My Mariachi

By Chrissy

How long had I sat here in this Mexican bar? And how much had I drunk? I tried to remember just how many tequilas with fresh lime juice I'd consumed. My head spun. My bleary eyes roved the room. Several of the men were giving me sly leering glances - their oily gazes sliding guiltily away as my eyes confronted theirs.

I turned back to my glass. If it hadn't been so hot, I would never have set foot in this damn bar and I would never have drunk so much. Shit! It was always so fucking hot in Mexico! I thought of my northern home. Ontario, Canada. Where seasons change and frosty winds cool the sun seared earth. But here in Mexico there is never any relief from sticky sweaty heat. Still, I had volunteered to work in this place, so I had no reason to complain. I could've stayed in my comfy job at the Toronto General Hospital. But I wanted a change. I wanted a challenge. So I had volunteered to work in this crumbling, violent, lawless region of Mexico as a doctor in a local clinic. It seemed I was always pulling something out of something. I wrenched bullets embedded in flesh, I brought screaming babies into the world, I even yanked rotted teeth. I did it all. I did it all with no air-conditioning, no proper equipment, no thanks, no gratitude. The Mexicans in this area viewed me with narrow eyed suspicion. And why not? With my blond hair and blue eyes, I stood out like a Californian Baywatch Babe.

It was a Saturday and I was lonely. Desperately lonely. On a whim I had driven to the town of Las Cuevas. A wild, uncivilized place with rusty oil cans rolling noisily in the street and weeds as high as my armpits sprouting from sidewalk cracks. Crumbling plaster buildings bore the spatters of bullet holes from street gunfights. But the stalls in the bustling market overflowed with brilliant hued towels and blankets for less than half the price the crazy tourists paid in Acapulco. Handmade silver and turquoise jewelry could be purchased for an absolute song.

I spent a delightful morning shopping. Happy with my purchases and unwilling to drive back to the loneliness of my rented hacienda, I had strolled along the market street past a corner bar. The door to the bar opened and the aroma of beer and tobacco and the amicable hum of voices wafted out. I licked my parched lips. I don't think I'd ever been so thirsty in my life. On a whim I stepped inside.

I stood by the door for a moment to accustom my eyes from brilliant sunshine to shadowy dimness. Several men were scattered at tables and one man hunched over his drink at the bar, another group were involved in a tense card game. They all looked up and openly stared as I entered. I was about to retreat when I heard a friendly voice.

"Come in, come in. It's hot out there. Come and join us." It was the woman behind the bar beckoning me with a sociable wave of her hand. "Oh, I know you. You're that doctor lady that works in the Corinza Clinic aren't you?"

I nodded yes and stepped up to the bar. A frosty cold beer was placed before me. I lifted the glass and drank with noisy relish. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Oh, that was good," I beamed.

"My name is Carmen," the friendly bar lady said. I shook her hand. "And I am Maisy," I returned.

"Well, it's nice to have a female customer for once," Carmen smiled. "Enjoy that beer, senorita and then I'll get you one of the house specialties - Tequila with fresh lime juice. Good for the complexion and good for the soul. Beer gives you nothing but gas and gut."

I laughed out loud. I hadn't laughed for ages. I liked her. I liked her a lot. So I made myself comfortable on the barstool and we chatted for a long while about everything. Doctors are used to people describing every ache and pain, so I listened with appropriate concern as Carmen recounted every illness every member of her family had ever suffered. I was enjoying myself. It was good be in company and not alone.

As she poured me another tequila with fresh lime, Carmen took up my hand and inspected the palm. "You have very capable doctor hands," she said with great importance. "But your thoughts are scattered. You have no direction; you do not know which way you want to go."

I nodded in bleary drunken agreement. It sounded about right.

"You are a lucky woman, however," Carmen went on, her eyes on my palm.

"Lucky?" I chuckled. "How so?"

Carmen looked up at me, her expression suddenly serious. "You will know a great and passionate love. A love that will scorch your soul and last a lifetime."

She released my palm. "This kind of love is rare. But it will be fleeting."

"Fleeting? You just said it would last a lifetime."

She frowned in puzzlement. "The love will last forever. It's right here in your hand. But the passion will flare like a sudden flame and then simmer in your heart until you die."

I nodded politely and swigged back another tequila. It all sounded like crazy mumbo jumbo to me.

I don't remember when Carmen's husband first appeared on the scene, but things changed once he got behind the bar. He snapped orders at his wife and she could not longer sit and chat with me. Left to my own devices, I gazed around and for the first time took in my surroundings.

