True Confessions of a Sugar Mama
By Mildred Moss
The trip was a test. After three husbands and four divorces, I had to find out if I could travel in Mexico, as I had done with the last husband for many winters throughout the 1980s. This time I would be on my own. I wanted to go back to a lonely beach we had discovered on our first trip. It was Playa Los Cocos (Coconut Beach) on the Pacific.
I had lived alone for seven years as winter approached in 2005. I was 68 years old. Upon Googling los cocos, I found a beautiful, inexpensive hotel right on the empty beach I had discovered 20 years earlier: Casa Mañana.
I booked a flight to Puerto Vallarta, and arranged for a pick-up by the owners, Reinhard and Lourdes, in the hotel van. It was fun to become acquainted on the three-hour ride through the jungle, and I laughed to myself remembering my disapproving daughter’s warning to watch out for “drug lords” who would kidnap and rape me. I did see a large iguana sunning himself on the roadside, but so far no drug lords.
At the hotel, Lourdes suggested I settle in a bit and then come down to El Alebrije Restaurante for dinner. As I entered the mostly outdoor restaurant, Lourdes introduced me to the staff and to Salvador, the headwaiter. Before she could say anything, he took my hand and said in perfect English: “How’re you doing, Lady?” I was to hear that many times. He shook my hand and, smiling, looked deep into my eyes. I was tired from the journey and dazzled by just being there, but I couldn’t help noticing that he was taller than the average Mexican male, and especially handsome. Surprisingly, a little butterfly materialized in my stomach.
What’s this? A butterfly? Are you kidding?
It was VeRa, my Voice of Reason, who had lived in my head forever. I don’t remember when she moved in, but I do know that she piped up whenever I did something my daughter considered to be foolhardy.
“Would you like to sit here?” Salvador led me to a table facing the ocean. “You can watch the sunset from here. It’s always so beautiful.” He was right. The sunset was amazing. We were off to a great start.
I went back for breakfast the next morning, and Salvador rushed to greet me: “How’re you doing, Lady?”
He brought my breakfast and lingered at the table as I ate. He told me about himself. He was married and had two boys. He lived in the regional capital, Tepic, which was 40 miles away, but stayed in the hotel dormitory with the other employees while he was working. He was passionate about politics, and worried about the Mexican people. He told me his dream was to own a restaurant where like-minded revolutionaries could congregate.
On Saturday, El Alebrije pizza day, I met Salvador’s wife, Maria, and their two little boys. I liked them.
Afterward, my talks with Salvador became a daily ritual; we talked while he kept an eye on the other diners. He moved quickly and confidently, and I watched as the other customers talked and laughed with him.
“Why do you hang around the hotel all the time?” he asked me one afternoon. “Have you been to Tepic? It’s a beautiful city. I wanted to work at the fanciest hotel restaurant in Tepic, but they weren’t hiring. So I came to work here.”
I explained that I hung around because I was busy writing magazine stories. He was fascinated, and asked me what I wrote. When I pulled up a couple stories on my laptop to show him, he scolded me. “If you can write like that,” he said, “you should write about serious matters. Our countries are in serious trouble; you must write things to wake our peoples up.”
“I’m what the journalism world calls a fluff writer,” I said. “I write features and humor. Nothing serious. I’m not very good at serious.”
“So you write fluffy stories?” he said, and we both laughed.
He told me he had stopped telling his wife and friends what he felt, because they called him loco. He was surprised when I said we had that in common. My daughter and my friends worried constantly that I was crazy reckless, and often suggested I should act my age.
I had planned to stay for one month, but quickly wished I could stay longer. I was happier than I had ever been.
One afternoon I phoned my best friend, Robert. He was one of the naysayers in the States who had begged me not to make the trip alone. I was so happy, the words gushed out in a torrent, and I told him about Salvador.
“Wait,” Robert interrupted. “Who is drop-dead gorgeous?”
“Did I say that?” I asked. “Well, yes, he is. He’s a waiter. He looks a little like Antonio Banderas, but he’s better looking…”
“Oh-oh! Stop right there. Believe me, you’re headed for trouble. Come home right now.”
I assured him that we were just friends. Nothing was going on. We were having such great conversations. Yes, he was good-looking, but that had nothing to do with anything. I was just so glad to have a Mexican friend. The minute I hung up, VeRa literally knocked me down. I fell back on the bed.
