Names I Call My Sister

by Mary Castillo

  “Ah.” Alma nodded with understanding. The lingo might change, but finding comfy drawers was a universal female quest, regardless of age or generation.

  “So naturally my period started that day.”

  “Of course,” said Alma, with a wise laugh. “Murphy’s Law.”

  Lola nodded at her. “Yeah. I didn’t have any tampons with me, and I’ll leave out the ugliest details, but that afternoon, I’d asked my mom for advice on how to get the stains out.”

  “Ay, pobrecita,” Alma said.

  “Yeah. But, I’m talking, my favorite pair. I know it’s gross, but I had to save them if I could.” Lola paused to grab a knit-knot and crunch into it.

  “Waste not, want not,” Alma said.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Allegra added.

  Lola swallowed. “So, instead of explaining how to clean them, Mom said she’d give it a try herself.”

  “Uh-oh, I’m getting scared.” Cristy grimaced.

  “You should be scared.” Lola bugged her eyes. “That night, I was on the phone with my boyfriend. Mom picked up the extension to tell me it was time to say good-bye, because it was a school night. I said okay, and she started to hang up. But then something possessed the woman to say, ‘Oh, before I forget. I tried to get the stains out of your underwear, but the bleach ate holes in the crotch panel. I’m sorry, honey.’ On the phone! With my boyfriend on the other end listening to every word.”

  “Oh my God.” Allegra’s eyes went round with horror and her hands stilled in mid-purl. “I would have run away.”

  “I thought about it. I think I died a thousand deaths as she spoke the words.” She shuddered. “It was really awful.”

  “Did you and the guy break up?”

  “Eventually, but not directly because of the underwear debacle. I think I was probably weird around him after that, though. It was the beginning of the end. I’ve always wondered who he told about it, if anyone.”

  “Be glad he wasn’t like Marisol,” Cristy lamented, leaning forward for another cookie. “She would’ve thrown a funeral for your underwear and invited the whole school to mourn with you.”

  “Funny how a lot of our most embarrassing moments have to do with undergarments or bodily functions,” Alma said, laughing softly. “I dropped my bloomers on the road once while walking back from the swimming hole near my house. My brother and his friends came driving up in my dad’s old Studebaker, honking and waving them out the window. The wind caught them, and they looked huge, like a big, white, holey balloon. I like to thought I’d died right about then.” She peered around at them with a smile. “My story might not seem as bad, mind you, but this was in the 1940s. Nice girls didn’t run about showing their underthings to boys.”

  “Wow,” Cristy said, shaking her head as she looked at each woman in turn. “Thanks, you guys. I had no idea. I thought my evil sister had cornered the market on embarrassment.”

  “Yeah, right,” Allegra said with a little huff. “Just being a teenager is embarrassing these days. Especially if you’re named after a drug.” She sucked in one side of her cheek, thinking. “Although I guess I should be grateful my mom chose Allegra, though, and not Viagra.”

  The women howled with laughter.

  “Being a teenager sucked back in the day, too, kiddo,” Lola added, patting Allegra’s knee. “Best time of our lives, my ass. It’s the big lie everyone tells you, and you have to grow up and figure out for yourself that it’s bull.”

  Allegra finished a row and aimed her empty needle at Cristy. “So, moral of the story, we’ve all been there in one way or another and we don’t care about your past. We’re on your side.”

  Cristy smiled at her friends, feeling teary. “Thanks, ladies. Really. It means a lot.”

  “Okay, back to the really interesting issue—this bodyguard guy,” Lisa said. “Where is he, anyway? Outside?”

  Before Cristy could answer, the back door banged open with a splintering noise followed by the sounds of two men in a violent scuffle in the kitchen. Startled, the women jumped up and ran to the archway, Cristy at the head of the pack. Diego, dressed in all black with some sort of handgun strapped to his muscular thigh, was in the middle of handcuffing a dumpy little bald guy sprawled, facedown, on the floor underneath him.

  “What in the hell is going on?” Cristy craned her neck and peered down the back hallway. “Oh, no! You cracked my door.”

  Diego looked up. Both men were breathing heavily. “I saw him trying to get in. It’s okay. Under control. Go back to whatever you were doing.”