Afternoon had turned into evening and over time the bar had filled up. With a sickening dread I realized I was the only woman and I was drawing some unwanted attention. Several evil looking characters were eyeing me with leering interest. A trickle of fear ran down my spine. It was time to go. I stood up.

It was just about at that moment that the door swung open and a man stood framed in the opening. Many people had come and gone yet, for some reason, everyone in the bar looked up as this man stood in its entrance, his form sharply silhouetted by the blood orange rays of a dying sun behind him.

He took a few steps into the room and the bar door swung closed behind him. His head did not move but his glance took in his surroundings with one sweep. I plopped back down onto my barstool, my mouth agape.

The air suddenly seemed to crackle with expectation. All eyes swept towards the man who had just entered. Murmurs ran around the room and glances were exchanged. It seemed that all leaned forward and stared, trying to see into the heart of the man.

For several more moments he stood, his glance speculative yet civil, before he casually placed the guitar case he was carrying on the floor beside him and stood up to face the bar.

"What do you want?" I realized the bartender had moved away to the other end of the bar. His nervousness could be heard in his voice.

"I'm looking for work," came the reply. The man's voice was rich and warm.

"What kind of work?" The barman snapped, his hands fussing with a towel. Why was he so nervous? I wondered.

"Singing. I sing. I'm a mariachi." A faint amused smile played on the man's mouth. "I will sing for your customers if you like."

There was no doubt he was a mariachi. He couldn't be anything else dressed the way he was. I licked my lips and my appreciative gaze ran over him once again in frank admiration.

He was staggeringly handsome, despite a somewhat disheveled appearance. His dark hair was uncombed and long and inclined to curl about broad shoulders. Several raven spirals fell across his handsome features giving a sense of rebellious defiance. He wore a black mariachi outfit with chains on the pants. It appeared dusty as if he wore the outfit day in and day out, maybe even sleeping in his clothes. His once white undershirt was gray with grime and clung to the broadness of his strong chest with sweaty yet sexy dampness. Coarse black hairs curled from the opening at the neck.

With a sigh, he picked up his guitar and took several steps closer to the bar, his movements almost musical for each step was accompanied by the jingling of chains and the rhythmic metallic ting of the one spur adjourning his dusty cowboy boots.

"There's no work here," the barman insisted, his voice nasty. "We don't need no mariachi around here. We have a jukebox." My eyes slid across to the ancient apparatus, its stock of vinyl 45's lined up and waiting for a coin to set them in motion.

The handsome stranger had also turned to regard the jukebox. He then turned back to the barman.

"Well - is there anything to drink?"

"What do you think? This is fucking bar, isn't it?" I could not understand the barman's rudeness.

To my heart thumping agitation, the man came right up to the bar and sat on the very stool next to mine. I sat stiffly and faced forward my heart pounding. The heat from his presence next to me was almost scorching. I couldn't look at him. Surely it would be a shock to the central nervous system to look upon a thing of such intense splendor that sat so close. Maybe I'd turn to a pillar of salt. I giggled in my drunken stupor. Get a grip, chica, I whispered to myself.

The barman had moved along the bar, closer to where the man and I sat. "What do you want? Beer?"

"Sure. I will sing for the beer," the man said.

The barman stopped short. "What? I just told you. We don't need a singer."

The man hesitated. "Well, how about some water then? It's fucking hot outside, man"

"If you want water go to the Rio Grande and drink. We don't serve water here. Just beer."

I realized the man had no money to pay. My sideways glance dropped to his hands as he leaned on the bar counter. With a gasp of surprise I realized that a blood soaked cloth was haphazardly wrapped around his left hand. I stared. Blood had saturated the cloth and dried and then more blood had flowed and dried. The cloth was blood crusty and filthy. My horrified eyes shifted up to his attractive profile and I saw the telltale paleness beneath the tan. This man had been gravely wounded in his left hand and had lost a large amount of blood.

"I'll pay for the beer." I found myself saying, my voice quick yet slurred with drink.

The barman turned and regarded me with scorn. "Listen lady - you're not from these parts. You stay out of it."

"He's thirsty," I responded, surprised at my grit. "I thought that was the whole reason for public bars. To serve the thirsty." I fiddled in my fanny pack, still not daring to confront the good-looking presence next to me and I threw some coins onto the counter.

With obvious annoyance the barman poured the beer and plunked it before the man with such force that much of the liquid spilled onto the bar.

