I needed to recuperate from the disappointment in Montreal, and the same went for her. She felt the sting of losing perhaps as much as I did, and was hoping I’d retire. We had more money in the bank than we could ever spend—the total earnings from the Duran bout would exceed $10 million—and my faculties were still intact. She was afraid, and with good cause, that I might one day end up like many in my profession who hung around a year or two too long, the next payday too tempting to turn down. Better to leave a year or two too soon. We stayed in a plush suite with a beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean, and feasted on the finest food. Nothing was out of our price range. Roberto who? There was no sparring in the gym. No watching reels of old fight films. And, most gratifying for her, no “dates” with any of the boys tagging along. For once, Juanita and I could act as two newlyweds in our early twenties. With Ray Jr. back in Maryland, we could enjoy a real honeymoon. Gazing from our balcony at the most sparkling blue water I ever saw, I wondered: Maybe Juanita was right.
