The Second Jam

by Lila Felix

  I wanted to talk to her—I needed her calm.

  I picked up the phone and texted Beatriz another thank you and a promise to see her the next day. She was my only hope.

  “I don’t know about all this new computer stuff.” Jacob looked down at a Mercedes that was brought in for repairs. There wasn’t just confusion written on his face—there was repulsion. “We don’t really do cars like this.”

  Peter was front and center on the situation—the owner was a carbon copy of him—just shorter.

  Anyone could tell that this place specialized in fixing older model cars. The parking lot was littered with vintage and muscle cars that had never been claimed.

  “Come on, Jacob. This is a friend of mine.”

  That was the first time I saw the change come over Jacob. In an instant, he blinked, once, twice and then he woke up. I didn’t know the man very well, but a panic seemed to be engulfing him little by little.

  “I don’t know about all this new computer stuff.” He repeated verbatim.

  “You said that.” Peter pressed. “I’m asking you to try.”

  The tone of this guy was devilish. I knew he was the office manager, but that was no reason to take that tone with his employer—or any elderly man for that matter.

  “Look, he said he doesn’t work on these. I can point you to another shop that’s pretty fair.”

  A sharp tick of Peter’s head coupled with a squint warned me—or tried to.

  “I think Jacob is the owner here.”

  He took two steps toward me, though he had nothing on me in height or build. His suit just wasn’t that nice.

  I matched his stance. “Then maybe you should act like it. He said no.”

  Jacob began to walk away, mumbling something incoherent. He looked spooked somehow.

  “You’ve been here less than a week and you think you have some say so around here?”

  “No. I really don’t. But I know when I see someone being disrespected.”

  “Michael,” Peter turned to the owner of the car. “I’m so sorry. You should probably find another mechanic. The shop will pay to have it towed somewhere else. Or—are you going to tell me we can’t do that either?”

  Beatriz was going to marry this jackass.

  I must’ve been missing something.

  “Whatever you say, Sir.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I was surprised he could fit all that ego through the garage doors every day.

  Jacob returned a few minutes later with a cup of stale coffee and a picture in his hand. I went back to work, grateful the confrontation with the suit was over and he was tucked safely back in his office. Safe from me.

  “See this?” Jacob stuck the photo under my nose.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “This is my Josepha. She will make us tamales today.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Then the singing began. When Jacob talked about his wife, the song he sang was always the same. It sounded so sad for a love song, but then again, I didn’t understand Spanish.

  Maybe the love was lost in translation.

  Beatriz came in right before quitting time and Jacob was still singing. It never bothered me, but it seemed to bother her—a lot.

  “You’re making a face.” I mentioned as she passed behind me.

  “I am not.”

  “You are so.”

  I turned my head around just long enough to see her flip me off. She didn’t think I would see. She tried to cover it up, but it was too late.

  “That won’t get you anywhere.”

  “Shut up. You left your notebook last night.”

  “I didn’t know I had a notebook.” I said over the clicking of a wrench.

  “You do. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Peter walked in just as she said that. I rolled my eyes, shutting the hood of the car I was working on. I was right—suit wouldn’t be down with her teaching me anything.

  I pretended to grab a rag and clean my hands, but my eyes kept ticking over to Peter and Beatriz who were now making small talk.

  “That’s an interesting choice of shirt. What do they call that?”

  I didn’t know how to read very much—but I sure as hell knew passive-aggressive when I heard it. Beatriz was wearing a long skirt and a crop top. Having a sister who talked non-stop about clothes helped once in a while. Her belly button and some of her stomach was showing, but it was nothing obscene—quite the opposite.

  “Please don’t start.” She whispered to him.

  “What are you trying to accomplish dressing like that?”

  She looked down at herself, despite her words, pulling at the bottom of her shirt. I hated when men did that—they thought that just because they were with a woman meant they had a say in what she wore or said or looked like. They forgot the privilege of being with someone.

  “It’s just a shirt, Peter.”

  “It’s barely a shirt. Really. What would your mother say?”

  Jacob was still singing, but his pitch had lessened. He was listening just like I was—except I didn’t stand around and just let things happen.

  To other people—I let shit happen to me all the time.

  “Beatriz—didn’t you say something about a notebook?”

  I’d rather him jealous than coming down on her. Beatriz looked at me and it was all I could do not to knock Peter into next week when I saw her chin quivering.

  My dad once told me that any man who makes a girl’s chin quiver out of sadness deserves to have his chin rearranged by a fist.

  “Um, yeah, I do. Peter, you were leaving right?”

  Damned right he was.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” For effect, he looked her up and down again. And for some reason the girl who’d shown me nothing but courage seemed to concave under his criticism.

  “Sure.”

  Jacob strolled into the office, still singing. Beatriz just stood there, the color in her face draining while her ears grew more and more red.

  I waited until Peter had left and did what I shouldn’t have.

  What I knew in my gut would get me into trouble.

