Absolutely Maybe

by Lisa Yee

  On one nightstand is a Catwalk magazine. Perfumed candles fight for space with an ashtray full of cigarette butts. On the other nightstand is a biography of Diane Arbus, an alarm clock, and a framed photo. In it, Sammy’s sporting a tux, Chessy’s dressed in a white wedding gown, and I’m in a pink flower-girl dress and cradling a huge bouquet. We are all wearing big stupid grins.

  Next to the photo, in a clean ashtray, is Sammy’s wedding ring. I try it on. It’s way too big for me. I reach inside my shirt and pull out the string I wear around my neck. On it is the one wedding ring of Chessy’s that I didn’t pawn. I hold both rings in the palm of my hand. Then I return Sammy’s ring and tuck Chessy’s back underneath my shirt where it can’t be seen.

  I start to clean the house. It’s the least I can do for Sammy. Besides, the Santa Anas are coming. I find a well-stocked closet full of cleaning supplies and begin with the downstairs, then the main level—the living room, dining room, kitchen, and TV room. Sammy has the same TV as Jake, only bigger. Upstairs, I clean the bathrooms, but leave the office and bedroom alone. I don’t want it seem like I was prying.

  Has it been four hours since I started? As I’m putting the things away, I hear a key in the door. Maybe Willow is back from her audition. The door opens and a lady in a Metallica sweatshirt and jeans comes in. She looks like the Russian grand-mother on the Pizza Palace commercials.

  “Oh! Excuse me.”

  “Excuse me,” I echo.

  She clearly knows her way around the house.

  “I’m Maybe,” I tell her.

  “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe, that’s my name.”

  “Maybe your name’s what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Fine.” She heads straight to the kitchen and starts filling up a bucket of water.

  “Are you one of the Santa Anas?”

  “No, I am Vilma.”

  “Wilma?”

  “Vilma! The housekeeper.”

  I let this sink in. “I just cleaned the house,” I say, gesturing around the room.

  Vilma makes clucking noises with her tongue. “Mr. Sammy, he hired you?”

  “No, I’m a . . . guest.”

  “That’s fine. But this is my job. I clean. You, go away, shoo! I busy! No time to talk, talk, talk! Scoot!”

  I head out. I’m not sure where I am going, but I can’t hang around here.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I hike down the winding street. Some houses are all bunched together; others are set apart by empty lots overgrown with weeds. One house is for sale. A plastic tube hangs off the sign. I take out a flyer and choke. The asking price is over three million dollars, and it’s a dump. I wonder what Sammy’s house is worth.

  As I make my way down the hill, the sound of traffic gets louder. There are more fancy cars flying down this narrow stretch of highway than in all of Florida.

  I’m hungry. I don’t see any restaurants, but I do spot a construction site in the distance. There is a truck parked nearby that says, BENITO’S TACOS # 4 on the side in fancy lettering. It looks good to me.

  The girl in the taco truck is clearly cleaning up to go. She looks down from the window. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you still serving?”

  “Well, officially, no. But I can make you something. What would you like?”

  “A taco?”

  “What kind?”

  I look at the menu. It’s all in Spanish. Carne asada?. Carnitas? Al pastor?

  “Can I just have a plain taco?”

  She laughs, but not in a mean way. “One plain taco coming up.”

  The girl dumps some meat on the grill. By now I’m starving, and the sizzling sound is more beautiful than any music I have ever heard. In one move, she scoops the meat up and places it on two small tortillas, then sprinkles some green stuff on it and some onions.

  “Guacamole?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  She hands it to me on a paper plate. It looks nothing like what I get at Taco Bell. I pay her and sit on one of the plastic lawn chairs nestled in the dirt. I can see the ocean in the distance. I pick up my taco and take a bite. Instantly, my taste buds go on overload. The meat is tender and juicy and the onions are just right. It’s like there’s a party in my mouth.

  “Thisissogood!”

  The girl laughs again. “Carnitas,” she tells me. “You want another taco?”

  “Sure!”

  “How about al pastor this time?”

  “Bring it on!”