Without a word the man took up the glass of beer in his right hand. He moved from the barstool and went across the room to a shadowy corner table. He placed the beer on the table and then returned to the bar to take up his guitar. As he moved away again he turned to me and I looked directly at him. I did not turn to a pillar of salt, but it was as if the air had been sucked from me. Christ Almighty! He was one sexy devil!

"Did I thank you?"' he asked. He had a strange manner of lowering his head and regarding the world through thick eyelashes. The effect was devastating and my heart pumped wildly.

"No," I shook my head.

"I will," he replied, smiling faintly. "I will." I stared stupidly as he went across to his table and sat down.

I turned back to the bar, the encounter causing my whole body to tremble.

"Va Va Vroom." I realized that Carmen was before me once again, an amused twinkle in her eyes. She flicked her wrist. "Va Va Vroom," she said again. "What a hunk. Isn't he handsome?"

I smiled. "He's drop dead gorgeous," I said in English.

She seemed to understand my words and nodded in agreement. I stood up from the barstool. "Listen, thanks for everything, Carmen. But I'm on my way, I've got to get going."

"Oh no - " Carmen cried. "Let me bring you some coffee. You have drunk a lot, senorita."

I laughed, "Yeah - remember the old saying? One tequila, Two tequila, Three tequila, FLOOR!"

It lost something in the translation and she stared in confusion. Then she went to the coffee heating in a pot at the back of the bar and poured two cups of coffee.

She placed the steaming coffee before me. "Why was your husband so rude to that man?" I asked, taking a sip.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh they're all into bad things around here. It makes them paranoid. They don't trust strangers."

"He's been hurt," I said.

"Si, I noticed," returned Carmen.

We both looked over at the handsome stranger who was striking a match to light his cigarette. For a moment in time the golden flame illuminated the amber of his eyes. "Stay away from him," Carmen said. "He's trouble."

"Yeah, right," I laughed. "As if…"

Once again I stood and said my good-byes. I was about to move toward the door, but my steps were uncertain, my head still spinning from the effects of the tequila. I was still quite drunk. I came to a halt as I realized a man stood before me blocking my way. Several men in fact.

"How about you dance with me, senorita?" one man asked. I stared back in surprise.

"No, no thank you," I replied politely and tried to walk around him, but again he moved to stand in my way.

"Excuse me," I said, "I want to pass." The man was stocky and coarse featured. Cruel button-black eyes sparkled at me from a pock-marred skin. He stood defiantly blocking my path.

"I want to dance with you, American lady," he said, his manner and look insolent.

"I'm not American, I'm Canadian," I returned haughtily, and then realized with a sinking heart that this foolish information meant nothing to him. "And I don't want to dance with you. In fact, I'm leaving. Excuse me."

I tried again to go around him but he caught my arm. "First we are going to dance, American lady." His grip tightened.

"No we're not," I shouted. I was scared. I tried to snatch away from him, but his grip was firm and short stubby fingers dug into my arm.

"Hey, Spud," he called to one of his loathsome cohorts. "Put the money in the jukebox. You know the one I like." The amigo pulled a coin from his pocket and went across to the jukebox.

Dropping the plastic bag filled with the towels and blankets I had purchased I attempted to make a dash at the door, but the man jerked me back. He laughed unpleasantly. "Where are you going, American lady? We are going to have a nice time. We are going to dance."

My frightened eyes surveyed the room. All eyes were upon the encounter between the man and me, most of them gleefully observing my distress. I turned to the bar. I hoped for help from Carmen but she seemed to have disappeared. Only her husband stood watching, an amused gleam in his eye.

The jukebox began whirring as its display of records revolved back and forth and the arm selected one lifting it onto the turntable. The needle moved slowly, suspended in air.

Frantic and scared I again pulled away from the man, but he chuckled nastily and the effort of pulling away only propelled me right back at him so that I crashed into his body and he grinned into my face, a blast of pungent breath dowsing my senses. He was loathsome and fat and ugly and I had no intention of dancing with him while his companions looked on in malicious amusement.

"I'm not dancing with you!" I shouted again, wrenching my body away from him. But he was strong, his grip like iron.

"Why not?" he grinned evilly, enjoying my struggle.

"Because she is going to dance with me," came voice from behind and I turned to see the handsome stranger standing next to us.

The man's grip on my arm slackened for a moment in surprise and I yanked my arm from him, only to have him grab me again. But the mariachi was quick and sure - with amazing speed and using his one good hand, he snatched the man's other arm and wrenched it up high behind his back with such a force that the man yelped in agony and his hold on me was released.

"Ow! Ow!" The man blabbered; his arm was being wound painfully up behind his back. The mariachi held him with such apparent ease, yet his brutal strength was obvious.

