by Mia Sosa
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” I yell back.
“If it isn’t, I made my regular dough, too.”
“That’s called not giving the recipe a fair shot.”
“That’s called being smart,” he fires back.
“I’m going to take a shower before dinner.”
“You do that. I didn’t want to say anything before, but you stink.”
As I walk to the bedroom, I laugh to myself, knowing I inherited my smart-ass mouth from him. It’s true our lives may not be perfect, but we’ll always have each other. And yeah, it sucks that we’re still renting this house, but I’ll figure out a way to buy a place outright and give him the permanent home he deserves.
It’s the least I can do given the shit he’s been through.
Turns out, baked empanadas are not my thing. The best part of an empanada, the crispy, salty edges of scored dough, were nowhere to be found. In silent protest, I’m eating fried Puerto Rican food for lunch today. And these chicharrones de pollo taste so fucking good I might cry.
“What the hell are you eating over there? Stir-fried orgasm? You look like your eyes are going to fall out of your head.”
Kurt’s sitting across from me, our desks facing each other in the training center’s sole office. He’s just jealous; I would be too if my partner guilt-tripped me into eating brussels sprouts for lunch.
“It’s fried chicken, man,” I say between hearty chews. “From Mofongos.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck. Joel won’t let me eat there anymore. Says my cholesterol’s too high.”
“Nothing stopping you from getting their salads, so I’m not buying it.”
“When I could be eating those juicy, salty pieces of fried chicken?” he says, pouting like a small child. “That’s like asking me to buy a fruit cup when there’s a perfectly frosted chocolate cake for the same price. I won’t tempt myself like that, kid.”
I wave a piece in the air, taunting him with it. “What harm will one piece do? Moderation is my mantra.”
He lifts his chin. “Fine. Toss it to me. If it lands in my mouth, then it was meant to be.”
I lob the chicharron across the room. To no one’s surprise, Kurt lurches forward to catch it, succeeds, and shudders as he chews. “Goddamn, that’s good. Did you grow up on that?”
“Yup. My mom made it all the time. With rice and beans and some shredded lettuce and thinly sliced tomatoes that I never ate.”
“Sounds like a dream childhood.”
Most of it, yeah. But it’s hard to remember the good when I know the bad that followed.
Kurt notices my hard expression. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”
I wave away his apology. “Don’t worry about it.”
Kurt swivels in his chair to face his computer, undoubtedly to begin his midafternoon ritual of scouring The Hollywood Reporter for breaking news about development deals and casting calls. His strategy is simple: If we’re able to line up work for our stunt people, we can use those acting credits in our promotional materials and attract more customers to the training program. And so far, I can’t argue with the results. That, along with our excellent reputation in the industry, makes us the training firm to beat.
For six years, I’ve been riding the highs and lows with him, serving as his sounding board on virtually every aspect of the business. But now it’s time to take my place beside him. If he’ll let me. I set aside my food and lean forward, my hands folded on the desk. “Hey, Kurt?”
“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes still focused on the computer screen.
My chest tightens in the seconds before I ask my question, because a negative answer would be just as life-challenging as a positive one. If Kurt would prefer to run the business “as is,” I’ll need to give some serious thought to moving on and chasing that elusive financial stability banks are so concerned about. “Have you ever thought about taking on a partner?”
He shifts away from the screen and faces me, dropping back into his chair as though I’ve surprised him, his eyebrows squeezed together. “Are we talking specifically about you?”
I figure being direct is the best course here. “Yes.”
“Honestly? I’ve been so comfortable with the way we’ve worked together, it never occurred to me. But I can see why that would be a problem. Now that you’ve raised the issue, though, I can give it some thought. Fair enough?”
I nod, relieved that he didn’t answer in a way that would have forced me to rethink my role in the company. “That’s fair. We can—”
Outside, the side door squeaks open, and we both sit up. Training doesn’t begin for another couple of hours, and we rarely get unannounced visitors here at the facility.
“Anthony,” a woman yells.
We both relax again. The sound of Tori’s voice is always welcome, even if it means Kurt and I will need to resume our discussion later.
“We’re back here, princessa.”
She barrels through the door, filling the room with her king-size presence. Her eyes sweep across the space and zero in on me. “I need to speak with you.”
“I never would have guessed that.”
“Hey, watch it. Any more sarcasm and you’ll lose your favorite-cousin status.”
As usual, I get nothing from her but affection—and a shitload of sass.
Kurt stands and heads for the door. “I’ll give you two a minute alone.”
She whips around and puts up a hand. “Please stay, Kurt. This concerns you, too.”
