Chulito: A Novel

by Charles Rice-González

  When six o’clock came, Carmen transformed into a sexy mamita with a spaghetti-strap burgundy dress that stopped with a flair at her knee. She wore black high heel suede shoes and a black, sheer shawl around her shoulders. She came into Chulito’s room to show off her dress. Upstairs Carlos was playing “Like a Virgin” and she did a little shimmy and kicked up her leg.

  “Wow, Ma, maybe I should go to protect you.”

  “I look good, right?” She proudly patted her upswept hair. Two glittering diamond earrings hung from each ear with a simple matching teardrop diamond hanging from a gold necklace.

  “We’re gonna take a cab down to a restaurant near Times Square and then over to the Copacabana.” Madonna continued to squeal and his mother invited him to get up and dance with her.

  “Ma, I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t dance.”

  “Oh, you used to love dancing around with me. C’mon, get up. It’s my birthday.”

  Chulito got up and flailed his arms around without moving his feet and made a crazy look with his face.

  “O.K., sit down, you could hurt yourself,” She said with a laugh. He loved hearing her laugh.

  “So you gonna go get me a daddy with that dress.”

  The smile left her face. “Don’t be silly, it’s just me and the girls.”

  “And a club full of sharks.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said playfully, regaining her spark.

  “But I’m your back up.” He said that in earnest even though it had come out sounding playful.

  She came over, kissed him then wiped her lipstick off his cheek.

  The music stopped upstairs, and they both looked up.

  There was a knock at the front door. Maria called out, “The cab is coming, they said two minutes.”

  She gave Chulito a hug. “Tomorrow it’s you and me, right?”

  He nodded and smiled. “Have fun, Ma.”

  He looked out his window and saw his mother and Maria get into the cab. Carlos was with them, standing outside the cab and giving his mother a kiss. Chulito could tell from the black tank top with tight black jeans and black boots that Carlos was ready for a night out. As the cab sped away down Garrison Avenue, Carlos looked back at Chulito’s window. Chulito ducked out of view. When he looked back out Carlos had crossed the street on his way to the subway station.

  For the rest of the night Chulito stayed home. He ate the pork chops, rice and beans his mother had cooked. He washed the dishes, turned off his phone and lit a healthy blunt and smoked it, freely blowing smoke throughout all the rooms of his apartment like he’d seen his grandmother do with a cigar to bless her house. He went to his mother’s room and sat on her bed. He saw the shoes she’d tried on for the night out and rejected. Her make-up containers were all over the dresser. Pictures of him and his father were wedged to the sides of her mirror. He remembered when he sat on that very edge of the bed and his feet couldn’t touch the floor. He’d watch his mother put on make-up and she’d make funny faces at him. He felt like they were the only two people in the world. He felt safe.

  The sun was still out so he didn’t need to turn on a light, but as night fell he sat in darkness. Since it was easy to see into his apartment from the street and he didn’t want anybody to know he was home, including Kamikaze. He knew he was taking a big risk but he turned off his phone. He watched television in the living room because the windows faced the inner courtyard and nobody walking on Garrison could see its bluish light, or see him sleeping in front of VH-1’s “I Love the 80s” as old school Madonna danced into his dreams.

  The next morning, his mother was brewing that richly fragrant Bustelo coffee. It said espresso on the can, but to Chulito, his mom, and most Puerto Ricans it was simply café. When he sat up on the couch he saw his Tims were neatly set on the floor and the television was off. He felt fully awake and alert. Then he panicked because he had missed two days with Kamikaze and knew that he’d be pissed.

  He had to respond to the missed calls and messages from Kamikaze. He flipped it open without checking them and called Kamikaze. He was relieved when the machine picked up: “Yo, yo, yo. This is the Big K. You know the drill…spill it. Peace!”

  “Hey, Kamikaze. Sorry about last night. You were right, I caught a bug or a stomach thing and I was laid out.” He paused, feeling obligated to call Kamikaze, but he wasn’t ready to see him. Besides Kamikaze reserved Sundays for recuperating from Saturday night. “I’m cool now and since it’s my mom’s birthday we headed out to Brooklyn to visit family and we staying over. I will catch up with you tomorrow, promise, promise, promise. I’m really sorry about last night, bro. I hope everything was cool. I’ll hit you up when I get back to the Bronx.”

