Access all areas cassie mint

Access All Areas Cassie Mint

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CASSIE MINT

Access All Areas

First published by Black Cherry Publishing 2024

Copyright © 2024 by Cassie Mint

All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental

Cassie Mint asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-915735-46-1

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com

1. Resa

2. Beckett

3. Resa

Beckett 5. Resa 6. Beckett

7. Resa

8. Beckett

9. Resa

10. Beckett

Teaser: Rock God

The Galentine’s Groupies series

About the Author

One Resa

The evening sun is shining,the crowd is buzzing,and tonight,I’llsee my favorite band ofalltime.The venue looms aboveusaswepackclosetogether,chatteringandsquealingandhuggingcompletestrangers;it’sastadium,sparkly silverandround,likeaUFOabouttotakeoff.Pinklightsstripethedomewalls,andtonightfeelsunearthlyalready. Thisisreal!

Thebandis here.InNewOrleans.Ohmygod.

Atleastthree fans have already fainted from excitement,then been ushered tothe side for bottled water and a medic check.Onegirlisugly-crying,raccoon-eyed,withglossysnotonherupperlip,andyouknowwhat? Iknowhowshefeels.

Because it’s Soul Obsession The band I sang along to every day after middle school, bouncing around our tiny living room ThebandInursedmyfirstcrusheson,daydreamingaboutalltheguysonebyonewithindiscriminatepassion The bandwhoselyricsIdoodledaroundtheedgeofmyschoolpapers

Thisisnotadrill

Imean,Iwallpaperedmytweenbedroomintheirposters,andcoveredmydayplannerinSoulObsessionstickers Hell, Imetmybestfriendsofalltimethroughfangirlingovertheseguys

This band is soimportanttome.Don’tcareiftheirsongs arecheesy;don’tcareifit’s not edgy tosing along,loud and proud,andknoweverysingleline.Cutmeopen,andyou’llfindSoulObsessionlyricstattooedonmyribcage.

Eeeee!

“They’rehere,”agirlsaysnexttome,clutchingatmyelbow.“They’reactuallyhere!Inourcity!”Shesoundsdazed,and her grip is painfully tight but I don’t mind. We beam at each other, perfect strangers with so much in common, before topplingintoahug.

Don’tneedtoknoweachother’snamesinthisline.Don’tneedtoactcool.Wegetit.We’reallkin.

We’reSoulObsessionfansforever,bitches.

“Meg!”someonecallsovermyhead,followedbyawhoopinresponse.

“Holyshit,Clem!”

I’m sojittery my teeth are chattering,never mind the hot,sticky evening The sound ofthe crowd presses on my ear drums and hey,I’m used tothe press ofpeople,used tojostling and caterwauling,because I pour drinks in the French QuarteronFridayandSaturdaynights,andI’veseenexactlyhowmessyhumanitycanbe ButevenIfindmyselffanning mycheeks,edgingawayfromtheworstcrushofthecrowd,andprayingthatthedoorswillopensoon

My lanyard scrapes my bare skin under my cropped band t-shirt It’s a VIP pass, arranged by my girl Shelby who’s workingonthetour mygoldentickettothebackstageexperience

It’sawarm,ticklysecret.Mine,allmine.

BecauseImayunderstand thesefans,mayfeeljustasemotionalabouttheband astheydo,butifyou think I’mgonna showthemmybackstagepass,you’vegotanotherthinkcoming.

Every single fan here would tear me apart to get their hands on this pass. We’re talking limb. From. Limb. They’d stranglemewithmyownlanyard,apologizingbetweentheirthrilledscreams,andIwouldn’tevenblamethem. Nah.I’mnotriskingit.

I’mgetting in.

Whippingmyphoneout,Icheckourgrouptexttoseeifanyoftheothergirlsarehereyet,butthere’snothing.Signal’s winked outfor some reason; zero bars.Nothing butold messages to scroll back through, and the slew ofcrazy gifs and emojisthathavebeennonstopsincethevideochatthatchangedeverything.

The Soul Obsession reunion tour is a go, Shelbyhadsaid,grinningaswefriedourmicrophoneswithoursqueals. But try not to completely embarrass yourselves meeting them, okay?

No.Freaking.Promises.

I’llfindthegirlsinside forthebestnightofmylife.

Twenty minutes later, I’m flagging, draped over the crowd barrier with the hot metal burning into my bare arms. Sunglasses perch on my nose, protecting me from the worst of the evening sunshine, and I’m slathered top-to-toe in sunscreen. Two empty water bottles are already stuffed in my yellow backpack, drained through the day, and I’ve done everythingrightbutI’mstillthirsty.

Sohot.

Sotired.

Whenohwhenwillitfinallygetdark?

No!Thisisn’thowit’ssupposed tobe.I’msupposed tobounceintothatstadiumlookingand feelingmybest,readyto sing along tothe soundtrack ofmy tween years.I’m supposed tolook cute as hell,my pixie cutstylishly ruffled,my Soul Obsessiont-shirtcutwith jagged scissorslashes intoacroptop,ready tocatch oneoftheband members’eyes and fallin loveatfirstsight.

Instead,I’mroadkill

“Bleurgh,”Igroan,rockingmyforeheadonmyfoldedarms

Not Cool

Aremyfriendsallwiltingintheheatsomewhereheretoo?

A throat clears beside my shoulder “Miss?” Squinting one eye open, I find a pair of black leather brogues on the crackedconcretebeneathme Bigshoes Manlyshoes

Oh,god.Isthissecurity?Isheaskingmetoleave?AmIkillingthevibe?I’lldiebeforeImisstheshowtonight! Headwoozy,Ilurchupright,clutchingthemetalfenceforbalance.“I’mgood!IswearI’mgood.”

The man stands outside the crush,hands tucked in his pockets.He’s an island ofdisdainfulcalm; a patch offroston this hot,humid evening.Unlike the buzzing crowd in our brightcolors and pale denim,he’s in a gray suitwith a white shirtandblacktie.

Oneeyebrowarches.“Ifyousayso.”

“I dosayso. ”

ThoughIsurewishmyheadwouldstopspinning.Forsomereason,mybrainkeepswhisperingthatthisisthehottest manI’veeverseeninmy life,and thatcan’tberight.He’s frowning atme,forstarters,and he’s dressed likesomesnobby businessman.

Thesunmustbegettingtome.Needshade,pronto.

“I wonder ifyou can helpme,” the man says Is thata British accent?Wait,itdoesn’tmatter Pulling a face,I jerk my thumbovermyshoulder

“Thelinestartsbackthere,bud”

AndIdidn’tstandouthereforhoursandhours,dehydratingmyself,toletsomesuitedhottiejumptheline No,sir He doesn’t even look like a Soul Obsession fan! He’s older than most of us, in his mid thirties probably, and he’s all buttonedup Nocreasesinhisshirt;notasingledarkhairoutofplace He’sgotasmoothlyshavenjaw,andpiercingblue eyesthatnarrowdownatme.

He’spale.Likeasexy,crankyvampire.

“Idon’tneedtojointheline.”Thatvoice,lowandclipped,sendsasparklyfeelingrushingthroughmyinsides.Mytoes curlinsidemysneakers,andIfighttokeepmyfacepolitelyblank.Whois he?“Ineedtointerviewafan.” Oooh.

My stiffback eases,and I scratch the side ofmy neck.Someone shoves upclose behind me,and we allshuffle a few inchesforward,crushingclosertothedoors.“Forthepaper?”

Iguessitcouldbeacoolmemory.Icouldclipoutthearticle solongasheisn’ttoomeaninit andpasteitintheSoul ObsessionscrapbookIstartedinmiddleschool.Yeah,whynot?It’llmakethegirlslaugh,anyway.

“No.Forabook.”Thecrowdsurgesagain,nearlyknockingmeoffmyfeet,andthemanlooksbrieflypained.Heblows outaharshbreath,thenunhooksthecrowdbarrierenoughtoletmesqueezeout “Comeon,quickly”

“ButIcan’tlosemyspaceinline ”

“We’regoinginside.Comeon,beforetheyflattenyou.”

Blue eyes bore intome,urging me totrusthim,and I swear for a splitsecond,everything goes still.The crowd stops pushing;thedistantcarsstophonking;eventhesuneasesoffandletsacoolbreezedanceovermycheeks.There’snothing elseintheworldexceptthoseicyblueeyes.

Noband.

Nodehydrationheadache.

Nonothin’.

Myheartflutters.

Then “Ohmygod!IsthatJameson?It’sJameson!”

Thousandsofbodiespressforward,shuntingusuptheline,alleagerforaglimpseofthepopstar.AndnormallyI’dbe hoppinguponmytoestoseeJamesontoo,desperateforapeek,butrightnowallIfeelisasharpstabofpanicasI’mshoved awayfromthemaninasuit

Eyeswide,mouth openinasilentcry,Istareback athimasI’mcarried forward severalmeters Something wrenches insideme,likeeventhismuchdistanceistoomuch;likeifIgettoofarawayfromhim,myheartmighttuglooseandslump downinmyribcage

Sonuts That’swhattoomuchsunwilldotoya

Butthemanishere,stridingalongbesideme,keepingpaceandcursingunderhisbreath Heunhooksanewsectionof dustymetalcrowdbarrier,thenreachesintothemobtogripmyarm.

Hishandisbig.

Hisgripissure.

AndI’mtuggedgentlyfromthepressofbodies,outintotheopenair,thebarriershovedshutbehindme.Finally,Ican breatheagain!Laughingbrightly,Itripintotheman’sarms.

“Oh.”Herearsback,evenashishandsclutchmecloser.Likehe’snotsurewhethertogathermenearorpushmeaway. “Uh hello.”

“Sorry!”Tuggingmyclothesstraight,Istepbackandofferashakysmile andlet’spretendthatmycheeksareburning because of the sun. Yeah. That’s why. Not because I just lost my mind and snuggled a stranger. “It felt like a hugging moment.So,we’regoinginside?”

The man shakes his head, but not like he’s disagreeing Like he’s dazed, and he needs to jumble his thoughts back together He’snottheonlyone

I don’teven know this guy ’ s name,and he’s suddenly taken the topspotin my brain,even above my all-time favorite band Whatonearth?

“Uh Yes”Aquickcough;astraightenedtie “Thisway,please”

Two Beckett

Whenmyagentcalled mewiththisjobwritingabookaboutSoulObsession,shepitched ithard. Traveltheworld,she said.Digdeepintothedarksideoffame,shesaid.Allexpensespaid,nosubjectofflimits,rollaroundinroyaltiesfor therestofyourlife,etc,etc.