  “It’s original to the house,” Cristy said, ignoring the strange man on her floor. She loved that door. Plus, it was easier to focus on that minor detail than on the intruder.

  “I’m sorry,” Diego said, wiping sweat off his forehead with the crook of one arm. “I’ll have it fixed. Or restored. Whatever you do to antique doors. I have to take care of this yokel first, though.”

  “Get off me,” came the other guy’s muffled words. “Marisol told me to sneak in the back way so the news cameras wouldn’t see me. I’m one of the good guys.”

  “Wait a minute.” The familiar voice yanked Cristy’s attention from her damaged door. She squatted down. “Wily Wyatt? Is that you?” She should’ve recognized him immediately, but it always caught her off guard that the sexy Marlboro Man radio voice came out of the squatty Muffin Man–looking guy.

  “It’s me. Call off the behemoth.”

  Cristy waved Diego back, offering Wyatt help up. “What are you doing here?”

  “Bleeding. Glad to see the goon is working out well.” He scowled in Diego’s direction. “But if it’s okay with him, I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  Wyatt hoisted his pants up around his chunky middle. “We figured out the perfect way to clear up this problem.”

  Chapter 6

  Cristy made introductions all around while Lola grabbed a bag of frozen blueberries out of the Sub-Zero for Wyatt’s busted and rapidly swelling lip.

  “Sorry for the misunderstanding, man.” Diego extended his hand, which Wyatt shook. Grudgingly.

  Meanwhile, all the women had abandoned their knitting projects for the kitchen, so they could stare, slack-jawed at Diego. Cristy couldn’t blame them. She had to admit, he looked übersexy in his secret agent man getup.

  Not to mention totally out of place inside Simplicity.

  While everyone caught their breath, Diego and Wyatt set about scarfing a plate of Lola’s delectable knit-knots, heaping praise on her between bites. As for Cristy, breathing easy wasn’t an option. Her tension had returned, full force.

  She fought to recapture the calmness she’d found, thanks to her friends, by playing mind games with herself. “At least it was only Wyatt and not some pervert,” she said. “Maybe the crank phone calls were harmless after all, and I’m over-reacting.”

  Diego cast her an apologetic half smile.

  “What?” she asked as dread coiled inside her tummy.

  “I’ve already run off four guys and threatened two reporters who wouldn’t get out of my face.”

  Cristy’s jaw dropped.

  “You’re kidding!” Lola said.

  “Were they all looking for Crystal?” Cristy asked.

  Lisa, Racquel, Alma, and Allegra huddled closer to one another, awaiting the answer.

  “A couple of them just wanted to ask you out, since, apparently, you don’t date?”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  He shrugged. “Mostly, they were fueled by curiosity.”

  “That’s because the interest is heating up,” Wyatt said, his tone pleading. “Which is why I’m here. I’m sorry this whole thing ever happened, Cris. I didn’t know Marisol had promised not to talk about your personal life anymore.”

  “It should be common sense,” Cristy said in a snarky tone.

  Wyatt ignored her. “But what’s done is done. And right now, your lack of response is feeding the fire.”

  �
��Oh, really? Well, that’s too damn bad,” Cristy said, scissoring her hands in front of her. “If you came to tell me I’m obligated to talk to those bloodsuckers out there, Wyatt, I’m sorry, but it was a wasted trip.”

  “That’s not exactly it.” He lifted the frozen berry bag away from his lip. “Marisol and I have a better idea. She thought you might be more receptive if I explained it.”

  “That means I’m going to hate it.”

  “Actually, no.” He offered a tentative smile. “It means you’ve got her running scared.”

  “Good.” Cristy leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her middle. “So, fine, lay it on me. What’s the brilliant plan this time?”

  “Well, interest probably won’t wane until you satisfy the public’s curiosity. So, she—we—think you should come on the show. As a guest. We’ll have call-ins for an hour or so. Give the people what they want and then return to your regularly scheduled life.”

  “Have you both lost your freakin’ minds? What is this, sweeps week?”

  Wyatt cleared his throat. “That’s television.”

