Plata    

 

Izzy  Mason    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PLATA  

 

Copyright  ©  2014  Izzy  Mason  

All  Rights  Reserved  

 

All  rights  reserved.  Except  as  permitted  under  the  U.S.  Copyright  Act  of  1976,  no  

part  of  this  publication  may  be  reproduced,  distributed,  or  transmitted  in  any  form  

or  by  any  means,  or  stored  in  a  database  or  retrieval  system,  without  the  prior  

written  permission  of  the  author.    

 

The  characters  and  events  portrayed  in  this  book  are  fictitious.  Any  similarity  to  real  

persons,  living  or  dead,  is  coincidental  and  not  intended  by  the  author.      

Chapter  1  

 

  The  club  was  dark  and  lined  with  mirrors.  Colored  lights  flashed  on  a  long,  

narrow  stage,  where  a  chubby  woman  with  thick,  black  hair  was  grinding  against  a  

pole.  The  air  was  thick  with  cologne.  Mexican  strippers  in  short  dresses  were  

scattered  throughout  the  crowded  room,  draped  flirtatiously  over  men’s  laps,  skirts  

hitched  to  mid-­‐thigh,  fishing  for  cash.  Along  a  velvet  covered  bench  at  the  back  of  

the  room,  a  fleshy  bleach  blond  in  a  tiny  red  thong  was  sitting  on  a  mustached  man’s  

lap,  riding  him  like  a  rodeo  horse  as  he  squeezed  her  breasts  and  nodded  his  head  to  

the  thumping  bass  of  the  music.      

  Madison  had  never  been  in  a  strip  club  before.  And  why  would  she?  They  

were  places  that  existed  in  the  exclusive  netherworld  of  men,  along  with  brothels  

and  pornography.  She  was  only  nineteen,  after  all,  and  sex  was  still  relatively  new  to  

her.  Still  she  had  to  admit,  it  was  something  she  found  deliriously  thrilling.  But  there  

was  sex,  and  then  there  was  this:  a  sordid  display  of  desperate  libidos,  so  drunk  with  

lust  that  they  didn’t  care  who  saw  them  doing  what,  which  embarrassed  her  

immediately.    

  She  looked  at  Enzo  and  furrowed  her  brow.  “You’re  serious?”  she  said  in  

Spanish,  which  was  the  only  language  they  ever  spoke  to  each  other.  After  all,  Enzo’s  

English  was  terrible,  and  Madison’s  Spanish  was  flawless.  

  Enzo  was  wearing  one  of  his  casual-­‐chic  tee  shirts  tailored  to  flatter  his  broad  

shoulders  and  narrow  waist,  and  she  could  see  a  lot  of  the  dancers  watching  him  

hopefully.  He  put  an  arm  around  her  shoulders  and  gazed  slowly  around  the  room,  

an  amused  half-­‐smile  on  his  face.    

  “Just  for  a  week,”  he  assured  her.  “Para  quitarte  la  pena.  To  get  rid  of  the  

shame.”    

  Madison  coming  to  Mexico  City  was  Enzo’s  idea.  He  knew  what  it  was  like  to  

be  desperate  for  money,  and  he  had  no  patience  for  preciousness.  Life  is  about  

sacrifice,  he  always  told  her.  The  world  is  indifferent,  and  no  one  owes  you  a  thing.  If  

there’s  one  thing  you  need  to  remember,  he’d  say,  it’s  that  you  make  your  own  luck.    

  Madison  looked  around  the  room  at  the  Mexican  cowboys  grabbing  the  

strippers  and  licking  their  breasts,  sometimes  even  biting  them.  Her  hands  went  

unconsciously  to  her  own  breasts  in  sympathy.  She  wondered  how  they  would  taste  

after  being  sampled  by  every  slobbering,  peanut-­‐flecked  mouth  in  the  place.  Howdy,  

stranger!  Suck  this  lollipop  and  pass  it  on  down!  She  stifled  a  shiver  of  disgust.  This  

was  not  the  kind  of  place  where  shame  was  taken  away.  Here  shame  shacked  up  in  

your  bones  and  hung  out  for  the  rest  of  your  life.    

  The  woman  on  the  stage  called  down  to  Enzo  with  a  flirtatious  wave.  She  

pushed  her  tongue  against  her  teeth  and  made  porn  star  lips,  the  way  most  girls  do  

privately  in  the  bathroom  mirror.  Enzo  blew  the  woman  an  effete  kiss,  and  winked.  

It  was  stifling  and  airless,  and  Madison  could  feel  her  glasses  sliding  down  her  nose.  

She  leaned  into  Enzo  so  that  their  shoulders  pressed  together.  His  body  felt  cool  

through  his  jacket,  as  if  the  suffocating  heat  of  the  place  couldn’t  reach  him.  Enzo  

was  absolutely  at  home  anywhere,  from  an  embassy  party  to  a  seedy  strip  club.  The  

world  was  his  oyster.    