Itwas an obvious choice.My life in London has feltsosmalllately,constricting and airless,with the walls ofmy flat closinginonallsides.Everythinginthecapitalisgrayanddampandjoyless.Everydaytherefeelsthesame.AssoonasI gotthatcall,somethinginsidemesungtolife,demandingIpackupmybagsandtakeoffonthistour.

Itwasasign,Ithought.Agoodomen.Becausesomething,forgod’ssake,hadtochangebeforeIdiedofboredomatthe ripeoldageofthirtyfive.

Butthen city aftercity onthoseblack tourbuses Endlessgreenroomsand sound checksand dusty flightcases An ocean crossed, and somany late nights and early mornings,and only occasionaldrama These guys are older and wiser thantheirfirsttimewiththeband,andthegrippingstorylineIhopedforhasnotyetemerged It’sthesameoldboredom,butnowwithmorestampsinmypassport

“Thisway”

Longstridescarrymearoundthesideofthestadium,myshirtstickingtomybackinthedampSouthernheat Insects hangintheairinbuzzingswarms,unbotheredwhenIswatthemaway,andtheskyisstreakedwithcrimsonandpurple. Theheat-strickenfanIrescuedscurriesafterme,heryellowbackpackjostlingassherunstokeepup.

Icheckmystride,slowingdown.Noneedtobeaprickaboutitandmakeherjog,especiallywhenshelookedreadyto faintbackthere.Issheokay?

“I’mResa,”shesays,breathless,oncewe’residebyside.“TeresaCastillo.” “Beckett.”Ismoothmytie.“LiamBeckett.”

“Bond,JamesBond,”Resajokes,and mymouthtwitchesagainstmywill.Christ,whenwasthelasttimeIsmiled?The lasttimeIactuallylaughed,loudandgenuine?ThelasttimeInoticedthewarmthofsunshineonmyskin?

I’vebeennumbforfartoolong.

“Wecantalkinthegreenroom.”Securityguardsnodatmeaswepass,thebeefymendottedatintervalsalongtheouter wall They’re alldressed in black suits,arms folded overtheirchests,radios crackling attheirhips Lots ofshaved heads andtattooednecks “Itwon’ttakelong Ijustneedafan’sperspective”

And tounderstand why Resa loves SoulObsession somuch;why there are thousands and thousands ofadoring fans backthere,queuingupforhoursinthemercilessheat,alldressedinmerch

HaveIeverlovedsomethingthatmuch?Beyondallreason?Idon’tthinkso “Willtheband beinthere?”Resafizzes with excitement,practically skipping besideme,herhands flapping intheair “JaxandJamesonandMasonandCrueand ” Mymouthtastessour.“Possibly.Butlisten,youcan’tbotherthem,alright?Ifyoudo,you’llbeescortedout,interviewor nointerview.”

“Sure!Ofcourse.” Resa draws a cross over her heart,beaming upatme.Those dimples,good lord.This girl’s smile is wideand brightand heart-stoppingly genuine,and thetiny gapbetweenherfrontteeth makes mewanttoscrubmy face andgroan.“Icanbenormal,Iswear.”

Aheavydoorswingsopenundermypalm,itssurfacewarmedbythesun.“I’llbelieveitwhenIseeit.” Resa’sbrightlaughbouncesaroundthecorridorinside.

It’scoolerinhere,dimandempty.Soundscracklethroughhiddenspeakers:thrummingguitarnotesandthewhineof microphones. The shiver of cymbals, and the distant thump of equipment dropped onstage. The roadies are setting up, runningsoundcheckandgettingreadyfortonight,andtheirfar-offtinnedchatterfloatsthroughthespeakersystem. They curse a lot,always cracking dirty jokes on stage,and it’s never bothered me before butnow Resa’s listening,I

suddenlywishthey’dchecktheirlanguage.She’ssoinnocent.

Butdoesitbotherher?No.Resagazesaroundus,wide-eyed,likethisdustybackstagecorridorisagardenofwonders. Anemptybeerbottleslumpsagainstonewall,andtherearescuffmarksonthelino,yetshefloatsthroughitalllikeanangel touringheaven.

Everythingisdarkanddingybackhere,especiallyaftertheblindingsunshine,butRenaisashockofbrightcolorwith her yellow backpack, those pink canvas sneakers, and a sky blue band shirt cut short above a tanned, soft navel. Not to mentionherbleacheddenimskirtandthoseeyes,thoseeyes,thoseeyes.

Brown,withlittleflecksofgold.Likehoneycomb.

“This way.”I’ve gotnoexcuse totouch her,notreally,butI take Resa’s elbow anyway,steering her toward the green roomdoorfurtherdownthecorridor.Thebuzzofchatterinsidegetslouderasweapproach,and my stomach sinks.The bandmembers arethere.Issheinlovewithoneofthem?Idon’twanttoseethat.“Andremember ” “Be normal Aye,cap’n” Resa salutes me with her free arm,making noefforttodislodge my hand on her elbow Her goldenbrownskinisbutter-softundermypalm,lightlysheenedwithsweatandsunscreen I’d like to lick her all over

Bloodyhell Wheredid that thoughtcomefrom?Shakingmyhead,IleadResaintothegreenroom

With crowded tables and vending machines around the walls, it’s not just the band in here: there are off duty crew members, assistants, and visiting friends A tired photographer sits at a table alone, flicking through the images on her camera,andthetourmanagerShelbybustlespast,talkingamileaminuteintoherradio.

“Eep!”

Thattinynoisemakesmestiffen.IfResafreaksoutnow,ifsherushesoneofthebandmembers,ifshecrossesaline Butit’snottheSoulObsessionguysResaslipsoutofmygripfor.It’s Shelby,ourno-nonsensetourmanager andnow they’rehuggingandgigglingandmakingenoughnoisethateverysinglepersonintheroomglancesover. “What?” My voice is clipped,carrying over the clamor.This makes nosense,itdoes notcompute,and itdoesn’thelp thatthey’rechatteringatapitchthatonlydogscanhear.“Youtwoknoweachother?”

Afteronefinalsqueeze,Resaturnsbacktome,hercheekspinkwithexcitement. “Yeah,we goway back.Shelby gotme my VIPpass,see?”My sun-struck fan tugs a laminated pass on a lanyard from beneath her top, jiggling it in front of her chest. “So I didn’t even need you to get backstage, Mr Bond although I appreciatetheearlyshade,that’sforsure”

Resawinks

Mygutflips

Iamsooutofmydepthwiththisgirl

Three Resa

Isthereanythingmorefuninthewhole,wideworldthangettingthissuit-wearinggrumpallflusteredandconfused?

No,YourHonor,thereisnot.Thisis it:asfunasfuncanbe.

WhenItakeBeckett’shand,hejumpslikeI’vegivenhimanelectricshock thenclingstomyfingerslikehe’llneverlet go.

Ohman,ohman.

Thisiswild.

My heartpounds like crazy as I lead him between the green room tables,over toan empty one by the wall.Someone whistles,butI’mnotsurewho.AndtheSoulObsessionguysare right there,eatingtakeoutpizzasoutofboxesandcracking jokes and scrolling on their phones,alllarge as life,but I don’tcare Every ounce ofmy awareness is fixed on the man walkingbehindme Themanwhosehandiswrappedaroundmine DoesBeckettfeelittoo?Thispull?Allthisrawenergycracklingbetweenus?

My nerve endings tingle, shivering in sympathy for my overloaded hand Because the feel of him the warmth, the strength,thesensationofbeingtuckedupsafeinhisdrypalm it’stoomuch Overwhelming Stomachinknots,Iletgo

“Niceplace,”Icomment,pullingoutachair,becauseit’sreallynot.Thisgreenroomisasunglamorousasthecorridor outside, all bare white walls and cheap metal chairs with dangerously splayed legs, the air scented with hot cheese and men ’sdeodorant.

EvenBeckett’slaugh isclipped.“It’salwayslikethis,ineverycity.Theillusionofglamorand allthat.Onstage,it’sall brightlightsandsmokeandscreamingfans,withthosepricelessinstrumentsinsuredformorethantheaveragebuilding. Everythingthatyou’dimagine.Thenyougetbackstageandimmediatelystepingum.Almostmakesyoufeelsorryforthe band,beforeyourememberthey’reallricherthanCroesus.”

Croesus?Who’sthat?Sometechbillionaire,probably.

Beckettsettlesoppositeme,andpullsoneofthoserecordingdevicethingiesfromhisinsidesuitpocket.AfterInod,he switchesiton,redlightwinkingashesetsitonthetable.“So.”

Ismileblandlyback,thenfoldmyhandsonthetabletop “So”

And this is weird Everything was so natural between us until now, easy and flowing and right, butwith thatlittle recordereavesdropping,Isuddenlyfeelsilly Likeagrownwomanwhoshouldknowbetterthantolineupforhoursinthe heattoseeaboyband Likesomeonewhoshould’veoutgrownthisstuffbynow IsthathowBeckettseesme?Anuttyfan,andnothingmore?

Isthatwhyhepickedme?Ohgod,doIseemcrazierthanalltheothersoutthere?

“TeresaCastillo.”MynamesoundsweirdinhisBritishaccent kindastiff,butinagoodway.Myanklescrossbeneath my chair, one sneaker jiggling with nerves, and the unstable chair slumps an inch lower, legs creeping in opposite directions.“Tellmeaboutyourrelationshipwiththisband.TellmewhyyouloveSoulObsessionsomuch.” Hoo,boy.

Comingoutwiththebigguns,then.

My eyes flick to where the band members sittogether, bickering lazily abouttheir song list butthey’re far enough awaythattheyshouldn’tbeabletohearthis.Okay,that’sgood.It’slessembarrassing.

Um.

“Iguess…Imean…”

Shoot,why has my mind gone blank?One hundred percentblank.Every single word in my vocabulary,every smart thoughtandcoherentsentenceI’veeverhad,hasflownoutofmyears.IblinkatBeckett,stupidandsilent,ashewaitsfor metospeak

Thosepiercingblueeyesnarrowonme.

“Takeyourtime,”hesays.“Infact ”

Beckett’schairscrapesback,andhestridesofftothecorneroftheroom.Avendingmachinerumbles,rattlingagainst thewall,andthenhe’shereagainwithtwocolddrinks.HeraisesthembothandIpickthecreamsoda,barelyresistingthe urgetolungeandsnatchitfromhishand.

