Reckless Read Online Free PDF Page B

 
    Offstage, the men are all the same: middle-aged moguls in tuxedos with receding hairlines. Only the women vary from the aged wife to the tall, skinny model. They all seem to get along, as if open infidelity is a part of their mores.  
    I saunter through the crowd, feeling invisible except when a guest lifts a flute from my tray.
    “Any sign of him?” I whisper.
    “Not yet,” José says. “It’s only twenty minutes past nine so he could—wait a minute. I think I just spotted him passing through the cloister. Hold on. There’s a crowd blocking my view.”
    I stop and wait for José to confirm the target. My arm throbs hoisting the full tray.
    “I see him,” José says. “He’s in the courtyard.”
    “Where?”
    “Behind you. Don’t look yet. He’s staring at you, Miranda.”
    “Must be the blonde hair,” Nick says. “That’s got to be rare, no?”
    “Um, there’s a couple of blonde models,” José says. “But they all look Swedish.”
    “Will you just tell me what to do? I can’t stay frozen in one place or it will look weird.”
    “Fine. Turn around slowly,” José says. “Make eye contact with him and offer a playful smile.”
    “Where?” I say, turning.  
    That’s when I see him. He’s underdressed in a grey jacket with no tie and a pair of blue jeans as if he’s making a statement. His hair is dark and wavy. He takes the last sip of his champagne and begins to walk towards me.
    The tray wobbles in my fingers.
    “Remember to smile,” José says.
    I have trouble doing anything.
    Diego’s stare doesn’t waver as he approaches. I never realized that such charisma, confidence, and prosperity all could be captured in one set of brown eyes before now. He ambles halfway across the courtyard without the slightest rush in his step.  
    His stare is intense.  
    I’m forced to look away.  
    When my eyes return to him, he’s standing in front of me.  
    He sets the empty flute glass onto my tray.
    “I do believe I am out,” he says.
    I gesture with the tray. The glasses rattle under my nervous hands. “Would you like some more?”  
    He takes a glass without answering.
    “Where are you from?” he asks.
    Nick begins feeding me the story. “Tell him you’re from America. California.”
    “I’m from Los Angeles.”
    “And what is a beautiful girl from LA doing in a Cusco hotel serving me champagne?”
    Beautiful? He actually said beautiful!
    As Diego complements me on my dress, Nick speaks. “Tell him you’re a model and you were doing a job in Peru, but your manager dumped you with no way back to the States and now you’re earning money for a plane ticket.”
    Something about the story strikes me as ridiculous. I trust my instincts instead.
    In a playful voice I say, “I went on vacation and never left.”
    Diego laughs. “I went on a vacation and never left. I like it. Though cocktail waitressing is no way to spend a vacation, no?”
    I let my head drop to one side as I continue speaking. “I guess I haven’t found the right guide.”
    “Nice,” José whispers. “That’s much better than Nick’s shitty cover story.”
    I smile. It takes everything for me not to laugh.  
    Diego’s hand brushes my hair and comments on how soft it is. I appreciate his interest, but I’m worried about the earpiece. If he pushes the strand of hair covering my ear much farther, he might see the device.
    I start to back away from him.  
    “Watch out, Miranda,” José warns. “Behind you!”
    Too late. Something huge crashes into me. The tray flies out of my hand, lifting flute glasses into the air and spilling champagne all over my dress.  
    The glasses shatter against the walkway.  
    The music stops.  
    The chatter ceases.  
    Everyone looks at me.
    The man who bumped into me staggers around. He’s too drunk to even manage walking.
    Diego snaps his fingers. “Sacalo. Ahora. Rapido!”
    “Esa perra corrio hacia mí,” the drunk yells.
    Diego approaches the man and shoves him.