  Enzo  was  Madison’s  best  friend.  He  was  a  gay  dancer  from  Cuba  she’d  met  

while  spending  a  year  in  Mexico.  She’d  been  studying  Spanish  at  a  private  Mexico  

City  high  school  that  did  a  foreign  exchange  with  her  public  school  in  Denver,  and  

Enzo’s  dance  troupe  once  came  to  their  auditorium  to  perform.  Even  though  Enzo  

was  two  years  older  than  Madison,  they’d  hit  it  off  immediately.  And  because  he’d  

already  been  in  Mexico  for  two  years,  he  drove  her  around  to  all  the  social  hot  spots  

where  even  minors  could  get  a  drink.  Since  then,  his  career  had  taken  off,  and  he  

was  now  frequently  cast  in  music  videos,  commercials,  and  as  backup  for  famous  

Mexican  pop  stars.    

  He  turned  to  look  at  Madison,  his  eyebrows  raised  expectantly.  “Well?”    

  The  stripper  knelt  down  on  the  stage  to  let  an  old  drunk  man  lick  her  thigh.  

Madison  cringed  and  shook  her  head.    

  “I  think  I’d  rather  die.”    

  He  just  shrugged  and  laughed,  though  she  knew  he  thought  it  was  a  mistake.  

How  was  a  girl  like  Madison  supposed  to  transform  into  a  glamorous  Gentleman’s  

Club  dancer  overnight?  She  couldn’t  even  turn  a  head  in  the  street.  Besides,  

everyone  had  to  pay  their  dues.  Start  at  the  bottom,  even  if  only  for  a  week  or  two.  

After  all,  that’s  what  Enzo  had  done.  But  he  didn’t  chastise  her.  Instead  he  hooked  

his  arm  through  hers  and  led  her  toward  the  exit.    

  “Okay,  doll.  I  guess  we’ll  just  go  straight  to  the  top.”      

Chapter  2  

 

  Money  was  something  Madison  had  never  really  thought  about.  She  wasn’t  

like  some  of  the  other  girls  in  her  high  school  who  dreamed  of  marrying  a  

millionaire,  swooning  over  magazines  of  haute  couture  and  jewelry.  Madison  was  a  

bookworm.  She  spent  her  days  reading  in  cafés,  or  meeting  with  equally  brainy  girls  

to  talk  about  books.  She  was  a  diamond-­‐in-­‐the-­‐rough  type:  tall  and  awkward,  with  

wide  blue  eyes  hidden  behind  oversized,  unfashionable  glasses.  Her  thick  blond  hair  

was  shapeless  and  uncombed,  and  she  always  slouched  about  in  tee  shirts  and  

baggy  jeans.  Madison  didn’t  ask  for  much,  and  she  was  more  than  happy  with  what  

she  had.  Until  the  day  she  woke  up  and  discovered  that  she  had  nothing  at  all.    

No  one  had  ever  expected  her  father,  William,  to  be  a  good  businessman.  

Money  just  wasn’t  his  strong  suit.  He  was  an  English  teacher,  the  girls’  volleyball  

coach,  and  Madison’s  kitchen  table  tutor,  helping  her  with  everything  from  algebra  

to  Shakespeare.  In  the  summer  he  would  take  Madison  and  her  mom,  Virginia,  

camping  in  the  Rockies,  where  he  knew  the  best  mountain  lakes  and  pristine  

wilderness  areas  in  the  state  of  Colorado.  He  was  a  loving  husband  and  a  great  dad,  

and  that  was  enough  for  Madison  and  Virginia.  No  one  could  understand  why  he’d  

secretly  gambled  away  their  lives.      

  Without  a  word  to  his  wife,  William  embarked  on  a  high-­‐risk  venture  that  

turned  out  to  be  a  complicated  scam.  Since  they  didn’t  own  their  house,  he’d  been  

convinced  to  double  mortgage  Virginia’s  beloved  family  restaurant  to  bring  extra  

cash  into  the  deal.  It  was  one  of  the  oldest  establishments  in  Denver;  a  storied  place  

that  had  been  in  Virginia’s  family  for  generations.  It  felt  like  a  fourth  member  of  

their  family.  William  had  been  hoodwinked  into  believing  it  was  a  sure  thing;  that  

his  ship  had  finally  come  in.  But  overnight,  the  restaurant,  their  retirement  savings,  

and  Madison’s  college  fund  had  vanished.  And  the  shock  went  straight  to  his  heart.      

  When  the  dust  cleared,  there  was  barely  enough  to  cover  William’s  funeral  

and  a  subpar  burial  plot  at  the  Goldhill  Cemetery  far  across  town.  The  only  asset  

they  had  any  hope  of  saving  was  Virginia’s  restaurant,  but  it  was  still  far  out  of  their  

reach.  The  bank  offered  to  return  the  title  if  Virginia  could  come  up  with  a  hundred  

thousand  dollars  in  four  months.  She  tried  desperately  to  get  a  loan,  but  her  credit  

had  been  destroyed  along  with  William’s.  Their  friends  and  family  were  struggling  

to  get  by  as  it  was,  and  no  one  had  that  kind  of  money  to  spare.  It  was  inevitable.  The  

family  business  that  had  managed  to  survive  since  World  War  I  would  die  in  

Virginia’s  hands.    