Themetaltabclicks,airhissingfromthecan,andIgulpdownthesweet,coldfluidgratefully.Howmanyhourshasit beensincemylastbottleoftepidwater?Seemslikeforeverago,andhey maybeIcandrownmyselfincreamsodatoget outofansweringthequestion.Genius.

Beckett watches me drink for a long moment, then disappears again. This time, he comes back with two bottles of chilled water.“These are both yours. ” The bottles thud againstthe table.“Are you hungry, by the way? Thatpizza is for everyone. ”

Ishakemyhead,stilldowningmycreamsodainonego Beckettgrunts,unconvinced,butsettlesback intohischair And hemustbecooking inthatsuit it’snotexactlycool here,evenindoors butthere’s stillnotasingledark hairoutofplaceonhis handsomehead Notabead ofsweatonhis paleforehead Themanisflawless,unruffled,anisland ofcalmand sophisticationinthemiddleofthisgrotty,loud green room,andmeanwhileI’m

Well,I’mgivingtheworstinterviewever,andcreamsodajustdribbleddownmychin Awesome

“It’s…”Iwipemymouthandtryagain,placingmycandown.“Thethingis…doyourememberpuberty?”

Beckettfrowns.“Alltoowell,unfortunately.”

“Yeah.”Ilaugh,relieved.“Exactly.Okay,so,forme,itgoesbacktothat.Topuberty.”

The green room is still loud, thank god, buzzing with ten different conversations. Someone gets a drink from the vending machine, the bulky machine grumbling, while someone else plays a dumb prank video on full volume on their phone.Mycompletehumiliationisdrownedout.

Myvoicestilldropsquieter.And myfaceishotterthantheconcreteoutside,butthisiseasierwhenIpretend it’sjust Beckettwhocanhearme;thatthere’snosneakyrecordingdevicelistening.Hecouldchangemynameforhisbook,right? Savemefrommyownhumiliatingconfessions?

Iowehimthis.Hewantedaninterview,andIsaidIcouldhelphim.

It helps that Beckett hasn’t laughed at me He’s nodding along, interested, one arm outstretched with the fingers tappinglightlyonthetable “Goon”

First,anothersipofcreamsoda I’mdowntothelastsloshyinchatthebottomofthecan “Okay” I stifle a tiny burp, horrified, and Beckett’s mouth twitches with humor, buthe doesn’tsay anything “Oops Sorry Okay,soIgotmyperiodprettyearly I’djustturnedeleven And,um,Iwasthisgangly,awkwardkidwithgapteeth andpricklylegsbecausemymomwouldn’tletmeshaveuntilIwasthirteen.Shesaiditwouldbebadformyselfesteem.” SowasbeingcalledHairyMaryinGym,butwhatever IliketopretendthatI’vemovedon.Forgiveandforgetandall that.

“Then my hips gotwiderbutmy boobs didn’tgrow,and the acne started,and I just,I feltlike… like a strangerin my ownbody.Likeanalienamongthehumans.SoulObsessionhelpedmewiththat.”

Becketttilts his head,considering.Hehasn’tscoffed once,thank god,notevenaboutmy period oracneorhairy legs. AndIguessthat’sbecausehe’saman,amatureadult soyeah,it’salowbarforhimtoclear,butIstillwanttocrawlinto hislapandneverleave.TohavehimstrokemyhairandtellmeI’mnotrepulsive.I’mnormal.

“Because ofthe lyrics?” he asks.“Some fans have said thatSoulObsession songs are empowering. Girl, You Shine, for example.”

“No. I mean they are empowering, sure, but that’s not why they helped. For me, it was because I suddenly had somethingincommonwiththeothergirls Aneasywaytomakefriends Wewereallmisfitsinourownway,butwehad thissharedlove”

Andgosh,thereliefofthat!Itmakesmedizzynowtorememberit

“Wecould allsing along together,read fanfiction,take onlinequizzes aboutwhich SoulObsessionguy would be our soulmate”

A muscle flexes in Beckett’s jaw, but he nods encouragingly. “And you still love these men? You still have that… passion?You’reherefortheirreuniontourafterall,withaVIPpass.”

It’soneofthosemomentswhereitfeelslikethere’sanotherquestionhiddenbeneathhiswords.Shiftinginmychair,I

wetmylips.Needtosaythisright.

“Istilllovethe band.Theirmusicwillalwaysbeimportanttome,justlikethefriendsImadethrough fangroups.And sure,Idaydreamedonceortwiceaboutcomingheretonightandmeetingtheguys,andlike,fallinginlove ” Beckettclearshisthroat,drawinghishandbackacrossthetable.Panicked,Isnatchforit,tanglingourfingerstogether beforeIevenknowwhatI’mdoing.

“No,wait!Thatwasbefore.”Mypulsethudsinmywrists,butBeckett’snotpullingaway.Heletsmeclingtohishand, oneeyebrowraised.“Thatwasbefore,okay?AndnowI’mhereinthisgreenroom,onlyafewtablesaway,andIdon’tfeel anything notforthebandmembers,anyway.Thosewerejustsillydaydreams…butIstillloveSoulObsessionwithallmy heart.Doesthatmakesense?”

Onejudderingheartbeat.

Thentwo.

Three

Until finally, atlong last, a bluntthumb traces gently over my knuckle “Notfor the band members,” Beckettrepeats slowly

Ared-hotblushcrawlsupmythroat Busted

Buthe’sholdingmyhandagain Playingwithmyfingers,studyingthemlikethey’refascinating,andthiscan’tbehow normalinterviewsgo Ican’tbealoneinfeelingthisconnection Right?

It’sjust it’stoostrong,toooverwhelming,andsurelyBeckettmustfeelthistoo.Orelsewhyishepressingourthumbs togetherlikethat,measuringhisbig,paleoneagainstmine?Youdon’tdothatwithstrangers!

“Doorsopensoon.”Beckettflicksoffhisrecorderwithhissparehandandslidesitbackintohispocket,andhistoneis casual.Waytoocasual.“Thenit’sthewarmupact.Doyouwanttoseeit?Orwouldyoulikeabackstagetour?”

Uh,duh.

“Tour,”Isay,soquicklythatBeckett’sfrostydemeanorfinallycracks.Hesmiles,warmandfleeting,hiseyescrinkling atthecorners,andI’dthinkIhallucinateditifitweren’tforthesquirmyevidenceinmybelly.

Thisman!

Ohmygod.

I’minsomuchtrouble.

Four Beckett

Thisisaterribleidea.It’sthesortofthingI’dexpectfromthesepopstars,notmyself buthereIam,towingagiggling Resabehindmethroughthecurvingstadiumcorridors.IfitwereCrueorMasonsneakingastrangegirlbackstage, I’dbetakingnotesforthebook,philosophizingabouthowfamemakesmendostupidthings.

Here I am instead,atthe center ofthe drama,losing my mind over this bright,happy fan girl.I don’teven recognize myself.

“Thisisthehometeam’slockerroom.”Ipushthedooropen,standingbackinthecorridor.Thisstadiumhostsalotof footballgames,andResaducksherheadthroughthedoorwaybeforereelingback,gasping.Hereyesarewatering,andshe clutchesatherthroat.

“Ew,Beckett!Itsmellslikefeet!”

Yes,thisisn’tthemostromanticstoponourtour ButIcouldn’tresist,andit’sallworthitwhenResapunchesmyarm then drags me away,laughing Our voices bounce around us as we chat,butthe crowds are inside the venue now,their cheersbleedingthroughthewalls,andthere’snoriskofusdisturbinganyone

We’reonourownplanet Justthetwoofus,exploringthisalienterrain Whenthewarmupactstrikestheirfirstchord,thevibrationsticklethroughmyshoes

“That’s a lotofcases,”Resa says when I lead hertothe loading bay: a cavernous room with a whole wallmissing,the equipmenttrucks standing empty beyond.The silver flightcases are stacked in huge clumps around us,five or six deep, whilethreeroadiessitoutontheloadingdockandsmoketogether.

“Yes,butatourthishugeneedsalotofequipment.Thelabelsparednoexpense.”

It’sdarkoutsidefinally,withastar-specklednavysky,andeverytimeoneoftheroadiesinhales,theircigarettelights upcherry-redinthedarkness.Thesoundsofthewarm-upgigarelouderouthere.

The air is warm and damp, and moths flutter around the loading bay floodlights high above, headbutting the glass bulbs.Nothingforthecrewtodoouthereexceptwaituntiltheshow’sover.

“Huh.”Renaturnsslowlyonthespot,soakingitallinlikeshereallyisatouristonvacation,seeingallthesights.Trying tocommitittomemorybeforeshegoesbacktohereverydaylife.

Meanwhile,I’mtryingtocommithertomemory everylastdetail Hershort,ruffledbrownhair Thewayherlipspart asshegazesupatthestars Thoseroundcheeksthatgetevenrounderwhenshesmiles

Allofit

Allofher

WhatthehellwillIdoonceResa’sgone?Gobacktofeelingdeadinside?Gobacktonumbness,toboredom,toburying myselfinmywork?

“Comeon.”Can’tstoptouching her.Can’tstopholding herhand.Now thatI’vefeltit,now thatI’vetasted having her close, I don’t want things any other way. If I could tie us together without seeming completely unhinged, I’d do it in a heartbeat.“There’smoretosee.”

Likedressing roomsscattered with abandoned jackets,half-drunk waterbottles,and openpacketsofM&Ms.Iwatch Resaoutofthecornerofmyeye,butshedoesn’tseemoverlyfascinatedbythebandmembers’stuff,andsheneveroncelets goofmyhand.WhenIpullheraway,shecomeshappilyalong.

We visit the merch stands next, set up ready near the exits, the tables stacked high with special ten-year reunion tshirts.IletgoofResabriefly,butonly toslidesomemoney beneath thelocked cash boxand fish outat-shirtinhersize. ShehugsittoherchestandgazesupatmelikeI’mherknightinshiningarmor. Fuck.

“Make sure you cut this one in half too,” I tell her. Resa giggles as she strokes the lilac fabric, then tucks the t-shirt lovinglyinherbackpack

Thiswholenightissurreal.

Then there’s the lighting booth,atthe very topofthe stadium as high as we can humanly climb.My thighs burn by thetimewereachthetopofthestairs,andResa’sbreathinghard,butsheshootsmeahappygrinwhenIcheckonher.The gigisstillmuffled,butseepingthroughthethickwalls.

“Here.” I tug Resa to the lighting booth door. It’s not locked, and when I shoulder it open, the follow-spot operators glanceovertheirshouldersandnodatusbeforeturningbacktotheshow.

