"Go change your shirt first, and wash your hands and face. You look like a filthy pig," Elisa ordered.
Obeying his mother, Hector quickly did as he was told. With her hands on her hip, Elisa turned back to Marta. "I really think you should put Alex back in school with Hector. He is sad and anxious lately. You must see it. You know that they tease him there. He isn't white and he never will be. In their eyes, he's nothing but a poor wetback."
"I don't think it's all that bad. I think he simply misses Hector during the day. It'll take him a little time, but once he gets used to it, he'll be fine."
"You never get used to people making fun of you. You don't, Marta. This is a harsh world and I know you want to give Alex the best opportunities possible, but putting him in a white school won't help him. It's going to hurt him."
Marta leaned her head to the side feeling the crack in her neck, her face burning slightly. Her friend always spoke her mind. They definitely didn't always agree. "They'll stop. He's getting a good education. What more can he ask for?"
"To be happy," Elisa replied. “He deserves to be happy and you know that.” She took off her apron. “I have to get my shoes.”
Marta couldn't respond as Elisa walked back into her bedroom to put on her shoes. She knew that Alex hadn't been happy since he started going to the new school about a month earlier. But she was only thinking about him. The schools in their area were poorly structured, with teachers who couldn't manage the overcrowding problem. Marta knew that he was still having a hard time adjusting. She hoped that before long, he would fit in with the other children.
"Come on, let's walk to the bus stop," Marta called out to Hector, who was still in the bathroom, scrubbing up.
"I'm coming. Don't leave without me." Hector came bouncing out, a huge grin on his face. He grabbed Marta's hand and they set out on the mile-long walk to the bus stop.
She said a silent prayer that her child would come home with a smile on his face today.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ALEX WATCHED THE TRAFFIC OUTSIDE AS HE SAT ALONE on the bus. The girls across the aisle were whispering about him. Every once in a while, he could hear one of them say beaner orwetback, and the words sliced right through him knowing they were bad words about him. He swallowed hard and bit the side of his mouth. He wanted to cry. His mother always taught him to be proud, so he certainly wasn't about to let these gringos see that he was upset.
A large boy, a couple of years older than Alex, came and sat down next to him. Alex didn't bother to look up at him, because he knew what they were going to do. The boys in the seat in front of him turned around.
"My dad says that greasers are good for nothing but weeding his lawn. He can't believe they let you into our school," the freckled-faced kid remarked.
"Yeah, you're a wetback, right? Look at you, all dark and everything. You look like a monkey,” another bucktoothed boy taunted him, while the girls across the aisle laughed.
Alex wanted to get up and get off at the next stop. He ached for his mother to appear and rescue him. She would make everything all right.
"Beaner! Beaner! Beaner!"
"I bet your mama is fat and ugly, and makes you beans every day. That's why you're a stinking beaner!"
"Stinking beaner, stinking beaner — with a big ugly mama! Big, ugly, stupid, beaner mama! Beaner boy has beaner mama," they jeered.
That was enough to push Alex over the edge. No one made fun of his mother. He shoved the huge kid as hard as he could, sending him off the green vinyl seat where he landed on the floor of the moving bus.
"You little son of a bitch!" the kid yelled getting to his feet and punching Alex in the face. Alex's head snapped back, smacking hard against the window. A surge of pain shot through his skull and he tasted blood on his lips.
The entire busload of kids whooped and hollered. The bus driver, hearing the commotion, pulled off to the side of the road, and walked back to see what was going on. The woman with three chins stormed over to Alex's seat. Everyone on the bus grew silent.
She looked at Alex, then at the other kid, and bellowed, "Who started this?"
All the kids pointed to Alex, who fought back his tears — a humiliation worse than the physical pain from the bump on his head.
