God's Favorite (7 page)

“Does this meeting really have anything to do with the economy?” Nicky asked doubtfully.

“The people are suffering,” said Roberto, “but you are deaf to their cries.”

“Oh, stop it, Roberto,” Nicky said impatiently. “I've only instituted the very measures proposed by the IMF and the World Bank—the same ones any country must adopt in order to have respectable credit.”

“Nonetheless, the legislature is in revolt,” said Tony. “They are demanding that I make a change.”

“Nothing has been mentioned to me,” said Nicky. “Besides, the legislature is not even in session.”

“They are calling you a traitor,” said Roberto.

“Who is saying this?” Nicky cried indignantly. “I love my country! I have served her valiantly! I have sacrificed my own interests!”

Tony yawned deeply.

“I do not intend to sit here and watch this charade any further,” Nicky said, gathering his dignity. “I am a loyal patriot, as
every Panamanian knows. I refuse to be treated like some junior officer. If you want to discuss economic decisions in a civilized manner, you can call me in the morning in my office. Cecilia has my schedule.”

With that, Barletta walked purposefully out of Tony's office. Tony poured another glass of whiskey and leaned back in his oversized executive chair. Felicidad had picked it up at Sotheby's during a shockingly expensive weekend getaway. It had belonged to Admiral Karl Dönitz, the Nazi U-boat commander who had been Führer for three days after Hitler's death. The sentimental value alone was worth whatever she paid for it.

Presently a white-faced President Barletta reappeared in Tony's doorway. “Apparently, I am your prisoner,” he said.

“Let's just say that our discussion hasn't concluded,” Tony said amicably.

“What do you want? You want me to resign? Is that going to solve your problem?”

“I think it is the only solution,” said Tony. “Naturally, we are prepared to make your transition an easy one.”

“You're making a big mistake, Tony. People are going to say that the only reason you're doing this is to avoid creating the Spadafora commission. If you really felt this way, you should have told me! Okay, perhaps I should have consulted you before I acted, but you were out of the country, and people were demanding a response. I had to do something! It never occurred to me that this would concern you, since I knew you would never have had anything to do with his murder. I only did what I did to bring his killers to justice. I am sure that you want the same thing.”

“Of course,” said Tony.

“But don't you see, if you remove me from office, people are going to say you are covering up! It'll create the wrong impression.”

Tony shrugged. “People talk, who listens?”

“But everyone will suspect you, Tony. They'll say, ‘He must
have something to hide.' They'll say, ‘Hugo knew the truth.' It won't stop. Finally, somebody's got to take responsibility for his death—and you know very well that you'll never be able to pin it on me.”

“You should be careful, Nicky,” Roberto warned. “The way you talk, it is very disrespectful.”

“What have I got to lose?” Nicky said defiantly. “If you think you are going to force me into signing a letter of resignation, you're completely off track. I will never do such a thing. You will have to fire me. Think how that would look.”

“That would be unfortunate,” Tony agreed.

“Very unfortunate,” Nicky said. “Essentially, we are talking about a military coup. And do you know how this will be received in Washington? Do you know what my friend George Shultz will say? I would think your future would be very short, Tony. The Americans will step on you, I guarantee it.”

Tony wasn't thinking too clearly; the scotch had not had time to lubricate his mental gears. Moreover, there was a larger and more pressing problem that he had to deal with. “Why don't you continue talking this over with Roberto, Nicky?” he said. “I've got an important meeting. Roberto, you explain to Nicky the retirement package we are offering. Make sure he understands.”

“Do I have a choice?” Nicky asked coldly.

“You don't have to talk,” said Tony. “But you do have to listen.”

H
ey baby hey baby hey baby!”
The scarlet macaw on Tony's shoulder was having an anxiety attack as he faced the open elevator doors. His talons knifed into Tony's flesh. Tony could feel the force of the powerful wings backpedaling them into the lobby.

“Shhh, Romeo! Behave!”

