He said he’d take my contact information and call me upon their return.
Back and forth my boyfriend and I argued over whose fault it was. I was accused of being careless for leaving them out in plain sight, practically taunting the maids to steal them. I blamed him. If he’d caught his plane maybe he’d have been there when housekeeping came to turn down the bed linens.
I imagined these were the same sort of arguments that likely took place in the Lindbergh family when their baby was kidnapped. I insisted my boyfriend try and weasel the names and phone numbers of the Guatemalan housekeepers from the manager since he’s fluent in Spanish. Get them on the phone then reveal he’s an immigration attorney (who normally helps immigrants into the country, but leaving that detail out). and imply that housekeeping might find themselves banned from the U.S. with criminal charges if they didn’t cough up our pequeno compadres.
Weeks passed and the Guatemalans returned. The manager dismissively assured me his people hadn’t known anything about my items and perhaps a check might just put this matter to rest.
“How much were they worth?” the manager wanted to know again.
The relationship was now down the toilet. Vic and I hardly spoke since getting back from the trip. I’d stopped asking about his half of the little friends. What was the point really now that the whole pack was ripped apart? He’d given me Bunstee as a consolation but I didn’t want him sitting alone by the alarm clock—it was too depressing. Instead he started to collect dust in a bowl next to some pocket change. I totaled the monetary value of the “items” and suggested the manager might kick in some postage to cover costs from Fiji and New Zealand.
By the time the check arrived from the Lodge, the relationship was completely over. Vic had flown out to try and salvage things. I’d since found he had a profile up on an Internet dating site. He’d come out to LA one last time but I’d lost all interest. He waited until I lost any fondness, be it love or something else. I’d already shed tears in the countless fights we had over the phone. He insisted I still must care for him but I didn’t. He waited until after I had nothing left but numbness for him to tell me he loved me for the first time and had always thought I’d be the mother of his children. That made me misty-eyed, but what really made me heave sobs was when he said, “What about the little friends? Tell me you’ll always keep the photo of the little friends in the frame.”