Then, with a contemptuous twist to his beautiful lips, the mariachi roughly propelled the man to the floor, where he fell heavily in obvious agony, gripping his twisted arm and cursing loudly.

The mariachi turned to me. "Senorita? Would you like this dance?" The man on the floor began to yell and squawk, rolling about, clouding the air with dust.

His pleasant gaze never leaving my eyes - the mariachi nonchalantly yet viciously kicked the man with the pointed toe of his cowboy boot. "Shut up!" he hissed. With a wheezing groan the man rolled over into silence his hand pressed against aching ribs, a gurgle of pain in his throat. In deference, the crowd of onlookers parted and moved back. The mariachi knew his way around a fight; he had won their respect. They backed away; they would give him no more trouble.

"Shall we dance?" he asked again.

"Oh. Yes, please" I squeaked and stepped into his open arms. The music began.

"Desperado," the Eagles sang, "Why don't you come to your senses?"

With a contented sigh, I nestled my body against his, the song filling the air as we slowly moved to the seductive rhythm.

"You've been out riding fences for so long…"

I could not take his bloodied left hand into mine, so my right hand slid under his mariachi jacket, my palm flattened against the muscles of his back. It felt so natural. My head came to rest against his chest and I felt his arms tighten, pulling us even closer together in our dance. My hand on his back couldn't help but rove over the delectable contours of his body.

"Oh, you're a hard one, but I know you've got your reasons …."

The ugly Mexican bar faded away. The cursing man on the floor faded away. We were alone, the mariachi and I. Alone in each other's arms dancing in heaven.

"These things that are pleasing you, will hurt you somehow."

My hands boldly caressed him as we swayed to the music. I couldn't help myself. I was drunk and he - well he'd lost a lot of blood. We were both lightheaded, unrestrained by the bounds of sense and sensibility. He pulled me in even closer to his hard body, his thigh going brazenly between my legs, his hand traveled over my ass, cupping me into his groin.

"Your pain and your hunger…they're driving you on… And freedom…well freedom…that's just some people talking..."

I looked up into his face with a smile, "Are you a Desperado?" I asked. God! What a corny line! But he smiled back, lowering his head so that his breath fanned my face. "I am a mariachi," he whispered with a playful wink. "Just a mariachi."

"Your prison is walking… Through this world all alone…"

Slowly he smiled, bending his head again, his look tender and warm. Softly he kissed me, the music swelling in the background. Our lips parted, our tongues met and we kissed with a soft wonderful passion.

"Desperado - why don't you come to your senses? Come out from those fences, Open the gate,"

I sunk down into the delicious kiss. He was gorgeous. He even tasted gorgeous.

"It might be raining - but there's a rainbow above you"

Oh, his velvet tongue in my mouth…his hand caught in my hair, pulling my head closer guiding me to him… his hard body arching over mine.

You'd better let somebody love you - You'd better let somebody love you --- before it's too late."

We were still holding and swaying in each other's arms as the song faded away. The jukebox clicked and clanked as the record was delivered back into its place in line. The Mexican bar reared its ugly head once again and we both fell back into stark reality.

We broke apart almost guiltily. Flustered, I smoothed back my hair and put a hand to my flaming cheek, my eyes lowered not daring to look at him. Christ - how could I have behaved so brazenly with a complete stranger? I'd almost had sex to music in a Mexican back street bar with a man I hardly knew.

"Hey, American Lady!" to my annoyance one of the hateful men approached me again, "I will pay money if you dance with me like you danced with him."

"Get lost!" I yelled, hotly shoving up a bra strap that had fallen down my arm. My face aflame, my cunt hot and wet and wanting, I stomped to snatch up my plastic bag of purchases. I felt awkward and embarrassed; I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"Lady, Lady" the Mexican cried, following me. He was pulling money from his jeans. "I will pay. I will pay. Look. Dance with me, lady. Dance with me like you danced with him."

I was rushing to the door, not daring to look at the mariachi. Oh God! I was so embarrassed. I had behaved like a common prostitute.

I dashed through the door and a blast of humid night air hit me. I tried to suck in oxygen to calm my spinning senses, but my overindulgence in tequila was made even more apparent by fresh air. I staggered, looking stupidly about for my car. Where did I park the damn thing? And was I in any condition to drive? Suddenly a strong arm took mine. I knew without a doubt that it was the mariachi.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He had a deep rich voice that lapped over me like waves on the ocean.

"Yes, Yes," I replied, trying to walk in a straight line. My strappy sandals had come loose and I almost tripped. "I'm looking for my car." I cried helplessly.