“Fuck your mother! Fuck your mother! Fuuu-aaawwck! Aa-aaawwk!”
Romeo cried desperately, whistling and weeping and batting the air.

“It's an elevator!” Tony said, trying to reason with him.

“Yanqui go home!”

Tony removed his hat and plopped it over the parrot's head. Romeo squirmed for a moment, then relaxed his grip on Tony's shoulder, surrendering to the blindness. I wish women were so easy, Tony thought.

He pushed the number of Carmen's floor.

On the way up, Tony rehearsed his apology. He hated this more than dentistry.

“Say, ‘Carmen is a pretty girl,' ” Tony told Romeo as he removed the hat in front of Carmen's apartment. Romeo imitated the sound of the door buzzer.

Tony waited. No response. He could hear a slight stirring inside.

“Carmen, my love?”

“I'm not here,” her voice replied.

“How can you say that? What does that mean? Please, dearest, open the door. I have a little present for you.”

He could almost hear her weighing his offer. In a moment, the door opened. Carmen Morales and Romeo exchanged sideways glances.

“Your money or your life!”

“Do you think this fucking bird will make everything different?” Carmen asked furiously.

“I trained him myself,” said Tony. “He is the most intelligent of all my birds. He has something to tell you, don't you, Romeo?”

Romeo's bill clacked shut. He studied Tony's ear and pretended not to hear.

“Anyway, I'm allergic,” said Carmen.

“Let me in,” Tony pleaded. “I've got trouble.”

Carmen grudgingly stepped aside.

Romeo took one look at the apartment and whistled in admiration.

“Just be glad you missed Paris,” said Tony. “Rain all week. And Geneva—how do they live in that place? You would freeze there,
I swear it, even in the summer.” Tony set Romeo on the back of a plush chintz couch in a bold floral pattern that caused the bird to become slightly euphoric.

“Maybe Europe doesn't make me as miserable as it does you. He better not dirty the fabric.”

“You could not have gone on the same trip with Felicidad! Do you want her to kill us both? What were you thinking?”

“That I should go and she should stay, for once! Me, not her!”

Carmen's eyes were on fire. When she got like this, it was a little frightening, like trying to ride a horse that refuses to be tamed.

“I try to make you happy, but you are so crazy,” Tony complained. “I know I promised to take you to Paris, but not this time! This was an official trip. Photographers! Press! When we go to Paris, it should be for romance, not for business.”

“Is that what you think I want?
Paris?”
Carmen spat out the word. “I don't give a fuck about Paris.”

“I thought you loved Paris.”

“I do love Paris, but that's not what I
want,
Tony! Not Paris. And not some stupid bird.”

Romeo cackled nervously.

“God, you're both so weird!” Carmen rushed out of the room, brushing away tears with her fingers.

Tony waited. He had developed a theory about women that had come from his work with parrots. Like all creatures, they sought rewards and feared punishment. The trick was to take them by surprise, keep them off guard, never let them know what was coming. He made a lot of promises and every once in a while he would deliver. Hope kept them on the hook.

But Carmen was a riddle because she really didn't know what she wanted. It was a constant source of frustration. If only she could say, “I want a million dollars!” or “I want a career in the movies!” There was really very little that was outside Tony's grasp. Oh, she loved fashionable clothes and jewelry, et cetera,
but she was so beautiful that she simply accepted such things as a natural right. It was as if she walked on a beach where diamonds and rubies routinely washed ashore at her feet. Now here she was, mistress to a man who only wanted to please her—a man who could give her nearly anything—but she suffered from an inability to name her price. Nothing satisfied her. Since puberty she had been the object of men's desires, but she herself was curiously desireless.

That left open the question of why she stayed with Tony at all. She had always been too much for him. She was fine in ways that kept Tony off guard. He didn't know how to act around her. She had everything. She was well bred, well educated, at ease in society. She enjoyed European movies and Japanese food, tastes that Tony simply could not comprehend. On the wall of her bedroom there was a publicity photo signed by some pasty French movie director with a scarf around his neck who seemed to be a kind of sexual icon for her. Tony couldn't understand such refinement. She was in so many ways the positive print from Tony's negative. The bottomless mystery of their affair was her interest in him. Granted, his ugliness was, to some women, a source of appalling fascination, but that didn't seem to hold much interest for her. In the end, he supposed Carmen was simply drawn to power. There was some elemental joy in harnessing a tyrant with her sexuality. It was beauty's way of ruling the world.