  Six steps and I was next to her. I expected resistance when I pulled her against me—the top of her head coming just under my chin, but there was none. She didn’t hug me back—which was fine—it wasn’t about me. She smelled like violets. Aunt Reed used to plant them in the garden all the time and Scout and I would help her pull weeds. Scout knew every flower by common name and their Latin name. I just knew they were purple and some of the names—pronounced incorrectly.

  Some of her hair had fallen over my arm and though I shouldn’t have, I managed to get my hand on it—if only that once, I had to see what it felt like.

  “Don’t cry.” I breathed against her head.

  “I’m not. You got to me in time.”

  “Hmm…”

  A clearing of a throat broke us apart. “Mija, why don’t you get Peter and this one to come to dinner? Your mother is making tamales. She always makes plenty in case someone stops by.”

  This one. I’d been downgraded.

  Wiping nonexistent tears from her face, Beatriz put on a smile but shook her head no. “Dad, por favor, I’m sure Cyrus has seen enough of you today. There’s just so much a person can handle.”

  Jacob laughed at her antics. Her decline of my invitation sat like a cinder block in my stomach.

  “Okay, I understand. But maybe tomorrow?”

  “I’ve got derby tomorrow, Dad. Another time.”

  “Oh, you and your roller skates. Just don’t wear them at school.”

  Sometimes the man talked absolute nonsense. He must’ve been talking about the place she was opening.

  “Of course not, Dad. I’d make everyone jealous. Come on. I’ll give you a ride tonight.”

  “Good. We can work on your driving.”

  They started to leave and before she shut the door, said, “Goodbye, Cyrus.”

  “Bye.”
>
  So much for chivalry—it might not be dead—but it sure as hell isn’t appreciated.

  Despite her earlier coldness, I showed up on time for my lesson. There was no one there when I got there and the doors were locked. Thirty minutes later, she showed up—looking frazzled.

  “Sorry. I got caught up at dinner and then I got stuck in traffic.”

  “It’s fine. You’re doing this as a favor.”

  “I thought tonight we’d start with learning the sounds of letters. The faster you learn those, the easier this is going to be.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  We spent an hour making ridiculous sounds that matched the cards she held up. Some were obvious and some I stumbled over.

  “There’s an app that you can get on your phone that goes through the letters and the sounds they make. I thought you could practice on your own.”

  My phone was a prepaid piece of crap, but I nodded anyway.

  “This is your notebook. And this is your book.”

  She plopped down a red and yellow book that looked as if it had done LSD, disco and break-dancing with the lot of them.

  “How old is this?”

  She waved me off. “Don’t worry about that. This is the speller that my dad bought for me—it’s the same one I used out of school. I don’t even think they use these anymore.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Beatriz pointed out the first set of words and I had to write them five times a piece. I agreed and got up, trying like hell to ignore the magnetism toward her.

  “Hey, why don’t we go get something to eat?”

  “You just got done with dinner.”

  Her eyes ping-ponged across the room. “Oh, yeah, well, dinner at my house is more like a social affair. I get so caught up talking that I hardly eat.”

  I lied. “I’m not really hungry.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, goodnight.”

  My dad would be ashamed of me. I barely had a job. I had exactly $2.53 cents in my pockets. And I’d just turned down a chance at having a meal with a beautiful girl.

  But she was someone else’s girl.

  No matter how much of a dickhead he was.

  I didn’t poach other men’s women.

  When your last name is Black—it’s a rule.

  Chapter Eleven

  Beatriz

  I couldn’t believe what I was having to do to cover my dad’s tracks. It was a bad day for sure. Not only was he talking about my mom like she was alive, but when we got home and she wasn’t there, he claimed she was at the grocery store, picking up more food.

  He was in memory-loss bliss until he saw the shrine he’d set up himself after she died.

  That’s when it all came crashing down.

  He cried for an hour—called out for her all over the house.

  It was like losing her all over again.

  I felt wretched for not telling Cyrus, but if he knew, he would probably quit. I wouldn’t blame him one bit.

  Finally, I convinced my dad to take a Xanax, lying to him that it was a new kind of aspirin. After ten minutes, he passed out on the couch.

  And that’s when I lost it.

  It’s a hard thing to purposefully give someone you love a pill that you know will knock them unconscious—but at the same time relieves them of their misery.

  Tears rolled down my face as I removed his shoes and hat. I found the blanket that my mom had made in celebration for their wedding and draped it over him.

  I cried over his dishes as I washed them.

  I cried over his laundry, spoiled in the washer.

  I cried over the way he had changed. No way in hell my father would’ve allowed Peter to bully me like that in the past.

  If he’d been his normal self—it would’ve been Peter’s bad day instead of his.

  It was Cyrus who’d saved me.

  His embrace melted me and soothed the pain.

  I watched him get up to leave, but I wasn’t ready for him to go. “Hey, Cyrus.”

  “Yeah?” He didn’t stop walking.

  “How about we pick up something to eat for me and then just hang out? Unless you’re too tired.”