Therearefiveofthem,alldressedinblackwithheadsets,eachbalancingahugelightontheirshoulderandaimingitat thestage.Themusicfromthestageispipedinheretoo,madetinnybytheancientspeakers.

The spots are used tome crashing their glass-fronted booth.I’ve watched this gig from every angle,tried a bunch of locations,alwayssearchingforanewinsight.Forthesparkofinspirationthatwillhelpmewritemybook.

Nowthatsparkelbowsmeintheribs.“We’resohighup,”Resahisses.Yeah,fromallthewayupinthisbooth,thestage lookskindasmalldownthere Themusicianspacearound,soenergetic,keyedupbythemaniaofthecrowd JustwaituntilSoulObsessioncomesonstage Thefanswillscreamsoloudthatbirdstakeflightmilesaway AndResa’sbeamingdownatthestage,bouncingonhertoesasshegripsmyhand butthatexcitementisnotfor me,is it?It’sforthisbackstagetour,andtonight’sshow Theremindertightensmythroat,andIswallowhard Resa’sexcitedaboutthissneakpeek,excitedaboutSoulObsession,butlet’sbehonest:ifwehadfirstpassedeachother inacoffeeshopthismorning,sheprobablywouldn’thaveglancedmyway Wemightneverhavespoken “Let’sgo.”MytemplesthrobasItowResaoutofthelightingbooth. Thisistemporary.Ican’tforgetthat.

“Thisissocool,Beckett.So,socool.Thankyousomuchfordoingthis!”

Resa’s happy chatter echoes in my ears as I lead her back down the stairs,down intothe belly ofthe building.There isn’tmuchtimeleft.Prettysoon,SoulObsessionwillstarttheirset,andResawon’twanttomissasinglesecondofit.Our timeisnearlyup.

“Doyouknowwhichdooryou’resupposedtogoinby?” Myvoicesoundsdulltomyownears.Robotic.Ourfeetclatteragainstthesteps. ButIcandothis Icanwalk Resatowherevershe’s supposed togo,wavegoodbye,and thenmoveonwith my life.I can,damnit.

Afewstolenhourswiththisgirlcan’truinmylife.Theuniversewouldn’tbesocruel,surely.

“Um.”Pausing in the stairwell,Resa fumbles her phone outofher back pocketand taps atthe screen.Itlights up,the rectangleoflightcastingapaleglowoverherbeautifulface.“Door5E.Whereverthatis.”

WillResaeverthinkaboutmeaftertonight?Doestheideaofuspartingguthertoo?

God,whatifI’mtheonly onefeeling this?WhatifI’mcrazy and Idon’tevenrealizeit?Therearetruecrimepodcasts aboutmenlikeme!Okay,soI’llwalkResatodoor5EandthenI’lllethergolikeasaneperson Fine

Myinsidesfeellikethey’vebeenchafedwithsandpaper Rawandbleeding ButIleadResadownthestairwell,thento thedoorfortherightcorridor

“Wait”Asmallhandsnagsmysleeve,tuggingmeback Igostillasastatue,waitingintheemptystairwellforwhatever Resawantstosay.Mybrainisbroken,alreadydestroyedbytheprospectofherleaving.There’snothingbutstaticbetween myears.

Resabites herbottomlip,gazing upatmeas thewarmupact’s powerballad bleeds through thewalls.Thenshepuffs outabreath,rocksupontohertoes,and and kisses me.

Bloodyhell.

Myhandsdartup,cuppinghercheeks.Mylipsmoveoftheirownaccord,kissingResaback.Kissingherhard. And whenItiltherhead,coaxing herlipstopart,Resasighsagainstmy mouth and slidesourtonguestogether.She’s meltingagainstme,hersoftbodysealedagainstmyfront.

Myheartslamsagainstmyribcage,desperatelytryingtoreachher.

“Beckett,”shemurmurs,fingersscratchingtheshorthairsonmyneck,andeverycellinmybodyrespondstomyname inhervoice I’mharderthangranite,mymusclestenseonmybones,whilemoltenbloodpumpsinmyears

“Beckett,”Resasaysagain Jesus She’sbendingoneleg,kneerubbingatmythigh;crowdingmebackagainstthewall,

likeshewantstoclimbmerighthere likeshe’dmountmerightinthisechoingstairwell. Worksforme.Holyshit,doesthatworkforme.

“Angel.”Mygreedyhandsroamoverherarms,herbarewaist,herjuicywidehips squeezingandstrokingastheygo. AndI’llnevergetenoughofthis,nevertireoftouchingthisgirl,becauseResaiscolorandlaughterandsunshineandI’ve beenboredandnumbforsolong,livingingrayscale.

She’stheantidote.She’swhatI’vebeenmissing.

Myteethscrapeherthroat.Resatipsherheadbackandmoans thenfumbleswithmytie,looseningthenoosearound mythroat.“Shouldwe ?”

Adoorbangsopenafewfloorsaboveus,thenoiseloudandsudden.

Wespringapartasstepsthud downthestairs.Theroadiegrinswhenheroundsthestairwelland wecomeintoview, bothflushedandbreathinghard.Hisstepsslowdown.

“Well,well,well”Darkeyesflickbetweenus,teasing “Whatdowehavehere?”

Five Resa

I’ m hardly the firstgirltokiss a man backstage ata gig,buttellmy bright-red cheeks that.They don’tcooldown for a single second not while Beckett chats with the roadie, not while he walks me silently to door 5E, and not even ten minuteslaterwhenI’mshoulder-to-shoulderwithmyfellowfans,staringdry-eyedatthelit-upstage.

Thefirstactiswrappingup,soakinguptheirlastfewminutesofborrowedglory,andthefansaregame,whoopingand cheering along.It’s hotas hell in this crush of bodies, and I keep getting elbows in my back, feetstepping on mine, and othergirls’longhairsinmymouth.

Bleurgh.

And thisisn’tme.Thissinkingstoneinmybelly;thisacheinmychest;this misery seepingoutofmypores.Itfeelsall wrong

BecauseI’mahappyperson,damnit!ResaCastilloisbuiltforpleasureandgratitude,okay andyethereIam,sourasa crabapplepie,evenasmyfavoritebandofalltimerushesonstagetoatidalwaveofscreams

TheSoulObsessionguysaremorethanadecadeolderthanwhenIsawthemliveasateenager,singingalongwithmy friendsuntilwewerehoarse Buttheylook good outtheretonight:strong and lithe,alittlebroader,alittleharsher,falling intotheiroldrhythmtogetheraseasilyasbreathing

Theopeningchordsfillthearena,andthetinyhairsonmyarmsstandonend.

“Ohmygod,”thegirlnexttomesobs,tearsstreakinghercheeks.Stillnosignofmybesties,andnosignalonmyphone tohuntthemdown.“Ohmygod,ohmygod,ohmygod.It’sreallythem.” Yeah.Itis.

TheSoulObsessionguysarehere,breathingthesameoxygenasusinthisstadium,sweatalreadyslickingtheirskinas their music vibrates the air.And I should be floating uptothe clouds,should be stamping and screaming myselfhoarse withtheotherfans,butallIcanthinkaboutisBeckett.

LiamBeckett.Mysexy,suit-wearinggrump.

What’shedoingrightnow?Ishewatchingtheshowsomewhere?

Ishethinkingaboutmetoo?Thatkiss!Ohgosh,thatkiss.

Myinsidesarealltangled uplikelinguine,and mylipsarestilltingling TheghostofBeckettsighsagainstmycheek And suddenly I can’t stand another second in this crowd, under these lights, in this heat, so I turn and fight my way throughthewalloflimbs

Theotherfanspressback,butIgritmyteethandthrowupmyelbows,thrashingtowardthenearestdoor I’mnicebut I’mnotthat nice,notwhenthere’ssomewhereIreallyneedtobe

BecauseBeckettandIaren’tdonewitheachotheryet Alright?I’m notdone Butwhydidn’theaskformynumber?Washesecretlyeagertogetridofmeallalong?

Face scrunched with the effortof keeping those questions atbay, I fightmy way to the exit.The corridor outside is emptyandstill.Myearsringasmybreathsawsinandoutofmylungs.Thatcrowdwassointense,andnowmythighsare tremblinglikejelly,barelyholdingmeup.Clearingmythroat,Ifingercombmypixieandtugmycroptopstraight. Right,let’sdothis.

Backpack:check.

Alllimbsaccountedfor:check. Andacan-doattitude?Youbetcha.

With Soul Obsession’s top hits rattling through the speakers, I march to the stairwell, back the way we came. Every timeIroundacornerorpushthroughasetofdoors,afreshwaveofdisappointmenthitswhenBeckett’snotthere. Thecorridorisempty.Thestairwellistoo.

Shoot Wheredid hego?WhatifIcan’tfind himagain?My heartthrobsinmychest,dragging my tired legsforward

Needtokeeplooking.NeedtoseeBeckettagain,orelse…Ican’teventhinkit.

Butthis stadium is a rabbitwarren, all the corridors exactly the same white and gray, and I definitely walk pastthe samescuffmarktwiceinthenexttenminutes.

Onandon,thebandplays,thecannedsoundfloatingdownfromthespeakerswhilethebassthrumsthroughthefloor. Onandon,Iwander.

Andwitheverystep,myheartsinksalittlefurther.

Foratwenty-twoyearold,Ifeellikethecreakiest,mostexhaustedoldcrone.ShouldhavetakenBeckettuponhisoffer ofpizzaearlier,shoredupmybloodsugarorwhatever,butinmydefense,Ididn’tplanonwalkingamarathon.

Bandpostersandfootballfixturesdriftpastonthewalls.Anadforcheeseburgers;aseasonticketpromo.Mysneakers dragalongthefloor,becauseI’mtootirednowtoraisemyfeetproperlyinthisendlesslabyrinth.Thetoespinch,theheels slip,andthere’sthattelltalestingingheatthatsaysI’mgettingblisters.

Istopandcheckmyphone

Zerobars Sigh

Whatthehell?Ipickadooratrandomandshoveitopen,stumblingthrough andfreezewhenIrecognizetheview

Thegreenroomis emptierthanearlier,with only afew folks hunched overthetables A groupofroadies areplaying poker, shooting each other faux-evil eyes, and two older women in business suits drink coffee together, speaking in hushedtones Thevendingmachineshumagainstthewalls,rattlingtheirwarestogether

Butthere’sonlyonethingIreallysee:apairofpaleblueeyesoveratourtable,narrowingonme.

“Resa?”Beckettshovestohisfeet.“Areyoualright?”

