by Paige Notaro
"Are you ok?" He looked worried.
I peered up into the eyes, trying to reorient myself. Instead I got lost in him. I shook my head. No I wasn't ok. No I couldn't tell him why. I couldn't understand why myself. For all the proud independence I was achieving at the bar, my free will would slink away every time I was around Andre. I didn’t even care anymore.
"Alright, that's enough for the day," he said.
I nodded and headed out of the ring. Oddly, Andre followed. He usually would fight a few people for a good hour or two more.
"You're done training?" I asked.
"Don't want to overdo it before a fight night."
"Oh, tomorrow."
He had mentioned it over dinner a couple times, but suddenly it all came to life for me. He was headed back to the middle of the Cartel. To that ring where a man had tried to stab him and been cheered on for it. To a place that welcomed people like Mr. Tarly.
I shuddered through dark thoughts as I showered and dressed up. This was usually my favorite part of the evening, to go back through the darkening city and watch the lights around us multiply as we returned to the center. Today on the way back, all I could think about was how alone I’d be without him.
We stopped at a neon lit restaurant that had a live band playing outside and people laughing over fruity drinks. Andre said something about amazing Steako Rancheros here. He might have been right, but I couldn't enjoy any of it.
"What's up?" he asked, leaning down to my level. Normally the sight of his face looming in would get me to smile, but the warmth in it now just made me shiver at the thought of losing it.
"Do you have to fight?" I asked.
"Yeah, actually," he said. "I do."
"Why? Why do you have to put yourself in danger? Isn't the practice enough?"
"Ah, I see," he rose to full height, snorting. "You're worried for me now. That's sweet, really."
I loved the life in his laughs, but right now I had a sudden urge to slap it off his face. How could he be so careless going into that den of criminals? "Can't you just turn one fight down?"
"That's not how it works here, Georgia," he said softly. "The reigning champ doesn't turn down a fight. That's not how you keep respect."
"Why does the respect of those people matter so much?"
"Uh for one, it pays the bills on that place you're enjoying so much."
"I don't need that place," I said. "I just need you...to be safe."
I thought I had covered my misstep, but I saw a change in Andre's face. I looked into my margarita intently. His hand fell lightly on my elbow.
"You're right. The place shouldn't matter. Or the fame, really. Or the money. What matters is that I love to fight. I love going into a ring and putting it all on the table. Even in a place like this, the fight’s all I care about. Take that away, and I’m not sure what I’d do."
I looked up and saw that everything about him was built for the arena. Even with his shirt on, I could trace every muscle of his chest. To be fair, though, I did have them sort of memorized by now.
"It's for you then," I said.
"It is," he said. "I've given up everything to do it. Maybe... maybe, too much."
His gaze that fell for a moment. The whole week, he had talked about his life as it happened in two chapters. Atlanta and After Atlanta. They almost seemed like two different stories and two different people, and I knew right now I was seeing the page that held them together. I had glimpses of it before, but it was too dark to read. Maybe this time...
He perked up. "Anyway, they can't find a decent chump to challenge me. That dumbass with a knife probably isn't alive anymore. Maybe if he drew blood, they would have spared him, but breaking rules and not even putting on a good show? That ain't good for anybody. No one’s going to try anything tomorrow, so don’t worry. It'll be good clean, bloody fun and then I'll be back home."
"Yeah."
We turned back to the band and the food came quick. Training left me constantly hungry and I didn't need any other excuse to tear into it. We would usually linger for drinks, but this time Andre paid the bill straight away and led me back to his car. I must have upset him with my silly concerns. As if he needed advice from someone who had done nothing with her life. He might be fighting in that dark place, but he was a winner there. He was something in this city and I barely even got by.
We fled back home on broad streets. Lucena grew and grew in the windshield, and just when we were about there, we veered sharply left and stopped onto a side street.
"Huh?" I said as he popped open the locks.
"Come on," Andre said. "Time for some more training."
Without giving time to protest, he walked around and hooked me by the waist. He escorted me to a small building with darkened windows that seemed to frazzle now and again with light. It didn't seem like a gym and, god, I hoped it wasn’t cause I was already tense enough. Just a little push would send dinner back out of me.
Andre opened the door and a cloud of music blew out. Inside, was a wide dance hall lined on the sides by tables and at the far end by a bar. A disco ball shimmered in the center over a mass of people swaying and pulsing to a fast beat in the air. It was salsa, I knew from Andre's radio lessons, but the sound and sight of the rhythm had me feel it deep inside.
Andre led me out onto the crowded floor. Space opened around his massive form as if people didn't want to be caught in his wake. The energy of the music and life poured into me, and brought my heart up to their speed. I forgot who I was. Then I remembered.
"Andre," I shouted over the churning beat. "I don't know how to dance."
He cleared a space then squared off against me. "I called it training didn't I?"His hands squeezed my own and shook them till I was loose. "Ok," he said. "There's a three step beat. Tell me you feel that."
I listened, and I did, not that I knew what to do with it.