  Madison  felt  as  if  the  world  had  swallowed  her  whole.  She’d  given  up  all  hope  

of  finishing  college  and  came  home  to  look  after  her  mother.  Virginia  was  Madison’s  

hero,  and  the  strongest  person  she  knew.  And  so  it  was  all  the  more  painful  to  watch  

her  unravel.  Shortly  after  William’s  funeral,  once  she’d  exhausted  every  possible  

source  of  money  to  save  her  restaurant,  Virginia  collapsed.  Early  one  morning,  

Madison  found  her  mother  in  the  backyard  still  wearing  her  nightgown,  her  feet  

bare,  despite  the  freezing  temperature.  She  sat  on  the  stiff,  dead  grass  rocking  back  

and  forth,  muttering  nonsensically.  The  doctor  assured  Madison  that  her  mother  

would  likely  recover,  but  for  now  she  was  taken  to  a  psych  ward  in  Aurora  for  

treatment.  And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Madison  found  herself  alone.    

Even  worse,  there  was  no  one  waiting  in  the  wings  to  save  any  of  them.  

Chapter  3  

 

  The  first  time  Enzo  suggested  she  come  to  Mexico  to  work  at  The  

Gentlemen’s  Club,  she  assumed  he  was  joking,  since  it  was  beyond  incredulity.  

Whenever  Madison  looked  in  the  mirror,  all  she  saw  was  a  homely  introvert.  Only  

Enzo  could  see  past  it.  Even  through  her  baggy  clothes,  Enzo  could  see  the  tall,  svelte  

body,  the  bulge  of  her  round  breasts,  the  long  legs.  He  knew  that  men  would  love  her  

wide,  blue  eyes  and  plump  lips.  All  she  needed  was  a  bit  of  a  makeover.    

  Fortunately,  in  the  two  years  Enzo  had  been  living  in  Mexico  City,  he’d  gotten  

to  know  so  many  people  that  he  was  only  a  degree  of  separation  away  from  

anything  they  needed.  One  of  Enzo’s  close  friends  was  a  Cuban  ophthalmologist  who  

was  happy  to  squeeze  Madison  in  without  an  appointment.  On  her  second  day  in  

town,  he  checked  her  terribly  myopic  eyes,  confirmed  the  prescription,  and  found  a  

pack  of  disposable  contact  lenses  in  stock,  which  he  gave  her  for  next  to  nothing.  

Madison  had  never  considered  wearing  contacts  before;  they  seemed  like  more  

trouble  than  they  were  worth.  But  once  she  got  the  hang  of  putting  them  in,  she  

loved  being  able  to  see  without  her  glasses.    

  Next,  Enzo  brought  her  to  see  his  friend  Pati,  a  famous  transvestite  hair  

stylist  who  worked  for  the  glitterati  in  the  entertainment  industry.  Together  they  

fussed  over  Madison’s  hair,  giving  her  a  rinse  that  brought  out  the  blondest  

highlights,  and  cutting  it  into  a  Scarlett  Johansson  bob.    

When  Enzo  took  her  shopping,  he  wouldn’t  let  her  pick  out  a  thing.    

  “If  you’re  going  to  pull  this  off,  you  can’t  go  around  dressed  like  a  boy!”  he’d  

hissed  when  she  pointed  to  a  cute  tee  shirt  in  the  active  wear  section.  Instead,  he  

dressed  her  in  fitted  pants  with  an  ankle  flare,  a  sexy  scoop-­‐necked  top,  which  

accentuated  her  boobs,  a  tan  leather  jacket,  and  brown  heeled  boots.    

  “I  knew  there  was  a  smoking  body  somewhere  under  there,”  Enzo  exclaimed  

when  the  makeover  was  complete.    

Madison  stared  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  dumbstruck.  She  was  completely  

transformed.  

“Jesus,  Enzo,”  she  managed,  the  panic  rising  in  her  voice.  It  felt  like  he  was  

stripping  out  her  soul  and  turning  her  into  a  Barbie  doll.  She’d  never  envied  the  

women  whose  only  purpose  in  life  was  to  be  beautiful.  They  seemed  empty  and  dull.  

Their  very  existence  had  a  shelf  life,  and  once  they  expired,  there  was  nothing  left  

for  them  in  the  world.    

“I’m  not  making  over  your  brain,  sweetheart,”  Enzo  said,  wrapping  his  muscular  

arms  around  her.  “You  can  read  books  with  contact  lenses,  too,  you  know,”  he  said.  

Then  he  turned  her  around,  holding  her  shoulders  and  looking  earnestly  into  her  

eyes.  “Get  money  for  your  mother,  Madison.  You  go  out  there  and  get  the  money.”

