Free The Last Resort by Carmen Posadas

lonely people.
    “What do you think, Gomez?” he said, out loud this time. “Wealthy old ladies are not exactly my specialty, but . . .” He wasn’t very well versed in the art of mooching off wealthy old men, either, tricking innocent fools, or taking advantage of hapless tourists. In the past, he had tried all those methods, with rather pathetic results. The truth is, he was a sorry disciple of the arts of Arsène Lupin, and it was a shame, because they really would have come in handy at so many junctures in his life.
    “None of this is my specialty, no, but we shan’t forget what the prophet has indicated,” he said, and he was suddenly overcome by a wave of laughter as he saw how quickly he had grown into this new persona he had fashioned.
    “Yes, Gomez, the prophet to whom our dear neighbor Reza entrusts his soul every night says that victory belongs only to the man who is prepared to lose everything. Very wise, wouldn’t you say? Especially in my case, because I have
nothing
to lose, absolutely nothing. I mean, think about it: Before saying good-bye to this world, why shouldn’t I have a little fun, play whatever role strikes my fancy? Who knows? Make myself out to be an eccentric, meddlesome old busybody, for example, or perhaps a gambler. I’m not so bad at gambling, and who knows, maybe I can even win a little money to sweeten my two weeks at the hotel.” He sighed, and then paused for a moment.
    “Well, that is that. Whatever I do, whatever I dream up, no matter how extravagant, will be just perfect. And that,
mon cher,
is the advantage of being almost dead. And now,
viens,
my darling little dog,” he said in the worldliest, most sophisticated tone. “It is time for dinner. No matter what happens in these next two weeks, the one thing I can promise you is that this will be our very last night living in squalor.”

PART TWO
    The Book of Worldly Customs
    If spitting chance to moove thee so
    Thou canst it not forbeare,
    Remember do it modestly,
    Consider who is there.
    If filthiness or ordure thou
    Upon the floore doe cast,
    Tread out and cleanse it with thy foot,
    Let that be done with haste

    “B OOKE OF D EMEANOUR ,” R ICHARD W ESTE , 1619
    At the Hotel L’Hirondelle d’Or
    65 MILES FROM FEZ, MOROCCO
    (Fax received at L’Hirondelle d’Or at 11:45 a.m., and delivered
to Mercedes Algorta in the solarium just before the 12:30 Pimm’s
)
    Dear Mercedes:
    Sweetheart! You can’t even imagine what I have been through trying to track you down. Finally, I got hold of your sister Carmen who gave me this fax number (L’Hirondelle d’Or, Fez, Morocco . . . where on earth are you??). Anyway, I am herewith sending you the proposal we discussed last week over lunch. As I said to you before, I do hope that our newfound friendship will inspire you to at least consider the idea. As you can see, it is a very flexible project that can be developed in any number of different ways, and I also have to say that after everything you’ve been through in the past few months, a light distraction like this would do you a world of good. On that note I also must reiterate my admiration for the aplomb and class with which you have handled your situation. To lose a husband, and in such circumstances, must have been doubly painful. With all the opportunists out there, I imagine someone has already tried to convince you to tell your story, to write about everything that happened. Because, after all, a well-known, classy woman like yourself who has endured what you have endured really makes for quite an interesting story. But don’t you waste any time thinking about them, sweetheart, because they are all vultures.
    Now, I am writing because I would like to propose an idea I am sure you will absolutely love. What we are interested in is an elegant book filled with worldly advice on customs and traditions. And now, I mean real customs, not a bunch of jokes for people to laugh about around the water cooler. To give you an idea