"All you gotta do is follow that beat like this." He moved back in a shuffle step and his hands forced me to follow, waggling me back and forth. Then he stepped into me, locking my arms into my elbows, and shuffled me back through my own steps.
"Close," he said. “Let's try it a few more times.”
I watched his feet, watched the feet of people next to me, and soon enough I had it. It was really just a smooth type of walking, nothing to it. We moved back and forth, his hands curled over mine, and I felt comfortable in his grip, but it was awfully tame compared to the whirl of life around us.
"That's it, girl," he said, after a while. "That's all you gotta do. Now stay loose, and just follow me through the rest."
His eyes glimmered playfully under the dance lights and then he turned me into a puppet. One second we were just moving back and forth and the next I was being twirled and stretched and swept. At some point, we were against each other, peering just long enough into each other's eyes for it to seem more than an accident. Then I was sent twirling away.
Andre wound me through song after song. His face shone with sweat, and I could feel my sundress clinging damp to my skin, but only in the brief moments while the songs changed. The rest of the time, I was magic. The crowd wasn’t even there, just me and him. He made my body do things that I had never dreamed it was capable off. Had I even been alive before this or just a doll?
Time passed in a blur. Suddenly, it was an hour later and we were panting with Tesol margaritas at one of the side tables, watching the hall. My head spun and my feet seemed to be moving on their own. I rested on Andre's arm.
"You prefer this sort of training?" he asked.
"To fighting? Yeah."
"You don't think this is fighting?"
"It's the opposite of fighting."
He rolled his eyes. "Ah, Georgia, now I know why you're worried so much. Listen, dancing is fighting, just with less power."
Hard earned sweat poured down both of us, which made me question the less power part. "Still,” I said. “I'm glad there's no way for me to lose."
"Are you telling me I'
m not winning tonight?" He grinned, shot down his drink, and stepped back onto the dance floor with a palm held out. I laughed and returned to his grip.
We stumbled back into the apartment an hour and a half later. I was utterly wiped out, and nearly drowned with sweat. I collapsed on the couch. Andre sniffed himself and went to take a shower. I turned on the TV, listening to the faint patter of water, imagined the body they were coating. I knew it well by now. I knew all the ways it could move.
Except for one.
When he came back out, his shirt was off. My body flew awake at the sight of his skin, fresh and free. He smiled at me through dim eyes.
"That was fun," he said.
"Yeah."
“You did well. You’re getting stronger. You’re more confident. You feel that?”
“I do.” I hesitated, then hushed my doubts and added. “Only because of you.”
His face recoiled like my words had been a punch. “I…well, thanks, girl, but education’s a two way street. It only works if the student wants to learn.”
“I do,” I said. “I want to learn it all.” I could take whatever he would show me. I wanted to learn everything about him.
No. I wanted him. The thought didn’t even scare me anymore.
Our eyes hadn’t strayed from each other. He looked at me with a question mark, as if not sure what he was seeing anymore. I hoped it was more than the girl who had been cowering in his closet all those nights ago.
He chuckled deep and shook his head. "Well, get some rest. We both earned it today. I'll see you tomorrow."
He went off to the guest room and shut the door.
When I finally peeled myself off the couch I stood in front of that door for the longest time, wondering if I should just go in. There were no locks - I only had to turn the handle.
The lights were off underneath. He might already be sleeping. But I knew that wasn't what was keeping me away. Without him around, my confidence wilted like a flower without sun. What could I even do for him if I went in there? Sex was just another way my body had never been used.
For a crazy moment I wished Mr. Tarly had forced his way into me, just once, so I would know how to please Andre. Then, I was disgusted at myself – how could I even think about giving my first time to a monster instead of someone special. My virginity was a gift, that’s what the bible had taught according to Father, and though I didn’t believe it in that way, I did want to give it to the right person.
Andre had me. He must know he had me, body and mind and soul. There was a spark he lit up inside, and I knew he saw that tonight.
And yet, he went in by himself. What could that mean other than he didn’t want me?
Eventually I stumbled back into my big beautiful room, took a quick shower and let sleep batter the thoughts from my stupid, little head.
3
Salvation
“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be” - Douglas Adams
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Andre
I spit onto the dirt and tasted blood. The guy ahead of me, Carlos, grinned, but his smile was stained red. He was trying to use my moves but he was heaving, his walk was jittery and his eyes weren't quite in focus. He was going out and he knew it, but at least he’d bloodied me up enough to earn some respect.
I hugged in close and started jabbing at his chest. His forearms were there of course, but they were just flesh and blood and once they sang with pain, they fell apart like anything else. I drove him toward the fence and the crowd drowned the arena with their yells as if they were in the ring themselves. As if they were real men and not just spineless pieces of shit.
Focus, man. Where was my mind? I saw the grit in this guy's face, but I wasn't feeling what it meant. I was off today, my mind and body dulled by a night of too much thinking and too little sleep.
Georgia on my mind. That old tune had been a soundtrack in my head ever since I’d had to come down to Juarez, but now it was on infinite loop.