Chapter  4  

 

  Madison  was  exhausted  after  a  long  day  of  being  primped  and  prodded,  but  

she  decided  to  take  a  walk  alone  to  clear  her  head.  She  made  her  way  to  the  

Condesa,  her  favorite  neighborhood  in  all  of  Mexico  City.  It  was  only  across  the  

Parque  Mexico  from  Enzo’s  house,  and  she  still  knew  the  route  like  the  back  of  her  

hand.    

The  city  grumbled,  just  as  it  had  back  then.  Madison  always  felt  that  walking  

through  a  city  of  twenty  million  people  was  like  being  in  the  middle  of  a  concrete  

ocean.  She  could  feel  the  expanse  of  it  all  around.  Even  on  quiet,  tree-­‐lined  streets  

she  could  hear  the  urban  din.  The  sidewalk  cafés  were  full,  reminding  her  of  the  

many  afternoons  she’d  spent  drinking  coffee  with  friends,  discussing  literature  and  

philosophy.  It  all  felt  far  away  now.    

She  headed  for  El  Pendulo,  which  had  been  her  favorite  café  during  her  year  

abroad.  Madison  was  amazed  at  how  much  attention  she  drew  just  walking  down  

the  street.  Men  called  out  amorous  things,  hissing  from  car  windows,  and  turning  

their  heads  to  watch  her  pass.  She’d  never  experienced  anything  like  it  in  her  life,  

and  she  wasn’t  yet  sure  she  liked  it.  It  made  her  self-­‐conscious  to  suddenly  have  so  

many  eyes  on  her.  She  didn’t  want  to  scratch  her  nose  or  adjust  her  bra  strap,  

because  she  knew  someone  would  be  watching.      

  El  Pendulo,  thankfully,  hadn’t  changed  at  all.  The  bookstore  still  displayed  

Spanish  translations  of  American  and  European  new  releases,  art  books,  and  classic  

literature.  Across  the  bookstore,  the  restaurant  hummed  with  life,  and  the  café  

upstairs  looked  crowded.  Madison  browsed  the  books,  trying  to  fend  off  the  

darkness  that  had  circled  her  constantly  since  her  dad  died.  She’d  once  made  the  

mistake  of  letting  it  in,  and  it  had  wrecked  her  completely,  ravaging  her  body  like  a  

flu,  settling  into  her  with  a  black  weight  that  left  her  bedbound  for  days.  

  She  sought  refuge  in  an  anthology  of  Spain’s  Romantic  poets,  searching  out  

her  favorite  poems  to  raise  her  spirits.  When  she  glanced  up,  she  noticed  a  tall,  very  

handsome  man  staring  at  her  from  across  the  room.  He  was  at  least  ten  years  older  

than  Madison;  dressed  in  a  beautifully  tailored  suit.  Best  of  all,  he  held  a  copy  of  Jose  

Saramago’s  Blindness  in  his  hands.  He  didn’t  look  Mexican.  Though  she’d  met  

Mexican  men  who  were  just  as  tall  and  fair,  but  this  man’s  features  looked  

European.  When  she  met  his  gaze,  he  smiled.  At  first  she  looked  around,  certain  that  

there  was  a  beautiful  woman  standing  just  behind  her.  But  there  was  no  one  there.  

He  was  smiling  at  her.  

  Madison  had  always  found  something  sexy  about  a  man  with  a  book  in  his  

hands.  It  suggested  complexity  and  refinement.  Whenever  she  indulged  in  the  

occasional  schoolgirl  fantasy  about  finding  her  soul  mate,  she  always  imagined  him  

carrying  books.  At  night  he  would  read  aloud  in  bed,  her  head  resting  on  his  chest,  

the  pages  dog-­‐eared  from  when  they  got  too  sleepy.  They’d  sit  together  in  cafés  

reading  separate  books,  but  every  now  and  then  they’d  stop  and  tell  the  other  about  

it.    

When  Madison  looked  up  again,  it  was  just  in  time  to  see  the  man  leaving,  his  

newly  purchased  book  in  a  small  brown  bag  tucked  under  his  arm.  Just  before  he  

stepped  through  the  heavy  glass  door,  he  turned,  his  eyes  searching  her  out  one  last  

time.  This  time  it  was  Madison  who  was  caught  staring.  The  man  gave  her  a  demure,  

parting  smile,  and  a  wink  that  confirmed  what  she  had  been  struggling  to  accept.  

She  wasn’t  the  old  Madison  anymore.  And  maybe  that  wasn’t  such  a  bad  thing.      

Chapter  5  

 

The  next  afternoon  was  cool  and  gray,  and  smelled  of  acid  rain.  Enzo  

escorted  Madison  along  the  upscale  pedestrian  street  in  the  Zona  Rosa,  passing  

sushi  restaurants,  patio  bistros,  clothing  boutiques,  and  hip  bars.  Enzo  had  phoned  

ahead  to  arrange  the  audition.  Madison  held  tight  to  his  arm.  She  was  so  nervous,  

she  kept  forgetting  to  breathe  until  finally  her  lungs  burned  and  her  head  began  to  

swim.  Even  worse,  her  whole  body  trembled,  as  if  there  were  a  humming  machine  

inside  her.  Enzo  could  feel  it,  too.    

