“We shared a common purpose.”
“What?” I shook my head, not willing to share with Ana Maria the journey Malina and I bore together. Malina saw me at my worst, my most out of control, and here she was on Joy Humbolt’s site singing her praises. Obviously, she figured out who I was and didn’t reveal me. I did give her enough money to last a short lifetime. A gift for a woman I admired. “What?” Ana asked again.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Ana Maria turned back to the screen. “Mexico City.”
“I’ll have to give her a call,” I said with a smile. Malina changed the way I felt about everyone on that site. Maybe they weren’t all nut bags. Malina was one of the smartest, quickest, most ruthless women I’d ever met.
Later Ana Maria and I enjoyed sandwiches sitting on our respective queen-size beds. I perused the pages of member’s profiles we’d printed. I was surprised by the number of female police officers on my side. I flipped through seeing a general theme. Women were sick of being stepped on. They wanted to change the world and men wouldn’t let them help.
A 28-year-old lawyer who worked near Pedro and Juanita’s neighborhood complained about the treatment she received not only from her clients but also her employers. Over the past two years, she was passed over for promotion seven times. Her male counterparts, and even her underlings, got promoted right past her. Her latest post announced her intention to quit and go to work for a non-profit fighting for women’s rights.
I was going to ask this woman to help me. Would she do it? I wondered. Would she take it as an opportunity to live out her principles or would she ignore me? How many of them would listen to me?
Looking back down at the young attorney’s profile, at her angry posts over the last six months, her increasing urge to do something building up until she decided to quit her job, I thought she would help.
I was going to offer her much more than new employment. The thought spread a smile across my face. Ana Maria chewed on a bite of turkey and flipped through another pile of profiles. “What about finding a woman to seduce my father?” she asked.
“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” I asked.
“He was tiring of her.
“Ana Maria, I want to see the site.”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
We went downstairs to the lobby where a complimentary computer was provided for the guests. Ana Maria pulled up the site and there was that letter again, my childish handwriting and arrogant prose. I swallowed, steeling myself against the anger, pain, and humiliation I felt when I looked at it. Ana Maria clicked on the forums then signed in and started scrolling through names.
“It’s all women,” I said.
“There are some men,” she said, and then after a pause, “not many, but some.”
“I want to find anyone who lives in your parent’s neighborhood or nearby, any police?” A loud squeal distracted me; I looked up to see a teenage girl being tickled by a male counterpart. They looked kinda drunk and like they were having a lot of fun. That’s what Ana Maria should be doing, I thought, not hanging out with a depressing fuck up like myself.
“Here is someone in customs,” Ana Maria said.
“Great,” I said, watching the kids head out to the pool deck. “We need to find as many people as possible.” Would any of them really help us? How much could I ask them to risk?
Ana Maria turned away from the computer screen. She was smiling at me. “This is awesome,” she said.
“Maybe,” I said. Leaning over her shoulder I saw a familiar face. “Malina,” I said.
“What?” Ana turned to the screen. “She is very pretty. Says she owns an entertainment facility what do you think that is?”
I closed my eyes. Malina. “We met in Juarez,” I said. When I was Sydney Rye, just a couple of months after James’s death.
Ana Maria looked up at me. “You were friends?”
“We shared a common purpose.”
“What?” I shook my head, not willing to share with Ana Maria the journey Malina and I bore together. Malina saw me at my worst, my most out of control, and here she was on Joy Humbolt’s site singing her praises. Obviously, she figured out who I was and didn’t reveal me. I did give her enough money to last a short lifetime. A gift for a woman I admired. “What?” Ana asked again.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Ana Maria turned back to the screen. “Mexico City.”
“I’ll have to give her a call,” I said with a smile. Malina changed the way I felt about everyone on that site. Maybe they weren’t all nut bags. Malina was one of the smartest, quickest, most ruthless women I’d ever met.
Later Ana Maria and I enjoyed sandwiches sitting on our respective queen-size beds. I perused the pages of member’s profiles we’d printed. I was surprised by the number of female police officers on my side. I flipped through seeing a general theme. Women were sick of being stepped on. They wanted to change the world and men wouldn’t let them help.
A 28-year-old lawyer who worked near Pedro and Juanita’s neighborhood complained about the treatment she received not only from her clients but also her employers. Over the past two years, she was passed over for promotion seven times. Her male counterparts, and even her underlings, got promoted right past her. Her latest post announced her intention to quit and go to work for a non-profit fighting for women’s rights.
I was going to ask this woman to help me. Would she do it? I wondered. Would she take it as an opportunity to live out her principles or would she ignore me? How many of them would listen to me?
Looking back down at the young attorney’s profile, at her angry posts over the last six months, her increasing urge to do something building up until she decided to quit her job, I thought she would help.
I was going to offer her much more than new employment. The thought spread a smile across my face. Ana Maria chewed on a bite of turkey and flipped through another pile of profiles. “What about finding a woman to seduce my father?” she asked.
“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” I asked.
“He was tiring of her.
Similar Books