I slammed the guy into the wall and sighted my fist on his face, but he blocked the punch with surprising vigor. He let out a roar and thrust me back. My mind returned to the now, but I was off balance, spinning, and then-
My face exploded in pain. I staggered back, nearly dropped to the earth. The guy shot into me like a missile and it was all I could do to raise my arms. It wasn’t quick enough. My vision exploded white and next thing, I was staring up at the steel mesh of the cage.
The grid seemed to move. Someone was counting next to me.
“Seis.”
My head swam. I was out. For the first time since I got to Juarez, I was going to be knocked out.
“Siete.”
I should be popping back up. I had it in me, but I could just hear Georgia’s voice in my head repeating what she’d said before I left: Come back soon. I can’t feel good while you’re gone.
If I took the fall, I could head back home. I could see her again. Get up, and I might get bloodied or broken or worse. What would she do without me?
“Ocho.”
What would I do without her?
"Nueve."
I didn’t care about winning anymore, but I needed to win to keep her safe and away from the violence of this city. Losing the match meant losing the apartment and then she would be right back down in the dirt, closer to the garbage in this arena.
That wasn’t gonna happen.
I groaned up to a seat before the ref’s mouth started to open. I wiped away my sweat and heaved myself onto my feet. Carlos looked intent now, no trace of fake smile. He thought he actually had a chance, but that moment had passed.
My brain was jarred enough that I could actually see Georgia up in that dark seat where she’d once been. That pretty moon of a face, daring herself to believe in me after being betrayed over and over. I would not fail her like everyone else had.
She was on my mind alright. She was there to help me finish what I’d started here.
I wiped the blood from my eyes and waited until Carlos came roaring in. I took his punches on my forearms, then returned them in spades. He was too confident now - too open - and he left all his soft spots in view of my knuckles. A minute later, he was sagging and I dropped him with a knee to kidney. The crowd roared my name, fully sated tonight, but I barely saw my victory. I was thinking about how right my legs had felt sliding against hers at the salsa club last night.
The ref raised my hand and the roaring intensified enough to bring me back to this ugly cage. A few groans came my way too. Some idiots had still bet against me, hoping against hope for that big payoff. I’d pulled my victory from the jaws of their defeat.
The bikini girls rushed in and draped me with a belt like they sometimes did. One winked at me as she began to dance for the crowd. The sight of her writhing body would have subsumed my bloodlust most other days. Now I saw all that flesh and felt nothing.
Georgia was supposed to be my salvation. I guess what they never advertise is that part of being saved is losing your life of sin.
Girl, what have you done to El Muerte Negro? I asked the empty seat where I’d first seen Georgia. And tell me, why doesn’t he give a shit?
I slumped back to the locker room, eager to get out of this place. I debated skipping the shower even. Everyone knew how I smelled and Georgia didn’t mind it. Why waste more time? I looked in the mirror and found a good reason. One eye held shadows, the bridge of my nose looked bent and my face was covered in red war paint, vicious against my dark skin. I couldn't take this back to her. I stripped and washed all I could off my skin, holding a damp towel to staunch my nose, grimacing against the blinding pain.
My head couldn’t keep track of the water pattering on the shower. I’d have to get checked tomorrow, after some rest. My winning had been a near thing. How bad would I be if I'd lost? Cartel fights didn't have an ambulance on staff. You had your own people carry you to the hospital and if you were broken and out too long, then you were out fo
r good. I may be having second thoughts about this place, but it wouldn’t even give me a second shot if I took a deep fall. I’d lose everything and have nowhere else to go. With what little I’d saved, I’d just be a broke moreno in Mexico.
Of course, I’d known that all along, but I also figured I was too above these chumps for it to ever happen. Tonight was a valuable lesson, if nothing else.
I slipped into my standard grey tee and jeans. I didn't look so much like a cartel torture victim anymore. It’d be a while before I could fight again, but who knew what would happen between then and now. I grabbed my stuff and shot towards the exit. People chattered around the stairwell, tossed me compliments, but they fell on deaf ears. I didn't want these fans anymore – this was just a job. It looked like I could high tail it out, but at the stairwell an all too familiar voice called out.
"Andre, mi muerte."
Mario el Guzman stood with his guards and Hector near the door leading out to the cage. A large white man in a dark suit had been talking to him, but his eyes were on me now too. I forced on a classic smile, and went over.
"What's up, boss?" I asked.
Hector wore a full pinstripe suit, but Mario stood easy in a polo and khakis - just another middle manager, relaxing after a tough day of ordering terminations and drug deals. He held out his hand, his salt and pepper mustache twitching with pleasure. I shook it with as much grace as I could muster.
"Good fight, huh?" he said. "I thought I might finally see you lose."
"Well, I don't wanna wish you bad health," I said, "but you're gonna have to be around a whole lot longer to see that day."
Mario barked laughter into the hallways. "He's got that spirit even after a fight, huh?" he said to Hector.
“He didn’t look too spirited near the end there,” Hector said. He looked pissed at me for some reason. I didn’t much mind so long as his uncle was beaming, but it was a sharp turn from usual. Maybe he had bet against me?
“I always save a little for the after party,” I said, turning my fake grin on his mean mug. “No point burning up too early in the night.”