“I  know,  sweetie,”  he  said,  patting  her  hand.  “But  you’ll  be  great.”    

The  entrance  to  The  Gentlemen’s  Club  had  grand  white  columns,  and  a  foyer  

with  expensive  floral  arrangements,  and  a  huge  crystal  chandelier.  Outside,  two  

serious  men  in  navy  blue  suits  stood  guard.  Enzo  led  Madison  to  an  unmarked  metal  

door  on  the  side  of  the  building  and  knocked.  Madison  felt  as  if  all  of  her  blood  had  

gone  cold  until  the  tips  of  her  fingers  and  toes  were  numb.  She  took  in  a  deep,  

deliberate  breath,  as  a  short  man  with  a  wispy  moustache  opened  the  door  and  

gestured  for  Madison  to  come  inside.  Enzo  gave  her  a  kiss  on  the  cheek  and  a  little  

pat  on  the  butt.    

“I’ll  be  in  the  café  across  the  street,”  he  whispered.  “Now  go  knock  ‘em  dead!”    

With  a  pit  in  her  stomach,  Madison  followed  the  little  man  down  a  clean,  tiled  

hallway  and  up  a  back  staircase  to  a  large  room  he  called  the  camarino.  There  were  

rows  of  lockers  toward  the  back.  A  vanity  counter  ran  along  the  width  of  each  end  of  

the  room,  with  long  mirrors  and  plush  stools  tucked  beneath.    

“Do  you  have  a  tanga?”  the  little  man  asked  Madison.    

She  crinkled  her  brow.  There  were  few  Spanish  words  she  didn’t  know,  and  

this  was  definitely  one  of  them.  “What’s  a  tanga?”    

“A  thong,”  answered  a  flat,  nasally  voice  in  English  from  somewhere  behind  

her.    

Madison  turned  to  find  a  middle-­‐aged  woman  with  a  bouffant  hairdo  and  a  

gaudy  mask  of  makeup  sitting  in  an  elevated,  glass-­‐encased  kiosk  in  the  middle  of  

the  room.  Festooned  around  the  windows  were  velvety  dresses,  fake  rhinestone  

chokers,  and  a  rainbow  assortment  of  thongs.    

The  woman  gazed  out  with  a  sour  face,  lids  heavy  under  fake  lashes.  Her  

eyebrows  were  wide,  arcing  pencil  marks  that  gave  her  a  look  of  surprised  disgust.    

“If  not,  I  sell  you  one  for  a  hundred  pesos.”    

“That’s  Beba,”  the  short  man  explained.  “She’s  the  house  mother.”    

Madison  gave  Beba  a  sheepish  smile.  “I  don’t  have  a  tanga.”  

Beba  didn’t  smile  back.  Instead  she  took  down  the  thong  of  her  choice,  

stepped  through  the  door,  and  tossed  it  at  Madison.    

“One  hundred  pesos.”    

The  little  man  told  Madison  to  take  off  everything  except  the  thong,  and  to  

wait  there.  Madison  stared  at  him.  She  looked  back  at  Beba,  who’d  returned  to  the  

kiosk  and  was  shuffling  through  a  mound  of  paperwork.  This  was  really  happening.  

She  was  down  the  rabbit  hole.  Convinced  this  whole  scheme  was  a  bad  idea  from  the  

start,  Madison  turned  toward  the  exit,  ready  to  flee.  Then  an  image  flashed  in  her  

mind:  her  mother  curled  up  on  the  frozen  lawn,  out  of  her  mind.  Madison  closed  her  

eyes  and  took  a  breath.  I  can  do  this,  she  told  herself.  I  have  to  do  this.      

As  soon  as  the  little  man  left,  Madison  self-­‐consciously  disrobed  under  Beba’s  

relentless  glare.  She  tried  to  move  slowly  and  confidently,  as  if  she’d  done  it  a  

hundred  times,  carefully  folding  her  clothes  and  placing  them  in  a  little  stack  on  a  

love  seat.  She  slipped  on  the  thong,  realizing  with  horror  that  her  pubic  hair  grew  

well  outside  the  bikini  line.  This  was  one  detail  Enzo  had  forgotten.  Embarrassed,  

Madison  sat  down  on  the  love  seat  and  crossed  her  legs.    

She  waited  for  a  long  time.  The  room  was  drafty,  which  made  her  all  the  

more  aware  that  she  was  practically  naked.  Occasionally,  a  glamorous  looking  

woman  would  wander  in  to  freshen  up  her  makeup,  or  get  a  piece  of  gum  from  her  

locker.  A  pale  young  man  with  orange-­‐dyed  hair  arrived  with  a  makeup  box,  and  set  

up  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  mirrored  counters.  One  woman  rolled  into  work  late.  She  

was  beautiful  and  dark-­‐skinned,  with  strange  wide  eyes.  She  settled  onto  the  stool  

next  to  the  man.  Both  of  them  stared  at  Madison  in  the  mirror.    