“At least Felicidad can hold her head up in public,” Carmen said as she abruptly returned, blowing her nose in a tissue, “without people pointing at her and saying, ‘There goes Noriega's whore!' ”

“Just give me their names, Lollipop. I assure you they will never make such statements again.”

“God, Tony! I don't want them killed—I just want to be accepted in society. I guess it's hopeless now—no one will ever think of me as anything other than . . .” Carmen looked out the window at the cormorants perched on the rocks in the surf,
their wings spread like opera capes. “Than what I am,” she concluded. “Your little
chica.
I can't believe that this is what my life adds up to.”

“Is that what you think I think about you?”

“Tony, this is the truth. Don't try to make our relationship into something it's not. I'm not your wife.”

“Believe me, I've talked to many priests about this. Annulment is out of the question, even for a man in my position. Too many children.”

“Tony—why? Why do you do this Catholic business with me? You are the worst Christian in Panama. You just use it as an excuse.”

“Look, I am not a Christian,” said Tony as he absentmindedly poured another two fingers of Old Parr into a crystal tumbler. “But Catholic—it is like a race. If I move to Miami, does my skin turn pale and my hair become blond? No! I am mestizo! You look at me and you know who I am. Inside, I am Catholic. Belief, faith—they mean nothing. But Catholic, it is a condition of life. You want a highball?”

“So this ‘condition' means I am supposed to be your mistress forever? I do not accept this, Tony. And it is not even noon. I don't see how you can drink at this hour.”

“Sit down, please. I'm asking you to sit. Be calm and listen.”

“I can't sit,” Carmen said. “I'm too humiliated.”

Carmen's blond hair spilled into her face, and her skin was turning patchy from crying. For some reason, it made her even more desirable. But in this mood she was so out of reach she might as well be the Virgin Mary.

“Maybe you're right,” said Tony. “I am a hypocrite, I admit it. But what good does it do me? It's my life that suffers because I am afraid to act in my own interest. Why can't I just do what I want with my personal life, no matter what the Church says about it?”

“Exactly. This isn't the Middle Ages.”

“Moreover, it is not fair to you,” Tony continued. “I should be proud to be seen in public with you. I shouldn't be hiding the most important relationship in my life!”

Carmen's tongue moved appraisingly across her upper lip. “I guess I'm not sure what you mean by that,” she said.

“What I mean is that I am ashamed of how I have treated you. You're right to be scolding me. It should have been you with me in Paris sitting at the table with Mitterrand.”

“Tony, I wanted to go to Paris, but this is getting a little farfetched. You don't take your girlfriend to a state dinner.”

“Agreed. That's why I will talk to my lawyer on Monday about getting a divorce. I'll do everything I can to make an honest woman of you. Even divorce. Yes, even that.”

Carmen looked at him for a moment and then ignited. “God damn you, Tony, you lie so easily it just scares me.”

Tony's face darkened with embarrassment. “What are you saying? Are you calling me a liar?” He shouted furiously, acting outraged, but Carmen could see right through him. She had some kind of x-ray vision for emotional truth.

“You say things just to see what might happen,” Carmen continued in her ruthless, completely accurate assessment. “Sometimes I don't think you even realize that you're lying. Well, it's sick, you know that? You're not going to divorce Felicidad! Come on, Tony, admit it! You're so full of shit! Do you have any idea how much it hurts when you say things like that? I could just kill you, you lying bastard!”

Tony calmly took his pearl-handled .32 from his holster. “Here, do it,” he said, handing her the revolver. “If you think I could ever lie to you, I don't want to live.”

Romeo shifted nervously on the coach.