Bossa Novas, Bikinis, and Bad Ends Read online

  “She’ll love that. Thanks for telling me about it.”

  I danced him back to his table and his waiting wife, and he danced with her. When I looked back, I saw her smiling and nodding. I assumed she would get to see the flea market the next day.

  We got our usual cheers and applause and bowed to our audience. They kept on dancing after our show was over.

  It wasn’t eleven yet, so I sneaked across the lobby into Miguel’s office to check on my kittens. When I opened the door, one little kitten had jumped out of the basket and was running around the office. I knelt down and he came to me right away. He was my favorite. He had a white collar. He looked up at me. I must have met with his approval because first he gave a little mew and then he purred.

  I glanced over at the basket. I could see that Teodora was a little worried about her missing kitten so I brought my cat back to her and put him in the basket next to his mother. Teodora settled back, content, and I patted her too. The kittens were so sweet and cuddly, I wanted to stay there all night, but I knew I had to get ready to meet Yasmin.

  They say the world is divided into dog lovers and cat lovers. I know plenty of people who have both dogs and cats, but I am definitely a cat lover. Maybe because I’m basically lazy and don’t want to have to walk a dog every day even when it’s snowing or raining or freezing cold. A cat just jumps in his litter box and takes care of the whole situation on his own.

  There’s also something I like about a cat’s attitude toward life. They’re not as needy as dogs. If you like a cat and want him around, he’ll humor you and cuddle up to you and purr as long as you feed him and provide a litter box. If not, he’s out of there. A dog will hang around looking for a pat no matter how you treat him.

  Best of all, if you want to go away for a week or two, you just call up a friend and ask her to put food in your cat’s dish and water in the other dish and put fresh sand in the litter box. I usually call a friend who also has a cat so I can do the same for her. With dogs, you have to take them to a kennel so someone can walk them every day and look after them.

  And maybe it has something to do with the owner’s personality. I’m more like a cat. If you like me, that’s fine. If you don’t, I can feed myself and go to the bathroom all by myself. Dog lovers are often extroverts who bounce into the world eager for people to love them and pat them. Nothing wrong with that. They’re just . . . different.

  One last pat, and I went upstairs to change into a black top and pants. The red and white outfit was a little too standoutish for this baile funk, I thought. Actually, I had no idea what people in the favelas would be wearing, but black seemed to be the safest bet. At eleven, I went back to the lobby and Yasmin was there waiting for me.

  “Let’s go,” she said, pulling me through the door. “We don’t want to miss anything.” She turned me around to face her. “You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, did you?” she said.

  I don’t know why, but I lied. “No.” I said. “No one. Why do you ask?”

  “Your friends might be mad that I didn’t invite all of you to come. But you understand, Pat, they’re very particular about who they let into these things from the outside. They’re always afraid the police will get in there and start shooting people.”

  “The police just shoot people for going to a party?”

  “The police shoot people for no reason at all up there,” she said. “Nobody cares what happens to poor people. Over 2,000 people a year are killed by the police in these favelas.”

  She was walking quickly toward the road beside the hotel.

  “Aren’t we driving up there?” I asked.

  “No, it’s easier to walk. It’s not far.”

  It seemed far to me and steep. The farther up we walked, the rougher the road became. I was glad I had worn low-heeled shoes.

  The closer we got to the top of the hill, the louder the music coming from the favelas blared. It was a combination of African jazz and booty bass from the nineties. It made me want to dance right there on that rutty road.

  When we got to the top, the entrance to the favelas was blocked by a huge, old wreck of a car.

  “They’ve closed the whole thing off,” Jasmin said. “So the police can’t get in.”

  A large black man appeared on the other side of the car.

  “Quemé?” he said. Yasmin told me out of the side of her mouth that he was asking, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Yasmin,” she said in Portuguese.

  There was a rapid exchange of words, which I could not understand, but I assumed she told him that I was a friend of hers and it was safe to let me in. The man motioned for us to climb through the car and follow him.

