Border Town Ch. 01

It was an old building with whitewashed clapboard walls and a tin roof. Several large lights hung from the ceiling. The lights added to the oppressive heat. From the walls to the center were low wooden tiers that descended to the center, each tier only five or six inches higher than the next inside. The tiers were occupied by a folding chairs, some metal, some wooden. I made certain Bob got us metal chairs. The wooden ones were old and I had no desire to get splinters in my backside.

The center of the building was roughly octagonal. It had a sand and sawdust floor.

Bob and I sat about a third of the way down. Over half the audience were like us, turistas. Most of the Americans were college boys, but I was surprised to se several couples. Bob alone in his thinking. Seeing the women made me feel a little better about being here. The rest of the audience were Mexican and all male. Among us, boys in dirty clothes moved selling bags of peanuts and cans of beer.

I was wondering what I was doing here. This was Bob's idea. After my niece's wedding, Bob had suggested a trip into Mexico. He told me to dress casually. While I changed, my husband called a cab. We had a rental car, of course, but it's always risky driving across from Texas to Mexico. Mexican drivers and traffic laws can be intimidating.

Bob had spoken to our driver in Spanish that was too quick for my understanding. Then he settled back with in the seat and pulled me close for a little pitching and woo. When we got to the international bridge and the Border Patrol officer looked in the back of the cab, he had to get his hand out of my pants. The driver explained that we had hired him for a three hour trip. The guard just nodded and waved us through to the Mexican side. Getting out of the country was easy. Getting back in might be something else altogether.

Once past the bright lights of the crossing, the city of Nueva Laredo looked much like it's sister city in Texas. Neon lights advertised restaurants and night clubs and the people on the sidewalks were well dressed. The appearance changed as we got farther away from border. The buildings and the people were shabbier. The streets were rougher, the streetlights less frequent. Dirty pre-teen boys came out of the shadows at each stop sign to try to sell us gum or cheap pens or religious trinkets. Our driver kept the cab windows up and the air conditioning blasting against the hot night.

Through a maze of narrow streets he took us. We were about fifteen minutes into Mexico when he pulled up in front of the building. It had a painted sign under a large wattage bulb but the paint was faded so I couldn't read it. The walls were decorated with sun breached posters for boxing or wrestling matches. There was a ticket booth at the entrance and an old man with one leg sat beside it to take the purchased tickets.

Our driver turned to look at us. I knew he'd been watching us in his mirror as Bob and I made out like horny teenagers.

"Thees ees" he told my husband "an hokay place for the gringa hermosa. Ver' safe. The woman who sells the teeckets, she weel say seventy-five pesos for one. Tell her no, you weel pay five dollars American for the both of you. She weel look sad, but she weel agree. You have pesos or American dollars?"

"Both."

"Pay in dollars. Eet weel be cheaper. The peso, eet ess not so good right now. The legal exchange ees about seex cents to the peso. The cerveza, eef you want eet, weel be good and cold. Muy frio. Any food, not so good. Do not buy eet. The banos weel be behind the arena. They weel be sanitary but not so much clean." I wondered at the distinction

"I weel peek you up een two hours. He held up two fingers. "Hokay?"

"OK," Bob agreed after glancing at his watch. It was a cheap sports watch. His Rolex was locked in the room safe back at our hotel. He opened the car door, got out and turned to help me. I took a few seconds to adjust my clothing and joined him in the street. I felt momentarily self-conscious until I noticed there were a smattering of women with the men filing past the crippled man at the entrance. Many were about my age and similarly dressed.

The taxi driver leered at me, tipped his dirty chauffeur's cap, and drove away.

Bob took my arm and steered me to the ticket booth.

"This is crazy."

"You'll love it," my husband insisted. He haggled briefly with the ticket seller. He's good at it. Maybe in a former life he worked in a Turkish bazaar. Personally, I hate haggling. I don't do it at the grocery store and see no reason to do it anywhere else. Our driver was right, though. The elderly woman exchanged two tickets for a $5 bill. The one legged man - I think he was the ticket seller's husband - took the tickets and an opportunity to pat my fanny, returned our stubs, and waved us past.

The arena was filling nicely.

Bob said, "I want to get a good spot."

The "spots" such as they were, all looked the same to me. It wasn't as if we were choosing a box for the symphony.