The woman reached down and took Alex by the hand, walking him up to the front of the bus. She bent down, inches away from Alex's face. She took a tissue from the box on the dashboard and wiped his bloodied nose. In a lowered voice she said, “Listen, kid, I know you didn't start the fighting. It's not your fault, but take it from someone who knows, it won't stop. Kids are mean. They tease and hurt and well, it might be best if you talked to your mother about driving you or doing something else other than riding the bus. I'm sorry. Why don't you sit up here the rest of the way?” She pointed to the front seat directly behind hers.
Alex nodded his head. His mom couldn't drive him. Although she'd been going to school at night to become a citizen, she'd never learned to drive, and even if she could, they didn't have enough money to buy a car.
When he reached his stop, he saw Hector and his mama waiting for him as usual. His mother lingered behind as Hector ran to the door of the bus.
"What happened?" Hector asked, his eyes widening at the sight of his beaten friend. Alex burst into tears and could hardly steady his breathing. He finally gained control of himself and told his friend the whole story. Hector jutted out his lower lip. “I'll have my daddy beat them up. He will, too. He will beat them up and their dads too.”
When Marta approached Alex and saw that something was wrong, she cried out, "Oh no!” She pulled him into her arms. “Horrible, horrible children! You don't have to go back to that school. Never again, mijo!”
With his mother's comforting arms wrapped around him, he sighed and leaned into her. After a few moments the event on the bus was on the way to becoming a distant memory. Alex let go of his mother and took Hector's hand as they walked home together.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE SUN FLOATED ON THE MOUNTAINTOPS TO THE WEST like a misplaced beach ball as Emilio watched his beautiful sister-in-law gaze at the fiery sky. He decided to make this the night that he would take her into his bed. His flirtation had gone on long enough. Unfortunately, she was a proud and faithful woman, and although there were a couple of times over the years when he thought she would succumb, she had not and he hadn't pushed it. The timing had never seemed right, and instead of pursuing her wholeheartedly, Emilio occupied his nights aplenty with little girl whores that succumbed to everything he asked of them, and were easily tossed aside when he was finished.
He liked them young. Fourteen was a nice age, it reminded him of his first love, his Marianna. But those memories were growing dangerous with each young girl. The night before he'd almost gone over the edge after finding a girl who looked so much like Marianna he found himself watching her for nearly an hour. He'd studied her as she stood next to a fruit crate talking to the boys and men who walked by. She obviously hoped to lead one to her bedroom in order to more than likely provide dinner for her family — a family who'd surely been the ones to send her out into the violent streets of Calí. What an insane and cruel world. Emilio found himself wanting to reach out and save the girl.
He'd approached her. “Hello.”
She smiled. Very sweet. He took her hand.
“No,” she said. “You can come to my room.”
Emilio didn't let go of her hand or listen to her protests, which although quiet, were also firm. Probably a rule her parents had taught her, due to the dangers of the violence this part of the world witnessed on a daily basis. When she saw the luxury hotel he was taking her to, she stopped the protesting. He made her wait outside until he'd secured the room. It was a risk by bringing her there, but he wanted her to see the finer things in life. Maybe she would realize there was so much more to the world than the piece of filth her family had chosen to make her into.
Once inside the suite with its decadent furniture, fine si
lks and breathtaking view of the mountains the girl couldn't stop giggling. This delighted Emilio who ordered wine for them. “What's your name?” Emilio asked.
“Violetta.”
“Beautiful.”
She blushed.
“Tonight, your name is Marianna.”
She nodded. He took the glass from her and set it on the nightstand table and he took her hand and led her to the bed, where he undressed her and made her lay on the sheets while he looked at her for several minutes. The longer he looked, the more she reminded him of his dead Marianna and the day he'd killed her — the day his brother stuck the knife into his heart and back. Memories flooding him, Emilio brutally took the girl and with every thrust she cried and begged him to stop, until he wrapped his hands around her neck and she stopped saying anything. As he watched her face, he was shaken from his fury and he uncurled his hands from her. She gasped for air, her hands going to her neck. Emilio gave her five hundred dollars and told her if she ever spoke of what had happened he would kill her and her family. He knew his threat and giving her more money than she'd probably ever seen in her lifetime would keep her quiet and keep her family from asking her too many questions. She nodded and ran out of the room.