  Four tacos and a soda later I am ready to burst. “That last one’s on the house,” the girl tells me. She smiles a lot and has the whitest teeth I have ever seen. “I had fun watching you eat.” She climbs down from the truck and sits down next to me. “Do you live around here?” she asks as she sips a green soda from a bottle.

  “Temporarily,” I tell her. “Do you?”

  “No way,” she laughs. “I live in East L. A. Not in a million years could we afford this zip code.”

  She tosses her soda bottle in the trash can and I do the same with mine. Then we both pick up trash around the truck.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  The girl seems to be about my age, maybe a couple years older. She has thick black hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail, a deep tan, no makeup, and a beautiful smile. She’s way prettier than any of Chessy’s Charmers.

  “Well, I have to go,” she tells me. “I had fun talking to you. Most of my customers are construction guys and when they aren’t hitting on me, they’re telling each other crude jokes. I hope I see you again.”

  “Tomorrow,” I promise. “By the way, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Jessica Consuelo Guadalupe Morales Lopez, but you can call me Jess.”

  I start to laugh but stop when I see a look of embarrassment cross her face. “No, no, it’s not you,” I insist. “It’s just that my name is Maybelline Mary Katherine Mary Ann Chestnut, but you can call me Maybe.”

  Jess flashes a smile. “Hasta mariana, Maybe!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Sammy comes home happy. As I recall, he was generally in a good mood except when my mother was drinking. Nobody was happy then. We are setting the table when Sammy says, “I made some phone calls today. I got you a job as a nanny!”

  “Great!” I try to look enthusiastic.

  Sammy looks around. “The house looks nice. Maybe, did you meet Vilma?”

  Willow sits down, waiting to be served. It’s take-out sushi.

  “I started to clean so the house would look nice for the Santa Anas,” I tell Sammy, “but then your housekeeper showed up.”

  Willow begins to snicker.

  “The Santa Anas?” Sammy asks.

  “Willow said they were coming to visit,” I say defensively.

  Willow sucks in a deep breath and then howls, “Santa Anas? Santa Anas? The Santa Ana WINDS!”

  I feel my face burn red.

  “The Santa Anas,” Sammy explains, trying to stifle his smile, “are high dry winds that we get in Southern California. When they come, everyone gets a little crazy.”

  “Are you kidding?” Willow is now choking from laughing so hard. I hope she dies. “Everyone goes nuts when the Santa Anas come. It’s like the whole town goes bonkers!”

  “Hey,” Sammy says softly. “It was really nice of you to help clean, but you don’t need to do that, Maybe. Your babysitting gig will begin next week. Tessa, the mom, wants to meet you before then, okay?”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  I stare at the sushi as Sammy puts it on plates. Babysitting? Wait until Ted hears about this.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A nd this is Tammy and this is Todd and this is Tina; they’re triplets.”

  “And you’re Tessa?”

  “Right. I’m the mommy.”

  Right. The triplets are staring at me. They all have curly brown hair like their mother. One is picking he
r nose. One is tugging on her ear. One is making a funny face.

  “I make poop poop,” the boy shouts gleefully.

  “Good for you, Todd!” Tessa claps and carries him off.

  The two girls continue to stare at me as I stand in the entry-way. Would it be rude to bolt? Both girls are dressed as ballerinas, only they are carrying small plastic baseball bats. One whacks me in the knee. I am about to turn around and run when I hear Tessa yell, “Maybe, come on in. Be sure to lock the door. The kids think it’s funny to wander off. I’ve got 911 programmed into speed dial. Just press #47.”

  I wade through a sea of toys. There is a beautiful glass coffee table in the living room with diapers duct-taped to each corner. Tessa returns sipping a juice box. “Drink?” she says, handing me one. Todd runs through the room wearing only a Lakers jersey. “Todd! Where is your diaper?” Tessa cries. “Excuse me.”

  The girls are staring with their mouths hanging open. One points to my hair. “Fire? Hair fire?”

  “No, it’s just red.”

  “Red!” the other one squeals, pointing to her sparkly red shoes.

  “Yes, red.”