“Ijust Ihadtoseeyouagain.Iwasn’tdone.”

“Iknow.”TheeveningbreezerufflesBeckett’shairashecarriesmeacrosstheparkinglotoutback.Roadieswhoopand whistleatusoverontheloadingbay,butit’slikeBeckettdoesn’tevenhearthem.He’stoobusyscowlingatme,allstiffwith concern.“Butyourfeet,Resa.”

Yeah,somehow,afterafulldaytrompingaroundthiscityandthislabyrinthofastadium,myold,faithfulsneakershave turnedonme.Thepinkcanvasisstainedreddish-brownwithpatchesofblood,andBecketthaspointblankrefusedtolet mewalkanotherstep.

“Itwasweird.Iswear,Igotsolost,itwaslikeIwaswalkinginthereforhours.LikeIfellintoapocketdimension.” Beckettgrunts,hisstrongarmsallprotectivearoundmybody.I’mnofeatherweight,notwiththesehipsandthighs,but myman ’spackingasurprisingamountoftonedmuscleunderthatsuit.Hedoesn’tseemstrainedatallbymyweight. Noted.

“Whereareyoucarryingme?”

Should probably ask that before I leta strange man carry me offintothe darkness,buthey This is Beckett The rules don’tapply

HecouldcarrymeanywhereandI’dgo,heartsinginginmychest Hecouldtakemeonatourofthedumpsters,andI’d loveeverysecondnestledagainsthisstrongchest “Tourbus Oneofthecrewones”

Awarmwindbrushesovermythroatandbarebelly.

“Oh,cool.Isthatwhereyouliverightnow?”

“Yes.Well somecities,westayinhotels.Butyes.”

“Doyouhaveyourownprivatebedroomonthebus?”

Eyesflickdowntome,thenaway.“Yes.Butthat’snotwhyI’m…”

“Nokidding.”Can’tresisttuggingBeckett’searlobe.“Youhadmeatyourmercyearlier,alleagerandwilling,andyou droppedmeoffatdoor5Ewithoutevenasmoochgoodbye.”

Atroubledfrowncreaseshisforehead.“That’snotquitehowIremembertonight’sevents.”

Hisearlobeissoftand squishy.Rolling itbetweenmyfingerand thumb,Imarvelathow intimate this is.How Ididn’t evenknowthismanafewhoursago,andnowI’mcarriedinhisarmsacrossadarkparkinglot,pokingandproddingathis body like I have an all-access pass,hoping againsthope thathe’lltake advantage ofme tonight Thathe won’tbe a perfect gentleman

“Sorry,mister,butthetapedoesn’tlie.”

“Whattape?”Aneyeroll,thenI’mjostledagainstBeckett’schest likehewantsmecloser,evenwhenI’malreadyinhis arms.“Thatisnotwhathappened,Resa.” “Soyousay.”

“SoIdo.”

“And yet I came looking for you.Are you sure you even wanttohang outwith me more?Or are you humoring me?” FlippingBeckett’sshirtcollarupanddown,IstareathischinwhileIwaitforananswer. Becauseifthisisallinmyhead,ifI’vemagicked upsomecrazyconnectionbetweenusoutofsheerwishfulthinking, I’mgoingtoleapoutofhisarmsandsprinthomerightnow,bloodiedfeetorno.

Beckettheavesoutasigh.

MyinsidesquiverasIwait.

Then: “I already got your phone number from Shelby,” the writer confesses quietly His voice is taut with consternation “SeemsIcouldn’tletyougoeither”

Six Beckett

Resa ’ s questions echoin my head as I carry her ontothe tour bus,the door hissing shutbehind us.The doubtin her sweetvoiceback theresentarrowsthrough mygut,and Ihatethatshewouldn’tmeetmyeye.Likeshewasbracing forrejection,notsureifIwantheraround.

ButwhatelsecouldIdoearlierexceptlethergo?

Grabthe bubbly fan girlI chose for an interview and stealher away?Abducther ontothis glossy black tour bus and keepherwithmeforever?Slidearingontoherfingerbeforedawn?

That’s911territory,andI’mnofantasist.

“Itlooksevenbiggerontheinside,”Resamurmurs,craninghernecktopeeraroundusatthebus.Everythingislitby softlightsdottedoverhead Wepassthekitchenareawithitsbreak-outtable,boltedtothefloorandsurroundedbybench seats; the closed doors of other crew members’ bedrooms; a shower room that smells like the battling scents of three differentshampoos

The cramped hallway is carpeted and silent,and Resa’s sneakers scuffgently againstthe wallas I carry her through Theshowerdrips

“Doesn’tfeelallthatbigwhenyouliveinitforweeks Morelikeaglorifiedcamper”

ButIdon’treallymind.Iwantedanadventure,andthistourhasgivenmeone andnowit’sbroughtmetoResa. Christ.Resa. How willI ever lether go?Every time her breath mists againstmy neck, my heartthumps a little faster.My cock is harderthansinwithherbodythisclosetomine,andnowwe’realoneonthisdimlylittourbus. …Alone.

Forhours,probably.

Focus, you prick.

“There’s a first aid kit,” I say as I deposit her on my bed in the last room on the bus, determined not to notice how rumpled and flushed Resa looks already like we ’ ve been rolling around together in those sheets.“Stay here.I’llbe right back.”

“Oh, sure ” She flops back, empty bottles crunching in that backpack beneath her, and starfishes on my double bed “WakemeupifIfallasleep”

Somuchtrust Somuchitmakesmedizzy

Overinthesilentkitchen,Iscrubmyfaceandsigh Thetirednessofseveralweeksontheroadwasalreadymakingmy days woozy,butnow with Resa here,everything feels dreamlike and off-kilter Whatis real?Whatdoes she want?What canwedothatshewon’tregret?

Tuggingthefirstaidkitoffitsshelf,Iwalkbacktomyownroomlikeamanwalkingtothegallows.

Needtotrustmyself,butI’mhangingbyathread.

“Resa.” Her eyes flick open she’s not sleeping, then. Just lying flat on my bed, soft breaths stirring the air, her face slackwithfatigue.I’mnottheonlyonehavingalong,weirdday.“I’mgoingtotakeyourshoesoff,okay?”

“Mm.”

Herrightfootliftsupinoffering.Placingthefirstaidkitonthebed,Ikneelonthefloorandteaseherlacesloose.The sneakercomesoffeasily,butResatensesupwithahisswhenhersockstickstohernewblisters.

“Sorry.” A whole sad, bloodied pile of socks and shoes grows next to my knee as I strip her left foot too. Bare toes wriggleintheair,andIcan’tresistcatchingheranklesinmyhands.Can’tresistrubbingthoseankleboneswiththepads ofmythumbs,feelingthedelicatestructureofher.Thearchitecturebeneathhersatinskin.

Resamakesasmallsoundinthebackofherthroat.Herbareanklesaresowarmanddelicateundermyhands.

“I’mgoingtocleanandbandageyourfeet Itmightstingabit”

“Okay.”

Simpleasthat: okay. I’mgoingtocauseherpain,andthat’sokay.I’vecarriedhertomybedandthat’sokay.I’masking hertotrustme,andit’sA-okay.

Frustration chokes me, even as I spread the first aid supplies out on the mattress in easy reach: antiseptic wipes, numbingcream,andaselectionofdifferent-sizedbandaids.

Resashouldn’ttrustsoeasily.WhatifIwereabadman?

Hell,whatifI am abadman?Whatifhavingherhere,exactlywhereIwanther,soothingtheemptinessinmychest… breakssomethinginsideme?WhatifIneverletherleaveafterall?

“Haveyoutoldanyoneyou’rehere?”Iaskmildly.

Resa hums and shakes her head,then wriggles her backpack off.She digs for her phone,the screen lighting upsoit reflectstworectanglesinhereyes,andtapsoutamessage.

“I’ve got no signal right now, ” she says Trust, too much trust “But I’ve told the girls where I am It’ll send in the morning Noonewillworryaboutmeinthemeantime,Beckett,it’sfine”

Thatis not fine Thatistheoppositeoffine

Resa’sbreathhitcheswhenIdabatthefirstblisterwithanantisepticwipe andI’mgoingasgentlyasIcan,butIcan’t helpthesting

“Distractme,”ResawhisperswhenImoveontothesecond Herpoorfeetarebatteredandraw,andthisdiscomfortwill lastforawhileyet,soifIcanhelpwiththat,Iwill.“Tellmeasecret.”

MymouthtwitchesasIteaseopenanotherband-aid.“Asecret?Idon’thavemanyofthose.” Itsoundslikealine,butIreallydon’t.Becausesure,IhavethingsIdon’ttellpeople,butit’snotbecausethey’reacapital S-Secret.It’sbecauseI’mnotthatclosetoanyonebackinLondon.Oranywhere,forthatmatter.

ButforResa,I’llmaketheeffort.“Helpmeouthere.Whatwouldyouliketoknow?”

Proppinguponherelbows,shebitesherlipandstaresdownatmeoverthehillsandvalleysofherperfectbody.“Um okay.Didyouhaveanypetsgrowingup?”

Asmileburstsovermyface,evenasIwatchmyhandsworking.“Ah,yes.Topsecretstuff.” “Saysthemandodgingthequestion.”

Ha.Fine.

“We had cats in my house” Another packet tears open “My parents were away a lot, and they didn’t want the responsibilityofadog Theydidn’tparticularlywanttheresponsibilityofachild,either”

Thatlastbitslipsout,unguarded,andIstiffenonceIhearmyownwords butResasimplynods,encouragingmetogo on There’snopityinhereyes justcompassionandcuriosity

“There was this one cat,” I say, testing her interest She doesn’t seem bored “My favorite one A silver tabby He was bad-temperedandmoth-eatenandenormous,andhewouldn’tsitonanylapsexceptmine Helivedtobetwentyyearsold, andforthelastfewofthemhewashalf-bald.”

“Name?”

“Rustbucket.”

Resaburstsoutlaughing,thesoundechoingaroundtheemptybus.AndsomehowI’mgrinning,shiftingonmyaching kneesasIgrabanotherantisepticwipe;somehowtalkingaboutthispersonalstuffiseasierthanit’severbeenbefore.

“Ineverhadanypets.”Resaclickshertongue.“Ourhousewasalreadysoloudandcrowded,andtherewasneverany roomforanimals.Itusedtofeelsounfair,likeIwasmissingoutonafurrybestfriend,butthesedaysI’mgladInevergot one.There’snothingtyingmetooneplace,youknow?Icantakeoffonawhim.Goandtraveltheworld,maybe.”Sheeyes me.“Runawaywithahandsomewriter.”

