“Yes, we both are,” Alexa leaped in hastily, wanting to murder Holly.
The waiter furrowed his brow and gave a curt nod. As he walked away, Alexa and Holly turned to each other, wide-eyed.
“Could you be any less subtle?” Alexa hissed. “He knows we’re faking it. We are so screwed.” She wanted to grab Holly and shake some sense into her.
“We shouldn’t be lying in the first place!” Holly shot back. She was good and angry now, and she didn’t care if it showed. Holly wasn’t going to go along with one of Alexa’s stupid schemes this time.
“Well, if you hadn’t acted like a total hick, we’d be fine,” Alexa snapped. She tipped off her float into the water, then bobbed over to the edge of the pool.
“Excuse me for not getting the whole snob act down…” Holly trailed off, upset. She drew her feet out of the water and hugged her knees to her chest.
Alexa glared up at Holly from the pool. “Just don’t say anything when the waiter comes back, okay? Let me handle it.” But what exactly am I going to say? she wondered.
On cue, the waiter materialized next to Holly. He was holding the chips and soda on a tray, and what looked like an official hotel guest list in his other hand.
“Since you ladies appear to be together, shall I charge both of your orders to the same room?” he asked frostily, throwing a haughty glance at Alexa.
To Alexa’s annoyance, Holly sat up straighter, as if she had some sort of idea. “Well,” she began, looking right at the waiter, but Alexa coughed loudly, trying to shut her up.
“Please do,” Alexa murmured quickly. “Thanks ever so much.”
“And what room would that be?” the waiter asked, flicking his eyes from the guest list back to Alexa. There was an unmistakable snarl of victory forming on his lips.
Alexa’s stomach plummeted. They were cornered. How was she going to wriggle her way out of this one?
“Room 201,” Holly spoke up promptly. She smiled at the waiter. “We’re staying with my aunt, Henrietta von Malhoffer.”
The waiter’s face fell. He looked down at the list again, then glanced back at Holly, obviously defeated. “Ah, yes.”
“She told us the sky’s the limit,” Holly added with a giggle. “Aunt Henny is so generous!”
The waiter was all graciousness again. “I’m sure she is,” he agreed, dipping in a little bow. “Let me know if there is anything else you need.”
What? Alexa wanted to shout. What the hell had just happened? Alexa blinked a few times, making sure she hadn’t hallucinated the entire exchange.
“We’re fine for now,” Holly told the waiter, as Alexa watched her, awestruck. As soon as the waiter was out of earshot, Alexa hoisted herself out of the water and sat beside Holly on the pool’s edge.
“How did you do that?” Alexa demanded, gripping her old friend’s arm. “Are you psychic?”
Holly shook her head, blushing. “Just lucky,” she whispered. “When I was in the hotel calling, um, my parents, I overheard this rude woman railing at the concierge about a lost package. And she kept saying, ‘I’m Henrietta von Malhoffer, in Room 201!’” Holly giggled as Alexa’s eyes grew round. “When the waiter asked for a room number, it all…clicked.” She looked down, suddenly bashful about her masterful performance.
“Holly Rebecca Jacobson,” Alexa whispered, a grin spreading across her face. “I am so impressed. You are a rock star!” She regarded Holly as if she were seeing her for the first time.
“Oh, shut up.” With her right foot, Holly splashed some water onto Alexa’s leg, but she was smiling uncontrollably.
“I’m serious,” Alexa went on. “I’m sorry I told you to keep quiet.” Maybe I don’t give her enough credit, Alexa thought, studying Holly’s profile.
“Well, you didn’t know—” Holly began, reaching for a blue corn chip, but then she stopped abruptly, staring in the direction of the hotel. Her face blanched and her mouth fell open.
“What is it?” Alexa hissed, following Holly’s gaze.
Holly couldn’t believe her eyes. Henrietta von Malhoffer herself had emerged from the hotel, still wearing the head wrap and choker. Now she had on a ruffly bathing suit under a flowing satin robe and was gliding imperiously toward the pool. Holly watched with mounting horror as the wealthy woman stopped to bark at a passing waiter.
“That’s her,” Holly muttered under her breath.
“Harriet von Whatever-hoffer?” Alexa gasped, squeezing Holly’s arm. “Oh God, Hol. What if she—”
“Let’s get out of here,” Holly said, standing up slowly. “Now.”