Thinking about it, Emilio knew he'd gone too far with the girl and now he had to focus on the woman who'd become his ultimate challenge. The one who would help him gain all the power he desired and bring down Antonio.
Lydia had grown even more gorgeous during the past few years. He knew how his brother ignored her, too busy for his attractive wife. He was certain that tonight she was ready to take the sinful plunge. He also knew that she'd finally realized that she could never have the same Antonio whom she'd once known. Her disillusionment was complete.
"Beautiful."
"Hmmm," she turned around, startled. "Oh, the sunset? Yes, it is."
"No, I mean you."
"Emilio.”
"I'm serious, Lydia. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known."
"Please, Emilio, I'm your brother's wife. Your silly flirtation has to stop."
"But why? I'm only telling you that you're beautiful. Why should Antonio care? It's only the truth, no?" He moved closer to her and caressed her golden face. She shook her head, backing away from him.
"Don't do that," she whispered. She glanced out the window.
"Why not? You can't tell me you don't want to be touched. I see my brother with you. His mind is always on business. He flies here, there. He doesn't take the time to be with you. I understand how you must be hurting. He has obviously forgotten what a treasure you are. Although I find that impossible. I could never forget."
Lydia avoided his eyes, her own filling with tears.
"I don't mean to hurt you, but you must know that he has other women. Why else wouldn't he come to you every night? My brother is a fool."
Lydia leaned her body against the oak wood bar, her breasts pressed together between her arms that she had tightly wrapped around herself. Emilio poured her a drink.
The girls were with their grandmother for the evening, all the servants had long since retired to their quarters or gone home to be with their families. His timing was perfect. Antonio was out of town again, meeting with some distributors in the States.
He walked back around to the other side of the bar standing closer to Lydia again. "You need a man. I see it in your eyes. I see the way you look at me. Your eyes burn through me every time I walk into the room." Lydia shook her head. "Don't deny it. I feel it when I'm around you."
She took a sip from her drink, her scarlet lips leaving an imprint on the glass. "Emilio, you must stop this now. Not only am I your brother's wife, but I am much older than you are."
"What, five years? Quit denying your feelings with lame excuses. You want me as badly as I want you. No one will know. No one ever has to know.”
Emilio reached behind Lydia's head and pulled the white ribbon out of her hair. The long, honeyed strands fell past her shoulders, framing her sculptured face. She began to back up again, but he grabbed her by her small waist and pulled her close to him. Kissing her hard on her mouth, Emilio could feel her resisting, trying to pull free. This aroused him further.
To have his brother's wife — ah! That would be ultimate achievement. The struggle for power between them would dramatically decrease, and the painful memory from his youth would become irrelevant. He would be able to stand up to the man whom all Latin America referred to fearfully as El Patrón, knowing that he, Emilio, had slept with that man's wife, his powerful brother's wife.
Emilio whispered in her ear, "A woman as special as you are deserves a man who can give her all of his attention. You are so lovely, so very lovely. Let me make love to you. Let me show you how lovely you are." Those words were exactly what she needed to push her over the edge. His roving hands began to explore her body, caressing her arms, her back, her waist, and then moving lower. He moved the tips of his fingers to her inner thighs, teasing her with a light touch. Lydia shivered and he knew she was his. He touched his lips to her neck, feathering her with kisses and letting his tongue sweep across her skin, as he untied the halter knot in her aqua summer dress. The dress fell to the ground.
He moved his hands up again and pulled her tightly into his chest, enjoying the feel of her breasts against him. Then Emilio moved his lips to hers, kissing her hard, making that ache she felt for him almost intolerable. She moaned when he pulled away, her eyes still closed, and Emilio gently lowered her to the rug next to the bar.