  Tessa is smiling when she comes back with Todd in tow. He is fully dressed, although he’s only wearing one shoe and it looks like it’s on the wrong foot. “I see you’re already getting along great with the girls!” Tessa gushes as she adjusts her headband. “I was so thrilled when Sammy called. He’s such a nice man. Very patient. Yes, very patient.”

  We both turn to admire the family portrait hanging above a massive stone fireplace mantel and share a moment of silence. I recognize Sammy’s style. Unobtrusive. Everyone is barefoot, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. Tessa and her husband look serene. The triplets look calm.

  “We could use you every day,” Tessa says, flipping open a calendar. Only one of her hands has nail polish on it. “But that would probably kill you.” She laughs nervously and blinks several times. “How about five days a week? Monday through Friday, and some weekends if Tim and I have a fund-raiser or something. We can pay you eight dollars an hour, how does that sound? Not enough? Nine dollars? Ten dollars, I’ll pay you ten dollars an hour.”

  I do the math in my head. That’s a lot of money.

  “Okay, eleven dollars an hour.” Todd is now hitting one of his sisters with a naked Barbie doll. She is howling. Tessa pretends nothing is wrong and I do the same.

  “Sounds good,” I tell her. Already I’m thinking of asking for a raise.

  “Marvelous!” Tessa walks me to the door. “You can start on Monday, unless you’d like to start right now?”

  “No, no, Monday will be fine.”

  As she shuts the door I hear a loud crash inside the house, followed by, “Who broke Mommy’s crystal vase?”

  With nothing else to do, I head down the road. I’ve been eating at the taco truck every day. Jess is taking orders, cooking, and making change all at the same time. Just watching her makes me feel like a slacker.

  A construction worker leers at Jess. “Hey, honey, how much for some of your homemade hot sauce?”

  She smiles sweetly and says, “Shove it, jackass, or you’re not getting fed.” This shuts him up. Jess winks at me. I smile back and pick up trash around the truck and wipe down the chairs. I like keeping busy, and it helps Jess out.

  After the lunch crowd has disappeared, Jess fires up the grill just for us. Chorizo this time, extra guacamole, and homemade salsa. I close my eyes as I take the first bite of my taco. The first bite is always the best. We both collapse into the plastic chairs. Jess hands me a pineapple Jarritos soda in a glass bottle. It’s sweet, but balances the spiciness of the tacos perfectly.

  “How long have you been doing this?” I ask, gesturing to the truck.

  “Eight years. I started when I was ten. This is my first summer solo.”

  “Cool!”

  “Yeah, usually it’s two people to a truck. But we ran out of relatives,” Jess jokes. She takes a swig of her mango soda. As she stares at the beach, Jess says, “My school counselor thought I should go to college.”

  “What do you think?”

  “That I should go to college. I made honor roll every year,” she says shyly. “At graduation, I was voted Most Likely to Succeed. I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer.”

  “So why don’t you go?”

  “Because of this,” Jess says, holding up a taco. “Uncle Benny convinced my mom that college is a waste of time and the family comes first. He says that if I play my cards right, I will be part owner of his taco-truck empire. Like I really want to do this for the rest of my life.”

  There’s an awkward silence.

  “Sammy, my sorta stepdad, says I have to start babysitting, starting Monday. He wants me to work this summer. I think he’s afraid that if I don’t keep busy I’ll get into trouble.”

  Apparently, when Sammy was my age, he borrowed the neighbor’s car for a joyride, got caught, and did time in juvie. “I learned my lesson,” he told me. That’s where Sammy and Chessy differ. She never learns.

  I look at the taco truck gleaming in the sunlight. “I won’t be able to come by anymore.”

  “That’s a bummer,” Jess says. I can tell she means it.

  “Yeah, and you should see these three kids. They’re triplets and from what I could tell, they are the spawn of the devil. Unfortunately, I have no choice.” I take a bite of taco and chew slowly, savoring the delectable taste of the meat and spices. This will probably be my last taco. How am I going to get through summer without Jess’s tacos? But what other choice do I have? Sammy doesn’t want me just moping around the house. Plus, I’m thinking of hiring a private detective to find my father, so I’m going to need money.