Madison  had  never  been  naked  in  front  of  strangers  before,  and  she  couldn’t  

help  feeling  that  she  was  having  one  of  those  childhood  dreams  where  she’d  

forgotten  to  get  dressed  before  going  to  school.  But  she  tried  not  to  let  it  show.  She  

leaned  into  the  sofa  cushions,  constantly  crossing  and  uncrossing  her  legs.  She  

studied  her  fingernails  and  tried  to  look  bored.  Occasionally,  she  even  forced  a  

yawn.  But  she  found  it  was  hard  to  look  nonchalant  while  wearing  nothing  but  a  red  

thong.  

Finally,  a  very  poised,  middle-­‐aged  man  whisked  into  the  room.  He  had  dark,  

receding  hair,  and  wore  an  expensive  suit.  Her  first  instinct  was  to  cover  her  breasts,  

but  she  stopped  herself.  He  approached  her  with  his  hand  extended,  so  she  stood  up.    

“Simon,”  he  said,  shaking  her  hand  as  if  they  were  in  a  corporate  boardroom.  

“Manager  of  operations.”    

“Madison.”  She  felt  her  cheeks  burning.  Be  confident,  she  told  herself.  

Confident,  confident,  confident.    

Simon  nodded  brusquely  and  took  several  steps  back.  He  looked  Madison  up  

and  down.  “Turn  around,”  he  commanded.    

She  turned  in  a  perky  little  circle,  holding  her  arms  out  like  a  bird.  He  walked  

around  her,  studying  her  body  as  if  it  were  a  used  car  he  was  thinking  of  buying.  

With  another  quick  nod,  he  strode  out  of  the  room.  Madison  stood  there  blinking,  

unsure  of  what  had  just  happened.    

“Put  your  clothes  on,  madre,”  Beba’s  disdainful  voice  piped  in  from  the  kiosk.    

Madison  quickly  pulled  on  her  clothes  right  over  the  uncomfortable  thong,  

desperate  to  be  covered  again.  Just  as  she  was  pulling  on  her  shirt,  the  short  man  

returned.    

“Simon  said  you  looked  good.  Come  at  two  o’clock  tomorrow  afternoon.  

You’ll  need  at  least  three  dresses.  Elegant.  Nothing  trashy.  Be  ready  to  go  onto  the  

floor  by  two  thirty.    

He  turned  and  bustled  toward  the  door,  then  remembered  something  and  

stopped.    

“Oh,”  he  called  across  the  room.  “And  he  said  you  need  to  shave.”    

There  were  titters  from  the  woman  and  the  makeup  guy,  and  Madison  went  

scarlet.    

“Do  you  have  a  bag?”  Beba  asked,  stepping  out  of  her  kiosk  with  a  small  black  

purse  dangling  from  her  hand.  “One  hundred  fifty  pesos  for  this.”    

“A  bag?”  Madison  asked,  dazed.    

Beba  rolled  her  eyes.  “For  the  plata,  madre,”  she  said.  “For  the  money.”      

Chapter  6  

 

After  Madison  found  Enzo  at  the  café,  he  took  her  shopping  again.  This  time,  

they  bought  three  form-­‐fitting,  ankle-­‐length  gowns,  and  a  pair  of  black  strap  

stilettos.  Madison  held  up  the  shoes  and  furrowed  her  brow.    

“How  am  I  supposed  to  walk  in  these?”  she  asked,  with  genuine  anxiety.  

“You’ll  get  used  to  it,”  Enzo  said  with  a  grin.  “Put  them  on  tonight  and  

practice.”  

He  topped  off  his  Madison  renovation  with  a  quick  trip  to  the  neighborhood  

spa  for  a  bikini  wax,  which  she  hated  almost  as  much  as  the  audition  itself.  By  the  

time  they  were  finished,  she  was  exhausted,  but  Enzo  convinced  her  to  join  him  for  a  

drink  at  their  old  hangout,  Mama  Rumba.    

“You  simply  can’t  go  to  bed  looking  like  that,”  he  exclaimed.  “Let’s  take  you  

around  the  block  a  couple  times.”    

  Madison  and  Enzo  had  spent  many  evenings  at  Mama  Rumba  during  her  

school  year  in  Mexico  City.  It  started  out  as  a  little  hole  in  the  wall  with  graffiti-­‐

covered  walls,  a  tiny  dance  floor,  and  a  statue  of  St.  Lazarus  on  the  bar.  Old  Cuban  

musicians  would  line  up  against  one  wall  and  fill  every  nook  of  the  place  with  classic  

salsa,  cha  cha  cha,  and  rumba,  as  Madison  and  Enzo  would  cram  onto  the  dance  

floor,  squeezed  up  together  until  they  could  barely  move.  It  was  so  successful,  the  

owners  expanded  until  Mama  Rumba  was  a  sprawling,  two-­‐story  club  with  a  large  

stage  that  held  a  full  Cuban  orchestra.    

