A year ago tonight...

Dinner and the Symphony

A year ago tonight, I was sitting at the Peon Contreras theatre in downtown Merida, Mexico with you.  You being Bob, Tom and Ron.  I never realized your names sound alike, the same "o" and all one syllable.

Now I am home alone, in my bedroom, the fan whirring overhead, thinking of that lovely evening, incredulous that you disappeared out of my life, in the middle of the night, a mere nine months later.  Even though I have since learned you are sick and evil, I feel bereft.  I miss you.  That's what good con artists you are.  That's what con artists do.  You fooled me.  You fooled everybody.

It was the opening night of the Fall 2012 season of the Yucatan Symphony.  Tom had bought seasons' tickets for the four of us. I thought, okay, these guys have style.  They have class and money.  Seasons tickets and I was included.  You made me feel beloved.   Suddenly I had a posse.  Whilst the orchestra (staffed with imported Russians, hence, good musicians) was tuning up, you noticed men in the balcony looking at us, or rather, you.  You were being cruised big time.  Fresh meat.  You were indignant to be so observed.  

Now I know you just never wanted to be noticed or looked it.  Someone might have recognized you.  Or, would remember you in the future.

We had just come from dinner at Malarky's Pub.  Martinis and burgers. Bob, you were so happy to have me as your martini buddy since Tom never drank.  We tossed them back and ordered two more.  It was a festive night, this social debut of yours.  You had just arrived out of nowhere and you were starting the fall with a cultural splurge.  

"Do we have to wear long pants?" Bob had asked me over the phone earlier. That would be the question every time we went out, either to a nice restaurant, to the polo club, to a party.  "Do we have to wear long pants?" as if you were 10 years old.    Since you arrived in paradise, you only wore bermudas.  "It's because we wore Armani suits all the time, back in our life in the States.  We have a closet full of Armani suits in storage.  And two custom made Armani tuxes."

"I never want to wear a suit again," Tom added, shaking his head at the thought of it. 

But it was a dumb question, because you didn't even own long pants here.  You three arrived with two huge dogs in cages packed into a stolen Mercedes, with three pairs of bermudas each.  You must have been in some hurry to leave the U.S. You bought a few hawaiian shirts at Costco when you arrived and wore them in rotation.  The Armani suits were fiction.  The Armani tuxes were wistful thinking.  You groomed us so well.

You looked harmless.  A gay couple with their 91-year-old gay "uncle" and two enormous dogs.  You looked honorable, taking care of your uncle.  Little did anyone know Uncle Ron was the mastermind of your scams.

No Ritz Carlton in Vienna.  No country club memberships.  No cruises at "platinum level."  You never had Blackberrys that you threw in the trash because you were burned out from successful executive life.   How skillfully you played us.  All of us, not just me, thought you were fully funded boomers who came to Mexico to live the good life, leaving your stressful, empty, American lives behind.

I wonder where you are tonight.  Fiona thinks you are in Belize.  "They speak English in Belize and they never learned Spanish."   Eva said, "They're in Belize because Belize is the place for criminals.  They can hide in Belize, it's full of scammers, just like them."  Eva is the one you hurt the most, turning her life inside out.

I have no idea where you are.   I wonder if you are drinking martinis.  I wonder who you're scamming now.  I wonder if you are happy.  I wonder if you miss me.  

Of course you don't.