Mystomachdrops.“Resa…”

Shesighsandflopsbackontothebed,whereIcan’tseeherfaceproperly.“Joking,obviously.Thatwouldbeinsane.” “Itwould”

Insanelikewinningthelottery

Insanelikefallinginloveinonenight

Andmythroatissotight,IneedtocoughquietlybeforeIcanspeakagain “Yourfeetaredone” “Oh!”Justlikethat,Resalurchesuprightagain,leaningovertoseemyhandiwork Herbandagedtoeswriggle,andher faceissuddenlysoclosetomine.It’sdiminthisroom,litonlybymybedsidelamp,andthegoldenglowmakeshercheeks looksoft.

Sosoft.

Myhandmovesofitsownaccord,cuppingherface.Softnessconfirmed. Resabreathesfaster,reachingforwardtograbmytie.Shewetsherlips,givingthemadampsheen.

We’vealreadykissedonce.What’stheharm?It’sonlymyheartthatwillneverrecover;onlythethreatofmadnessonce sheleaves.Nobigdeal.

“Beckett.”Resa’sknucklesarebleachedpalewhereshegripsmytie,squeezingitlikealifeline.“Youcarriedmetoyour bedroom.You’vedoneyourmanlysaviorbit.Areyougonnaravishmeornot?”

AndI’macool,collectedman usually.Aparagonofrestraint.

ButwhenResastaresatme,beseechingwiththosebig,doeeyes…fuckit.Anarchangelcouldn’tresistthisgirl. Lungingforward,abeastroaringinmychest,Icapturehermouthwithmine.

Another random document with no related content on Scribd:

is of course extremely hard, but there are other hard woods like cedar, and many varieties of valuable timber.

Yerba mate is cultivated in many places, especially in Misiones; the wild growing trees of the forest furnish a still greater supply of the leaves. From these a drink is made which outside of the large cities is in this part of the continent far more popular than tea or coffee.

The northern forests contain several varieties of rubber trees, but none are exploited. Along the Andes are forests, the principal ones from Lake Nahuel Huapi south. Those in this region are believed to be worth $10,000,000,000. The variety of native woods both hard and soft is large; and trees of other countries have been introduced.

Thousands of eucalyptus trees have been planted on many estancias, serving a useful purpose in many ways, beside being an ornament on the level plain.

M

In the description of the Provinces, mention has been made of the minerals existing in various localities, but up to the present time the working of these has been slight. Tungsten, gold, copper, wolfram, borax, and petroleum have received the most attention, but few are those who have realized any considerable profits. Within ten years the exports have amounted to hardly more than $3,000,000.

Gold is mined in small quantities in various places; in southern Patagonia it is gathered from the coast sands after a heavy sea storm. In Neuquen and Catamarca are workings of fair size. The copper deposits of the Andes are difficult of access but may be developed later. Silver was mined formerly, but the ore was of moderate grade and the work was discontinued. A reverberatory smelter has recently been installed for the mines in Rioja.

Coal deposits exist in Mendoza, San Juan, Neuquen, Chubut, and Tierra del Fuego. The coal is not very good but will help in view of the shortage and high prices. Work is being done in San Juan and Mendoza. It is proposed to open mines among large deposits in

Chubut, though the coal will have to be carried 180 miles to a railway.

The tungsten industry is active; 900 tons have been mined in one year, about one-seventh of the world production. Exploitation of marble, wolfram, and mica in Córdoba and San Luis is showing good results.

Manganese is exported in increasing quantity chiefly from the desert section of Santiago del Estero.

Large saline deposits exist, some in basins with no outlet, in the central Provinces, some of volcanic type on the Puna of Atacama, others near the ocean not far from Bahia Blanca. Some of them have been exploited. Importation of salt has diminished and home production is expected shortly to suffice for local needs.

Petroleum is now exciting the greatest interest. Oil is known to exist in four regions with others reported, but only one has been thoroughly tested, that at Comodoro Rivadavia. Borings carried on here by the Government struck oil at a depth of about 1800 feet in 1907. In 1910, 12,000 acres were reserved for Government exploitation which has since been carried on. The place is near the coast about 850 miles south of Buenos Aires. Development has been rather slow, but in 1916, 25 wells had been sunk and 21 were in active production of about 14 tons each per day. There were four steel tanks and other storage space, in all about 26,000 cubic meters, one such of this oil equalling .93 metric ton. In 1917, 36 wells were in production and 19 being bored. In 1918 about 1,250,000 barrels were produced. Tank steamers are provided, and storage tanks in Buenos Aires. An oil tank is begun in Rosario. Others are to be constructed in Buenos Aires, Bahia Blanca, Puerto Militar, Santa Fé, and Mar del Plata. The oil is heavy with an asphalt base; distilled, it yields 1.5-3.5 per cent of naphtha and gasoline, 1519 per cent of illuminating oils, and 77-85 per cent of lubricating oils, fuel, and coke. Heavier than the better grades of United States oil, it has been used almost entirely as fuel, though it is said that it will distil readily. This will undoubtedly be its chief usefulness, to serve instead of coal. It is employed by a number of factories. A new

Government well, 1921, was producing 34,000 barrels a day, and prospects are of the best. Millions have been appropriated for tank steamers, machinery, and for intensive development of the oil fields. The price rose from about $10 a ton in 1916 to $40 in December, 1917. Government control will probably continue, especially because the oil is likely to be used by the navy.

A few private companies are operating outside the restricted area, using 12-inch tubes, while the Government has used smaller. One Company with a capital of $2,000,000 has with other equipment 4.3 miles of railway connecting with the Government railway to the port, also two miles of pipe line. Many of the frigorificos use oil, mostly Mexican. The West India Oil Company imports from the United States or Mexico, mainly for refining.

The other fields are the Salta-Jujuy, the Cacheuta, a few miles south of Mendoza, and the Mendoza-Neuquen field, 700 miles southwest of Buenos Aires. In these fields the oil has a paraffine base, a sample from Jujuy showing 5 per cent of light oil, 30 per cent of kerosene, and 52 of lubricating oil; a grade equal to that of Pennsylvania or Ohio. One such field in Neuquen justifying immediate development is favorably located 824 miles from Buenos Aires near the Ferrocarril del Sud, which will provide special cars and tariff, so that speedy results are hoped for.

While Argentina is primarily an agricultural and pastoral country and is likely so to continue, a fair amount of capital is invested in manufacturing and in other commercial projects, some of the capital European. The largest sum is invested in Light and Power Companies; for all cities of any size have electric lighting and many, electric traction. About $128,000,000 have been thus invested; in packing houses 40 millions, flour mills 7; in sugar refineries 50, wine making 78, foundries and metal works 25, dairies, etc., 43, tannin extract, etc., 33, lithographing and printing 12, breweries 14, construction companies 11, these all millions. Other companies with investments of 5-10 millions are shoes, saw mills, jute and cotton

sacks, carpentry, painting and horse-shoeing together; liquors, tanneries, cotton and woolen mills, furniture, trunks and tapestries, leather goods, brick kilns, clothing, wagons and carriages, ice and aërated waters, ore smelting, grain elevators; many more with investment of 1-5 millions, besides a total of 47 million in still smaller companies.

Of other lines, in 1916 there were 71 telephone companies, capital $15,000,000; 143 banks, capital about $500,000,000, employing 10,000 persons; 85 insurance companies. The companies of all kinds generally are on a sound and paying basis, in spite of high cost of fuel and power. The two leading department stores in Buenos Aires, equal to our best in character, are both British owned; there are many other shops of every kind of the highest class.

The tramways and subway of Buenos Aires are noteworthy. The tramway system has been called the best in the world. There are 500 miles of lines, carrying about 400,000,000 passengers yearly. Packing like cattle is not allowed, the number of persons per car being strictly limited. The subway 8.7 miles long carries 2,500,000 with a splendid system and fine service including one for freight. Extensions were postponed on account of the War. The water supply, taken from the river, and the drainage system are of the highest character. A revenue of $7,000,000 is received by the Government.

Dairy Products. The dairy industry is of quite recent development; butter formerly imported in quantity is now becoming an article of export. From 1914 to 1918 the production of cheese increased 277 per cent, of butter 162 per cent. Three thousand existing creameries, most of which are in the Provinces near the Capital, in 1918 made 50,000,000 pounds of butter, 40 million of cheese, and 15 of casein. More than half the butter and some cheese was exported.

The growth of other industries has caused a great falling off in many imports; of preserves 62 per cent, of ham 96, preserved vegetables 87, beer 98, cider 55, common wine 85. Other things as chocolate, macaroni, fruit crackers, shoes, and cloth have decreased

50 per cent. Of fideos enough is produced for home use, and to export in 1918 over 2,000,000 pounds.

Furniture. The construction of furniture has attained large proportions, a great part of what is sold in the country being made in Buenos Aires though often bearing foreign names. Wood is imported, even $25,000,000 worth in one year, while the finest woods grow in the country. Of 305 saw mills, 134, the most important, are in the City and Province of Buenos Aires far from the forests. The small mills near the woods merely chop off the branches for transport or prepare firewood. Cut wood from Buenos Aires is returned to Misiones and Corrientes for construction, a terrible waste. A change has begun; the mills near the forests are being enlarged and equipped with machinery, so an evolution of the industry is under way.

Paper. Eight paper factories with capital of $8,000,000 employing 1500 persons produce 40,000,000 pounds of paper, 28,000,000 for packing, the rest for newspapers, books, and other things. A great quantity is still imported, formerly from Germany, lately much from the United States. The paper is made of rags, shreds of paper, and pasteboard, the consumption of pulp being small, hardly 200,000 pounds. One factory at Barranqueras, on the Paraná River in the Chaco, employs a kind of bog grass to make three tons of straw board a day.

Flour. The flour mills are of great importance, supplying in 1919, 850,000 tons of flour for home use and some for export. In 1918, 176,445 tons were exported. With fewer mills than formerly, the 400 existing are more productive. The 79 in Buenos Aires, 47 in Santa Fé, 44 in Entre Rios, and 26 in Córdoba produce 95 per cent of the total. Sixty-one per cent of the mills are Argentine owned. One hundred and fifty two are steam mills, 156 hydraulic. They have 25,000-30,000 horse power and employ 10,000 persons. About $34,000,000 are invested in the industry while the production is $100,000,000. However the farmers have trouble, as the fee for hauling grain has increased 60 per cent, and cartage 25 miles to a station is as much as the freight from Buenos Aires to New York. A flour mill in Mendoza and in other western cities of the wheat belt

would undoubtedly pay handsomely, saving expensive transport. A new flour mill at La Plata to cost $500,000 is to turn out a quantity sufficient to fill 1000 bags a day.

