“Um . . . ,” said one.
“It’s . . . ,” said the other.
Jessica pushed between them and forced her way through the crowd to where Guillermo had to be, and where he was most likely doing something that would make her more annoyed with him than ever before.
31
The first painting she passed in the main room was his red sun over the mountains. A semicircle of admirers stood around it, staring and whispering. Jessica glanced at the plaque to see what he’d ended up calling it.
The title was simply “Home.”
The price: five hundred dollars.
Below the price was a sticky note. It said, SOLD.
Jessica gasped in surprise. A man in a suit turned and looked at her, then turned to the woman next to him and whispered loudly, “There she is!” She hurried on.
The next painting was, somehow, his mermaid. The one he said he’d sold to his friend Carlos. Its title was “Mermaid,” and the card explained that it was “On loan from the private collection of Mr. Carlos Iguirre.” An even bigger semicircle of admirers surrounded that one, and as Jessica passed through it, she elicited more whispers.
As she pushed deeper into the crowd, she overheard more snatches of conversation:
“This guy has some serious talent. I don’t know what he’s doing here. He should be at one of the real galleries downtown.”
She pushed to the far corner and the thickest part of the crowd, knowing — sensing — that Guillermo was there. On the way, she passed his garlic-and-mango still life, which had sold for four hundred and fifty dollars. An abstract painting of a face — it looked like the one she’d seen at his house — had sold for five hundred and fifty. And a painting she’d never seen, of a snake and an apple, had gone for seven hundred and fifty dollars.
“This is the best time to invest, before he gets too big. But everything’s sold out already!”
Jessica kept going, pushing through the ever thickening crowd. She averted her eyes from the nude of the older woman — the one that had started all the trouble. It wasn’t for sale. It was on loan from Mrs. J. T. Bennett.
“I heard Yolanda Olivarez say she wants to put him on their morning show.”
The whispering, nudging, and pointing got more and more obvious around her as she broke through the circle surrounding him. In fact, everyone cleared a space for her, so that she was finally standing there face-to-face with the man himself.
He had never looked more handsome. He was wearing black pants and a blue silk shirt that perfectly set off his black hair and dark skin. This was her first time seeing him clean-shaven. It made him look younger. And . . . more vulnerable. She noticed his very favorite boots on his feet, the black ones she’d never seen him wear.
He was looking at her. Just the way he always did, with the calmest expression on his face.
In front of all these people, in the middle of everything, she had a sudden, strong desire to cross the space between them and kiss him. She could smell him, it seemed like. She wanted to run her hands over that shirt and over his now smooth face and kiss him until she couldn’t see straight.
By turning his glance from hers, he broke the spell. She followed his eyes, over to the right, on the wall.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
The painting on the wall was of a woman, lying in a window of dappled sunlight, her eyes closed. Her body was curled around cushions, and a sheer maroon cloth was curled around her body. It covered just enough to keep it from being a nude but left plenty exposed. Her exposed parts were big and round but somehow smooth and beautiful at the same time. The woman’s brown and gold hair swirled around the pillow. Her pink lips were curved into the tiniest hint of a smile.
The title of the painting was “Jessica Sleeping.”
Half the crowd by now had recognized her from the painting. Now that it was obvious that she’d never seen it before, they whispered excitedly. A man who hadn’t yet seen her standing there was in the middle of a persuasive speech, apparently.
“Come on, Guillermo. I’ll give you a thousand for it, then. You can paint another one!”
Guillermo’s eyes were back on Jessica’s, and he didn’t look away again as he told the man, “I’m sorry. It’s not for sale.”
Then he stepped forward and took Jessica’s hand, causing the would-be customer to notice her at last and say, “Oh-h-h . . .”
The crowd parted again, as if under Guillermo’s spell, as he led Jessica through the gallery and out the emergency door.
32
Corazón,” he said. “I knew you would come.”