Without wasting another second, Alexa sprang to her feet and raced for her tote bag. Holly was right behind her, hurriedly putting on her flip-flops. They were zooming toward the fence door, when they nearly collided with their mustachioed waiter.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and giving them a tight-lipped smile.
Holly froze. Her earlier composure was quickly fading. “Uh—yeah. We—um…” She looked urgently at Alexa.
“We remembered we have an appointment,” Alexa said, her natural fibbing abilities kicking in. “Salsa lessons.”
“Say ‘hi’ to Aunt Henny!” Holly added, in a final burst of inspiration. They smiled brightly at the waiter, then darted around him.
They walked briskly out of the pool area, still trying to play it cool, but when they made it the other side of the fence, Alexa whispered, “Go, go, go!” and they broke into a mad sprint. Holly instantly took the lead. I’m getting my exercise after all, she thought as they dashed out onto the boardwalk. They jogged along side by side for a few seconds until Alexa had to stop, leaning forward and catching her breath.
“We did it!” Holly exclaimed in shock. She and Alexa exchanged a relieved glance, then burst out laughing.
“And think of it,” Alexa gasped. “Now that bitchy grande dame has to pay for our food and drinks!” She smiled triumphantly, then linked her arm through Holly’s. “It was all you, babe. You saved our asses. Bigtime.”
“Well, you rescued me last night with that bouncer…” Holly shot Alexa a grateful look. “I guess we’re even now.” Their earlier bickering about lack of sleep and their hostile silences yesterday seemed far away. Holly wondered if the whole trip would be like this—hating Alexa one minute, then having fun with her the next.
“Let’s celebrate by calling Ida and asking about that set of wheels,” Alexa declared as they started off down the boardwalk once more. “Little Havana, here we come!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Esta Noche
The sizzling beats of a salsa band pulsed through Esta Noche, a dark, cavernous club with mirrored ceilings. It was half past midnight and Holly was getting the hang of salsa as her partner, a patient, pudgy Colombian guy, demonstrated the quick back-and-forth steps.
She, Alexa, Daisy, and Kaitlin had arrived at Esta Noche around ten. They ate a quick, spicy dinner of arroz con pollo on the club’s top level, watching as the bottom floor transformed into a hot nightspot. Now, the girls were scattered around the dance floor, each of them having been swept away by a different guy. That was the way it worked here, Holly had noticed as soon as her partner began leading her across the floor; everybody danced in pairs. All around her, dapper men shimmied with women in shiny, low-backed dresses.
Meanwhile, Alexa was swiveling her hips in time with her partner, who’d introduced himself as Pedro. Alexa knew how to salsa fairly well from her brief visit to Cuba. She was having a blast dancing with Pedro, but when he pulled her in closer and tilted his head toward hers, Alexa drew away. He was passably attractive, and kissing him would be a cinch. But for some weird reason, Alexa wasn’t in the mood. She waited until the band finished their song, then thanked her disappointed partner and headed to the bar, where Kaitlin and Daisy were cooling off with minty mojitos.
What’s my problem? Alexa wondered. Rejecting Pedro was so unlike her. After last night’s body-shot debacle, not to mention he
r gaffe at the pool this morning, Alexa was starting to wonder if her usual boy mojo was running out.
When Holly noticed the other girls gathering, she excused herself from her partner and elbowed her way to the bar. She wanted to make sure the group wasn’t planning to leave without her.
“What’s going on?” she asked Alexa, brushing her bangs off her sweaty forehead.
“I’m thinking it’s time to blow this joint,” Alexa said. “¿Váamonos, chicas?” She was still disturbed by her moment with Pedro, and wanted to clear her head. Esta Noche had its charms, but the clientele was much older than Alexa had expected—lots of thirty-somethings who mostly seemed interested in honing their dance technique. Alexa needed an encounter with someone suave and sexy, somebody worth her time. And there didn’t seem to be any such offerings here.
Already? Holly thought. She was still holding out hope that Diego would magically appear. She could so picture him here, speaking his elegant Spanish to the bartender or sipping a café cubano upstairs. She loved soaking up the Cuban rhythms, knowing that this was Diego’s heritage. But she didn’t want to argue with the other girls if they were all ready to head out.