Wait a minute! You just lied to your best friend. Do you honestly consider your relationship with Salvador to be a friendship? Come on now. It might be friendship on his part, but you passed that stage weeks ago.
VeRa was wrong. Of course it was only friendship. I wasn’t fool enough to think it could be anything but. Still, she wasn’t buying it, and neither, really, was I. If it was only a friendship, why did I go weak in the knees every time he looked at me? Why had that little butterfly I felt in my stomach the first day morphed into a Butterfly Marengo?
Remember your resolution after three husbands and God only knows how many boyfriends to declare yourself an official man-hater? Now you’ve gone and fallen for a 28-year-old Mexican 40 years your junior? Pu-leeze! Are you looking to become a Sugar Mama to this Boy Toy?
Had it really happened? Had I actually fallen in love with someone 25 years younger than my own daughter?
My God, woman! You could be his grandmother!
This situation was at best untenable. I hadn’t believed in romantic love for years, but here I was so happy I hadn’t even noticed that my whole view of love, myself, Mexico had changed.
Now I was scheduled to go home in a few days. Salvador was not around when Lourdes drove me to the airport. But he was on my mind for the duration of my plane ride back to the States. I would never see him again. Fine. No more nonsense! VeRa approved of my resolve; she was happy. I, on the other hand, was miserable.
Lourdes and I had become good friends during my stay at Casa Mañana. We exchanged e-mails regularly. After a couple months I asked her how Salvador was doing.
“Salvador’s not with us any more,” she answered, “He left without saying good-bye.”
That’s that then! You’ll never see him again. If you take my advice, you won’t go back to Mexico next winter. As for your Boy Toy, forget about him and stop moping around.
One Sunday morning in August the phone rang. When I picked up I heard a familiar voice: “How’re you doing, Lady?”
“Salvador!” I shouted into the phone. “Is it really you? Thank God! Lourdes told me you had left Casa Mañana. Where are you”?
“I’m in Tepic, Lady. Remember the fancy restaurant that told me no when I applied there? Well, this time they said yes.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear your voice!”
“Listen, Lady. I’m at work and I don’t have much time. Are you coming back to Mexico?
“Yes I am,” I said, making my mind up on the spot.
“Good. I want you to come to Tepic and stay in the hotel where I’m working. It’s the Fray Junipero Serra.”
“I could never afford that hotel, Salvador. It’s way too expensive.”
“Then I’ll find you a cheaper hotel. Just promise me you’ll come back.”
I promised. He rang off, saying he had to get back to work.
I could barely contain my joy. I would see him again! We would have more good talks and. . . .VeRa tried to interrupt, but I had no trouble shutting her out.
December came. I hadn’t heard from Salvador since the phone call, but Tepic was close enough to Los Cocos. I made reservations at Casa Mañana, and e-mailed Lourdes my plans. She wrote back that she had good news: Salvador was coming back to Casa Mañana in January. “So you can continue your conversations with him,” she said. I was so happy. Christmas dragged by. All I wanted to do was go back to Mexico.
Having proved to myself I was capable of traveling on my own if not capable of staying out of trouble, I left for Mexico. I arrived at the Casa late at night, and thought I might pass out from excitement the next morning as I went down to breakfast. No sooner had I entered the restaurant than Salvador rushed over to me with arms outstretched.
“How’re you doing, Lady?” he asked, laughing. We hugged tightly and he whispered in my ear: “I’m so glad to see you. I’m so glad!”
Let go of him, you damn fool! Must you confirm what everyone is thinking even this soon? Let go! NOW!
I let go and stepped back. I ordered breakfast, but hardly touched it. We had so much to talk about, trying to catch each other up that very morning on a year’s worth of living. I reminded him that we had two months to talk, and talk we did, every day, for hours. Salvador was still fired up about his dream of owning a restaurant, and the days slid by much too fast.
By the end of the first month, however, Salvador’s interest in me appeared to wane a bit. It seemed to me he was spending more and more time with a younger woman, who had arrived alone. Suddenly an idea came to me out of nowhere, taking me – and VeRa – by surprise.
“Salvador,” I said when he returned to my table. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
No, you don’t. Do not do this. It’s a bald-faced lie.