They’d stopped under the fire escape stairs, behind the building, under a mural of flames. The next thing she knew, Jessica was in his arms and they were devouring each other, making out as if he were headed off to war.
And it felt good.
There was no guilt in Jessica’s mind at all as she let him kiss her mouth, her face, her neck.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured against her skin. “I was scared you were so mad, you would never come back.”
She leaned back to look at him after he said these words, which melted into her like hot brownies into ice cream. His eyes were even hotter than that as he looked down at her and ran his fingers through the ends of her hair. She went back to kissing him.
It felt so good to be back in Guillermo’s arms. Better than she’d imagined it, every night since the last time she’d seen him. She had to admit it to herself — she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, and this was why.
What other man could make her feel the way he did? When he kissed her and her eyes were closed, it was as if she were spinning. Dancing.
In fact, she felt dizzy now. She pulled away to catch her breath and to talk. She had a million questions she needed the answers to.
“Guillermo, how long have you been planning this?”
“The show? Remember, they called me three weeks ago? It’s funny how many people came, no? Most of them are friends of the Bennett lady, I think. And some other people whose houses I painted.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant to ask him. But he continued, “Did you see, I sold all the paintings. Now I can pay my bills, get my truck fixed . . . And, also, I can take us out for a nice dinner, like I always wanted. Wherever you want to go.” He brushed her hair away from her cheek with his fingertips. “Because it was you who made me do this. You wouldn’t stop nagging me.”
She decided now was the time to interrupt, before he went further with that thought and ruined the moment.
“Guillermo, I meant how long have you been planning to surprise me with that painting, here tonight? It’s so beautiful. I almost cried when I saw it.”
“You liked it, huh? I knew you would.” He smiled and gave her a little kiss. “I didn’t decide to do it until a few days ago.”
“Really?”
He must have been planning to show it to her when they were alone one night. But then, when she’d stopped speaking to him . . .
“That’s right,” he said. “I knew you would come to my show, but since you didn’t call, I thought you might still be mad when you got here. So I did the painting so you’d forget about whatever made you mad. It took me two days. I just finished it last night. And it worked, like I knew it would, because look: Here you are, kissing me.”
His smile was proud, as if he hadn’t just said the exact wrong thing.
As if he hadn’t just completely ruined the moment.
As if he hadn’t just forced her to wonder, again, what sickness made her keep coming back to him.
“Chiquitita . . . ,” he said as she pulled away, all the way this time.
As quickly as she’d found herself kissing him, she now felt an incredible urge to reach up and slap his face. Instead, she took more steps backward, to keep that from happening.
“What’s wrong?” he said. “Did I paint you too sexy?”
Shaking her head in disgust, with him and with herse
lf, she turned and ran under the fiery, sad murals all the way to her car.
Finally, she realized as she drove home with angry tears in her eyes, she’d gotten her sign. There was no longer any question in her mind as to which path she should take.
33
So, tell me everything. Michelangelo and Christine told me they saw you and Richie Rich at the House. Details, please.”
It took Jessica a second to figure out what Toby was talking about. The thing with Guillermo had freaked her out so much, it was as if it had used up all her virtual memory and she had to reboot in order to process the Jonathan thing again. She took a drink of her frozen cosmopolitan to clear her head. She had remained quiet during the ride to the bar, but now she would have to come clean before Toby had a fit.
“There’s not that much to tell. Remember, he’s that friend of my brother-in-law’s. We met a few weeks ago. We’ve gone out a few times . . . and so far, that’s it.”
“Oh no, that is not it, girl,” said Toby. “Tell me everything. How is he?”
“I don’t know yet. If you want to find out, you’ll have to do him yourself.” She took another sip of her drink and faced the stage, where drag queens were lined up in skirted swimsuits. The lights were so bright, they were making her eyes water.
“So, I take it you don’t like this new guy too much?” said Toby.
“It’s not that. I do like him. He’s really nice. . . .” Jessica couldn’t figure out what it was. Guillermo’s stupid face kept interrupting her thoughts. “We’re just . . . taking it slow.”
