Hydraulic Level Five

by Sarah Latchaw

  “Wait, when did you go to New York?”

  “A few weeks after he left. We’d talked about moving out there after I finished at CU, remember, so he could attend grad school? But it was never set in stone. I thought maybe I’d only misunderstood him, but…”

  My mother stared at me, confusion rife on her face. This was a bad idea.

  “Just don’t worry about it, Mom. I’m second-guessing myself, that’s all. Nothing new.”

  My mother smiled sadly and awkwardly patted my shoulder. “You and me—we both bottle up everything and never say a word to anyone until the cap comes off. Then, when others try to catch up, half the time it doesn’t make any sense.”

  It struck me then how very similar my mother and I were. My father had always been a well-meaning but fickle man. He and I had a decent relationship, and I had his impulsive genes, but I was my mother’s daughter. Private, stubborn, I preferred to internalize my fears and failures, dealing with them in my own way.

  My dad had loved Gail, just not enough to ever marry her. He’d always claimed he didn’t believe in that archaic tradition (that’s supposedly why he hadn’t married Audrey, either). My mother…my mother loved him, still did. Even though she’d tried to date here and there, it never amounted to anything. And while she managed to carve out a contented existence between me and her little farm, she was never quite happy. Mom was stuck—just like me.

  This couldn’t happen. I had to do something, before I, too, met Mom’s fate.

  But…what if getting unstuck meant letting go of Samuel? Not just physically separating myself from him—I’d tried that already, and it hadn’t worked. What if it meant letting go of the love I still harbored for him, buried amidst bitterness, anger, regret? Was that what Jaime meant when she said I wanted to be stuck? If so, I didn’t know if I was strong enough to let go.

  I glanced at my watch—six thirty. I didn’t have enough time to run home and change before dinner with Jaime. Ah well, the tattered sweater would have to do—it’s not like she would mind.

  “Let me get this straight. Not only does Danita Cabral not care we’re screwing with her brother’s life, you have her blessing?”

  “Yes. As long as it does not, and I quote, ‘in any way, shape, or form interfere with her wedding, or events thereby pertaining to said wedding.’”

  Once again, Jaime Guzman sat across from me in the Lyons Café as we waited for our order. It was a bustling Friday night, despite dust-laden high winds. Gusts beat against the windows and rattled the hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Nevertheless, it was cheery inside. This time, amidst the noise of conversations, clanking dinner plates and jukebox music, I felt more comfortable with her. I’d even committed to our dinner date past coffee by ordering a tuna melt and side salad. She chose a platter of cheesy fries, and that was it. The same pageboy cap still covered her hair, another snarky T-shirt worn proudly—a drawing of a Dutch girl with wooden shoes and tulips. Across the bottom it read: AmsterDAM, you’re good looking. She said it was her special Friday night date shirt.

  “You’re kidding. I thought she and her brother got along.”

  “They do, and that’s the odd thing. There was bad blood between them right after he left for the east coast, but they managed to sort through most of it. Heck, she usually takes me down a peg or two when I bash him. But I don’t know…” I was still puzzled over Danita’s enthusiastic high-five over Mickey-gate. “Lately, I’ve gotten strange vibes from her. First she convinces me to change my last name, move on, Samuel’s with someone else. Now she’s all but begging me to drag out this vendetta.”

  “Hmmm.” Jaime twisted a paper napkin, winding it around her finger. “Maybe she has an ax to grind with Cabral and she’s letting you do her dirty work. From what I remember about Danita, hasn’t she always been kind of vindictive?”

  “Dani can be, but if you’ve got her on your side, she’s a strong ally.” I snapped my fingers, remembering the icy looks as of late. “You know, lately Dani has been casting evil eyes at Samuel.”

  “Do you think it might be significant?”

  “It’s never taken much to set her off. For all I know, it could be entirely separate incidents.”

  “But huge enough for Danita to want to fuck with her brother.” Jaime cringed, catching her words. “Forget I just said that.”

  “Nice. Maybe you’ll clean up your mouth now.”