Still, he led us over to our right and about a third of the way down Bob offered to buy me a beer. I asked for a Diet Coke, but that wasn't available, so I accepted a Modelo Negro. It was ice cold. In the heat of the arena, it tasted good.

Two stage hands brought in a brass bed and it's stained mattress. They set their burden down dead center of the floor, gazed over the crowd, and left. I didn't need to ask what the prop was for. To hear my husband tell it, he'd spent every weekend during his college years in Nueva Laredo' Boys Town; he was an expert in its entertainment.

A man in a fancy caballero outfit, all black with silver buttons and gold designs came out. He took off his broad brimmed sombrero and bowed. He wore a bandito style moustache and was dark complexioned. He spoke at length in Spanish. Again, it was too fast for me to do more than catch a phrase here or there. I did catch his name, Tomas. It sounded like he was describing three acts. His voice was loud and clear. At the end of his speech, he switched to English.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to you for tonight's entertainment. We start our program with

Lorena and Bruno.

He made way for a black haired plump woman and her partner. It was a performance that wouldn't have played well in Mayberry, USA, or even Peoria, but it got the crowd excited. Some of the men were jumping and crying out in encouragement as the act ended. Even Bob had been caught up in the fervor. He put his arm around my shoulders and let his hand drape over my boob. Maybe I was being a prude, but if this was going to be the standard of the entertainment, I'd rather wait in the taxi.

After Bruno had removed himself from Lorena and they had departed the stage, the two stage hands came out. They flipped over the used and abused mattress and departed

One of the men sitting behind us leaned forward, inserting his face between us. He said, in surprisingly good English, "That was very good, no? Bruno, he is muy fuerza."

Maybe very strong, yes, but not my idea of a sexual partner.

The Mexican, he had surprisingly blue eyes and a long face with a very thin equally long scar down one cheek that made him look dangerous, passed forward a clear bottle with an elaborate label. Inside the bottle was a honey colored liquid. "A taste?"

"Sure," Bob said, the silly ass. He uncorked the bottle and took a pull. His eyes got bright. "That stuff came from the right cactus. Honey?"

"No thanks." But I took the bottle anyway and passed it back to the man behind us. He certainly was a handsome devil, I decided. Was this where he came for kicks? Or did he pick up women here? That hardly seemed possible. Single women didn't come to a place like this.

I told Bob I wouldn't mind another beer, though, and he waved a boy over. My husband bought three and handed one to his new best buddy.

I took a drink and to hell with my hips, I thought.

Tomas came back out. He brought with him two long legged women in flowing gowns. One woman, barely twenty, was slender. She was pale with red hair. The other of about the same age, had more meat on her bones, and was black. Tomas introduced them to us as Bambi and Jemima. He pronounced the last name Spanish fashion, 'Hay-mee-mah." Despite his variation in pronunciation, it was the most unlikely name for a black girl in this day and age I could imagine. But then, I really didn't believe the willowy blonde was named Bambi.

He spoke in low tones to the duo and stepped away from them. Immediately, they went after each other. Screaming. Clawing. Cursing each other as they grappled. The gowns were quickly rent from the sweating bodies as they wrestled in front of the crowd.

The fighting didn't last long, however. Soon after they were naked, the slaps became caresses, the bites became kisses. The catfight had obviously been just a diversion to get them naked. They fell together on the bed.

My husband leaned over to whisper in my ear, " I'm going to hit the john."

"And leave me here alone? What if I'm abducted and sold into white slavery to a bunch of rich A-rabs?"

He patted my thigh in a tender fashion. "I guess I'll read about in the papers. Damn, I sure will miss you."

Bob kissed my cheek and left me sitting there. For the first time, I noticed the heat was more oppressive. It seemed like every Mexican was smoking - lung cancer obviously wasn't a concern south of the border - and a heavy haze hung under the rafters occasionally stirred by the air currents caused by the heat from the lights. I caught the aroma of sweat and sexual excitement. A few of the couples in the crowd were snuggling closer to each other. I was surprised how quiet the crowd was.

I returned my attention to the performers. Well, if they were acting, they deserved Oscars. They were entwined, face to crotch. Even across the distance separating us, I could see their bodies were sleek and shiny with perspiration. Even across the distance, I could hear their moans; the sounds of their kissing were audible. It was nice to see two young people who obviously enjoyed their work.

