That night, as she was dressing for dinner, Wanda Ases couldn’t shake reflections of the man Brian S’pense had become. Every time she glanced in a mirror, there he was, looming in some dark corner that would turn out, invariably, to be merely a flaw in the glass. Not like the Brian S’pense she’d known in college. She remembered the wobbly way he’d had of dancing, the mild diffusion about his eyes. It plagued her to wonder how he’d become so hateful.
And it annoyed her that she’d accepted his invitation to dinner. But after seven nights holed up in her room, afraid to venture out against the volver a venir, she found herself craving some sort of experience, even a bad one. And even if she didn’t particularly like the present Major S’pense, she surely felt safe in his company.
As she rummaged through her closet for something that didn’t cling hideously to the sweat on her body, Wanda wondered what exactly he was doing here. She knew that the U.S. Government had advisors in Buena Salida. She also knew of the private armies held by heavily invested corporations. Even her own company, Seven International, employed a cadre of goons and influence peddlers to guarantee a respectable annual return. Could S’pense be working for one of these? Could he really have become a soldier of fortune?
She dropped a loop of pearls around her neck and adjusted her garters and walked outside to meet his driver.
In the street, teenagers were everywhere, chasing each other in adolescent lust; playing out the ritual codified in their holy day’s delirious symbolism. Wanda felt a sudden gust of hot steam as the hotel chef threw open a window. It billowed around her, pasting her blouse to her shoulder blades.
She jumped sideways, and was just as suddenly seized by strong arms. Before she could react, she was thrown into a car and sped hundreds of miles into the darkening jungle.
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Accent image: Photo by Pietro Tebaldi on Unsplash.
Accent image: Photo by Vishnu R Nair from Pexels.