  “Whatever!” Cristy shot up out of her chair to loom over him. Lola grabbed her wrist, but she jerked loose. “Just as a refresher for you and my hell-spawn sister, my regularly scheduled life doesn’t include making a public spectacle of myself in order to boost your show’s ratings. I don’t want notoriety.”

  “You already have notoriety, like it or not. We’re trying to put a new spin on it. Make things better.” Wyatt held up both hands, palms forward. “Listen. That’s all I ask. Okay?”

  After several long moments of glaring, Cristy slumped back down in her chair, clenched her jaw and said nothing.

  “Mar and I have been doing radio for a long time. We know how this kind of situation works.”

  “It’s a wonder you guys have any family or friends still speaking to you.”

  He inclined his head. “I admit, we go too far sometimes.”

  “Yeah,” Cristy said, with a snort of unamused laughter. “But only on days that end with a Y.”

  “Be that as it may, I promise they’ll leave you alone as soon as you appear. Trust me.”

  “Says the shark to the clown fish.”

  “I mean it. Once people get their fix of you, you’ll be old news just like—” He snapped his fingers. “—that.”

  “Sure I will.”

  “Think about it, Cris. In this day and age, the simple fact that you worked on a sex line isn’t that big a deal. Everything has snowballed because of who you are—a local celebrity’s sister—and the fact that you haven’t said a word. It’s how listeners are. Bloodthirsty on one hand, fickle on the other.”

  Cristy chewed on that one for a second, because damn it all, it seemed logical. All the knitters stared at her, waiting for her reply. Logic aside, she just couldn’t. It was the principle of the matter. How could she possibly talk about a time in her life that she’d vowed to put behind her forever?

  “You two would end up embarrassing me, so it’s not worth it. Forget it. I’ve fallen into Marisol’s nefarious traps before, Wyatt. Believe me, she started humiliating me a long time ago.”

  Unable to stop herself, she shot a quick glance at Diego. Did he remember the party from hell? Her skin started to sizzle with shame, so she refocused on Wyatt.

  He tilted his baby Huey head beseechingly, then reached out and held her hand. His radio voice lowered to lullaby level. “The last thing your sister wants to do is make things worse with you, Cristy. She knows she did a stupid thing.”

  That was something, at least. “Still…” She shook her head. “Mar betrayed me. Why should I do her any favors?”

  “It’s not a favor for her. It’s about you. You could do an interview with one of the news stations camped outside your house instead and achieve the same effect. But keep in mind, on our show, we’d give you full control.”

  “Riiiight.”

  “I mean it. We’ll tape the whole thing on a two-minute delay, so we can cut anything you don’t approve of. And we won’t let questionable callers through. We owe you that much.” He shrugged. “I can’t say another reporter would do the same.”

  The room fell silent, but it pulsed with anticipation.

  Cristy crossed her arms. Bit her lip.

  “Maybe you should do it,” Lola said.

  Diego nodded. “Wyatt’s got a point.”

  Cristy bestowed evil death glares on both of them. Traitors. “I can’t believe you’d want me to appear my sister’s show. Don’t you see? It’s just another opportunity for her to jam my whole life into the shredder.” No one said anything. “Even if I agreed to it, I’d probably be so petrified, I wouldn’t be able to utter a peep. Remember, I’m not a big-mouthed, spotlight hog like Mar.” She grimaced. “The whole radio thing is just not me.”

  “We all get that, Cris,” Lola said. “But the phone sex girl image isn’t you, either, which is what you need to tell them, because otherwise that is the image that will linger. This is your chance to speak your side of it.”

  Everyone stilled, waiting for Cristy’s final answer. She looked from her knitters to Lola, to Diego, and then to Wyatt. Why did it feel as if she were disappointing them? She twisted her mouth to the side and shook her head. “I know you’re all trying to help, but I just can’t face that. Sorry.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake, honey,” Wyatt said.

  “Maybe. But it’s my mistake to make, okay?”

  He nodded, stood, then leaned forward and laid his palm on her shoulder. “You don’t have to decide right away—”

  “I already did.”

  “—so just think about it,” he said, pretending she hadn’t spoken at all.

  Lola said, “She will.”

  “Lola!”

