flatbed passed him, shifting into very low gear, rumbling up the driveway, and grind- ing into the motel with screeching brakes. It was dirty, rusty, and filled with rocks.

Out jumped a tiny woman. "Hola amigos."

She looked around and continued in French-accented English. "I am so happy. I am coming here for so many years and never can spend zee nights and now this ees this marvelous motel. I am Violette."

She was neatly dressed in a ranchero hat banded with rattlesnake tails, a lace shirt falling off her shoulder, and Guatemala pants rolled up over high top sneakers. She was breezy and quick, slipping right up to Carlos, getting really close to him.

I couldn't take anymore. I was exhausted. I grabbed some aspirin from Pedro and went to my bungalow and slept. It wasn't long before a siren woke me up. When I crawled out to look down through the garden to the driveway, two Mexican police were talking with Tonia who was gesturing excitedly at the limousine and terrace. Beside them a taxi sat with its engine running, waiting for a man to pay.

The new arrival had a trench coat over his arm and a set of drums sat in the dirt behind him. Shawn was giving the police money when I went back to bed. A few minutes later he knocked on my door.
"Hey, what luck! Thanks for sending Chuy down, those fishermen showed up with their families and whoa, that Zamba. She wants to stay here and promised not to pull out her gun, the Americans complained. The police heard about it from some surfers and showed up, but I guess they know Zamba. Who's that slick Carlos dude with the Russians, though? I told them I didn't have any bungalows open with driveways. They weren't happy about that, but Carlos smoothed it out. And how about the Frenchy rock collector from Guadalajara? Lots of surfers told me she could stay with them. She wants to sleep in the hammocks on the terrace for a night or two, she collects sea rocks to sell to architects and rich Americans redecorating their houses. A musician from Cuba showed up too. He wants a hammock until a bungalow opens up. Fat city, cuz, give me five! So me and Tonia gonna stay with you for a few days. I gave Carlos one bungalow, the Russians another, and Zamba our room 'cause I still gotta do a little work on those other two bungalows."

Tonia explained, "La Zamba, she Colombian, very big famous artist and dancer in Mexico City. She ees very rich, only dance when she want, own her own club, maybe three clubs. She revolution- ary, never wear high heels or bra. Say it all capitalist trick to make slave of womens. The chicas here, they copying her, very smart. She own many business



in Mexico and sell fotographia for mucho money and give it all away..."

"Well that limousine musta cost her a little cash, honey..." Shawn began.

"Oh, she got licencia diplomatica in back, you look. She have muchos amigos in gobierno, always. Even they say," Tonia lowered her voice, "she lover of Fidel."

I wanted to scream, just like Henry, lay down and pound the floor. Instead I just said, "I have a really bad headache, I'm tired, exhausted, Shawn, I want to sleep..."

"Slow down, cuz, hold on. Look, I'll make it up to you, but I gotta ask you a favor please? Pedro's old legs are just gonna give out. Can you help me out around the kitchen, run a little food the next few days or so? Tonia's gonna help out too. Look, this is it, my first season, this is big. I'll always owe you. I need you, please?"

I walked out. Went down to the beach and threw myself on the sand. The dogs licked the soles of my feet until I tied them to a rock. Then I swam and slept until almost sunset and woke feeling better. As my eyes focused I saw an official-looking boat anchored outside the cove by the rocks, a long string of flags rigged from the mast. I heard the dogs growl.
"Que pasa?" Zamba stood spread legged before me. She had her jaguar, a big net bag with fins inside, and what looked to be a box camera wrapped in plastic.

"Hi, I'm Sondra, Shawn's cousin."

"Si, I understan' this."

"I knew Carlos at home, for a few years now, where I work. That's a beautiful necklace."

Zamba fingered it. "I always want necklace of emeralds when I am young, an' now I can buy, but I am thinking so many poor peoples, so bad, like bad luck. Bad rocks." She surprised me and sort of chuckled. "They not real. Like glass, only fake for fun."

"Beach rocks," I replied inanely and she laughed, we both laughed. It was the first good laugh I'd had in a while.

Then she peeled off her clothes and walked into the sea, letting the cat swim around her in the surf. Wet, you could see the rosette markings in the jaguar's pelt, like eyes, eyes watching everything all around. Zamba wasn't wearing anything but the emeralds.

When I returned to my bungalow Shawn and Tonia were necking on my bed. I made a lot of noise banging the door and
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