by Tia Louise
“I can imagine.” Rubbing my hand over my mouth, I realize how much of her stuff is probably lost. “Did she keep a diary or anything that you know of?”
“I don’t know, Deacon.” Winnie starts up the hall, waving a hand over her head. “If you’re not staying for dinner, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m hungry.”
“Okay.” I jog to catch up with her, giving her a sweaty hug, which makes her holler. “If you think of anything let me know. See you Friday.”
“Brute.” She follows me down to the door, and I catch a warm smile on her cheeks. “You’re still bringing this mystery date?”
“Yep.” My beautiful wife.
“I can’t wait.”
26
Angel
“Describe your philosophy of art.” I’m sitting on Deacon’s lap in front of his giant desktop computer filling out the Arthaus application.
It’s been a week and no sign of Mateo. Every night we’ve slept in Deacon’s penthouse apartment, with the doorman guarding us below and layers of security between us and the street.
My main worry tonight is making this deadline. “Oh, man… I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” He nudges me in the side. “You told me all about it in El Paso.”
“I did?”
“You did, and it was passionate and moving.”
“You’re thinking of something else.” I look over my shoulder and give him a sly wink.
“No distractions. You have to get this in tonight.”
“Okay… ugh… I hate when they make me write.” Scrubbing my fingers on my forehead, I try to put the words together, but it feels like a jumble. “Why can’t I just paint my philosophy?”
Again, I’m dressed in his boxer shorts and sweatshirt, belly full of mac and cheese. I was finally able to show him Spirit in real life, which he insisted on hanging on his living room wall.
The portrait I painted of him is in the bedroom.
“Here.” He puts his hands around me on the keyboard. “Tell me your philosophy, and I’ll type it.”
Turning my face, I kiss his cheek. “Let me stand up and walk.”
For the next several minutes I talk through my feelings about art. “It gives me a voice… I find ways of expressing myself in color and shape that I’m not able to do with my mouth and hands… It’s a way of touching people, making them think, making them change their way of thinking… Art can take the mundane and make it magical.”
Deacon’s fingers fly over the keys, and I wrinkle my nose. “Does that sound dumb?”
“Not at all.” His eyes are fixed on the screen, and he’s typing quickly, finishing with a sharp little tap. “You sound like someone I’d give a twenty-thousand-dollar scholarship.”
Leaning down, I kiss his lips. “It’s a residency.”
“I’d give it to you.”
“You’re biased.” Sitting on his lap again, I cross my legs and read the words he’s written, and my chest tightens. “You made me sound really good.”
He kisses my cheek, right beside my ear. “I just wrote what you said.”
I spend the next several minutes uploading my photos of Spirit, of Winnie’s portrait, of Deacon’s portrait, and a few sunsets and figure drawings. My final is the sketch I did of him while he slept.
“Hey, I’ve never seen that one.”
“I did it while you were sleeping.” I hold my finger over the mouse, hesitating as my stomach trembles before clicking submit.
Exhaling heavily, I turn in Deacon’s lap and put my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. “I did it.”
“You did it.” He scoops me under the butt, carrying me to the bedroom. “Now it’s time to get some rest. I have to be in the office all day tomorrow, then I’ve got to follow up with Winnie about my grandmother.”
“I can’t believe you found that old deed.” He showed me the yellowed paper with my grandfather’s signature on it over dinner.
Carefully touching the signature, I tried to imagine the man who held onto his land, who made an agreement with his best friend to carve out a section for his family, and who according to my brother had it stolen away.
“You think it’s all connected?” Lying on my side in the bed, I wait as Deacon climbs in beside me in only his boxer briefs.
“I think it’s very possible my grandfather found out what happened and set out to destroy the man who stole his wife.” He reaches for me, and I turn, spooning my back against his firm chest. “I think I can understand his motivation.”