  His phone beeped as he was ending his message.

  “What the fuck happened?” Kamikaze demanded without saying hello.

  “Kaz, I was just going to, uh, ring you up last night, man. I was in bed all day. You were right, I think, I think I caught a bug or something.” Chulito waited for Kamikaze’s response.

  “Be straight with me little, bro. If you sick, you sick, but if some other shit is up, spill it the fuck out right now.” Kamikaze sounded impatient and angry.

  “Nah, ain’t nothing but a bug, stomach thing. On the real.” Chulito wanted to get off the phone. He wanted to retreat back from his neighborhood and his life.

  “Fuck. The only reason I’m gonna buy what you sayin’ is because you been on the level with me, but you better stay healthy or I’ll fucking make you sick.” Kamikaze laughed. “I’m joking.”

  Chulito was relieved to hear Kamikaze laugh. “Thanks, Kaz.”

  After sharing a cup of café with his mom, he stripped out of his clothes, did some push-ups and sit-ups and took a shower. He put on a white short sleeved button down shirt by Polo that had thin aqua blue horizontal stripes, a pair of khaki colored cargo pants that were nice and loose with a brown belt and chocolate brown Timberland boots. He wrapped his head with a white du-rag and slipped on light blue Kenneth Cole shades. Even though Parkchester was just five stops and less than ten minutes from Hunts Point, he didn’t want to talk to anyone so he called a cab.

  He saw the fellas hanging out on the corner, but he went right into the taxi with his mom without acknowledging them.

  The rest of the day went smoothly. Brunch at Step-In’s. The long train ride to Brooklyn.

  Then on the cab ride back from Brooklyn, as his mother slept, Chulito thought about the last few days. He realized that he needed that time away from everybody, time away from the noise and opinions on the corner, time away from Kamikaze and the business, time away to figure out what he wanted to do next. There wasn’t a lot of figuring, it was more trying to find the courage to go for what he wanted. And he wanted Carlos. He wished that he was going to Puerto Rico with just Carlos. Then they could hang out and go to the beach and not have to worry about the fellas, Kamikaze or anybody.

  When the cab arrived in Hunts Point, it was two o’clock in the morning. The streets were deserted and all the lights were out in Chulito’s building, except for Puti who slept with the l Cpt inutes fright on.

  Chulito could barely sleep, anticipating what he was going to tell Carlos. He fell asleep going over the script in his mind. At five in the morning, he was wide awake. He heard his mother in the bathroom preparing for work. School would be out in a couple of weeks and she wouldn’t have to get up so early.

  As he lay on his back with his hands behind his head, he looked up at the ceiling as if he could see right through it and watch Carlos sleeping in his bed. Chulito wanted to wake him. “Hey, Carlos, I’m ready.”

  And he was ready. That morning Chulito was sitting on the steps inside his building’s vestibule, so that Carlos couldn’t leave without seeing him. He rubbed his sweaty palms together, blew on them and waved them to dry and shake off the nervous feelings that where urging him to go back into his apartment. He cracked the muscles on his neck, rolled his shoulders and in his mind p
racticed what he would say. He’d keep it simple. Be up-front.

  He leaped up when he heard the door to Carlos’ apartment open. The jingling of keys sent Chulito tip-toeing toward his own apartment. Then he stopped and returned to the foot of the stairs. He wasn’t going to retreat. No more running away. For the first time ever, he felt as if his knees were going to give way. They trembled and buckled. He balanced himself by holding on to the wooden handrail coated with decades of black paint, then held looked up the worn marble stairs as Carlos’ footsteps echoed in the hall. Carlos was startled at first but recognized Chulito and stood still, placing his hand on the handrail at the top of the stairs. The window on the landing bathed Carlos in a soft light. He looked puzzled. His brows were gathered tightly then they relaxed. Carlos’ smile triggered a calmness in Chulito. He still felt nervous but he no longer felt like he would be sick. Then Carlos began descending and Chulito began ascending the stairs. When they met up Chulito faced him. He had to say what he’d practiced, regardless if a door opened or if someone walked into the building. He was not going to back out of this moment. He looked around the hallway and whispered, “I dig you, too, Carlos. And not like when we were kids.”