  Since Natalia had not taken us on a tour through the favelas, I was not prepared for what I saw. Slums didn’t begin to describe the buildings in front of me. They were worse than shacks, all crowded together, one against the other, no glass in the windows, sewage running in the gutters, walls falling down. It was unbelievable to think of people living there.

  Yasmin saw my face. “How’d you like to live like that?” she asked, her voice hard.

  “Why don’t they do something about it?” I asked.

  “Who?” she said, her tone sarcastic.

  “The government. Somebody.”

  “If the government had its way, they would tear all these buildings down and get rid of the people living here. They only put up with them because of the thriving drug trade that goes on here and the people with guns who keep them out.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. My face must have registered my dismay.

  “Cheer up, my little American,” Yasmin said. “Let’s party.”

  We rounded the corner and there was a huge open area full of hundreds of people dancing, drinking, yelling, singing. They were all various shades of tan and brown and black. I don’t think I was ever as aware of the whiteness of my skin as I was at that moment. The color of my skin was a definite disadvantage. Hmm, that’s a switch, I thought.

  “Are you sure it’s all right for us to be here?” I asked Yasmin. I really meant was it all right for me to be there. Her skin was brown.

  “As long as you’re with me, you’re fine,” she said. “I have a lot of friends here.”

  “How come?” I asked. It didn’t seem like her kind of environment.

  “I grew up here,” she said. “In one of these shacks. My mother had a brief affair with an American. Let’s call it a one-nighter. She never saw him again. Nine months later I was born.”

  It occurred to me she might not be overly fond of Americans. I felt a little uneasy. Let’s say, a lot uneasy.

  “I thought you said you were from São Paulo,” I said.

  “I tell people that because I got my education there. I don’t want anyone to know about my childhood in the favelas of Rio. I left this hellhole as soon as I could to go to São Paulo and take accounting courses. I came back here and got a job at the Copacabana because my mother was still here in these slums. As soon as I could, I got her out of them and into an apartment near me. But I still feel responsible for the other people I grew up with here. I’d do anything for them. I won’t let anything or anyone—“Here she paused and I could see tears in her eyes.

  “Yasmin?” I said.

  She brushed away the tears and smiled at me. “Come on. Let’s dance. Just jump in and move like the great dancer you are. I’ll find you later.” She gave me a little push, and I found myself next to a bunch of women dancing wildly, crazily, pulling me into the middle of their group.

  The music got to me. I didn’t care anymore. I put Yasmin out of my mind. I let go of all my inhibitions and careful behavior and nagging anxieties and just danced. I didn’t notice people around me. I just gave in to the music. It was like being on some kind of strong drug where my mind stopped working and my body took over. I often wonder where this side of my being came from. It’s so spontaneous, compared to the careful, tidy person I am in real life. I cher
ish this other side of me and am so glad I found my dancing friends who take me all over the world with them.

  I don’t know how long I danced like that, but after a while I realized I was no longer in a group of women but surrounded by several men moving closer and closer to me. They were all laughing and reaching for me. I looked around for Yasmin, but she was nowhere in sight.

  “As long as you’re with me, you’re fine,” she had said. Uh-oh. This was not good. I tried to duck out of the circle of men all around me, but they closed in even more. One of them said something in Portuguese and laughed. He reached for the strap on my top and ripped it off. I lowered my head and smashed it into his groin as hard as I could. He yelled and dropped back just long enough for me to slip through his legs and get away.

  Luckily, it was dark, and I was in black. I scooted in and out of other dancing groups, getting farther and farther away from the men who had closed in on me. Most people were too caught up in the dance and drugs and drinking to pay much attention to me. I kept trying to spot Yasmin in that crowd, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. Finally I got back to the car that was blocking the street, climbed over the top of it, and ran down the hill to the hotel.