Deacon’s nose is in the back of my hair, and I thread our fingers. “Didn’t you say your grandfather was gone all the time, leaving her alone with a five-year-old?”
“That’s what her letter said.” His voice grows sleepy.
“I think you know better than to do something like that.” Threading our fingers, I place our hands over my stomach, thinking about the little life growing there.
Closing my eyes, I drift to sleep on a dream of us in the desert, in the shadow of the Sierra Madre mountains, our baby in my arms.
“Don’t look at the price tag.” Lourdes sits across from me in the plush dressing room at Nieman’s.
“I can’t help it,” I whisper, dropping the small white square hanging from the sleeve. “And that’s on sale!”
I’m standing in front of a gold-framed, full-length mirror in a deep red gown with a plunging V in the front and a high slit up the leg. It’s tight over my waist and stomach, and I can’t help thinking it might be my last time for a dress like this for a while.
“This dressing room is the size of my bedroom.” Lourdes leans forward. “I can’t believe they just let us back here.”
“Deacon called first.” I turn to the side, looking down my back. “I think I like the black one better.”
“Which one? You tried on three.”
“The one with the silver belt.”
“Ohh… yes. Super elegant.”
“Have you made your choice, Mrs. Dring?” My heart stops at her words, and Lourdes inhales a quiet hiss.
Pride, embarrassment, a little smug happiness warms my chest. I feel my cheeks warm, and I can’t help a smile. “Yes, I like this one.”
I motion to the floor-length black dress with the high slit on the leg.
“Ah, yes. The Carolina Herrera. Would you be needing shoes to complete the look?”
Lourdes and I exchange a glance, and she raises her brows like she does this all the time. “She’ll need some black heels, yes.”
“I’ll have our recommendations sent over from the shoe department. Do you know your size?”
Clearing my throat, I manage to answer. “Seven and a half narrow.”
“Very good.”
The elegant older woman leaves the dressing room, and as soon as the door closes, we explode into whispers.
“Mrs. Dring?” Lourdes leans forward.
“I am wearing my engagement ring…” Holding out my hand, I admire how the peach stone sparkles like a drop of fire on my hand in this light.
“Yeah, but no wedding band.”
“Maybe I left it at home?”
“I would never know. You haven’t slept on my couch once since you supposedly moved in with me.”
We straighten up in time for my fitting and finishing up my purchases for the party. The clerk helps me select a feathered mask to compliment the dress with sequins and silver accents. Then she offers to have it all shipped to Deacon’s penthouse, so I don’t have to carry heavy bags. I had no idea stores even did stuff like that.
“Longest shopping trip ever!” I cry as the wind pushes my hair around my head through the open windows.
I’ve got my feet on the dash and the music is blasting J’Lo’s “On the Floor.” Lourdes and I sing the Na-Na part at the top of our lungs. I’m trying to remember the last time I felt so happy and free.
“Oh, no.” My bestie turns the music down as we pull into her driveway, and I recognize Valeria’s Honda.
My happy-free feeling dims. “Why are you saying that?”
“She’s been calling for you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sitting up quickly, I trace my fingers through my wild hair, pulling it into a scrunchie.
“I kept forgetting.”
I’m not sure why we’re whispering. We’re both grown women. Lourdes puts the car in park, and we go into the house together.
“Carmie!” Sofia’s little voice echoes through the house. “I’ve missed you!”
She runs straight to me, and I swing her up on my hip, hugging her as she squeezes my neck with all her four-year-old strength.
“Oh!” I grunt playfully. “I missed you, too!”
She sits back on my arm. “I started camp on Monday and we went to the museum, and I saw some arts, and I told Mamma none of them were as good as yours. And Mamma said we needed to come see you to see your art, and I said I wanted to see you because I didn’t want you to go to Ursula after Uncle Beto broke all your stuff—”
“My goodness, Soph!” Lourdes cries. “Take a breath.”
I’m smiling so much my cheeks hurt, listening to all her words with big eyes. “You’ve been a busy little lady!”