  “Not a chance.” She took a swig of ice water, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “See if you can find out from Danita, or Angel even, what the fight was about. It could be something useful.”

  Dani had asked who was helping to plot my “Neelie Nixie” revenge, not believing I could be this devious on my own. She informed me Lyons was too small a town for secrets and her boss’s brother’s wife’s best friend had seen me and Jaime Guzman at the café Tuesday night, so engrossed in our conversation that we hadn’t bothered to order food. Welders were horrible gossips.

  “Just don’t buy into everything that Jaime Guzman sells,” Danita had warned. “You heard about the way she worked over her ex-husband when he ditched her for that chica who works at the bank. Half of the Hispanic community still isn’t speaking to her.” Her ex still got gay porn in his mailbox to this day. I promised to keep the pranks harmless and she seemed content, even supplying the picture I now handed over to Jaime: A stunned twenty-year-old Samuel stared up from the glossy four-by-six photo, liquid-lined and magenta-shadowed eyes glowing from the camera flash. He was clad in a red knit miniskirt that belonged to Dani, heels, a blond bombshell wig, a pointed black bra—and nothing else.

  Halloween was serious business, each year’s costume topping the next. One year, we’d done some creative work with a gothic get-up and pillows, and went as Wednesday and Pugsley Addams. Another Halloween, in junior high, we were a Bee and Beekeeper. But my favorite was when I’d gone as a devil, and Samuel, an angel. The original intention was that I would don the halo and white feathery wings, but we’d switched at the last minute. My photo album had a snapshot of Samuel innocently pressing his palms together in prayer while I jabbed his rear with a pitchfork. I think we were fifteen and seventeen that year.

  The drag picture was completely unlike the quiet, virtue-conscious young man I’d loved. And yet, in the picture, it was so obviously Samuel. I was sorely disappointed I’d missed that CU party. At the time, I was in my senior year of high school and up to my neck in a research paper on The Grapes of Wrath. But Danita had taken many pictures. So had dozens of other people, which was why Jaime and I used this photo—to throw Samuel off our track.

  “Perfect.” Jaime chuckled at the photo. “As funny as it is, it’s the last thing a serious author wants floating around on the Internet.”

  I was willing to bet John Updike never wore drag.

  “On to the next order of business.” She tucked the photo into her dossier and pulled out her articles and flow charts. “The photo gets sent to HollywoodDays first, then posted around several blogs if no one bites. Our goal is for an entertainment network to air a blurb about it, at least on their website…”

  Our food came out. Soon, I was engrossed in plotting and didn’t notice the café goings-on around me. Jaime, however, was a practiced multi-tasker—every time the bell above the door jingled, she glanced behind me to see who had walked in. Her eyes widened.

  “Damn! Is that her, Trilby? She’s stunning.”

  I whipped around. Yup, it was. Samuel and Caroline shook dust off their jackets and scanned the restaurant, searching for an empty table. He was dressed in the same casual T-shirt and jeans, though he’d thrown on a fleece—Lyons still grew chilly at night, even in late May. Caroline was as posh as ever, hair sleek as onyx. I glanced down at my own ratty sweater and tennis shoes, and slid down into the booth.

  Jaime laughed. “Oh, she’ll be fun to mess with. Look how she’s crinkling up her nose—I think she’s had work done on it.” She scrambled to clear away her flow charts, pictures and papers, and s
tuffed her top-secret dossier in her messenger bag. “Bet she’s never been on a Lyons Café date. Look, a couple of girls are asking for his autograph. HA! Caroline signed it, too.”

  “Oh crud.” My face fell into my hands. Jaime popped another cheesy fry in her mouth, chewing gleefully while I peered at her between my fingers.

  “What’s wrong, Trilby? Still scared of that Manhattan skank?”

  I shook my head. “Samuel thinks I have a date tonight. This is embarrassing.”

  Jaime’s eyes gleamed. I knew that gleam—it was her eleventh-hour courtroom revelation gleam.

  “There’s no reason he has to know you aren’t on a date,” she whispered swiftly. “Change of plans, just follow my lead.”

  A flash of panic rippled up my spine. What did that mean? Before I could ask, she rose from the booth and waved over Samuel and Caroline. She transferred her plate, drink, and bag to the empty spot next to me. “Move—I want the window seat. Left-handed.” I rolled my eyes and stood to let her in. When she was settled, her arm came up behind me, resting along the top of the booth seat. Since when was Jaime ever affectionate? I squirmed when she didn’t move. I tried to sink further into the booth, my tomato face still hidden in my hands, but she yanked me up by my shirt collar.

  Two sets of expensive shoes stopped in front of our booth. I slowly peered up. Samuel grinned down at me and then at Jaime with a smug “I’ve-got-your-number-now” look. Caroline crossed her arms, fingers tapping impatiently.

  “Neelie Nixie. Fancy running into you here.”

  “What a coincidence,” Caroline muttered under her breath.

  Jaime kicked me beneath the table when I didn’t say anything. Finally, she stepped up. “You can count the restaurants in Lyons on one hand, Cabral, so it’s really not improbable to see someone you know. Or do you only use those fingers for typing up your stupid fantasies?”

  Samuel’s smile faltered. “It’s always such a pleasure to see you, Jaime. I hear you’ve taken up the causes of small furry rodents.” Crap. I should have known the minute he saw the both of us, he’d put two and two together.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Tell me, are you thinking of branching out from breeding Labradors? I hear guinea pigs are popular with children these days.”

  Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, so’s Candy C.”

  No! I told her not to go there with the records. Samuel’s mouth fell open in stunned silence, but he shut it and let the comment slide. The lines around his eyes tightened. And while I didn’t look at her, I felt Caroline’s heated gaze upon us like a missile lock, sizing up the situation. I jabbed an elbow into Jaime’s ribs, warning her to shut up. She dug her fingers into my shoulder, hard. She had a painful grip, but it was enough to wake me up. Time to grow a pair, Kaye, and defuse this thing.

  “Um, did the two of you want to join us?” I gestured to the other side of the booth. “We’re almost done eating, but…”

  Caroline cleared her throat. “Thanks, but we’ll probably just head over to Smokin’ Dave’s. It’s too crowded here.”

  “We were just at Smokin’ Dave’s, and you said it was too crowded,” said Samuel.

  “You agreed with me,” she fired back.

  Jaime and I shared a glance—there was tension in Versaceville. Samuel scratched the back of his neck and sighed.

  “Caro, can we just grab a table and eat, please?”

  “Fine.” But surprisingly, instead of finding a different booth, “Caro” glided into the seat across from Jaime, meeting my eyes in silent challenge.

  Samuel looked to me for approval. I nodded, and he awkwardly slid in next to her, across from me. Caroline wrapped protective fingers around his. He moved them under the table, out of sight. I gagged a little, my tuna melt now nauseating.

  Jaime grinned at me, getting what I meant by the Hound from Hell. “The moral support’s touching, but you can move your arm, now,” I whispered to her. Ignoring me, she held out a hand to Caroline.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Jaime Guzman.”

  “Caroline Ortega—Samuel’s date for the wedding.” She gave him an insider smile, implying they were much, much more than wedding dates. I looked away. “So, Jaime, how do you know our Kaye?”

  Our Kaye?

  “Well, Caro, our Kaye is the hottest little tamale blanco on this side of the Rockies. I wish I was her date for the wedding, but you know how that goes.”

  Caroline and Samuel laughed politely and perused their menus. They thought she was kidding…

  But they didn’t see Jaime’s other hand slide under the table and grasp my thigh. I gasped. Frickin’ twisted muffin, was she putting the moves on me? Horrified, I glanced across the table to see if Samuel and Caroline had noticed. They were busy ordering their food. I started to get up, but she pinched my leg, hard.

  “Ow!”

  Leaning over, she whispered into my bad ear, something like, “Go with me.”