  I stumbled through the doorway. There was no one in the lobby. It must have been about two in the morning. I got in the elevator and leaned against the wall until I reached my floor.

  When I opened our door, Gini was sitting up fast asleep. I turned off the light and tried to be quiet, but I was still so scared, I groaned as I fell onto the bed. Gini opened her eyes, turned on the light, took one look at me, and was instantly awake.

  “Pat!” she said. “What happened to you? You look terrible.”

  I realized my top was nearly torn off, my hair was in my eyes, and my face must have been a mess.

  I started to cry. I couldn’t stop. I tried to blurt out what had happened to me, but the words wouldn’t come. “I . . . I was . . . Oh, Gini, it was . . .”

  In a flash she was out of her bed and sitting on mine. She put her arms around me and rocked me. “Shh, Pat, it’s all right. Hush, hush, you’re safe.”

  Gradually my sobs subsided, and I mopped my eyes and blew my nose.

  When I could talk, the whole story of my experience at the baile funk poured out. The music. The dancing. The men. The torn strap. The terror.

  “My God!” Gini said. “Where was Yasmin while you were going through all of this?”

  “I think she meant to disappear and leave me there,” I said. “Gini, you should have seen the way she looked at me when she was telling me about her childhood, about her American father who got her mother pregnant and left, about growing up in those slums. You wouldn’t believe the way people live in those favelas. Worse than any slums I’ve ever seen, anywhere. I think she hates Americans because of her deadbeat father. She must have wanted something really bad to happen to me tonight. Because I’m an American, I mean.”

  “How strange,” Gini said. “She’s usually so low-key and unemotional. Are you going to tell the police?”

  “What am I going to tell them—that I went to a street dance in the favelas, and some guy I don’t know ripped the strap off my top, and I couldn’t find Yasmin. They’re going to ask me why I went there in the first place. They’ll blame it on me for being so stupid.”

  “Well, it won’t hurt to tell Chief Pereira tomorrow,” Gini said. “I can’t get rid of this feeling that Yasmin is somehow mixed up in these murders. I don’t know what it is, but it has something to do with money and her job here and your experience with her tonight and—you know what I mean?”

  “We have no proof of that, Gini. None at all. She may have finked out on me tonight because I’m American, but that doesn’t connect her to the murders. Even I don’t believe that, and I’m ready to believe anything bad about her.”

  “I know that, but it would be interesting to find out why she really disappeared while you were being molested by her friends. I can’t believe it’s just because you’re an American. That’s why you should tell Pereira what happened.”

  “That still doesn’t mean she had anything to do with the murders. She just doesn’t like me.”

  “How could anybody not like you?” Gini said. “Miss Lovable.”

  “Right,” I said. “Sorry I woke you, Gini. Go back to sleep.”

  “I’m so sorry I fell asleep waiting for you, Pat. Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “More or less,” I said. “I can still feel their hands on my shoulder.”

  “Try to sleep,” she said.

  I stripped off my torn clothes and was asleep in seconds.

  Pat’s Tip for Traveling with Friends: If you’re

  no good at details like best plane fares, least

  expensive hotels, and travel discounts, go with

  someone who is.

  Chapter Thirteen

  What’s Shrimp Bobo?

  The next morning I couldn’t make myself get out of bed. I kept turning over and burying my head under the pillow and going back to sleep. Every time I woke up, I remembered the night before and the circle of men closing in on me. I heard that loud music. Saw the broken-down buildings, the sewage running down the streets. I could not get out of bed and face the world.

  About ten o’clock, the door to our suite opened, and Gini poked her head inside. When she saw me still buried under the covers, she came over to the bed and sat down beside me.

  “Are you OK, Pat?” she asked.

  “Not really,” I mumbled, peeking around the sheet.