“Come here.” Valeria pulls me and her littlest daughter into a hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Not since the accident. Where have you been?”
“Working… here…” I’m stalling.
“Lourdes said Juliana took over at the coffee shop for you.”
“You know I’ve been working on that portrait.” My hand rubs circles on Sofia’s little back as she puts her head on my shoulder.
I notice Lourdes’s eyes widen, but it’s too late. Valeria catches my hand, pulling it to her face. “What is this?”
“Ahh… Haha…” I force a fake laugh. There’s no getting out of this one. “It’s ahh—”
“It’s an engagement ring.” My cousin’s eyes narrow, and her lips press together. “You’re engaged, and you didn’t bother to tell your family? See what this boy is doing to you?”
Sofia’s head pops up. “I want to see your ring.”
I move my hand around to show her while keeping my eyes on my cousin. “It just happened a few days ago.”
I’m hesitant to say it was over the weekend. I know exactly where that will lead—to her pointing out I was getting engaged while my brother was in the hospital. Instead, I state the obvious.
“If my family acted a little more civilized, I’d be more excited to tell you these things.”
“You’re really going to marry that boy?”
“Deacon is a man, and yes. I’m really going to marry him.” Sofia slides down my waist and trots to the small living room and turns on the television.
Valeria catches my arm and pulls me towards the door. “Come with me.”
We go outside, and my arms cross automatically. Valeria looks at me and shakes her head. “Don’t be like that.”
“I’ve said all I have to say about this.”
“You’re acting like Lola.”
“I’m not acting like Lola. I didn’t come to your house looking for a reason to criticize you, yet here you are.”
She exhales heavily and rubs her forehead. “You need to go back to Beto’s. He needs you.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Why?” She extends her hand, then slaps it down against her thigh. “Why are you doing this to your brother? He’s weak. He’s been shot—”
“For his own actions.” I can’t listen to her defend my brother anymore. “Where’s Mateo?”
“Mateo?” Her brow furrows. “Why do you care where he is?”
“He has a gun, and he told me he’s looking for Deacon.”
“A gun?” Valeria shakes her head dismissively. “Boys get heated up during fights. I’m sure he’s cooled off by now.”
“How well do you know him?”
She shrugs, walking towards the house. “He came here with Beto. I don’t know him very well.”
“Then you can’t say he’s cooled off.” I step forward pointing my finger. “You say my behavior causes problems. He’s the problem.”
Her lips part like she’s about to say more, but I’m not interested in more. I’ve got my phone out, and I’m calling a Lyft to take me downtown to Deacon. I can’t stand here and listen to any more of this ignorance.
The app is ticking, and I’m not looking at her. Still, she speaks quietly. “You’re a beautiful artist, Carmelita. You’re like your mother. Your family misses you. We want you with us. We love you, Carm.”
Her words hurt, but I’m not letting her pull me into her web. My phone dings, and the black Ford Escort is here. I don’t say goodbye as I step inside.
27
Deacon
Stepping into the twinkle-lit foyer of the Palace Casino, I can’t help tugging at the neck of my tuxedo. I hate shit like this.
Angel wanted us to meet here. She wanted to surprise me. I huff a laugh and shake my head, going to the bar and ordering a scotch neat.
“Deacon!” Aunt Winnie comes up to me and puts her arm on my shoulder. “What are you doing here alone? Haven and I are just dying to meet this mystery date of yours.”
“Hi, Ms. Wells.” I step forward to kiss Rich’s mother’s cheek. “Where’s Rich?”
“Oh, you know Rich.” She shakes her white-blonde hair. “He does whatever the hell he wants.”
“It’s true.” As entrenched as she is in Plano society, Rich’s mother was changed by their brief foray into white poverty.
It made her a more decent human being than most of my aunt’s friends. Most of them are bored old biddies with too much money waiting for the next scandal.
