They parked on the dirt lot and entered the pink stucco building, seating themselves on the outside patio. She was drinking a stiff margarita (local tequila is rather deadly) as she gazed at the ocean, when her friend started screaming about some fly in her drink... but they didn't allow that to spoil their mood. They were in festive overnight in Mexico crazy mode, so a dead fly didn't hold a lot of weight. They snacked on outrageously fattening nachos as the sun began to set, but headed out before it actually landed on it's ass. They wanted to reach the house before dark, although it was unlikely they would.

They arrived, unpacked, then grabbed themselves a Corona and sat outside listening to the waves. This was pure bliss. Warm breezes, feet resting on the low stucco patio wall, drinking a beer and listening to the ocean surf in another country, and it was only four hours away from home. The radio played Spanish music as they played gin rummy and sipped curveza. Laughter was in the air as they listened to the ocean sounds and reminisced about their lives and the various men who had effected them, then defected. Friendship is priceless. They argued about who won which rummy game, who got dumped by whom, then decided to call it a night and hit the sack.

They walked down to the beach the next day and basked in the sun for a few hours. It was extremely hot when they noticed a little old man (who probably had ten children to feed) pushing an ice cream cart down the empty beach, making his way toward them. She was so thirsty that, when he approached, she offered him a Playboy magazine (one of a hundred they found at the house, the owner was a bachelor, after all) in exchange for a coconut bar. He didn't speak English, but he understood. What he didn't understand was the nature of the magazine. Ten minutes later they looked up and saw him far down the beach, sitting on the ledge of his cart with his jaw dropped, deep in concentration. They chuckled and continued to sunbathe as she sucked on her coconut bar.

They walked back up to the house when they started to sunburn and lunched on fish taco's. They took a short siesta, then showered, primped, and drove into town. It was 7:00 pm. and they were ready to roll. One drink at Los Tigres, another at El Cid and then on to Hussong's. The stars were just beginning to appear, and magic was in the air. The cantina beckoned them, like a pimp to a whore.

He stood at the far end of the bar talking to friends, and when he saw her... well, he was ambitious, aggressive, savvy, well educated and dedicated to blondes. I rest my case. He was at her side within moments. He introduced himself as Carlos, then ordered shots of the best tequila for them all. She was so tan he politely asked if she were Spanish. She laughed at him. He spoke English quite well and had, in fact, been educated at USC. He was a politician. He was 28 years old (God forgive her), and she later heard his family was rather well known in these parts. They were referred to as the "Carrington's" of Baja. She was feeling slightly euphoric, but wanted nothing to do with him. He was from Ensenada, for God's sakes. She was, however, polite. He followed them in his shiney new black Blazer to 3 other bars. They laughed and told him to stop stalking, which didn't deter him at all. He laughed right back, picking up their tab at every stop. He would stare at her and passionately inform her that he had to have her. She would look him in the eye and laughingly tell him that there was not a chance in hell that would ever happen. Here, have another shot.

She started to get somewhat cranky by midnight and told him he needed to not follow them anymore, and maybe even just go home, say goodnight to his mama and go to bed. He laughed, and followed anyway. It was difficult to be angry with him because he was so damn charming.

Oh, Ensenada.