His touch grew more passionate now, slightly rougher, his hands squeezing hard, letting her know how strong his desire was. When his hand finally moved between her legs, her found her moist and ready. Lydia moved her hips up to meet his hand, silently begging him not to stop. She wanted more. She wanted everything. He began to work his hand against her, and Emilio smiled as he heard her gasp. So, as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, Emilio made love to the woman he had coveted for so long. His tongue roved all the crevices of her sensuous body, making her squirm with ecstatic pleasure. He took a great deal of pleasure in observing her resist the orgasm her body wanted so badly, but that her mind and heart told her she mustn't allow herself. But the way he was grinding into her, the way he felt inside her, was too much and Lydia could not stop herself from surrendering to the pleasure. She was hot and breathless now, digging her hands into his back and so obviously desperate to reach that peak of ecstasy. When she finally lost the struggle and gave herself up to an incredible climax, Emilio was delighted to hear her groan with a mixture of satisfaction and grief.
Before she could catch her breath, Lydia stood up and dressed, tears clinging to her eyelashes. But Emilio knew that she'd loved every second of it.
“There's no need for tears. It's our secret.”
She glared at him and stormed off to her room. He knew she'd be back for more, and he'd be waiting to give it to her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ANTONIO RAN HIS HAND OVER THE ENVELOPE ON THE SEAT next to him, the one with Marta's and Alejandro's address written across the front. He swung the car down the street into the Pico Union area, shocked that they lived in such a slum. Surely Marta would've used the money he'd sent her all these years to rent a decent home, but it didn't appear so. His stomach ached. He had been so nervous about seeing his son for the first time, he couldn't even think about eating.
He and Javier were in town to meet with Levine. Antonio knew that they were going to discuss the prospect of smuggling more heroin into the States, but Levine had actually made a subtle suggestion that they begin working with the Italians. Not an idea that was making him happy.
He slowed down to read the numbers on the tiny houses. This was the kind of shabby neighborhood in which many of his dealers lived. It disgusted him to see that his only son resided in such a place. Their lives could be so different if he could only convince Marta to return to Mexico, and allow him to provide a nice home for she and his son.
Though
ts of dragging Marta and their son back to Colombia ran through his mind. This street was so run down; the undeniable stench from the sewer was sickening. There were bums scattered about the sidewalks as Antonio slowed down for a bunch of kids playing broom hockey in the middle of the street. That was when he spotted him.
Oh my God, it's him. It's my boy. He knew him instantly. There was no mistaking those dark eyes and that tough exterior. He was the best looking kid out there, of course. Antonio smiled to himself as his heart swelled with joy, overwhelmed by the urge to rush out of the car and hug him. But as he reached for the door handle, he saw Marta walking toward the boy. He sat staring, watching. She still amazed him — her beauty, her grace, and strength. She was not as young nor innocent looking. The hardships of her life had taken their toll, but there was an undeniable confidence in her now, evident in her posture.
He contemplated his next move as he saw how wholeheartedly his son ran into her arms. The two hugged each other tightly and Marta gave him a big kiss on the cheek. The scene brought tears to Antonio's eyes, because he realized that he had no right to intrude on them. There was a bond between these two, which he wouldn't dare break.
Antonio wondered what Marta had told their son about him. What if he thinks I'm dead? Or worse yet, what if she told him that I deserted them? With his aching head resting in his open palms, Antonio felt his guilty heart shatter.
*****
LYDIA DIDN'T LIKE BEING DECEPTIVE, BUT SHE HATED BEING deceived. She had known for some time that something was wrong with her marriage. Now that she herself had been unfaithful, her guilt urged her to search frantically through Antonio's personal things, where she knew she would discover evidence of her husband's infidelity and thus be able to justify what she'd done. She ransacked his desk, all the drawers in his room, and went through his closet, but came up empty-handed. As a last resort, she decided to look through the books in his library.
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