Bob came back. I asked him about the facilities. He said, all things considered, they were OK. I told him I didn't trust his judgment at the moment, but I was willing to risk it. If necessary, I could always find a convenient bush or cactus.

"Through the door. Damas to the left, hombres to the right."

The restroom was actually pretty clean. No need to hover. I pulled up my panties, snuggled them into place, and hitched up my trousers.

Away from the slightly malodorous johns, the night smelled fresh from the smoky atmosphere of the arena. I walked around a bit to get the fug out of my lungs. Around the front of the arena, the ticket booth was dark. The old man with one leg had been joined by another old man. They had set a stool between their chairs and were playing cribbage. I watched as they counted and pegged their points. Both men smiled at me. The friend tipped his hat to me. I idled a few minutes longer. The game was foreign to me, although I remembered that one of my grandfathers had been a wizard at the game back in the day.

Inside the building, the two girls had been joined by a male dwarf. The mattress was barely big enough to contain all three of them. I'd never seen a naked little person before and wondered if dwarf males were all so well hung. It certainly explained a lot about Snow White. For the first time, I felt the beginning of a tingle. The trio seemed more interested in slap-stick comedy, though, and the tingle didn't grow.

The Mexican with the bottle had moved up from his seat behind us and was sitting in my chair. As I came up, Bob was handing back the bottle. Its level of liquid was appreciably lower.

"Senora," the man said as I came up. He rose, gestured to my chair, and let me sit. He sat in the empty chair beside me.

"Your husband introduced himself. I am Antonio." he offered my his hand. Most Latinos, in my experience, have handshakes like a dishrag. Ditto many Middle Easterners. Not Antonio. He had a firm handshake like any norte Americano. "Do you enjoy the performance?"

There was no need to insult him. After all, sex shows were practically the national sport along the border. I said that Bambi and Jemima certainly put on a show.

"Next will be the intermission. It is always good. Tomas is a, how you say, master showman."

"Yeah," Bob said. "Tony's been saying he can put on a good show."

I asked him to get me a third beer while I silently hoped it wouldn't be another Bruno-type act.

The dwarf fell out of bed. The girls, laughing, jumped down to join him. Surrounding him, if you want to call it that, they rolled around with him. I wondered what the sawdust would do to their twats. I remembered a long ago attempt Bob and I tried for beach sex. The sand had about rubbed us raw.

Finally, squeaking and giggling, the two naked women let the dwarf chase them out of the arena.

The crowd applauded as the two stage hands came out and removed the bed. Most of the lights hung from the ceiling were turned off. Tomas came back out. A spotlight hit him. Obviously, something big was on tap.

Tomas turned around slowly, looking at us, letting us see his pretty outfit. He spoke in Spanish a bit. Then he switched to English, the words carry as he projected them from his barrel chest. I'd heard similar spiels from emcees on cruise ships. Hope we were enjoying the show, the next act would be such-and-such, make sure to get your refreshments, et cetera.

A naked girl appeared on a horse and I felt a sick shudder course through my body. But she just rode the stallion around the arena floor, throwing flowers at the crowd from a two sacks looped over the horse's withers. I didn't envy her. I had ridden horses in my life, but never bareback and never naked. The entire proposition sounded almost as much fun as rolling around nude in sand and sawdust.

The horsewoman rode away.

Tomas reappeared.

"I need, next," he called out in his clear tones, "a beautiful volunteer."

The first voice I heard was Antonio's. He cried out, "Aqui!"

Bob, the boob, joined him. "Aqui! Aqui! Over here!"

They were pointing at me. And I sat there like an idiot, not protesting at all. Tomas pointed in my direction and the spotlight swept over to hit me smack in the eyes. Before I knew what was happening, Tomas was bounding up the aisle and pulling on my hand.

Lord, love a duck! What the shit have I gotten into? Correction, what has my fucking brain dead husband, love of my life, father to my children, sharer not only of my bed, but also all - OK, most of my dreams and secrets gotten me into? My husband and his new best bid Antonio.

I tried to resist. I might as well have been trying to resist in a tug-of-war battle with a mastiff.

*+*

Tomas got me to the middle of the arena floor.

He said in a whisper, "Do not fear. You will not be embarrassed or harmed. I, Tomas Ignacio Geraldo Cristofer O'Malley-Saenz, promise this on the head of my twelve children and fifty-one grandchildren."