“What is it?” he asked.
Don’t say it. If he is conning you, this makes you just as bad as he is.
“I’ve been thinking about your dream of owning your own restaurant.”
“Yes?” he asked.
I’m not kidding…
“Well, you know I’m thinking about moving to Mexico,” I said, trying to push VeRa’s voice out of my head. “I’m going to sell my house, which means I’ll have quite a bit of money. I’ll need to invest it wisely, and I’m thinking I’d like to have a business in Mexico.”
“Do you mean you might like to finance my restaurant?” he asked excitedly.
“Well, maybe. We could talk about it.”
I had no idea you’d sink this low. Damn, woman! You’re a terrible person.
But once again I received his rapt attention. Salvador said he had told his wife about it and she thought I was as loco as he was. He couldn’t understand why she was content to live day by day without establishing some lifetime goals. I explained to him that lots of people were content to live that way. I, in fact, wished I could live that way. When he said he would never give up, it came home to me just how young he really was.
Two weeks before I was scheduled to go home, Salvador asked me to come to Tepic for his days off. It was fun. We took his boys to the park. I hired a taxi and we toured the city. I loved watching Salvador with the children and listening to his tour-guide commentary. I no longer cared that it was more than friendship. I was crazy about him.
It was late when we arrived back at Casa Mañana. After putting our things back in our respective rooms, we sat on the patio watching the moonlight on the surf and hardly talking. It was 2 a.m., before we went to our rooms.
The next morning Salvador brought my coffee along with some shocking news: “We awoke to some excitement this morning. There was a robbery. A lady left her bags in front of an unlocked screen door. Somebody opened the screen and stole the bags. Reinhard thinks I stole those bags. He says I can’t stay here any more. I asked him if he was firing me. He said no, but I had to find another place to stay. I can’t afford to rent an apartment in Tepic and another one here. He might as well have fired me. Will you talk to him and tell him I didn’t do it?”
I went straight to Reinhard’s office. “Salvador didn’t steal those bags,” I said.
“I didn’t say he did,” Reinhard replied. “I know you’re fond of Salvador, and I know you go to Tepic to see him, but he makes trouble here. He has a serious drug problem. He wanders around all night, and that’s a problem for the night watchmen. The robbery had to be done by someone here. No one would come up from the beach and know that door was open.”
“Wait,” I said. “A drug problem? What kind of drug problem”?
“Cocaine,” he said. “Haven’t you noticed his eyes?” I thanked Reinhard for telling me and left his office. I went to find Salvador. He was waiting for me.
“Salvador, do you use cocaine?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve tried it and I don’t like it. Did he tell you I used cocaine”?
I nodded.
“Well, I guess that’s it. I’ll leave right after the party tonight.”
I had forgotten it was Saturday, pizza-and-party night. I always looked forward to the party. It was a lot of fun, but it wouldn’t be much fun tonight.
When I next saw Salvador, a couple hours before the party, he seemed to be feeling much better. His eyes were bloodshot, but he was smiling. “How’re you doing, Lady?”
“Not as good as you apparently are,” I said. “What’s going on? What did you do?”
“Just smoked a little weed.”
“Oh …Will you share?”
He did a double take and stared at me, wide-eyed. “Are you saying you smoke weed?” he asked, amazed.
“Not regularly,” I said, “but I’ve smoked it occasionally ever since the ’60s.”
He won’t remember the ’60s, Hon. He wasn’t born yet.
“Stay right where you are,” Salvador said. “I’ll be back.”
Oh, no …Remember what you read about Mexican jails?
Salvador returned and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go,” he said. “You and I are going to take a walk on the beach. You really surprised me, Lady. Why didn’t you tell me you smoked weed?”
“You didn’t ask.”
We found a secluded spot on the beach. He lit the joint and as is always the case when I smoke, I went deeper into the third dimension. The surf flowing onto the beach mesmerized me. Then I became aware that Salvador was watching me.
“What?” I asked.
He leaned toward me and kissed me on the cheek. “You’re my best friend, Lady,” he said, smiling.
He was gone when I went for breakfast the next morning, and it made me sad to think I would return to the States without seeing him again.
Don’t worry, Sugar Mama. Your Boy Toy will manage to get a few more meals and cab rides out of you before you take off.