Beer is made in 25 factories for the consumption of the entire country, a quantity of 80,000,000 litres worth $12,000,000. To produce the 7000 horse power needed, thousands of tons of coal, wood, and petroleum are consumed.

Other Manufactures. Factories making shoes, said to be of the best quality, underwear, umbrellas, acids, perfume, and many other articles are found. Vegetable oils are extracted from peanuts, linseed, rape, cotton seed, and other articles, in establishments in Buenos Aires and Santa Fé.

Altogether there are about 50,000 industrial establishments with a capital of $800,000,000 using 678,000 horse power, employing 500,000 persons, consuming nearly $500,000,000 worth of material, and producing nearly $1,000,000,000 worth of goods. About half of these are extractive or manufacturing. One-third belong to the Argentines who supply 18.67 per cent of the capital.

Developing Industries. The Government is interested in the establishment of other factories and construction work; a cement factory in Buenos Aires to make 300,000 tons per annum is considered, the Government now using 700,000 tons a year. Ship building is encouraged; a steel ship of 1250 tons was launched at Riachuelo; yards are to be constructed at the port of Carmen de Patagones on the Rio Negro by an Argentine company with capital of 50,000,000 pesos. Some armored cement oil-tanks of 6000 tons capacity are to be made for Comodoro Rivadavia, and a depot for petroleum and naphtha at the port of Mar del Plata. Also for the former, port works, a breakwater, a mole for loading, and houses for workmen at a cost of 17,000,000 pesos. Sanitary works for 16 towns at a cost of 9,800,000 pesos are provided for, 22,000,000 pesos are to be spent in three years for machinery and tank steamers to develop the Government oil wells, the exploitation of which will cost 45,000,000 pesos; present production is yet insufficient.

A Spanish Argentine Corporation with a capital of $10,000,000 is to build two large frigorificos at Buenos Aires and Santa Fé, with steamers to transport beef to Spain. Another frigorifico is designed for Puerto Deseado in the south to coöperate with local ranchmen.

The lack of combustibles has for many years been a great and embarrassing problem, an early solution of which is now hoped for. Importation of coal from England and of petroleum from the United States has been carried on at great cost. In five years, 1912-16, $190,000,000 was spent for such articles, while as they say petroleum ran into the sea and wood rotted at the railway stations. In 1919 coal was $26 a ton. The forests of the north have an inexhaustible supply of wood; the charcoal industry is quite well developed in the Chaco, north Santa Fé, Tucumán, and Santiago. Many woods are appropriate, but high freights have impeded their use. A large deposit of coal is recently reported in Tucumán. A new railway to the firewood region of Santiago del Estero will save a 100 mile haul. A splendid source of electric power are the Iguassú Falls with 275 cascades, the greatest with a height of 213 feet. Investigation shows that 500,000 horse power is easily available, one half each for Brazil and Argentina. Ten thousand horse power would be sent 800 miles to Buenos Aires, the rest used in Misiones, Corrientes, and Entre Rios. From the Salto Grande Falls on the Uruguay 50,000 horse power might be available for Argentina and Uruguay each.

I

The opportunity for investments for persons with capital is evidently large. A great deal of money is necessary for stock raising, though less in the far south. Agriculture, especially the raising of cotton, rice, or tobacco might be attractive; the sugar industry may be extended. Factories of various kind may be established by experts. Persons speaking Spanish fluently, capable of acting as foremen or superintendents of establishments of various kinds, might find employment. The minerals with the exception of petroleum are less accessible than in some other countries. An American

department store in Buenos Aires is desirable, and one might succeed in Rosario.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

PARAGUAY: AREA, HISTORY, GOVERNMENT, POPULATION, ETC.

Paraguay has been called the most romantic of all the South American countries, from the point of view of nature and history both. It is a land of “dolce far niente” so far as agreeableness is concerned, a land where nature is lavish and necessities are few; on the other hand a region where the climate is not enervating, where energetic action and enterprise are not altogether lacking, and where these find ample reward. One of the two inland countries of the continent, having always been such, she has no grievance on this account. In fact, being in the heart of South America and almost surrounded by rivers, Paraguay has in many ways a most favorable location for inland commerce, which will surely bring her prosperity.

A, P, B

Area. Paraguay, generally called eighth in size of the South American Republics, has an area of about 165,000 square miles, more or less, according to the determination of the boundary dispute with Bolivia. One hundred and ninety-six thousand miles is claimed by the Paraguay Government. The more settled part of the country east of the Paraguay River covers about 65,000 square miles; the section west, which on most maps is given to Paraguay, though claimed by Bolivia, is more uncertain in area, but may have 100,000 or more square miles. With the other neighboring countries the boundaries have been definitely determined.

Population. As in several other countries, the population of Paraguay can be estimated only, since no exact census has ever been taken. Approximate figures given by different writers are 800,000-1,100,000.

Boundary. Paraguay has Brazil on the north and east; Argentina, too, is east, is exclusively on the south, and partly on the west; while

Bolivia is west and north of the Chaco, the dividing line being uncertain.

The greater part of the way rivers form the boundary line. The Paraná separates Paraguay proper from Argentina on the south, and on the east as far as the Iguassú River; north of the latter river Brazil is on the opposite shore of the Paraná to beyond the Sete Quedas, or Falls of La Guayra (higher up the Paraná is wholly in Brazil); the boundary line then goes west and north along the watershed to the source of a branch of the Rio Apá, which with that river it follows west down to the Paraguay. Above the point of junction the Paraguay River has Brazil on the east bank and for some distance the Paraguayan Chaco on the west. Below the Apá, the Paraguay divides the country into sections, as far as the Pilcomayo River, on the southwest of which is Argentina. Below, along the Paraguay River to the Alto Paraná, Argentina is on the west. The Chaco section may be said at present to be in the practical possession of Paraguay, so far as it is occupied by any one except savages.

H

It seems extraordinary that here in the centre of the South American continent, 1000 miles from the sea, is one of the oldest cities, the capital of the Republic, Asunción, founded a full century earlier than Providence (1636), and 85 years before the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth. Juan de Ayolas, sent by Pedro de Mendoza after the first settlement at Buenos Aires (not long after destroyed), in 1536 established here a colony; then sailing up the river to a place he called Candelaria, with a few followers he boldly struck off through the forest towards Peru. Irala, left behind to await his return, proved faithful; but after long waiting in vain, being obliged twice to go to Asunción for provisions, he learned at last that Ayolas, after a successful journey to Alto Peru, had arrived in his absence and had then been slaughtered by savages: a tragic sequel of heroism, fitly to be compared to that of Captain Scott, his achievement of the South Pole, followed by the disastrous return journey.

Irala, later becoming Governor, was one of the few Conquistadores, after many vicissitudes, to die peacefully in 1557. Until 1776, Asunción was the chief Spanish city of the eastern slope of South America. Buenos Aires then became the seat of a Viceroy, in that year appointed.

In 1810, after expelling the Viceroy, the Argentines sent up a small army, expecting Paraguay also to revolt, but she declined. However, in 1811 the Paraguayans expelled the Spanish Governor; in 1814 a despotism under Dr. J. G. R. Francia came into being. At his death in 1840, his nephew, Carlos Antonio Lopez, succeeded to power, followed in 1862 by his son, Francisco Lopez. This young man, who had visited Europe, soon organized a well drilled army with the idea of becoming a second Napoleon, in South America. His opportunity came when Uruguay appealed for his assistance against the Portuguese of Brazil. Crossing Argentine territory to invade Brazil, in spite of the refusal of Argentina to give permission, Lopez became involved in war with both of the larger countries and later with Uruguay. Although so small, Paraguay might have held her own against one of the larger Republics, but after making a desperate struggle for nearly six years, during which most of the male citizens were killed, boys of 12-15 forced to fight, women compelled to work in the fields and to act as supply bearers, with cruel persecution from the Dictator, the army was utterly wiped out, and Lopez killed in 1870. Three-fourths of the population had perished.

Not yet has the country recovered its previous condition and numbers, several revolutions having interrupted its growth; the last in 1911-12. Curiously, the people pride themselves on being one of the most homogeneous of the South American Republics and the best fighters.

G

The Government organized in 1870 is of the usual form with three branches. The President, elected for four years, is not again eligible for eight years. There are two Houses of Congress, a Senate of 13 members and a Chamber of 26 Deputies. A Permanent Committee

of Congress sits during the interval between sessions, both to provide for emergencies and to prevent usurpation by the Executive. The Judiciary has a Supreme Court, two Superior Courts of Appeal, Civil and Criminal Courts with Lower Courts and Justices.

The section west of the River is under military command; the part east has 23 electoral districts with subdivisions. As in Argentina, all persons born in the Republic are deemed citizens.

There are said to be 20 Districts, some of which along the Paraguay from the north are Concepción, San Pedro, Villeta, Pilar; farther east Caraguatay, Yhú, Paraguarí, Guaira, Guindí, Caazapá, San Ignacio, and Encarnación. All have capitals of the same name except Guaira, the capital of which is Villa Rica. Data as to area and population of these is lacking.

An unusual official is a Defender General of the Poor, of Minors, and of Absentees.

P

The Paraguayans claim that their people are nearly pure Spanish, with slight admixture of Guaraní, this being the most numerous, intelligent, and peaceful of the Indian tribes of that region. Preserving the spirit of the invaders, they are an unusually hardy race for one on the edge of the tropics. While Spanish blood and culture largely predominate in the capital, the population of the rural districts is more primitive in character.

The number of the people is uncertain, but may reach 1,000,000, including 50,000, some say 100,000 wild Indians belonging to several tribes, chiefly in the Chaco. In the eastern section of Paraguay proper there are probably not over 25,000 persons, most of the population being east and south of the mountainous section and especially near the Paraguay River. They say that there are no idle or poor in the country, although many may be seen barefoot in Asunción; as the simple life is popular, little clothing is needed, and food is abundant. (Of late the standard of living has been rising.) For this reason the country people generally lack energy and ambition.

Most of the inhabitants are engaged in agriculture, some also in pastoral pursuits. The native women are called superior to the men. Burdens thrown upon them during their great war made them resourceful and independent. The men as a rule are peaceful unless they have been drinking caña, which is now forbidden by some large employers of labor. In the section east of the mountains are uncivilized Indians of the principal tribes, one timid and retiring. Some of the Cainguaes at times work in the yerbales. The Indians in the Chaco are of a number of different tribes of a low order of civilization, who are mostly nomads, and live by the chase and fishing. A few work at estancias spasmodically, never for long.

