Tequila Sunset by Sam Hawken

Author:Sam Hawken
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Profile
Published: 2012-09-03T04:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

“ARE YOU READY?” MATÍAS ASKED. “OUR reservations are for nine.”

“I’m coming.”

Elvira emerged from the bathroom, fixing an earring into place. She was dressed in slacks and a blouse, not too extravagant, and her makeup was done just right. Matías still wore his suit from work, though he considered changing. In the end he thought it was good enough.

“You look wonderful,” Matías said.

“You look like you’re ready to go back to the office.”

The question occurred to Matías again. “Do you think I should change?”

“No, just be yourself,” Elvira said and kissed him on the cheek.

They left the apartment and went down to the street. The streetlights were on, and one cast sodium illumination directly onto the roof of Matías’ car like it was on stage. Matías went around to the passenger side to open the door for Elvira. “Señora,” he said.

“Thank you, señor.”

He got them on the road and then put on the radio to something soft. The evening traffic jams were gone, the streets open, and they made good time. Only once did he see an army vehicle guarding a lonely corner and there were no roadblocks. Matías hummed to the music, his hands light on the wheel.

Frida’s was their destination. The restaurant was not far from the border and its façade was meant to evoke classic Mexican adobe architecture. There was valet parking and a man with white gloves held the door first for Elvira and then for Matías. Matías tipped the man more than he probably should, but the drive and the night made him feel generous.

Inside guitar music and gentle singing came through speakers close to the ceiling. A short line of people waited at the maître d’s podium. The walls of the foyer were decorated with rustic paintings. In the restaurant itself there would be reproductions of Frida Kahlo work all around, so that it was impossible to look anywhere without seeing her eyes staring back. Matías put his arm around Elvira and pulled her close to him.

When it was their turn, Matías gave their names. “Yes, señor, your table is ready now,” the maître d’ said and a waiter hurried up to escort them. He brought them to the main dining room, where softly lit metal stars were suspended from wires and the round stage was surmounted with a stylized depiction of the sun. A guitarrista all in black played and sang.

It was dim, but light enough to read the wooden-framed menus. Not far from their table was a shrine to Frida, lit with flickering candles. A photograph of Frida looked idly on, as if distracted.

Elvira reached across the table for Matías’ hand. “It’s good to go out,” she said.

“I’m glad,” Matías said.

“What should we start with?”

They ordered and the food came quickly. Matías ate shrimp ceviche and carne asada and drank beer to cool the peppers. Elvira had a salad and chicken mole with wine. Matías had never liked wine. They shared a slice of cinnamon and vanilla cheesecake as the guitarrista finished for

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