He called me at the hotel on Monday and asked me to come to Tepic on my way to the airport. I agreed.
My last full day in Mexico was spent with Salvador and his family. We had a good time and ended up at their house. That evening he went with me to my hotel room, where he pulled out another joint.
“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Do you think you’d like Gringo-Land?” We both laughed.“I don’t mean that far,” he said. “Just to Vallarta. I’ll pick you up at 7 a.m. tomorrow. I can’t stay long tonight, but let’s smoke a little.” He sat down on the end of the bed, and I sat down beside him to share the joint.
I became aware once again how beautiful he was. As the marijuana took hold, the elusive third dimension settled over his features, and I watched him turn toward me, look deep into my eyes, just as he had done when we first met.
“Salvador,” I started, “I…”
“Don’t say it.” He drew me closer to him. “As long as we don’t say it, it’s okay.” My eyes filled with tears as he kissed me.
Whoa! Don’t even think about it! Let’s get real here, Lady. You were 41 years old the day this kid was born. Remember Harold and Maude? Stand up and step away from the very young, married Mexican! I’m not kidding. Stop it this minute!
He knocked on my door promptly at 7 a.m. the next morning: “Are you ready, Lady?”
We took a taxi to the bus station and were soon off to Puerto Vallarta. Knowing I was seeing the mountains, the jungle and Salvador for the last time this year and maybe forever brought up tears again.
“This is the only time we have together, Lady,” he said. “Let’s be happy.” He was right. I smiled.
We took a taxi to the airport, and I told him I’d leave him in the parking lot rather than inside. We clung to each other for a long time as we kissed goodbye.
“I don’t want to go,” I said.
“You’ll be back, Lady,” he said. “We’re going to have a great future together.”
I walked into the airport without looking back.
It was bitter cold and gray when I returned home. I was depressed, but tried not to show it. Salvador called two weeks later. He couldn’t find work in Tepic, he said; did I think he could find work near me for a month or so? Knowing nothing of work permits or green cards, I told him I thought it was possible. He asked if I would meet him at the bus station, and I said I would.
“But what about the boys and Maria?” I asked.
“She says I have to go where I can find work. As for the boys, you have to do more than just love them. I’ll send them money and go home after I get a little ahead.”
Here it comes, you dumb ass. Get ready to be lighter in the wallet.
“I don’t have any money, Lady. Can you send me some money? I’ll pay you back.”
“Gosh, I don’t know, Salvador. How much do you need?”
“Five hundred dollars?” he asked. I sent him the money through Western Union.
Well, now it’s official. You’re a bonafide Sugar Mama.
It looked as if Salvador would be staying with me while he looked for a job. I had to tell my daughter, who told Robert. Both of them went ballistic: What was I thinking? Had I completely lost my mind? It made them furious when I said the last time I had been this happy was when I was 18. That’s ridiculous, they shouted. I should be ashamed to admit that. Why couldn’t I act my age? Had I no Voice of Reason?
Tell them I’m here but you won’t listen to me. Why don’t you tell them about the $500? I see you conveniently omitted that part. You deserve everything they’re saying. I’ve tried to reason with you. God knows I’ve tried.
I started to hope that Salvador wouldn’t show up after all. My daughter hit the Valium, and Robert announced he had chest pains. And when the time for Salvador to show up came and went, I was relieved. So it cost me some dinners, a few cab rides, and $500. It was worth it. I had no idea I could feel so happy, giddy, and excited after nearly a lifetime. Chances were good I’d never hear from him again. Yes, I was sad, but I’d get over it.
Okay, you dodged a bullet this time. All I can say is I hope you learned your lesson. Why do you think at your age you need such excitement?
VeRa was probably right. I would try to be content. A month went by, and I was still sad. I couldn’t stop thinking about Salvador. I spent most days staring out the window.
Enough! Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s disgusting!
I avoided my daughter and when Robert’s number came up on my caller ID, I didn’t answer. Then one night as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, more depressed than I could ever remember being, the phone rang. I fumbled in the dark to answer it.
The butterflies went into hysterics as I heard a familiar voice: “How’re you doing, Lady?”
***
For 50 years Mildred Moss has been writing columns and features for print and Internet publications. She served as managing editor for Gannett newspapers and is now a stringer for the Columbus Dispatch.