“I say we go back to Ocean Drive,” Daisy suggested. It was obvious that this mature, sophisticated club was not quite her or Kaitlin’s scene.
“But not back to Ohio’s,” Kaitlin added, crunching on a cube of ice.
Holly nodded emphatically. The Flamingo boys, according to Daisy, had returned to Ohio’s tonight. Alexa and Holly had both managed to avoid seeing the twins at the motel all day, and weren’t about to push their luck. Kaitlin and Daisy didn’t seem remorseful about their makeout sessions the night before, but had still happily accepted Alexa’s invitation to a girls’ night out when she’d run into them at the motel that afternoon.
Alexa led the group out of Esta Noche, smiling ruefully as Ken-doll and Luis waved to her from the far end of the bar. She walked past the long line in front of the club, to the silver Pontiac parked on the next corner. Ida had dropped the car off with her and Holly that afternoon, encouraging them to keep it for as long as they liked, since she had Miles’s car at her disposal. Alexa unlocked the door and the girls slid inside—Holly riding shotgun, with Daisy and Kaitlin in the backseat.
The Pontiac was hardly the glitziest ride in SoBe, Alexa reflected as she turned the keys in the ignition and put one white stiletto on the gas pedal. But it got the job done. And Alexa didn’t even mind being the designated driver for the night. She needed a break from alcohol, anyway. Tonight, she was all about understatement. She was wearing a V-cut, shimmery white sleeveless top from a SoHo boutique and a BCBG denim pencil skirt with a thin, silver chain-link belt slung casually around her hips. She’d stained her lips with pink gloss, and that was all.
Holly, on the other hand, had felt so tame and plain at Ohio’s that, tonight, she’d decided to go allout—with a little help from the other Flamingo girls. From Alexa, she’d borrowed a plum-colored halter top and black hip-huggers. Kaitlin had lent her a pair of strappy black heels, and Daisy had donated an armload of silver bangle bracelets and silver hoops. A double coat of mascara, a couple swipes of blusher, and a little berry lip liner—courtesy of Alexa—completed the ensemble.
Getting dressed in the room that night, Holly had barely noticed the cramped quarters. She and Alexa had navigated around each other effortlessly, and they’d giggled when Alexa overdid the blusher on Holly’s cheekbones. There was something intimate and easy about their rapport, Holly realized—almost as if they were back to being good friends.
Now, as they cruised down Little Havana’s Southwest 8th Street, Holly felt like an elaborately petaled flower that was starting to wilt. She was sweaty from dancing, so the halter top clung to her curves—she and Alexa were far from the same size on top. And she could feel a blister blooming on her heel from Kaitlin’s sandals. Holly gazed out the window at the Spanish street signs and inhaled the rich scents of paella and garlic, wafting over from a corner café. Suddenly, a feeling of resignation settled over her. Good-bye, Little Havana, she thought sadly. And good-bye, Diego. Her search had proven fruitless. Diego was somewhere in this big city, but she wasn’t going to find him. She had to give up the dream.
“So where to next?” Alexa asked, interrupting Holly’s musings. By now they were driving across the MacArthur Causeway, which connected Miami proper to South Beach. “You mamacitas still in the mood to bailar?” she teased. Alexa, like the rest of the girls, didn’t speak much Spanish, but she’d picked up a little here and there. The language was similar enough to French that she felt comfortable throwing a few words around. Especially in Miami, where using Spanish felt so natural, so necessary.
Daisy and Kaitlin were bickering over Alexa’s guidebook in the backseat. Kaitlin wanted to check out Crobar, while Daisy insisted they go to Automatic Slims. Meanwhile, Holly wondered how she could gracefully dodge out of going to another club at all. Finally, Daisy suggested Mango’s Tropical Café. “They have Latin music, too, but it sounds much more casual than Esta Noche. And it’s right near the Flamingo,” she said.
“Perfection,” Alexa said, turning the car onto Ocean Drive. The traffic was insane. Miles of cars were crunched together, and everybody was honking their horns while people tumbled out of clubs into the streets, adding to the neon-bright chaos. Alexa normally loathed driving in traffic, but this was intoxicating. She managed to squeeze the car into a tiny parking spot, unbuckled her seat belt, and reached into her white clutch. She needed to freshen up before the second phase of the night, so she carefully applied more pink gloss to her bow-shaped lips while looking in the rearview mirror.