  “What?” Carlos searched Chulito’s eyes to see if his heart was aligned with his words.

  “You heard me right.” The urge to touch Carlos overcame Chulito reached out and gently ran his fingertips along the sleeve of Carlos’ crisp white shirt. Then, he dropped his hand and shoved it in his pocket. But all the while he held Carlos’ stare.

  Carlos looked at where Chulito had just touched him. “What are you saying? What are you doing?” There was a tinge of anger in Carlos’ voice, as if he thought Chulito might be playing with him.

  Chulito hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. He felt his heartbeat pulse Carted in his ears. “Carlos, I been feeling you for a while. I just didn’t know what to do. What we’d do?” He continued to speak softly. “I don’t know what to do next, but I figure I say what I got to say. Let you know how I feel and then we can see wassup.”

  Carlos sat down on the steps. “I never thought you would own up to how you felt.”

  Chulito wanted to sit, too. But the reality that someone could catch them sitting made him choose to keep standing. “You knew?”

  “I had a pretty good idea.” Carlos smiled and checked his watch. “Your timing sucks. I’m going to be late for my internship.” Carlos got up and dusted the seat of his pants.

  “I been thinking of telling you for days. What do we do now?”

  Carlos shrugged.

  Chulito smiled. He felt light in his chest. “Can I pick you up when you get out?”

  “Call me and we’ll work it out. I promise to take your calls now.”

  Chulito held out his hand.

  Carlos chuckled. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know.” Chulito wanted to do something, but a hug would be too much and a kiss was not right. Being caught talking on the steps was one thing but anything else was too much. So a handshake felt right. Not the kind you do when you greet your buddies, but the old fashioned, seal-a-deal kind.

  Carlos shook his hand. “Sometimes you can be such a trip. Call me later?”

  Chulito walked Carlos to the doorway. They both walked slowly side by side, prolonging the moment. Carlos stepped out of the building and paused. He shook his head. Chulito beamed and watched him cross Garrison Avenue. Carlos looked back, still shaking his head. Chulito’s heart was racing and his heavy breathing dried up his throat, making it hard for him to swallow. He wiped his moist palms on his shorts, then he grinned and whispered, “Holy shit.”

  chapter ten

  Kamikaze’s phone message was direct. “Be ready at ten A Farted2em" al.M., nigga, ‘cause you been incognito and there’s a lot of work to catch up on.” It was tenA.M. am on the dot according to Chulito’s Fossil watch. Damian, who had already taken his post, waved to Chulito, who waved back, then looked away and snickered, remembering their dream encounter.

  Chulito flipped open his cell, called Carlos and left a message. “Yo, Carlos. It’s Chulito. I know you probably still on your way to work, but I wanna just let you know that I’m thinking about you, bro.” He smiled because he’d always wanted to leave him a message exactly like that one. “Turns out I gotta be with Kaz today, but I should be back around the ’hood around six. Hit me back.” He sat on the stoop, pushed earphones on and bopped to Biggie. He couldn’t wait for Carlos to call him. How would he answer? “Wassup, beautiful.” Too corny. “Hey, babes.” Too soon. “Holla.” Too ghetto.

  Chulito looked at the corner and recalled Carlos struggling with the wind and the grocery bags that day and the smile that wouldn’t leave his face broadened. Then he imagined the fellas on the same corner and knew that he would have to deal with them at some point.

  Twenty minutes passed and Chulito got up and paced. “Pssst, hey Chulito.”

  Chulito pulled out his headphones, looked up and saw Puti in

  her window.