E

Education is backward, though the percentage of illiteracy, if about 60 as is said, may be less than in some of the other Republics. With the scattered population, chiefly in the country and in small towns, to provide educational facilities for all is impossible. There is a University in Asunción with five Faculties; secondary schools in Asunción, Pilar, and Villa Rica; and six Normal Schools. A School of Commerce with night and day classes does good work in the capital, where the Instituto Paraguayo is of important cultural value, recently receiving a library of 2000 volumes in English from the Carnegie Peace Foundation. The Banco Agricola has done much for the diffusion of general education as well as more specifically in agriculture. As in other countries, some young men go abroad to study, either on Government scholarships or with private means.

P, R, .

Press. The capital is well supplied with newspapers and periodicals; little journalism exists elsewhere.

Religion. The religion is Roman Catholic, but there is complete toleration for other creeds. An important work has been carried on in the Chaco by W. Barbrooke Grubb and others of the English Church.

Schools have been established, with an industrial and intellectual as well as a religious centre. Civil marriage alone is legal.

Telegraphic communication with the outside world is carried on by way of Posadas and Corrientes, but frequent interruptions in service have made it unsatisfactory. There are over 2000 miles of wire in the interior. Wireless is used by the Government to communicate with the garrison towns. There are stations at the Capital, Concepción, and Encarnación. In 1919 there was no Telephone service in Asunción, as the station had been destroyed by fire; but such service existed in Concepción, Villa Rica, and Paraguarí.

Money. The Money in use is paper, the standard, a gold peso equal to the Argentine, 96.5 cents. The paper peso varies in value, in 1920 being worth five cents. The value of exports and imports is declared in gold, an Exchange Bureau supplying local money at the actual rate. Thus fluctuations affecting commerce have ceased and business has improved.

The Metric System of weights and measures is usual.

CHAPTER XXXIX

PARAGUAY: PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Highlands. The physical features of the country are simple, the Paraguay River dividing it into sections: the Gran Chaco, to some extent unexplored in detail, and the Oriental. The latter, Paraguay proper, is traversed from north to south by a broad irregular belt of highlands, nowhere much above 2200 feet. The angle of the ridges is sharper on the west, the country undulating in gradual slopes from the foot. On the east, spurs run out enclosing deep valleys, and the country has more of an upland character. The streams flowing west to the Paraguay are smoother and to some extent navigable, while those flowing east and southeast to the Alto Paraná are interrupted by rapids and falls.

Plains. In the southwest section between the Paraguay and the Paraná there is considerable marshy country, part draining into the Ypoa lagoon; other marshy lowlands occur along the Paraguay River. All these could be drained at moderate expense, thus providing much rich and accessible land. The western section, containing most of the inhabitants, has an average altitude of about 600 feet. In the more settled parts of the west and south are extensive grassy and open lands, and hills covered with forests, while clumps of trees are frequent in the lowlands. The soil of the western part is rather dry and sandy except near the rivers and marshes. It is extremely rich, of a reddish color due to impregnated iron. Above is a thick layer of humus, formed by centuries of decaying vegetation. In places the soil is clayey, or has a substratum of clay beneath. This is true of most of the forest region, and of the swampy section. Of Paraguay proper the western part is 25 per cent forest, the middle 66, the eastern 95 per cent.

The Gran Chaco, though called a plain, and flat near the rivers, is somewhat hilly. Rarely, a freshet on the Paraguay or the Pilcomayo transforms the neighboring country into great lakes, these sometimes extending 20 or 30 miles back from the river. Along the

river banks is usually a narrow strip of forest, from which the soil and trees occasionally crumble into the stream, especially along the Pilcomayo, thus impeding navigation on that river. Farther back are open plains dotted with groups of palms, and some stretches of forest. The average altitude is 426 feet. Little is known of the country north of 22°.

Rivers. The country is greatly favored with rivers. The Paraguay, 1800 miles long, rises in Matto Grosso, Brazil, near the source of the Tapajós, a branch of the Amazon. From the east the Paraguay receives several important streams. Below the Apá, the northern boundary, two tributaries, the Aquidabán and the Ipané, are nearly 200 miles long. More important is the navigable Jejui (all these north of Asunción); still more the Tebicuary, entering the Paraguay far south of Asunción by two mouths, one over one-half, the other over one-third of a mile in width. The Alto Paraná is different, a more rocky and a shallower stream than the Paraguay. From that country it has many affluents, the Monday over 100 miles long with great cataracts in the lower part but navigable above. The Paraná River, 2000 miles long to the mouth of the Uruguay, rises in Goyaz, 665 miles above the Sete Quedas. It is 100 miles more to the Iguassú, then 492 to Corrientes, and 676 beyond to the beginning of the La Plata.

The rivers of the Chaco are more sluggish. Even the Pilcomayo is untraced in its middle course where vast swamps impede passage by land or water. The river is navigable in its lower reaches for a considerable distance, and the upper part is well known. The River Confuso is a smaller stream of similar character. Paraguay has few lakes save those swampy in character, but one, Lake Ipacaraí, east of Asunción, is a popular beauty spot, with pleasure and health resorts. Lake Ypoa is larger and both are navigable by boats of slight draft.

C

The climate of the country is called ideal, that of course depending on one’s taste. In general it is subtropical with two seasons, the

summer temperature averaging 81°, the winter 71° or less. The rainfall is fairly distributed, the most in the hot months, December to February. Sudden changes of weather occur; from hot, humid north winds, or cooling south winds from the Argentine plains. In places the winter temperature may fall to 33°-42°, even with frost, but not near the Paraná River where there are fogs. In summer the maximum temperature at Asunción occasionally reaches 100° or more, and there are 60 inches of rain; more farther east, but less in the Chaco.

CHAPTER XL

PARAGUAY: THE CAPITAL AND OTHER CITIES

T C

Asunción, the population of which is variously given as 80, 90, 100, 120, and 125 thousand, is a quiet town on the Paraguay at a point where the bank rises to a considerable height, affording good drainage, and from the palace a pleasing view. An English writer calls the city the nicest, cleanest town above Buenos Aires. Although 1000 miles from the ocean, it has an altitude of but 203 feet above sea level. The classical building of the Custom House stands by the river side. The palace above, built by the Dictator, Francisco Lopez, as a residence, is used for the offices of the President and his Cabinet. Other important buildings are a House of Congress, a Cathedral, a Museum of Fine Arts containing a Murillo, and a National Library with many priceless documents.

The several hotels are fairly comfortable if not exactly modern in character. There are electric lights and electric car service. The streets at last accounts were poorly paved with rough cobble stones, but some automobiles are in use. The city is steadily advancing in commercial importance, 80 per cent of the imports and 40 of the exports passing through its Custom House.

O C

From the meagre information available, to describe individually the various States or Districts of Paraguay is impossible, as also unimportant, the sparse settlements having little marked variation. Mention will be made instead of the principal towns, few of which have a population of 15,000.

Villa Rica, population perhaps 30,000, 40 hours from Buenos Aires and 93 miles from Asunción, is the second city of Paraguay. Situated in a rich agricultural district, it is destined to a sound if not

rapid development. It will become important later as a railway junction; for the railway designed to cross the Paraná River into Brazil just above the entrance of the Iguassú, passing the great Falls, will connect with the São Paulo-Rio Grande Railway at União de Victoria and go on to São Francisco, called the best port in Brazil south of Santos. However, the date of this road’s completion is uncertain. The actual railway junction is at Borja, a little south of Villa Rica, but the latter place will receive the benefit. All of the towns are what we might call large country villages.

Villa Concepción, 130 miles up the river from Asunción, the third if not the second city of commercial importance, with a population given as 16, 25, also 30 thousand, is a port for yerba, cattle, quebracho, and sugar. The town of one story houses has better streets than those of the Capital, and a comfortable inn. It may now boast of 50 automobiles, instead of the one stylish turnout noted years ago by Colonel Roosevelt.

Villa Encarnación, population 15,000 or less, opposite Posadas, is another city of commercial importance, as the junction of the railway ferry and of river transportation. Here there is a change of river boats, those of lighter draft being required for the Upper Paraná.

Other towns are Paraguarí on the railway between Asunción and Villa Rica, Carapeguá near by, San Pedro north of Asunción, half way to Concepción, Luque, nine miles south of the Capital, and Pilar, well down the river. Villa Hayes is one of several centres of commercial importance in the Chaco.

San Bernadino on Lake Ipacaraí, two hours from Asunción, is a pleasure resort favored in winter by citizens of Buenos Aires. A large modern hotel caters both to fashionables and to sufferers from tuberculosis.

T

River transportation in Paraguay is of the greatest importance. Large comfortable steamers give good service three times a week

between Buenos Aires and Asunción, making the trip upward in four or five days, down stream in three. Above Asunción boats of suitable size and draft give poorer service on the Paraguay. Several lines run up 765 miles to Corumbá in Brazil, a three or four days journey, calling on the way at several Paraguayan ports, Concepción, 250 miles, San Salvador, Puerto Max, and others. Fares are high, especially down stream, apparently because one is obliged to go. Some ports on the Paraguay and on a few branches above and below the capital are visited by local steamers. Barges can be floated on over 2000 miles of internal rivers. Chatas (which are poled along) drawing 2-4 feet of water carry 10-100 tons; such boats on the Paraguay may carry 600 tons.

On the Alto Paraná, as previously stated, there is semi-weekly service from Corrientes to Encarnación and Posadas. Above, three times a week steamers, with many calls on both sides of the river, make a four days’ journey to the Iguassú and beyond to Puerto Mendez, from which point a short railway in Brazil passes around La Guayra Falls.

Railway facilities are increasing, construction though not so easy as on the Argentine plains being less difficult than in general in the other Republics. Nearly 475 miles of track are in operation, 200 of them privately owned. The main line of the Central Paraguay, Encarnación to Asunción, 230 miles, has first class equipment with through sleepers to Buenos Aires, 966 miles from Asunción. Several short lines of very narrow gauge, about 30 inches, transport quebracho and timber from the interior to river ports, 152 miles of these in the Chaco. A railway of 40 miles serves sugar mills back of Concepción. If the cross lines proposed to Brazil and Bolivia (of one of the former some miles are in operation) are constructed within the decade, a rapid development will ensue. Cart roads are few and very poor. In wet weather six or eight oxen are required for a cart. Twowheeled vehicles are much employed.