  The  place  was  packed,  but  the  doorman  waved  Enzo  and  Madison  past  the  

line.  Enzo  grabbed  her  hand  and  pulled  her  toward  the  bar.  And  just  like  the  old  

days,  Enzo  immediately  ran  into  some  gorgeous  hunk  he  once  screwed  or  wanted  to  

screw.  He  would  then  whisk  Enzo  off  into  the  crowd,  and  Madison  wouldn’t  see  him  

again  until  the  end  of  the  night.  This  time  it  was  a  tall  guy  with  fashionably  

disheveled  black  hair  and  a  tight  neon  green  tee  shirt.  Madison  sighed  as  Enzo  

flittered  an  apologetic  wave  before  being  swallowed  up  by  the  mass  of  bodies.    

  Madison  pushed  her  way  to  the  bar,  taken  aback  by  how  many  men  stepped  

aside  to  let  her  pass,  as  if  she  were  the  Queen  of  England.  They  muttered  things  at  

her  and  begged  her  to  dance,  but  she  just  politely  shook  her  head  and  continued  

along.  When  she  finally  reached  the  bar,  she  was  relieved  to  see  that  Beni  was  still  

tending  bar.  She’d  spent  so  much  time  in  the  place  back  in  the  day  that  he  began  to  

call  her  his  baby  sister.  But  when  he  looked  her  way,  there  was  no  recognition  in  his  

eyes.  Still,  he  ignored  the  shouted  requests  and  made  a  beeline  for  her.    

  “What  are  you  drinking,  gorgeous?”  Beni  asked  her.  He  had  dark  skin  and  

perfectly  symmetrical  Caribbean  features.  His  hair  was  close-­‐cropped,  which  

brought  even  more  attention  to  his  glorious  face.  He  knew  that  most  of  the  women  

clinging  to  the  bar  were  simply  trying  to  get  his  attention.  

  “Beni,  it’s  me.”  Madison  pointed  awkwardly  at  her  face.  “Madison.  As  in  

Madison  and  Enzo.”    

  Beni  blinked  at  her  for  a  moment,  trying  to  take  it  in.  Then  he  let  out  a  

bellowing  laugh  and  grabbed  both  her  hands.    

“Madison!  What  the  hell?  I  didn’t  know  you  were  back!  Look  at  you!  What  

happened  to  you?  You  look  like  a  movie  star!”    

  Madison  blushed  and  squeezed  his  hands.  “It’s  really,  really  nice  to  see  you,  

Beni.”    

  “Whatever  you’re  drinking  is  on  the  house,”  he  shouted,  slapping  a  cocktail  

napkin  down  in  front  of  her.    

  Madison  ordered  a  beer,  but  Beni  made  her  a  vodka  tonic  instead.    

  “Beer  will  give  you  a  paunch,”  he  quipped  with  a  wink.  “You’re  too  pretty  

now  for  a  paunch.  You’ll  thank  me  later!”    

  Madison  made  a  face,  but  accepted  the  drink.  The  band  launched  into  a  

popular  song,  and  a  cheer  surged  up  from  the  crowd.  Beni  jumped  onto  the  bar  and  

began  to  dance,  making  the  cluster  of  women  squeal.  Madison  sipped  at  her  drink,  

feeling  the  vodka  warm  her  insides  as  she  watched  Beni  dance.  He  held  his  arms  out  

to  the  sides  as  if  he  were  about  to  launch  into  flight,  and  swung  his  pelvis  in  wide,  

loose  circles.    

  “What  a  showoff,”  said  a  voice  behind  her.    

  Madison  turned  around.  She  caught  her  breath,  and  her  heart  leapt  into  her  

throat.  A  stunning,  dark-­‐haired  man  stood  at  the  bar  with  a  couple  of  bills  in  his  

hand.  Madison  recognized  him  immediately  from  the  Mexican  soap  opera  she  used  

to  watch,  La  Vida  Salvaje.  He’d  played  the  romantic  lead,  Esteban,  a  wealthy  estate  

owner  whose  fiancée  is  kidnapped  by  drug  lords.  It  was  the  only  soap  opera  

Madison  had  ever  been  hooked  on.    

  She  tried  to  keep  her  composure,  looking  up  at  the  spectacle  on  the  bar.  

“Yeah,  Beni  has  no  shame.”    

  As  if  on  cue,  Beni  smiled  down  at  her  and  blew  her  a  kiss.  They  watched  as  he  

swung  around  and  did  a  few  salsa  moves  on  the  narrow  bar.  Then  he  wiggled  his  

butt,  which  made  the  female  patrons  whoop  and  yell.    

  “If  we  ever  get  our  bartender  back,”  the  actor  said,  turning  his  body  so  that  

Madison’s  shoulder  was  pressed  up  against  his  chest,  “can  I  buy  you  another  drink?”    

  “Beni  never  charges  me  for  drinks.”  Madison  was  surprised  by  the  flirtatious  

lilt  in  her  voice.    

  The  actor’s  eyes  shamelessly  rolled  over  her  body,  from  top  to  bottom,  and  

back  up  again.  “Of  course  he  doesn’t.”    