  The chef rolled her eyes. “You’ll think about it. That’s all I promised.”

  “And there’s no harm or commitment in considering it.” Wyatt stood and handed the makeshift ice pack to Lola with a grateful smile. “I need to get home.”

  “Thanks for trying, Wyatt,” Cristy muttered.

  “Please know your sister honestly wants to make it right.”

  Cristy sighed bitterly.

  Wyatt turned to Diego and made a circle in front of his face with one hand. “Remember this mug, okay, bub? I’d appreciate it if I didn’t wind up licking floorboards again.”

  “No hard feelings,” Diego said. He held out a fist. “I didn’t recognize you. Radio, you know? Can’t be too careful with Cristy’s well-being at stake. I’m sure you agree.”

  After a moment Wyatt knocked knuckles with him. “Of course,” he said, between clenched teeth, before nodding at the ladies then heading out the broken back door.

  Odd, Cristy thought. Diego’s apology seemed perfectly sincere. But she was sure she’d caught a glint of mischief in his eyes. The man might have been hired by the enemy, but maybe—just maybe—he was on her side after all. The mere thought made her smile.

  The day had begun to cool off as the sun dipped behind the front range mountains. Even the news vans had decided to call it quits for the evening, which was a relief. Diego, however, was in it for the long haul. He was sitting in the Hummer with his knees cramping and his ass falling asleep, wishing Cristy would come out and talk to him, when all of a sudden she peered out the door—as if the two of them were telepathically connected.

  He raised one hand in a wave, then waited as she scoped the area. Blatant relief transformed her face at the exact moment she realized the coast was clear. She sent a brief smile his way, squared her shoulders, tightened her hot pink sweater around her body, and strode purposefully in his direction.

  Little Cristy Avila kept surprising him. She might be a private person, but she wasn’t the shy, knock-kneed little girl he remembered from their teenage years. She’d stood up to Wyatt without shrinking at all, exuding more confidence than he’d ever seen in her. But beneath her older, more sophisticated veneer, Diego caught th
e occasional glimpse of the girl who’d hugged her textbooks to her chest and stared at the black and white linoleum tile as she moved through the school like a ghost.

  The dichotomy made for an interesting package, and damn if he didn’t love the wrapping.

  She stopped outside his open window. For a moment they just stared at each other. Then Cristy tucked her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “You promise to tell the truth?”

  He drew an imaginary X over the left side of his chest. “What is it we used to say? Cross my heart, hope to die? Or I’m sure you’ll stick a knitting needle in my eye.”

  She gave him a look. “Ha ha. Bodyguard and comedian. I guess you’re the total package then, huh?”

  “I do my best.” He leaned his forearm on the window frame. “So, what’s your question?”

  She narrowed her eyes and turned her head, scrutinizing him with a sidelong glance. “Did you really not recognize Wyatt? I mean, I know he doesn’t look like he sounds, but his face is plastered everywhere.”

  “Oh. That.” Diego grinned. “You think he bought it?”

  She laughed then, her eyes wide. “You did recognize him. I knew it.” She smacked him lightly on the forearm, leaving his skin tingling where she’d touched him. “I can’t believe you trounced him like that.”

  “All in a day’s work.” He shrugged. “The only thing I am sorry about is your door, although the restoration guy said he could make it look perfect.”

  “It’s okay.” She crossed her arms and looked straight into his eyes. “Why’d you do it?”

  “Crack the door? It was an accident.”

  “Not that. Why’d you beat Wyatt down?”

  He held up his index finger. “First of all, I didn’t beat him down. I just gave him a little face-to-floor counseling. There’s a difference.”

  “Semantics, but okay. So, why?”

  “Karma.” He shrugged. “Your sister didn’t embarrass you by herself. I figure Wyatt’s just as much to blame.”

  “They do feed off each other, like parasitic twins.”

  “Exactly. Which is why he got a little face time with the hardwood. For good measure.” He arched, stretching his stiff lower back as best he could. Sitting in the vehicle all day had tweaked his spine, and that dog pile entrance into Simplicity’s kitchen hadn’t helped. “I didn’t mean to bust his lip, but—” He shrugged again. “—ol’ Wyatt deserved to take one for the team.”