He paused for dramatic effect. "In truth, the crowd will love our performance. And you will enjoy it. Have no doubt."

He smiled to the cheering crowd and turned us so that everyone could see us. I put a nervous smile on my face.

OK, I should have run screaming from the spotlight, but what woman could resist? Especially one with a smidgen of vanity. There are better looking women than me, for sure. Don't doubt it for a second. But for a forty-something wife and mother of two, I look damned good. And these people were cheering me. ME! My smile got more confident.

After all, if another Bruno came running out of the darkness, I could always flee.

"What is your name, corazon?"

If the other two were Bambi and Jemima, my mind snapped to the fact that I could be Barbie. I told him that was my name.

"Tonight, compadres, I present you - Senora Bar-Bee." He held up my left hand in salutation. I had no doubt the rock I wore was dazzling in the spotlight. Bob has great taste and he told me at the time he'd saved up six months to get me a diamond I'd be proud of and would make all my sorority sisters green with envy. It had, too.

The crowd went bonkers. Even above the din, I was certain I could hear Bob the Boob, though. Despite my swelling ego, I knew he was going to pay for this. He had no idea!

So there I stood. Miss America. Just won the Oscar for best actress. Or better yet, Miss Pepo at the Luling, Texas, Watermelon Thump.

"We will return, amigos, Senora Bar-Bee and me."

Tomas led me from the spotlight and from the arena. We stopped in the shadows. "Things I must know: Are you with child?"

"Oh God, I hope not."

He smiled. "Any disease or infirmity?"

I shook my head.

"Do you smoke?"

"I used to. I quit when I had my first baby."

"But if you hold a cigarette between your lips, you will not cough?"

"Nope."

"Do you embarrass?"

Another shake.

"You wear, I think, a brassiere."

"Yes." Where was this going?

Does it - " he struggled to come up with the word and finally gave up. "Does it fit in front or back?"

"It has a front clasp," I said, touching my chest in the center of my chest. I may not be up to Christie Canyon's status, but my girls are OK. At least, I'd never gotten any complaints.

"Augusta!" he called out.

A blonde woman appeared. She had the build of a Brunnhilde, the coloring of a beer hall fraulein.

She was puffing on a cigarette. She was about eight or nine paces away and stood in profile to us.

I envied her development. If they were real. I thought they probably were.

Tomas took a bullwhip off a chair. With a quick flick of his wrist, he knocked the ash off the woman's cigarette. He looked at me. The woman's boobs were sticking out almost as much as the cigarette. Another wrist movement and the cigarette was snapped from her mouth.

"Do you see?"

"Yes," I nodded. The fabric of Augusta's blouse had barely rippled from the passage of the whip. "But before we start, I'd like to visit the little girls' room again."

The man smiled, showing his big white even teeth. He aimed rapid fire instructions to Augusta. She took me to a plain but tidy dressing room and showed me a bathroom that was up to Texas standards. I got rid of the last of the beer and thanked the woman. She said in Spanish that Tomas was a good man. At least, I think that was what she told me. She gave me a pack of smokes and a small box of wooden matches.

Tomas led me back to the center of the arena. He whispered that when he turned to face me, I should take out a cigarette and light it. "Don't shake out the match."

He turned from me. He harangued the crowd in Spanish. Then he switched to English. I had, he told the crowd, much courage. Much beauty. He turned to face me and I took my cue. I'd barely gotten the cigarette lit when my fingers felt a rush of air. The tip of the whip snuffed out the match and left a sonic crack lingering in the air. Then he took off the glowing tip of my cigarette, Then the end third of its length. Then the last of the cigarette. Other than the quick rush of air, I'd felt nothing.

The crowd applauded.

"Smoking is a bad habit," Tomas joked. He walked around me, continuing his schtick. I ignored that, trying to judge his position by the sound of his voice. I didn't want any surprises. Whatever was coming, I needed to see it coming. I didn't want to flinch from surprise.

As he spoke, he cracked the whip several times. He was showing off, I guessed. Nothing came close to me.

When Tomas was in front of me, he took my hand. Raised it to his lips. Kissed the back of it. His eyes bored into mine, full of confidence. He whispered, "You are very pretty. Are you proud?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He strode away from me with quick long steps. Seven paces away, Tomas whirled around. The whip danced between up. The top button of my blouse flew away.