The Color of Love

Frederico-Rodriguez-Something-Something-Gonzales. There was a time I could have spieled it off non-stop, but that was many years ago and I don't remember his full name any more. I do remember he was tall, dark and handsome: the epitome of a young girl's dreams.

It was the summer between my junior and senior years of high school and Dad decided I needed to see something of the world. That is how I found myself in Monterey, Mexico, with my parents.

My face flushed as the belhop picked up our luggage and escorted us to our suite. Yes, it was Frederico. I didn't know him or anyting about him, but that didn't matter. I found my soul mate.

Our first evening there Dad decided we needed to see some local color. Before leaving home, the Mexican consulate advised us to be careful about where we ate and what we drank and handed Dad a list of approved restaurants. I don't know what happened to that list, but it wasn't with us when we unpacked in Monterey.

To Dad, seeing the local color eant mingling with the locals and getting away from American-run businesses. This included restaurants.

We wandered around the town plaza with its raucous music and young boys following us begging for nic-kles, nic-kles, nic-kles until we spotted some neon lights advertising a little cafe down a dark, narrow lane.

"What do you think?" Dad asled Mom.

"I don't know. I know we've got to eat. I guess that's as good a place as any."

Dad turned to me, "Sis?"

"I don't know," I said. As far as I was concerned, I was just along for the ride; that is, except for the main attraction: Frederico. I intended to learn more about him, much more.

The next day we saw local color all right. It was a little too local for my liking. Whatever we ate the evening before affected all three of us the same way and we found ourselves confined to our suite. I particularly remember the blue and white mottled tile floor in the bathroom. I should: I saw a lot of it during our stay.

After two or three days I felt a little better and I could take the confinement no longer. I pleaded with Dad to let me leave the room, at least for a short time. He made me promise not to leave the hotel. That was all right with me because what, I should say who, I was interested in was at the hotel. I was tired of playing hearts with Mom and Dad. I wanted to do some real heart throbbing.

To my surprise, I found Frederico was not only a bellhop, but the elevator operator as well. Up and down, up and down I rode until I simply had to take time out to look at that blue and white mottled floor again.

I studied Frederico's features in detail from his wavy black hair and brown eyes down to his feet shod with black shoes glistening with shine. His red uniform with black striped trim and gold buttons seemed to accentuate his manly physique. It was during one of these trips when I learned Frederico's name: the one I can't remember in its entirety today.

Another bit of information I gleaned is that for a small tip, Frederico would bring ice water to our suite. I was too new to the world of romance to realize that he did this for the tip and to please a hotel guest at the same time. I thought he was really interested in seeing me and the ice water gave him the excuse he needed.

"Sis," Dad asked one evening, why does the bellhop bring us so much ice water when we have plenty of tap water?"

"You mean Frederico?"

"You know his name?": Mom asked between trips to see the blue and white mottled floor.

"Of course, that's Frederico-Rodriques-Something-Something-Gonzales. He's the most wonderful man I've ever met."

"And just what's been going on when you leave this suite, young lady?" Dad's head was beet red all the way from his neck to the top of his bald scalp.

"Nothing, Dad, just riding up and down in the elevator."

Dad shook his head and then yelled, "Riding up and in the elevator? What on earth for?"

I hemmed and hawed and then cleared my throat. I didn't think I'd done anything wrong, but apparently Dad did. I wasn't sure how to answer or what he really wanted to know. Finally, I said, "Because Frederico is the elevator operator and I think he's the grandest thing I ever did see."

"Young lady," Dad boomed. "You'll not leave this room by yourself again."

"But, Dad, what have I done wrong?" I asked. My lips quivered, my throat tightened and I could feel tears about to flow.

"Nothing that I know of and there better not have been or this Frederico character will have some explaining to do."

I ran to my little corner of the suite where I flopped on the bed and cried until I could cry no more. I was exhausted, but I wouldn't sleep and I couldn't eat. I spent the last of my Mexican vacation cooped up in the room unless Mom and Dad insisted I go out with them somewhere. Then, I felt like a prisoner being led off to jail with one of them on each side of me. I looked for Frederico as we passed through the lobby, but he was nowhere to be seen.

On the day we left Monterey, it was Frederico who carried our luggage to the taxi. I fantasized about being alone with him, of kissing him, of a future with him, but Dad managed to stay between me and him. It was as if he read my mind.

I lagged along behind Mom and Dad at the airport. Dad called several times for me to catch up with them and warned that if I didn't hurry, we would miss the plane, but still I lingered. Finally, Dad came back to me.

"What's the matter with you, Sis? Why don't you come on?"

"I'm looking for Frederico. I just know he'll come and take me with him to live. You go on. I'll wait here. I'll write to you when we're settled."

Quit talking such foolishness and let's get on the plane," Dad said. He grabbed me by the arm and gave me no choice but to follow.

On the plane the three of us sat together; that is, until my crying drowned out the drone of the engines. Then, Mom and Dad moved back a few seats. I just knew my chances of a wonderful future with a handsome man, a little house bordered by a white picket fence and a flower garden were ruined. Worst of all, I would never see Frederico-Rodriquez-Something-Something-Gonzales again.