  I watch Jess get up and haul the trash bags into the truck. She works so hard. Wait. . . she works so hard.

  “Jess,” I call out, “can I work for you?”

  “For me?”

  “You said it’s usually two to a taco truck. You’re totally overworked. The line is always really long and those construction workers don’t like to wait,” I say in a rush. “Oh please, please, please, you wouldn’t have to pay me much, and I’d work really hard, I swear.”

  My heart is racing as Jess takes her time thinking this over. Finally she says, “Uncle Benny would never approve. This is a family-only business and he’s suspicious of outsiders.”

  “Uncle Benny never has to know,” I beg. “You can pay me in cash, or in tacos, or whatever. Please, Jess, save me from Tammy and Todd and Tina and Tessa, pleeeeeease . . .”

  Jess starts to laugh. “Maybe, groveling doesn’t become you. Please let go of my arm.”

  “I’m not letting go until you say I can work for you.”

  “Okay, okay!” Jess finally says. “Uncle! You can work for me. You’ve been helping out so much already, I really should pay you.”

  I leap up and hug her. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

  Jess is still laughing. “See you tomorrow, Maybe. Get here by ten o’clock.”

  “Hasta manana, Jess!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  T ed drops by Sammy’s house unannounced. “Hollywood was right behind me in the Green Hornet,” he says. “It seems like I’m always losing that boy.”

  A moment later, the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it!” Ted yells. “Hey, Hollywood, fancy meeting you here.”

  Hollywood steps inside and lets out an appreciative whistle as he turns on his camera.

  “Hey, Sam,” Ted says, slapping Sammy on the back. “This is our good friend Hollywood— “Daniel. My name’s Daniel.”

  “Okay, fine. Rewind. Hey, Sam, this is our good friend Daniel,” Ted continues. “Be nice to him; he’s going to be a famous director someday.” Hollywood waves as he pans the room.

  If Sammy thinks my friends are strange, he doesn’t let on. “Well, we’re just on our way out, but you kids have fun. Willow and I are catching a movie.”

  Ted stares at her. She is wearing super high heels
, a short black dress, and a snotty attitude. “You look pretty tonight,” he says. “Are you famous?”

  “Not yet,” she tells him. “But I will be.”

  “Me too!”

  Before Sammy and Willow pull out of the driveway, Hollywood and Ted are already raiding the refrigerator. “Maah says that they’re having a special on pistachios at Costco,” Ted announces as he munches on mint Oreos. “But Paww says that too many nuts aren’t healthy.”

  “I’m entering my documentary in the First Take student film fest,” Hollywood informs us. “I showed one of my professors the rough cut of my film and he suggested it. The finalists get a special screening, and if you win it’s a really big deal.”

  “Well, I have some news too,” I say. “I got a job working on a taco truck.”

  Ted makes a sour face. “A taco truck?”

  “We all can’t work for once-famous reclusive movie stars, live in mansions, and drive Rolls-Royces.”

  “True,” he muses. “That takes special skills. Miss de la Tour says that I am her most trusted employee, even more than Cook, who’s been with her for twenty-five years.” Ted dips his cookie in milk. “Have you told Sammy?”

  I nod. “He’s not too happy, nor is Tessa, the lady with the triplets. But I promised her I’d babysit now and then, and that got her to stop crying for a little while.”

  Hollywood’s channel surfing on Sammy’s big TV. He’s the only person I know who likes to watch commercials to study the camera angles. “Uh, Maybe, you might be seeing less of me for a while. On top of everything else, I’ve got to work on my documentary and . . .”

  “Just say it, Hollywood. You’re sick of me.”

  “No, no, I never said that. I would never say that! -- Honest. In fact, I really ought to be working on my film right now.”

  “Then go home, Hollywood.” I take the remote from his hands. “Finish your documentary. Make us proud.”

  Hollywood gets misty-eyed. “I do want to make you proud, Maybe.”

  “Good-bye, Hollywood!” Ted and I both yell.

  The door shuts and Ted asks, “What do you think of him?”