  She gave me a hug. “It’s over, hon,” she said. “You’re safe. Natalia is taking us up to Grumari for lunch on the Barra da Tijuca Beach, and then she said she would take us to a museum of Brazilian folk art that we would love. Do you want to come with us or do you want to just rest today? I told our gang what happened to you last night, and they’re all worried about you.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “I really want to come with you. I don’t want to stay here by myself. I need to get away from this hotel. Could you ask them to wait while I get dressed?”

  “Sure, don’t worry,” Gini said. “Natalia said to take as long as you need. She’ll wait for you.”

  She hesitated and then said, “The strangest thing, Pat. Yasmin stopped by our table this morning while we were eating breakfast and asked where you were. She said she looked everywhere for you last night but couldn’t find you. She wanted to know if you were all right.”

  “What?” I yelled. “She had the nerve to say she—I don’t believe her!” I was sputtering, barely able to get the words out.

  “I couldn’t believe it either, Pat. I stared at her and then I said—you know me, I can’t help it—I said, ‘Where were you last night? Pat came home a wreck after being attacked and said you weren’t anywhere around.’ ”

  “What did she say to that?” I asked.

  “She said, her voice quivering, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! How terrible. I looked all over for her but when I didn’t see her I just assumed she went back to the hotel. I had no idea she . . .’”

  I shivered. “She meant to leave me there last night,” I said. “What a liar. Just keep her away from me, will you? I don’t want to have anything more to do with her.”

  “I’ll try, but you’re going to have to confront her sooner or later,” Gini said. I knew she was right. Just not this morning.

  “I’ll order you a couple of rolls and some coffee,” Gini said. “Whenever you’re ready, come on downstairs and we’ll head to Grumari.”

  She left. I stumbled out of bed and shuddered when I saw my favorite black top and pants lying on the floor crumpled and torn. I went into the luxurious bathroom and turned on the blessedly hot water in the shower. I scrubbed every part of me several times. I felt like I was washing away the night before.

  When I felt clean enough, I toweled off and put on a crisp white shirt and black jeans. I brushed my hair dry, put on some makeup, and went downstairs to join the others. I felt tense. I was
so afraid I would run into Yasmin. I had no idea what I would say to her. I was out of luck. She was there in the lobby.

  “Pat!” she said, coming over to me and putting her arms around me. I froze, then pulled away from her. “Whatever happened to you last night? I looked everywhere for you. I was really worried about you.”

  I looked at her in disbelief. At first I couldn’t even answer her. Then I said, “Maybe you should have looked a little harder, Yasmin. I was lucky to get out of there alive. You should have made sure I was all right. I looked everywhere for you when those men were after me and you weren’t there. Didn’t you wonder if I was all right?” I was trying to talk in a normal tone of voice, but my voice got louder as that terrifying night came back to me in a rush.

  “I was there all along,” she said. Liar, I thought. “But it was very dark so I’m not surprised you couldn’t find me. I did look for you, Pat, but in that crowd it was hard to find anybody. Everybody was moving around, dancing, the music was loud. I was sure you had enough and went back to the Copacabana without me.”

  “I guess I was too busy getting away from that bunch of men who were trying to tear my clothes off,” I said and walked away from her.

  She didn’t follow me. She stood there in the lobby and watched me join my friends in the dining room.

  “Oh, hi, Pat,” Gini said. “Here are the rolls and coffee I promised you. I was just about to bring them upstairs to you.”

  “Thanks, Gini,” I said and buttered a warm roll to eat with the hot, delicious coffee she put in front of me.

  “Are you all right, my little Hoofer?” Natalia said, a worried look on her face. “Gini was telling us about your experience last night. Don’t you know you should never go near those favelas without some protection?”

  “I thought I had protection,” I said, looking toward the lobby, but Yasmin was no longer there. “Yasmin assured me that as long as I was with her, I’d be fine. The only trouble was she disappeared, and I definitely wasn’t fine.”

  Natalia’s face closed down. She didn’t say anything. Just looked at me. Not in a compassionate way. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking.