by Brian Finney
I turn on my car radio.
“Scandal-plagued Bell City Council will meet to schedule a recall election. Angry residents hope to vote the council out of office. Some seventy-five residents are lined up outside the council chambers tonight waiting to be admitted to the meeting . . .” Enough of corrupt politicians for one night.
I switch channels. Great! Rihanna is a short way into singing “Only Girl (In the World).” One line in the song catches my attention: “I’m the only one in command.” I’m not convinced that’s what I want in a new relationship, but I sure don’t want to enter another unequal one. I hope I remember that, when the time comes. I drive on through the dark, happy to leave it to my GPS to direct me to Eduardo in Boyle Heights.
✽✽✽
Eduardo’s modest Craftsman Bungalow looks at least a hundred years old, set on an open stretch of stubble grass. Before I can knock, Eduardo flings the door open, pulls me inside, and holds me in a long, warm hug.
The living room walls are lined with books. To my right is a fireplace, topped by a Cinco de Mayo poster featuring a colorful Aztec warrior. The room is sparsely furnished with a leather sofa and matching armchair, a polished wooden coffee table, and a Spanish-style side-board. The hardwood floor is covered with Mexican and Navajo rugs. At the back I can glimpse an open space leading to the kitchen with its stained pine cabinets.
Eduardo motions me to the sofa, into which I sink gratefully. Across from us on the coffee table are two wine glasses, an open bottle of Rioja, a basket of blue corn chips, and a bowl of green salsa. He sits next to me and pours us each a glass of the deep red wine.
“I can’t tell you how worried I was,” he says. “You don’t know the Cartel the way I do, how ruthless it is. And I’m really impressed with the way you gave yourself an out.”
I laugh. “Yes. I was patting myself on the back for that on the way here. Prepared and reckless at the same time. It’s a new me.”
“I liked the old one well enough.”
“I was tired of her. She was too skillful at getting by.”
“Getting by can be useful.”
“It’s also a great way to avoid taking control of your life. The new me is going to make my own decisions. Not just react to others.”
“Let’s drink to that,” Laughing together, we clink glasses.
He turns to me and says in a different voice, “I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I love the color of your eyes. They’re so luminous, like translucent pools.”
The new me replies in kind. “And yours are gray and they glitter.”
We’re mesmerized, staring into each other’s eyes. Then his phone rings.
“Damn,” Eduardo curses. He looks at the caller ID and frowns.
He stands up. “Yes. What is it?”
After listening for a moment he says, “That would not be convenient at the moment.”
I hear a woman’s voice on the other end shouting.
“Help yourself,” he says to me in a stage whisper, gesturing at the chips.
“Who’re you talking to?” I hear the voice demand.
“No one. As for the payments, that was all settled back in August,” Eduardo says firmly.
More shouting from the caller. “I’m not raising the amount,” Eduardo repeats. “You’d only ask for more again.”
The woman is now screaming at him, though I cannot make out what she’s saying because Eduardo is slowly walking toward the kitchen.
He cuts her off. “A new TV? Are you kidding me? Get real, will you. I don’t even have a TV. And you want me to buy you a new one? No way. I’m ending this conversation right now.” He slams shut his phone.
After ending the call he walks back into the living room and puts his phone on the coffee table. As he sinks back into the sofa the phone starts ringing again. He reaches over and turns it off. I look at him quizzically.
“I’m really sorry. I was going to tell you . . .”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I tell him. But I don’t mean it, and he knows it.
“I think I do have to explain that call to you.”
Nursing my warming glass of wine, I settle back against the arm of the sofa so that I can read his face as he continues.
“That was Isabella. We were together for a few months before we split up a year and a half ago. It was my doing. I should never have let myself get into that relationship. She was too needy and possessive. She was always asking me where I’d been and whom I’d been talking to. Then ten months after we had split up, Isabella told me that she’d had a baby the previous December and that it had to be mine.”
Here we go, I think. So much for the Hollywood romantic ending. No walking hand in hand into the sunset. Strangely, my new self feels relieved at this.
He pauses for a sip of wine.
“Why didn’t she tell you when she was pregnant?” I ask.
“Nothing about her is straightforward,” Eduardo sighs. “I offered to pay her maintenance for Camila. Instead she took me to family court. She thought she could get more money from me that way. They offered her less than what I’d offered. She’s still convinced that the court cheated her out of her rightful support.”
“How do you know you’re the father?” I ask.
A painful look crosses his face. “I’m pretty sure. She says she hasn’t been with anyone else since we were together.” Eduardo sighs. “I believe her, because she’s still obsessed with me. But we are no good for one another. Of course, she refuses to see that.”
“You mean she still wants to be with you?”
“Nothing I say or do seems to convince her that it’s over. The worst thing is, I have to see her every time I see Camila, and every time I visit them she makes a play for me. She simply won’t let go.”
“Maybe you still find her attractive, and she senses that?” I ask.
Eduardo shakes his head. “All I think about when I am with her and Camila is how soon I can leave. I only go because I want to see how Camila is doing and hold her in my arms. She’s a really sweet baby.” He reaches for his cell phone and shows me a photo of a beautiful baby girl cradled in the arms of her mother. I note that Isabella is an attractive Latina in her mid-twenties with long black curly hair.
He pours us more wine and pushes the chips and salsa toward me. I decline. Why am I so disturbed? Eduardo and I barely know each other. Sure, I like him. I don’t feel any jealousy about Isabella, but the thought that he already has a daughter disturbs me. He’ll always be involved in a life that predates my knowing him. He’ll always have to talk to and negotiate with Isabella about Camila. Isabella will always be a problem. If he and I have a relationship will Isabella finally give up on him? Or will she just blame me for his failure to return to her? It all seems so complicated.
I need to get a grip. I raise my glass to my lips and drink.
Eduardo can see that I’m confused. “I realize this must be a bit of a shock for you. I’m so sorry. I wanted to have one uncomplicated evening with you before filling you in on my messy past.”
I rally. “You know what? We can do that. We don’t have to be responsible tonight. Let’s just postpone dealing with all this for now. I feel really hungry. Is there somewhere we can go for a meal?”
Eduardo grins. “You bet there is. Do you like mole?”
I nod.
“The best Pueblan mole in town is about ten minutes’ walk from here. You can try out samples of their three kinds—almond, chipotle, and regular. Then choose what to have it with—tacos, enchiladas, chilaquiles. And the tortillas are handmade, not warmed up ready-mades.”
“I’m ready to go right now,” I say standing up.
✽✽✽
When we get back from the restaurant a young woman is waiting for us on his front porch.
“I knew you were with some libertine when I called,” she shouts when she sees us. “Does she know you’re a father who has abandoned his baby daughter?”
We both stop in the fr
ont yard.
“Isabella, have you now taken to stalking me?” Eduardo asks sarcastically.
“You’re a goddamn father. What are you doing hanging around with this perra?”
“Stop insulting someone you know nothing about.”
“I don’t need to know anything about this piece of scum. Clearly she’s about to spend the night with you.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Of course it’s my business. You should be at home with your daughter.”
“This is my home, and, as you know, the custody order allows me to visit Camila only once every two weeks. So what are you talking about?”
“You always sound so reasonable, when in fact you’re full of shit.”
“I’m not going to stand out here arguing with you. Go home.” He pauses, then asks, “Who’s looking after Camila?”
“None of your business.”
“If you’ve left her alone, it most certainly is.”
“Keep your nose out of my life.”
“You’ve just demanded that I do the opposite.”
“Shut your mouth,” she screams. “You think you’re so smart. But you’re a piece of shit.”
“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the cops,” Eduardo says.
“Don’t worry. I’m leaving you with your new puta,” she yells. She runs down the steps, still shouting insults until she disappears around the corner. Some of the neighbors are watching through their doors and windows. I feel ashamed, as if I really am the loose other woman Isabella made me out to be.
Eduardo lets me into the house. We are both shaken by the encounter. He pours the rest of the Rioja into our glasses and sinks into the sofa.
“I think I ought to be going,” I say.
“And where would you go?” he asks.
“There’s always my parents’ place.”
“I’m not going to let Isabella ruin our first evening together.”
His persistence wins me over. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Isabella made me feel bad. I shouldn’t let her do that. And I won’t.” I raise my glass and clink it with his.
Eduardo smiles. “She’s just trying to make me look like a jerk to the neighbors. But they all know about her. It’s not as if I bring women back here all the time. In fact, you are the first woman I’ve brought home since I broke up with Isabella.”
“I would be flattered if I weren’t pressuring you to help me out of a tight spot.”
“If only you knew how much I want you to stay,” he says. He takes hold of both my hands and presses them to his lips.
I use my captive hands to pull him towards me. Eduardo starts kissing me on the mouth, first with short urgent kisses, then with more lingering softer kisses that make me want to melt my whole body into him. He explores the inside of my mouth with his tongue, tentatively feeling his way round and under my tongue. I reciprocate, and we end up with dueling tongues that make us break apart to burst out laughing at each other.
He stands and holds out his hands to help me up. Still facing me, he draws me with him as he walks backwards to the bedroom. We stop in the doorway to embrace. His hands explore my back, my ass, the backs of my thighs. He presses his erection into my belly. I slide my hands round from his back to grasp his penis through his trousers. He moans with desire. “I am going to make you moan a lot louder and longer,” I tell him as I very slowly rub him up and down.
He pulls my blouse over my head as I undo the buttons of his shirt and peel it off him. His chest is hairless, his skin taut. He unhooks my bra and sinks his face into my breasts.
“Your skin is so soft and tender,” he murmurs as he grasps my breasts in both hands.
I caress his back and grasp his buttocks. “God, I want you all at once, and I don’t want it ever to be over,” I tell him as I slide one hand between his legs to grasp his testicles. I undo his belt and zipper and help him step out of his jeans. We do the same with my jeans and thong.
I take him by the hands and pull him down with me onto the bed. He is kissing my forehead, pausing to savor my lips, pausing again to lick my belly button, then working his way further down my body slowly, slowly until I can feel his tongue between my legs, exploring the contours of my interior. Now he’s found the spot.
Ohhh! Now it’s my turn to let out a low cry of pleasure. “I want you so badly,” he whispers in my ear, “I want you just as much,” I say, guiding his erect penis up into me. He rolls on top of me, but, after gripping him around the waist with my legs, I roll us back to a side-by-side position. We both begin to move together side to side, backwards and forwards, in and out.
He stops. “I need a condom,” he says, reaching into the bedside cabinet.
Quickly we return to our intoxicating rhythmic movement. We are a single body riding the waves of desire. The rest of the world doesn’t exist. I am all body and no body. I’m weightless. We occupy a state of sheer need. The rocking of our bodies picks up speed and urgency, and our breathing becomes louder as we encourage each other to abandon all restraint and give ourselves over to the overpowering desire to reach our climax.
I feel exhausted and excited and absurdly happy. We roll onto our backs. “Again, but later,” Eduardo murmurs and falls fast asleep. In seconds I do the same.
MIGUEL
Miguel wakes up from a deep sleep and finds himself in his cell bed. In his dream he was on his honeymoon with Adela. They were strolling along a deserted beach in Oahu as a blood-red sun was sinking into the dark blue-black ocean.
A guard is shaking him.
“Wake up!” he’s saying loudly. “Your transport is here.”
“What time is it?” Miguel asks.
“What’s it to you?” the guard jeers.
Miguel looks at his watch. It’s 3:05 am.
“You’re being taken to El Centro for processing. Get up and follow me.”
Miguel is still wearing the clothes he was arrested in. He rolls up his blanket, collects his toiletries, and follows the guard to a sterile, empty room. Another guard—large, heavy, tanned, with a tattoo on his bare right arm shoves a pile of paperwork at Miguel and tells him to sign where indicated.
Miguel feels uncomfortable under his gaze. There is something weird about the way the guy is eyeing him, as if he were sizing up a horse at an auction.
Once the paperwork is all signed, the guard handcuffs him and shackles his ankles. Miguel feels like a trussed-up chicken at Cal Fowl.
“Follow me!” the guard commands.
Miguel shuffles along a corridor, shackles clanging, up a flight of stairs, one awkward step at a time, and through a metal door into a closed courtyard where a black van is waiting with its rear doors open. The guard shoves Miguel roughly into the van, follows him inside, and locks him in the cage inside. The van’s doors slam shut, and the van takes off, throwing him against the metal mesh walls of the cage. “Stupid jerk!” Miguel swears as he wedges himself into a seated position against the bars.
About an hour later the van stops. The rear doors are flung open from the outside.
Miguel peers into the darkness and sees only a dirt road and the shadows of trees. The guard enters and unlocks the cage door.
“What’s happening?” Miguel asks.
“Get out!” the guard says.
“Where are we?” Miguel asks, not moving.
“None of your business!” the guard shouts.
“Why do you want me to get out in this godforsaken place?”
“So we can have a little fun together.”
Miguel’s heart pounds. “What kind of fun?” he stalls.
“Come on. You know what I mean.”
“I’m not gay, if that is what you’re thinking,” Miguel says indignantly.
“Neither am I,” he replies. “But I never miss out on a bit of fun.”
“I’m not leaving the van.”
There is a pause. Then the guard shouts angrily at Miguel, “What a loser. You’re going to pay for this.”
> The guard locks the cage door shut, slams the van doors, and drives off at a speed that throws Miguel against the gate of the cage. For the rest of the trip the driver alternates emergency stops with screeching, sharp turns. Miguel tries to jam himself between the bars but is repeatedly sent crashing to the other side of the cage. All he can do is curse loudly, undoubtedly giving the guard pleasure, if not the kind of pleasure he had in mind.
✽✽✽
Miguel lies in his bunk bed in a dorm alongside fifty other male detainees at El Centro Detention Facility, fifteen miles from the border at Mexicali. There is no air-conditioning, and the heat is already oppressive.
When he was delivered here while it was still dark he was treated like some criminal—questioned, photographed, fingerprinted, stripped naked, and issued two pairs of one-size underwear, socks, shoes, shower shoes, a shirt, and pants. He was allowed to keep only $40 in cash and two photos, one of his parents and one of Adela showing a lot of cleavage.
“Get an eyeful of this,” one of the guards called out to his coworker. “She looks ready for it, don’t she?” When Miguel angrily told the guard to give him back the photo, the guard shouted back at him, “When you address uniformed staff, you refer to us by rank and last name. Officer Wright in my case.”
“Whatever,” Miguel muttered angrily.
“Say it now.”
“Okay, Officer Wright.”
“That’s better.”
The rest of Miguel’s possessions, including his credit card, driver’s license, door keys, pen, phone, and clothes, were “retained for safekeeping.” All he got was an itemized list of them. When he asked to take a shower the guard snapped at him that if he stopped making demands he might be allowed a shower after his recreation period. After attaching a red wristband to him, the guard ushered him into the dorm, assigned him a bed, and told him to undress and lie down until lights on at 5:30 am.