  His jaw worked back and forth while he thought about it. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure Peter would be okay with it.”

  “What is your hang-up with Peter? I could give a fat rat’s ass what he thinks.”

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  Now I was pissed.

  “And why is that?”

  “Well, if you’re going to marry the guy…”

  “What?” I yelled. My high pitch echoed in the mostly empty space.

  “Your dad told me. Look, it’s none of my business who you marry. I just don’t want problems. I need this job.”

  This was the problem with not telling Cyrus the story about my dad. I had to lie to cover things like this up.

  “My dad wants me to marry Peter. But we broke up almost a year ago.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you notice the way I tried to get away from him the other day?”

  I knew he had.

  “I did. I thought maybe I misunderstood the situation. Your dad raves about him all day.”

  He smoothed his beard down to a peak and I swore if he didn’t stop doing that, I would have to know how it felt for myself.

  “My dad has it all wrong. Is that the only thing stopping you?”

  I was poking at the bull in the room. What I really wanted to know was whether or not he would entertain dating the person who knew about his temporary disability. I really wanted to know if he trusted me that much—not that I had earned it.

  He looked at me like I was senile.

  “That’s pretty much it. It was a biggie.”

  “Then let’s go. I’m starved.”

  We took my car, first passing through a taco joint where I ordered more than two men would and proceeded to the levee. The levee in New Orleans was nothing more than a walkway along a murky river, but it was the closest thing we had to a scenic view. Bourbon Street didn’t count.

  “I haven’t been to the levee in years.” He said between taco numbers four and five.

  “Me either. I used to come all the time—it’s a bit of a drive from the garage and the other place I lived.”

  I turned around and pointed out a building down the way. “My parents used to bring me to Jax Brewery to watch the taffy pullers. It was like watching a big bonfire, I got mesmerized by it every time.”

  “My parents took us to the aquarium and the children’s museum. They always found something educational for us to do—ironically.”

  “Irony is a wench.”

  “She sure is. How about the fact that my mom owns a book store? It’s like a kid with no sense of smell and their parents own an air freshener factory.”

  He was funny. I was trying so hard not to do the frog thing I did when I laughed sometimes. It sounded like I’d swallowed a frog that was impersonating a donkey. It was really embarrassing. Just when I thought I’d gotten it under control, I looked at him—serious as could be.

  And I snorted.

  Snorted.

  “What the hell was that? I know you’re hungry, but damn.”

  That made me laugh even harder—until I dropped her taco over the edge and into the water.

  He made me drop my taco.

  That had to be a mortal sin.

  “I dropped my taco.”

  I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop from laughing. I had to be serious about it. Dropping food was no laughing matter. I stared at the floating, deep-fried crescent until something else emerged from the polluted river and ate my dinner.

  I turned my fury on the comedian.

  “You owe me a taco.”

  “You’ve got a dozen more in that grease-soaked bag. I was there. I know how many you got.”

  He looked around for a lifeboat.

/>   “There’s a little ice-cream place right over there—the cart. I can buy you one to make up for it.”

  “You think an ice-cream cone is going to make up for my loss?”

  I pouted—pouting always worked wonders.

  “No, I planned to replace it with a Choco-Taco.”

  Flinching backwards, I thought about the proposal. “I guess that would make up for it.” My voice lowered at the end of the sentence. I was disappointed. For a glimpse of a moment, I thought I could use it as leverage.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It was official—Cyrus had apologized more times in a week than Peter had in the years I’d dated him—the rat bastard.

  I pouted again. “I was going to use it as leverage. You ruined it.”

  “Leverage for what? You’ve already got me by the balls. Hell, you could blackmail me with just about anything at this point. My job, my place to live and my learning to read is all in your hands. Form where I’m standing, you’ve got all the leverage in the world.”

  I didn’t say anything. Disappointment flooded my veins.

  “I wouldn’t use those things against you.” I breathed, the cold now making a cloud of my words.

  “I know you wouldn’t. How can I make it up to you?”

  “It’s fine. I was just kidding.”

  I was a bad liar.

  Whatever was on my mind didn’t stop me from polishing off the rest of my food. We sat on the edge of the levee until I yawned, alerting me to how late it was.

  “It’s almost eleven, Beatriz. I have an early morning and you’re tired.”

  I stretched, holding onto the railing above us which made my already short top ride up. I knew exactly what I was doing. He diverted his eyes—even though I didn’t want him to. So, I changed the subject.

  “I have to be at the school early tomorrow.”

  “School?”

  “Yeah, my grant that I got to run the Hope Center has almost run dry. I’ve got one chance to get it right. But if I don’t pass inspection, they won’t approve me for more money. I’ve got to have a back-up plan.”

  “What does that have to do with school?”

  We passed Jackson Square. I grabbed his arm, making him stop to see the mime—dressed and painted in all silver to replicate the tin man. I took some change from my pocket and threw it in the cat litter bucket at his feet. It was the only way to make him move.