We had chosen rooms near a side door opening on the parking lot. We carried the overweight suitcases in to the rooms, along with some camping gear. Anyone watching would think we were just unpacking the car, we hoped. Afterward I lay on the bed, lit a cigarette. My legs were trembly and my eyes hurt.

"So Max, do we stay here with this shit and go straight to sleep, out to dinner, or does one of us go get something while the others guard?"

"Jesus, good question. What do you guys think?"

"I don't know, this place looks O.K. and we haven't had a problem anyplace else, but of course this would be the night," said Tommy.

"Out to dinner," I said.

"What?" they said both at once. "Annie, is that you, or did another woman get into the car somehow up on the cliffs?" Max said.

"I know. I'm starving. I guess I've gone crazy."

"There's that restaurant right here in the hotel," said Tommy.

*

Later, full of fish and wine but not drunk, we rested fitfully and briefly. At three-thirty in the morning Max's alarm stabbed through our nightmares and we were up, still dressed.

In silence we carried everything out to the van, which we had parked as close to the runway as we could, sliding-door side facing the beach. Then we sat on the beach, watching the dawn.

At 4:02, we heard a dull buzz in the sky, growing louder. "Wait till we see it," Max whispered.

"O.K. now!" he said, as a two-seater plane hovered steadily lower over the runway. We grabbed the suitcases and ran toward the runway as the plane touched down, wheels bouncing twice, three times. My arms felt like they were being pulled away from my neck, and my legs bent like Charlie Chaplin's as I scurried through the sand behind the guys, determined to keep up with them, not allowing any mental activity except what it took to move swiftly and silently.

As Max greeted the pilot and began heaving the cases in, he saw the woman in the passenger seat. "What the fuck is she doing here?" he snapped.

"Don't worry man, the weight'll be O.K.. See you in Diego."

*

But the little plane could not lift off. It was too much weight. "Fucking asshole," growled Max, as the woman jumped out and hurried toward us. By now several curious cottage dwellers, wakened by the ruckus, were watching.

The plane turned around at the end of the runway and tried again. Almost up... not quite... a dip, another dip....

"Shit he's not gonna make it," hissed the new arrival.

"Shut up! He's gonna make it," I shot back, as the two-seater did finally make it into the air.

Everyone on the beach watched the plane shrink into the sky, disappear into the gray dawn. Avoiding eye contact with the new woman, Max, Tommy, and I exchanged relieved glances, then walked quickly to the van. Before some curious husband could think of wandering over for a morning chat and a few friendly questions, Max drove us away.

"I'm Annie," I said to the newcomer a few minutes later, "and this is Tommy and Max."

"Hi guys, I'm really sorry about this. I'm Sally."

"What the hell was he thinking of, bringing you?" said Max.

"He didn't realize how much there was. He thought it was half that."

"Well just who the fuck told him that?"

"I don't know. He just asked me if I wanted to come and I said yes. Stupid. At least I thought to bring my passport, just in case something happened."

"Oh well it's alright," put in Tommy. "There's nothing left now for them to bust us for, right? We drive across the border and that's it. Piece o' cake."

"Unless he gets busted and they connect us with it."

"Sure, I guess that could happen," said Tommy. "But what can we do about it? Let's just get across the border today, O.K.?"

"Hey, can we stop at a pharmacia for some Valium?" said Sally.

"Sorry," said Max, "they could bust us at the border for that, if they felt like being pricks. In fact that reminds me, I have some to throw out. Annie, go in my suitcase and throw the vial out, would you?"

"O.K., and Tommy, what about those goddamn firecrackers and Mezcal. Are you hell-bent on keeping that shit?"

"Yup. And the avocados and papayas too. All they'll do is confiscate it if they find it; they can't bust us for that."

*

At Tijuana, the border guard glanced at our passports, stamped them, invited us back soon. On the American side, they asked us to pull over and step inside—except Tommy.

"I'll just ask you to empty your purses here on the desk, please," said the blond crew-cutted, sterilized-looking border guard. "You first," he said to Sally.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" I asked. "I'll leave my purse here."

"Ah, I'm afraid you'll have to wait on that."

"May I ask why?"

"Because you might have something to flush down the toilet."

"Oh my God," I said, sighing and sitting back down.

"Well, and what have we here?" said Crewcut, brandishing a miniature silver spoon, "what's this?"

"It's an antique salt spoon."

"Ha! It's a coke spoon."

"It's a family heirloom," I put in. "It was her grandmother's and she was very close with her grandmother. She always carries it around with her, everywhere she goes, ever since her grandmother died."

A pause. "Well, if you can lie that good you deserve to keep it," said Crewcut.

"Thank you. But it's not a lie."

After sifting through each object in our purses, which we'd already done on the way to the border, Crewcut turned his attention to Max and the contents of his pockets. He pointed out that if he thought it wise, he could have us strip-searched. "But you kids aren't nervous enough," he concluded. "I think you got rid of it all on the other side."

We looked at him pleasantly. "Now may I go to the bathroom?" I asked.

"Sure. Then come on outside."

Tommy was laughing and chatting with two customs officials as he repacked the van, I saw with relief. He seemed relaxed, untroubled.

"O.K., thank you," he called out the window as he drove us into the spanking-clean state of California. I thought of the black shawl I'd bought, wondering if it would make a good scarf in the northeastern winters of my college campus.

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