"Where did you park?"

I flapped my hand in the air, "Oh, it was so long ago. I can't remember. Down one of these side streets I think."

His strong arm holding me against him, he steered me down the street. After a few seconds I saw my car, a bright red Jeep. "Over there!" I started to pull my keys from my shorts, but they fell to the pavement. The mariachi leaned over and picked them up.

"I'll drive," he said. He was a man who took charge. I think I was already in love with him.

Helping me into the passenger side he rounded the car and jumped with ease and grace into the driver's seat.

"Which way?" he asked.

I gave him directions and laid my aching head back onto the headrest. I closed my eyes as the breeze from the open window fanned the heat of my skin. I was hot and aroused. I wanted to take him home to my bed. I wanted to fuck him. I wanted him to fuck me. Fuck me hard and good. I wanted to feel him inside me - huge and throbbing going in and out, in and out, driving me over the edge.

My head lolled, a stupid grin filled my flushed face. I think I slept. I hoped I didn't snore or drool.

"Is this it?' came a voice from a million miles away. I opened my eyes and blinked. The car was parked in front of my rented house.

"Yes," I croaked, clearing my thick voice. "Would you like to come in for some coffee?"

"Sure," he smiled, jumping from the car and coming around to help me stagger down to the ground.

Once inside, a tremendous feeling of awkwardness descended upon me. I was alone with a man I hardly knew and I had just danced like a common whore with him.

"I'm sorry, about what happened back there…" I mumbled, "It was hot and I'd drunk a lot of tequilas."

He placed his guitar carefully against the wall, and then sat down on my floral sofa, his manner one of ease and confidence. "You didn't enjoy it?" he asked. He seemed mildly amused at my discomfort. "You didn't enjoy our dance?"

"Oh yes, I enjoyed it," I flapped, "Of course I enjoyed it. I didn't mean that. But … well… I don't usually do that kind of thing. I'm a doctor…and..."

"You are doctor?" he cut in, he looked surprised. "A real doctor?"

"Yes, a surgeon actually."

He seemed impressed.

"I'm in Mexico for a year working as a volunteer. I could look at your hand, if you like," I went on. "What happened? It looks painful."

He shifted, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. I had struck a raw nerve. "It's okay," he muttered, then quickly changed the subject. "What about that coffee?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry, - I'll get it," I went to the fridge and took out some bottled water to pour into the coffee maker. But I was furiously thirsty and pulled off the blue plastic cap and swigged back the cool liquid with gusto.

He watched me. "Actually," he said, the amused smile back on his lips, "I think I would prefer water too -- before it is all gone."

"Great," I took another bottle for him. "It's too late in the day for coffee anyway. All that caffeine, we'll never sleep…" I stopped dead realizing what I had said. Oh God! I'd put my stupid great big foot in it again.

"Er...well, I mean…" I stammered, a hot flush rising.

But he was smiling widely. His teeth were very white. "Maybe this is not a night for sleeping, senorita," he murmured. He took a swig from the bottle and then pulled a cigarette package from his pants.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked politely.

I wasn't about to appear even more foolish with a lecture on the dangers of smoking, so I nodded brightly. Everyone in Mexico smokes -- it was no big deal.

"Would you like something to eat?" I asked quickly. The water had cleared my drunken head and I realized that my stomach was gnawing in hunger. And anyway, it would give me something to do.

To my delight, he nodded yes and I went to the small kitchen area off the living room. I had some cold barbecued chicken and I quickly made a salad and buttered some fresh dinner rolls. He sat quietly watching me, smoking and drinking his water.

As I brought the plates to the table he rose to join me. "It's not much," I said, "But I want to thank you for saving me from that dreadful man."

He sat at the table, pushing back some curls that had fallen into his eyes. I felt my heart lurch. It seemed impossible that one man could be so completely beautiful. There was not one imperfection to be found. His large eyes were light brown, the colour of amber held up to the sun. His nose was broad and straight. His mouth pouted in sensuous velvety contours. His skin was tanned and smooth, not a blemish anywhere. He even had a sexy magazine model-type stubble on his cheeks. He was of movie star quality - yet there was something else beneath the good looks.

I knew without a doubt that he was a kind man. A man of strong ethical character. A man I could trust. Yet I had witnessed his quick anger and easy savagery. So there also rested a great conflict within him. The vulnerable and the violent. Both traits were there battling away inside that beautiful exterior.

He appeared to be everything a woman wants in her man - kind, handsome, sensual, yet fearless.

And I had fallen head over heels in love with him.