“Uh, Alexa? Are you sure this is a legal parking spot?” Holly asked worriedly. “It’s really tight.” The last thing she needed was for them to get a ticket while using Grandma Ida’s car. She could just imagine her parents’ reaction to that.
Alexa ignored her. Holly didn’t even have her license! Who was she to—
Suddenly, their car was tapped lightly from behind by a dark blue Honda. The girls lurched forward in their seats. Holly gasped. Kaitlin screamed.
“Someone hit us!” Daisy yelled. Nobody was hurt, but everyone was getting their drama on.
Furious, Alexa glanced into her rearview mirror and saw the Honda come to a full stop behind them. The driver emerged—a tall, bespectacled Latino guy in a baseball cap. “Bastard,” Alexa muttered. He’d most likely dented Ida’s car and, worse, caused Alexa to smudge her lip gloss. She was so taking this jerk down.
Alexa burst out of the car, slammed the door, and stormed over to look at the back fender. As she’d feared, it was slightly dented. Mr. Crash Test Dummy was standing in front of his own car, which was unscathed. He looked to be about twenty. His Florida Marlins hat was pulled down low over his eyes, and his chin was shadowy with stubble. He wore a stained gray T-shirt, baggy cargo shorts, and Tevas. Alexa marched right up to him.
“Thanks, asshole,” she spat. “This isn’t even my car. Now I’m going to have to explain to the owner how it got destroyed.” She was exaggerating a little, sure, but that had never failed her before.
The driver set his jaw. “I didn’t intend to hit you,” he shot back. “You’re parked in an illegal spot. Trying to maneuver around you was a nightmare.”
“It’s not my fault!” Alexa retorted, narrowing her eyes at him. “I was sitting there innocently and you rammed into—”
“Stop bullshitting me,” the guy cut her off, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your car is barely scratched. I’ll pay you for whatever damage—”
“Keep your money,” Alexa spat. “That’s not the point. You could have killed me and my friends!”
She looked quickly behind her. Holly, Daisy, and Kaitlin had emerged from the car and were standing on the sidewalk a few feet away. Kaitlin and Daisy were huddled together, shooting murderous looks at the driver. Holly’s head hung miserably; she was probably imagining her parents’ wrath. The girls all a
ppeared shaken up enough to support Alexa’s wild claim. Alexa faced the driver again, smug.
“They seem fine to me—” the driver began, glancing over at the other girls. Then he paused, and lifted the brim of his cap. Behind his wire-rim glasses, his dark eyes grew round.
“What?” Alexa snapped. She shot a look over her shoulder. Who was he staring at? When she turned back to the driver, he was smiling and shaking his head.
“Holly?” he asked, taking a step forward. “Holly Jacobson?”
Holly had been pondering how she could explain this mess to her parents. Then she looked up, startled. Had the guy who’d hit them said her name? She stared at him blankly, taking in his wrinkled clothes, baseball hat, and glasses. She must have heard wrong. Holly had never seen this guy before in her life.
But now he was coming toward her and smiling, his arms extended, as if he planned to give her a hug. Holly took a few steps back, bewildered.
“Holly, it’s me!” the guy exclaimed. “Diego. Diego Mendieta.” He stopped before he reached her, and tilted his head quizzically. “Hey, come on, Holly. I know it’s been a while. But don’t you remember me?”
Holly wondered if she might pass out. Ocean Drive swam around her, a mass of colors and sounds. She reached out and grabbed onto Kaitlin to steady herself. She opened her mouth but couldn’t recall how to speak.
Diego? Could it be? All this time she’d been searching for him, and now, here he was, in the middle of the street, within arm’s reach?
Holly gazed up at him incredulously. He looked kind of scruffy. Not as picture-perfect as she remembered him. The baseball cap was shielding his face, and she wasn’t used to seeing him in glasses. But now that he was standing close to her, she noticed familiar features—the big black eyes and long lashes, the full lips, the deep dimples that appeared in his cheeks when he smiled. Holly’s heart melted. Underneath the scruff, he was still as beautiful as ever.