“Uh, hello! You didn’t take it so slow when you were getting it from the Artist Barely Known as Guillermo,” Toby interjected.
Jessica rolled her eyes as she felt her cheeks get hot. “Please. Don’t remind me, okay?”
She turned away from his piercing eyes to watch the crowd for a while. But then Toby let out a quiet little scream and, alarmed, she spun on her bar stool to see what was wrong. He had one hand over his mouth and used the other to point at Jessica accusingly, as if they were in kindergarten and he’d caught her playing Doctor during naptime.
“Oh, no!” he squealed. “I know! You just got it from Guillermo, didn’t you? I see it! I saw the look on your face! That’s right, baby. Madame Hortensia ain’t got nothing on me!” Toby crowed triumphantly. “Now spill it.”
She blushed hard this time, telling him all he needed to know about what had happened at the art opening.
“Oh, my gosh!” said Toby. “That’s so romantic. And all scandalous and stuff!”
Jessica sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “No, it isn’t, because he ruined it at the end. He messed everything up.” For a second, it almost felt as though her eyes were about to mist up. “I was so stupid, Toby. What did I ever see in him? And now . . .” She decided to come clean all the way. “And now, I’m thinking I’m not supposed to have sex with Jonathan after all, because things keep going wrong with that.”
Toby shook his head. “Well, I’m not getting what the big deal is,” he said. “Obviously, Guillermo’s just a straight-up dog.” Jessica looked at him reproachfully. Unabashed, he went on. “But he’s a fine dog. So, just use him for sex, and keep letting Mr. Goody Two-Shoes buy you dinner.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “I’m not you, Toby.” She took a sip of her drink. “No, it’s over between Guillermo and me.” And, she decided, she was still going to see Jonathan. Next time she’d have her own condoms, and if it wasn’t meant to be, something else would tell her.
Colored lights rained down as the club’s MC announced the winner of the drag queen crown. For the second year in a row, Lady Chantay Devonique won. She took the stage and lip-synched to Céline Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” in a rhinestone bodysuit, six-inch Lucite platforms, and a feathered cape.
“Oh, good Lord,” said Toby. By then, they’d had another round of frozen cosmos while commiserating over Guillermo’s doggery and the loss of Toby’s latest Guatemalan boyfriend to the INS. The queen and all runners-up promenaded off the stage, and the spotlights were replaced by disco lights. The DJ took Tropico back to its usual state, filling the auditorium-size club with the very best mix of salsa and merengue.
“Let’s dance!” Toby said, slamming down his glass and pulling Jessica toward the floor, where couples were already starting the gigantic clockwise swirl of rhythm. “Here — spin me around,” Toby said. “You’re the only one who knows how to do it right.”
He was obviously determined to have a good time. Jessica, taller than him by an inch, took his hand and spun him this way and that, just as they’d practiced so many times with Marisol when they were kids.
All around them, big, burly men in cowboy hats and boots held each other close. Young Chicanos in the latest fashions spun and shimmied on tabletops. Here and there, women led each other around the floor.
“Oh-oh-oh, hay . . . Hay que llorar . . . ,” she and Toby sang, along with everyone else in the club.
You have to cry, the song said. Everyone there knew it was true, and everyone danced to ease the pain.
34
This time, Jessica woke up with the proverbial splitting headache and ended up getting to Bella Cucina twenty minutes late. She parked, smoothed her skirt, and wiped the last of the sleep out of her eyes before passing under the vine-draped arch to the hostess’s podium. Their parents were even later than she was, apparently, even though Papi was the guest of honor. Sabrina and David were the only ones at the table.
“You’re late,” Sabrina pointed out.
“Hi, Jessica,” David said cheerfully.
She greeted her brother-in-law, then leaned forward to whisper to her sister, “Sabrina, listen. About the other day. I’m really sorry I —”
Sabrina interrupted her. “I don’t want to hear it. We’re here to have a nice lunch for Papi.”