  Puti snapped her fingers. “You got anything for me?” “Nah,” Chulito said annoyed. “I don’t got anything,” “Ah, c’mon. Not even a little something? I ain’t got no money

  but te lo chupo like nobody could, trust me. It’s top dollar.” Then she did the international gesture for a blow job, jerking her hand in front of her mouth and with each pump bulged out her cheek from the inside with her tongue.

  “I told you I ain’t got nothing. I don’t carry shit on me. One of

  the neighborhood boys should be around soon.” Chulito got up and walked away from Puti. “Is Kamikaze coming? Maybe you could get something for me? He won’t give me nothing. I owe him money from way back, but maybe you could help out.” Puti whispered, “Come up. I could perform CPR on your pee-pee now and you’ll see how good, then you could get me something from Kamikaze.”

  Chulito looked at Puti. She’d seen him grow up. She and her mom even babysat for Chulito when he was little, and now Puti was offering to suck his dick for a fix. He hated s Kx. Sheeeing this part of the game. It was different going from club to club feeling like a top cat and seeing people partying and getting high. Seeing people in his neighborhood addicted to their drug of choice or of availability was another thing.

  “Nah, Puti, it’s not gonna happen. Kaz and I never walk around with shit, you know that.”

  “Fuck you!” she said in full voice.

  Chulito walked toward the corner.

  “Wait, Chulito, come back, I’m sorry,” Puti said, back to whispering.

  Suddenly, Chulito could hear Fabolous’s “Keepin’ It Gangsta” vibrating from Kamikaze’s Lexus. He pulled up to the front of the building and rolled down his window. “Y’all know whoooo, keepin’ it gangsta. We come thruuuuu, keepin’ it gangsta. How we dooooo, keepin’ it gangsta. I’ll hol’ truuuuu, keepin’ it gangsta.” Now, Chulito knew that Kaz liked to make an entrance, so he probably just hit #2 on the CD as he rolled up the block. Chulito tapped his Fossil to signify that Kamikaze was late.

  “I may come late, but I’s always cum on time, squirt.” Kamikaze tilted his Yves St. Laurent shades with the light blue lenses and shouted, “Yo, Chu! My little brother. Panito, what is up? Why you hiding from me?”

  Chulito hesitated before getting into the car. “Nah, Kaz, I was really sick.” Chulito paused then confessed, “I also just got a lot of shit on my mind these days, but things are cool.”

  Kamikaze slapped the passenger’s seat. “So why you ain’t call me? I thought if there was something on your mind you would call me. You know you the first person I would call if I had shit on my mind. Especially if it was you who I had beef with.”

  Chulito climbed in and strapped on the seat belt. “Sorry, Kaz. But it was nothing like that. Where we off to?” The tinted window rolled up to create a cocoon of rap music and air-conditioning. He looked over to Puti who was staring at the parked car as if she could see through the dark windows. Her mother, who looked like a sixty-five
-year-old version of Puti with the same wispy hair and gaunt face, appeared and shoved her aside to make room at the window.

  Kamikaze reached over, put Chulito in a headlock and kissed his temple. He then leaned back. “Let that be the last time you do a disappearing act on me, understand?”

  Chulito nodded. Kamikaze was smiling but the severity of the warning came K way">

  Kamikaze nudged him with his elbow. “I thought you were pissed because of that shit with Brenda. It takes a lot for me to lose my cool, but we good, right? I missed you, nigga.”

  Chulito wasn’t sure how to read Kamikaze, but chose to go with the jovial Kamikaze he knew and loved. “I missed you, too.”

  “Really, nigga? Get outta here.” Kamikaze flashed his bright smile. “So why you didn’t call me? You had me all wondering like some bitch that something was up.” Then he laughed out loud.

  Being the closest person to Kamikaze, Chulito knew just about everything there was to know about him, even his real name.

  Kamikaze was born Roberto Jimenez, but after chasing him three times in one week when he was running corners the cops christened him Kamikaze. The first time he was chased he jumped from the roof of one building to the next and ran down into the apartment of one of his women to hide from the cops. One cop jumped and didn’t make it. The others didn’t even try. He got away.

  The second time he was chased to the Bronx River, where he dove in and swam to the other bank. They fired warning shots at him, but he escaped again.