  Then I knew what she was doing. Woman seriously had no shame when it came to messing with people. I started to tell her I wouldn’t play this game, even if it meant the eternal subterfuge of a thousand Carolines. But then, the reckless feeling stirred in me—the stupid one that argued, Why the hell not? Cross that line, girlfriend! It was the same voice that urged me to surf class five rapids with Angel, cliff-huck with Hector, and crash book signings with Molly. Aw, what the heck. Might as well be a lesbian with Jaime.

  I tossed up my hands in futility. “Whatever, sweet cheeks, have it your way. Should you tell them or should I?”

  The Manhattan camp’s attention was suddenly on us. Samuel halted, water glass halfway to his lips. Caroline’s tapping fingernails stilled.

  “It’s okay, Kaye-baby. I’ve told you time and again: there’s no reason to hide our love.” She leaned over and nipped my ear.

  Samuel dropped his glass. It clattered to the table, cold water and ice cubes sloshing over the edge and onto our laps.

  “Shit, Cabral!” Jaime yelped, jumping up. “What is your problem?”

  He blinked at me, eyes wide, as if antennas sprouted from my skull. (I thought, for a moment, maybe they did—this had to be a fantastically weird dream.) He froze, watching while the rest of us grabbed napkins and mopped up the table before it spilled over the edge and onto our shoes. Finally, he sprang into action, muttering apologies while he scooped up soggy napkins and tossed them on an appetizer plate. Our waitress came by with a tray, took away the mess, and wiped it dry. When we settled back into our seats, Jaime’s arm came around me again.

  “Yeah, Kaye’s pretty much the best partner ever. Doesn’t nag, doesn’t get all insanely jealous when another gal talks to me. Did you see how she played it cool with our waitress just now? Didn’t even check out her rack. And she’s got the cutest little ass I’ve ever seen.”

  Samuel’s sharp eyes were riveted to my every move—how I shifted in my seat, pushed the food around on my plate. I knew he was deconstructing the situation, flushing out my bluffs and tells until he was satisfied he had the truth. It had always unnerved me when he watched me like that, so intensely.

  Caroline, however, gushed fountains of pure honey. “I just can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you, Jaime. I’m glad Kaye has a significant other in her life, also.”

  Jaime’s face was so openly sweet, it was sick. “It’s swell, isn’t it? I like to think she’s a really lucky lady, too.”

  I unconsciously leaned away from Jaime. He saw it. At last, he leaned back in his booth with a smug, and perhaps relieved, smile.

  “When I first met Kaye, I thought maybe she was…you know,” Caroline happily continued. “I could just tell.”

  Argh! Hound. “Yeah, the lack of heels and hair product is a dead giveaway, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, missing my sarcasm.

  Samuel groaned, his face falling into his hands. “Caro, come on. Let’s leave them alone so they can finish their dinner. We can find a different table.”

  �
��Oh no. I really want to get to know Kaye better, spend some time together. I mean, you’ve known her forever and I’ve only known her for a few weeks. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Jaime.

  “Not at all.”

  No, no, no! I shouted silently. I didn’t want Caro latching on to me like a soul-sucking starfish.

  Samuel, sensing my distress, came to the rescue. “Probably not a good time for that, cariño. I’m sure Kaye will be extremely busy helping Danita with the wedding. Right?”

  I nodded emphatically. “Really, really busy. Dress fittings, rehearsals, company coming into town, organizing vendors. So much to do. Maybe we can do lunch or something, sometime.”

  “Of course.” Caro turned to Jaime. “Well, that means you’ll have free time on your hands, with Kaye so busy.”

  Jaime choked on a half-cold French fry. Ha, she didn’t see that one coming.

  “Absolutely!” Samuel grinned wickedly at his adversary, sensing a chance to pay her back for a number of grievances dating back to playground days. “Think of all the things you two have in common, all of the stories you could swap.”

  Jaime’s eyes narrowed at him. “Oh, don’t I know it! Ever since Kaye and I reconnected, all I’ve heard from this one is best buddies, guitars, lesbian sex is so much better, yap yap yap.”

  Samuel didn’t miss a beat. “So, how did the two of you start dating, Jaime? Attorney-Client happy hour?”