Taken aback, Jessica sat back in her chair, at her corner of the table. She glanced at David to check his reaction. He was fiddling with his napkin and didn’t seem to have noticed their exchange. Jessica decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. She would let Sabrina hold her grudge for now and worry about reconciliation later, when her head hurt less.
“Where are Mami and Papi?” she asked.
“They’re on the way,” said Sabrina. “Mami said to order them both lasagna.”
When the waitress had taken their order to the kitchen, Sabrina leaned over and said in what was supposed to be a quiet voice, “I’m worried about Mami.”
Jessica glanced at David again, wishing they didn’t have to discuss all their family issues in front of him. “Why? What happened?”
“Nothing. It’s just that —”
“Hey, hey, hey,” their father called out from behind the hostess leading him to their table. “Here’s my two favorite daughters!”
They both stood to kiss him on the cheek and wish him a happy Father’s Day.
“And my favorite son-in-law, too,” Papi said to David as he shook his hand. “So far,” he added with a wink at Jessica.
Sabrina rolled her eyes, and so did their mother, who had silently taken a seat while Papi was busy greeting everyone. The waitress walked up and Papi asked her for a bottle of her finest champagne. Mami and Sabrina immediately negated his order. Unembarrassed, Papi winked at the waitress and stage-whispered, “You come back and see me later, okay?” Although she was no more than Jessica’s age, she giggled flirtatiously at Papi and then scampered away under Mami’s and Sabrina’s twin glares.
Jessica quickly introduced a topic of discussion. “So, Papi, how’s your work been?”
“Oh, m’ija. You know I hate to talk about work. Tell me what you’ve been doing, baby girl. Your mother says you’re dating some bolillo now.”
Jessica winced, caught between Sabrina’s renewed glare and David’s good-natured smile.
“She’s seeing one of David’s friends, Daddy,” her sister explained. “He’s very nice — a vice president at David’s company
.”
“Oh, a big shot,” said her father. “So, dirty mexicanos like your papi aren’t good enough for you anymore, huh? Hey, maybe David has a friend for your mother, too.”
Jessica winced again. Papi was kidding, obviously, but it was so disrespectful to say that while David was sitting right there. He couldn’t help that he wasn’t Mexican.
She peeked over at him. At least he was smiling — probably pretending it didn’t bother him. Or maybe it really didn’t bother him. He must have been used to Papi’s ways by now. Sabrina, on the other hand, obviously did get the joke and didn’t find it funny at all. She looked far from amused.
Jessica changed the subject. “So, Papi, guess what we got you for Father’s Day.”
He smiled broadly. “I don’t know, but I hope it’s a bottle of tequila.”
Mami shook her head resignedly and looked around at the restaurant decor as if Papi were just a spoiled child to be ignored.
Okay. The third time had to be the charm. Jessica changed the topic one last time. “So, Papi, are you ready for the barbecue tonight?”
“If anybody had asked me,” said Papi, “we wouldn’t be having one. I don’t need to sit around with a bunch of my in-laws, being bored. I’d rather take a nap, then have your mother wake me up after she’s cooked some pork chops.”
No one said anything.
“And a cake,” he added.
Mami looked out the window as if she were pretending to be someplace else.
“Chocolate cake,” her father clarified. His smile was like a child’s as he looked over at Mami, as if expecting her to give in and smile at any moment.
Jessica loved her father very much, and she always found his little jokes hilarious. Or had, until now. Now, she was imagining how they must have sounded to her mother. Insensitive, maybe? Crass?
She thought of Guillermo, always saying the wrong thing at the crucial moment. Until now, his good looks and charm had made up for it. Obviously, Jessica thought as she studied her mother’s distant attitude, Mami had a much higher tolerance level for that sort of thing, considering that she’d been married to Papi for so long, but it looked as though she’d finally reached her limit.
Houston, We Have a Problema Page 19