Where Is Brooklyn
Isabel asked the concierge how to get to Brooklyn, and he told her the best way was a car service. And would she like him to wait and bring her back also? Madame could put it on her hotel bill. It would be very easy. And then she wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. Gratuity included. All part of the hotel’s service.
Well, why not? Eduardo knew she was here looking for Lita. Everything else was on his bill. Yes, why not? Now here she was, staring at what looked like an old factory building on a street that reminded her of some of the poorer parts of Puerto Vallarta. But not nearly as bad as Mexico City. Hers was, after all, a small city, a tourist mecca, where people wandered freely without fear of crime. But what about here? She had seen strange looking people, sad looking people, indifferent people, hurrying along or wandering without purpose, but no one simply walking for the pure pleasure of it. Not like along the Malecon. She realized she had grown up protected, at least as far as fearing the outside world was concerned. But what of Lita? Who was protecting her here?
The concierge called for a car, the doorman told the driver where to go and what to do. He helped Isabel into the car and shut the door neatly. They drove along streets, then onto a kind of highway along a river and then they were going over a bridge toward what looked like another city. Finally the car pulled up in front of a gray building.
She looked out the car window, hesitating. Now that she was here, finally, all the speeches, the pleadings, the arguments she had planned evaporated and she had no idea what she would say to Lita when she saw her. Outside the snow was blowing. A cold blast hit her when she opened the door. The driver turned on the radio. He hadn’t spoken at all.