  She  contemplated  telling  him  what  a  big  fan  she  was,  but  she  knew  that  

would  tip  the  balance  in  his  favor.  He  came  up  to  me,  she  told  herself.    

  “Your  accent  sounds  Cuban,”  she  said.  

  The  actor  gave  her  a  broad  smile.  His  teeth  were  TV  perfect.  “So  am  I.”  He  

took  the  glass  from  her  hand  and  took  a  sip.  She  could  tell  by  his  confidence  that  no  

woman  had  ever  been  offended  by  this  presumptuous  move.  “And  your  accent  

is…well,  I  have  no  idea.    

  “American.”    

  “Really!  Your  Spanish  is  perfect!”  He  handed  back  the  drink  and  looked  up  in  

desperation  at  Beni,  who  had  pulled  a  woman  onto  the  bar  to  dance  beside  him.  “I’m  

not  getting  a  drink  tonight,  am  I?”    

  Madison  shoved  the  vodka  tonic  back  into  his  hand.  “What  do  you  want?  I’ll  

get  it.”    

  “Just  a  beer,  but…”  

  “Corona?”    

  “Perfect.”    

  She  slipped  through  the  bodies  huddled  near  the  bar  and  made  her  way  to  

the  end,  where  she  dipped  under  the  counter,  just  like  old  times.  Beni  turned  to  look  

at  her  as  he  swung  his  hips  and  swayed  side  to  side.  He  gave  her  a  go-­‐for-­‐it  smile.  

She  went  to  the  refrigerated  cabinet  and  pulled  out  two  Coronas.  Then  she  popped  

off  the  caps  and  headed  back  to  her  actor.    

  “You  are  a  good  girl  to  know,”  he  laughed,  taking  the  beer.  “I’m  Daniel.”    

  “Madison,”  she  replied,  clinking  her  bottle  against  his.    

  They  took  a  long  drink,  holding  eye  contact  until  they’d  finished  the  first  sip,  

as  is  customary  in  Mexico.  They  were  jostled  about  and  the  music  blared,  but  even  

after  the  long  sip  they  still  held  the  gaze.  Madison  shivered  a  little,  and  butterflies  

exploded  in  her  stomach.    

  “Madison,”  he  said  in  a  low  voice  that  she  somehow  managed  to  hear  over  the  

din.  “You  are  something  else.”    

  She  smiled  and  took  another  long  sip  of  beer.  It  was  surreal  to  see  that  face,  

those  seductive  eyes  that  had  helped  his  character  bed  at  least  four  different  women  

on  the  show  in  the  time  Madison  was  watching.  And  now  they  were  trying  to  bed  

her.  It  was  almost  too  much  to  believe.  She  felt  a  hand  on  her  arm  and  someone  spun  

her  around.  It  was  Enzo.    

  “Let’s  get  out  of  here,”  he  said,  breathless.  “My  ex  is  here  and  he’s  looking  for  

me.  Apparently  he  wants  to  break  my  nose.  Can  you  imagine?”    

  “Why?”  Madison  asked  impatiently.  She  glanced  at  Daniel,  hoping  he  

wouldn’t  take  it  as  a  cue  to  leave.    

  “You  know,  stupid  rumors.  He  thinks  I  slept  with  his  current  boyfriend  just  to  

get  back  at  him.”  

  She  gave  him  a  look.  “Did  you?”    

  “I  don’t  know.  Maybe.  Let’s  just  get  out  of  here.”    

  Without  another  word,  he  pulled  her  through  the  crowd.  She  turned  to  see  

Daniel  sadly  watching  her  go.  Madison  gave  him  a  little  wave  and  mouthed  “I’m  

sorry.”  He  nodded  and  held  his  beer  in  the  air  to  say  thank  you.  The  next  thing  she  

knew,  they  were  out  in  the  street.  It  was  a  cool  night  and  the  air  smelled  of  smoke  

and  grilled  corn.  A  group  of  drunken  revelers  spilled  out  of  the  club  singing  at  the  

tops  of  their  lungs.    

  “That  was  Esteban  from  La  Vida  Salvaje!”  Madison  hissed  to  Enzo.  “He  

wanted  to  buy  me  a  drink!  Can  you  believe  that?”    

  Enzo  pulled  Madison  close,  his  arm  tight  around  her  shoulder.  “I  know  

Daniel.”    

  Madison  gaped  in  amazement.  “My  God!  How  do  you  know  him?”  

  Enzo  shrugged.  “I  know  all  the  Cubans  worth  knowing  in  Mexico  City.”    

He  guided  them  in  the  direction  of  home.  Madison  was  exhausted  so  she  let  

her  head  rest  against  his  arm.  He  kissed  the  top  of  her  head  and  sighed.    

“Look,  doll,”  he  said,  the  usual  playfulness  gone  from  his  voice.  “Now  that  

you’re  one  of  the  hot  chicks,  you’ve  got  to  start  looking  out  for  the  wolves.”