Acapulco
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
It was the
1970’s and I spent six months in Mexico.
White females were not travelling alone, like
today and so I got into hot water a couple of
times. I had the good fortune to stay in the
studio at Edificio Condessa of the fibreglass
artist Mexican David Lach who I had met in London
through the owner of the Woodstock Gallery, Lyall
Watson.
I had got a free ride to Acapulco and a free bed.
This Jewish Mexican artist and sculptor who I met
through David Lach called Elias Lipshitz used to
hang out at posh 5 star hotels and keep his
unsold paintings in the boot of his parked car.
He would then start chatting up wealthy widow’s
trying to ply them with a painting to take back
home to The States.
He needed a foreign woman to get into the hotel
and that was where I came in. I was only in this
superficial resort for a week. Thank goodness!
One afternoon I was sitting alone on a bar stool
in the pool when a chilled daiquiri suddenly was
brought to me by a smiling waiter with the
compliments of a tourist.
The man waved to me and, as I waved back, came
like magic swimming rapidly to show me no doubt
what a good strong swimmer he was.
He turned out to be an educated Canadian lawyer
called Mark. It was an obvious pick up but I was
free in those bohemian days. Mark was from
Toronto and good looking. He offered me more
daiquiris, dinner and bed of course. Well it was
better than Elias’s sofa, like sardines
sharing the sofa bed.
The problem was Mark was unfortunately
permanently drunk. I was horrified when he
started drinking vodka in the morning with his
breakfast. He wasn’t blind drunk but he did
slur his words slightly.
Time to go. Our attraction didn’t last long
and I waited for Elias who ‘saved’ me
from the wolf even though he was also a wolf!
Written
on 29/11/24 at Nightingale.
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