“I’ll be sure to find you when my date arrives.” I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes her gifted artist is my fiancée.
“You do that.” Winnie kisses my cheek. “Cecilia and I have been taking bets.”
My eyebrow arches. “On what?”
“Blonde or brunette, darling.” She waves her hand as if I’m being ridiculous. “What else?”
I’m not even going to answer that one. I take a hit of my scotch and watch as couples file through the double glass doors at the bottom of the stairs. I’m just slipping on my felt mask when I see her. My mouth goes dry, and the blood races below my belt.
Her eyes are downcast, watching her feet as she climbs the marble staircase in a floor-length, long-sleeved black dress that flows in silky waves around her slender, hourglass figure. She’s surrounded by couples—men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns—but they all fade to black and white as she rises higher.
A smooth, tanned leg appears through the thigh-high slit in the front of her dress, and the neckline dips daringly low, showing off the soft peaks of her breasts. Her hair is parted in the middle and sleek in a bun at the base of her neck, and a silver belt accentuates her small waist.
Even with a black feathered mask covering her beautiful face, I’d know her anywhere. I’m off my seat closing the space between us as she reaches the top step.
“You are so beautiful.” I take her hand, pulling her close to my chest. “Remind me to send a thank you to the sales clerks at Nieman’s.”
Amber eyes behind the elegant mask blink up at me, and a hint of a grin teases her full, berry-stained lips. “Do I know you?”
“Probably not.” I lift her fingers to my lips and kiss them, gratified to see my engagement ring perched on her finger. “I’m a party crasher, here to steal your heart.”
“You’ll have to excuse me.” She lifts her chin to speak near my ear. “I’m meeting my husband.”
The warmth of her breath, the tickle of her lips causes the muscles around my cock to tighten.
“Husband?” I pretend to disapprove. “You’re much too young and beautiful to be married.”
“Oh, no. I’m very happily married.”
“Well, he’s a very lucky man.”
She blinks up at me. “You’re wron
g. I’m the lucky one.”
Leaning closer, I study her full lips. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“Maybe we can step out on the balcony where no one will see.”
“I suppose we ought to make an appearance before I smear your lipstick.” Pulling her hand into the crook of my arm, we enter the main casino.
For the fundraiser, the roulette wheels and blackjack tables have been moved to the perimeter, leaving a large, open dance floor. A gold-embroidered banner encouraging us to “Feed Texas” spans the top of a stage where a brass band plays standards.
Walking to the floor, I pull her into my arms and slow dance to “Irreplaceable You.” She feels so good. She’s the only thing that matters to me. I kiss her lightly on the forehead. Her eyes close, and the pull between us is so intense. I close my eyes, and it’s just us…
Until the song ends.
The band cranks up a fast-paced ska-type song I don’t recognize, and my hand slides down to Angel’s. Our fingers thread, and I lead her off the floor—straight to Winnie. She’s holding a white mask on a stick in front of her eyes. It has yellow feathers to match her yellow silk evening gown. Cecilia Westbrook is in a cornflower blue dress with an elaborate feathered mask attached to her face.
They’re cats ready to pounce.
“Deacon, my dear.” She smiles, holding out a hand to Angel. “And who might this be.”
My hand is on Angel’s waist, and I feel her body stiffen. I slide my arm around her, pulling her closer. “Winnie, let me present Angelica Maria del Carmen Treviño. Angel, this is my aunt Winona Clarke.”
The mask moves from in front of my aunt’s face midway through my introduction, and I watch her gleeful smile morph into something between shock and horror.
“Did you say…” Her voice is drowned out by Cecilia’s loud voice.
“Why, he’s dating a little brown girl!” My aunt’s bestie gives me a smug look. “How open-minded of you, dear.”
My reply is sharp. “She’s not a girl, she’s a woman, and—”
“Deacon.” Winnie grasps my arm. “May I see you outside for a second?”