That discreet glance between Kurt and me? It’s our equivalent of oh shit in physical form. What topic could Tori possibly need to talk to us both about? Kurt resettles into his chair while I tilt my chair back and throw my booted feet on the desktop, trying to make clear I’m unfazed by whatever she’s about to tell me even though I can feel the pulse in my neck quicken as I wait. “So what’s up?”
“I want to talk to you about Eva and your training camp.”
I scrub a hand down my face and place my feet back on the floor. “No.”
“Anthony, why are you being so stubborn about this? Eva would be perfect for your program. It says so on the website.” She pulls out her phone, and after a few taps, begins reading. “‘Elite Stunt Training’s ideal student isn’t a daredevil or an adventure seeker but rather an individual with a background in areas that complement stunt skills, such as martial arts, personal training, and gymnastics.’” She raises her brows at me. “See? Eva wasn’t a gymnast, I don’t think, but she’s a fitness instructor, and she has martial arts experience. This should be a no-brainer.”
I’m fucking around with the papers on my desk for no purpose at all. Or maybe I’m doing it because I need to keep my hands busy. I’m not sure. What I do know is that having Eva in my work space isn’t conducive to putting our one night together behind us. We need distance if we’re going to keep our hookup firmly in the past, and training together is the opposite of that. But more importantly, why the hell is Eva even considering stunt work? Sounds to me like she’s going off half-cocked. “Listen, I get that she looks like a great candidate on paper, but it’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be. We don’t take everyone interested in our class, not with the doors that can open after someone takes it. We personally vouch for our graduates, so we need to be selective, and we can’t take people who are dabbling in this kind of work. It’s a profession, not a hobby.”
She pops a hand on her hip and gives me a narrow-eyed pouty face. “Goodness, it’s not like I’m asking you to take on someone unqualified. I’m asking you to make room in your class for an excellent candidate, one who needs this opportunity for . . . reasons.”
Hmm, reasons? Now I’m intrigued. But not enough to distrust my gut, which is telling me working with Eva would be a bad idea. Even a minor demonstration at Tori’s studio turned into a tussle that literally bruised my chest. I can’t imagine weeks of dangerous training exercises would go any better, not with our shared history.
“Yes, you can have some of my food,” I tell her.
She pops the chicharron into her mouth. “Sí, lo sé. That’s why I didn’t bother to ask.” While she chomps on my food with enthusiasm, I nudge my chin at Kurt, hoping he’ll chime in and support me on this. Sure, he’s my boss, and maybe I shouldn’t be speaking out of turn, but if I’m going to show him I’m ready for more responsibility, I need to act like a person who can handle being in charge.
Kurt’s eyes widen, and then he grabs a book off his desk and thumbs through it while he figures out what to say. Good thing he mostly works behind the scenes these days because the man can’t act for shit. After clearing his throat, he looks up and says, “Plus, there’s the teacher-student issue.”
Tori stops chewing. And I stop breathing—for a few seconds, at least.
I have no idea where he’s going with this, and I don’t want to know. What I’d like is for everyone to go away so I can finish my lunch.
“What teacher-student issue?” Tori asks Kurt.
“Well, Anthony and Eva are obviously interested in each other, but we have a strict prohibition on romantic connections between our instructors and students.”
Tori snorts and looks around the room. “You mean all two of you?”
“We’re still instructors,” Kurt says with a shrug. “It’s not good for our reputation, either among prospective students or in the industry. If we’re going to rec someone for a job, it needs to be because we have complete confidence in their abilities and nothing more.”
Tori reaches over the desk and pinches me like a Puerto Rican mom who’s just discovered her kid was out all night—in other words, repeatedly and with annoying super strength. “Is this true? You’re interested in Eva and that’s the real reason you don’t want her in the program? Because that would be some sexist bullshit, Anthony.”
“No, no, no,” I say as I dodge her torturous fingers. “Will you stop already? Kurt’s off base on that one.”
And I’m not aware of any official policy prohibiting me from dating someone who trains with us. The only other instructor is Kurt, and he’s practically married. Still, a policy like that makes sense for all the reasons Kurt gave.
“You’re not attracted to Eva, then?” Tori asks, her suspicious gaze scanning me like an X-ray machine.
Shit yeah, I’m attracted to her, but talking about relationships with me is pointless. Tori knows this. What’s interesting, though, is that Eva never told Tori about our hookup. And I appreciate that—because what we did was and should remain just between us. “Look, she’s an attractive woman, sure, but I don’t have any plans to date her or anything. That’s a given. And that’s not even considering that she’s probably not interested in dating me, either.”
Tori nods. “Good. So I detect no problems. She’s exceedingly qualified, the student-teacher policy doesn’t apply, and I’m your cousin, who will harass you for the rest of my days if you don’t let Eva into your program.”
“She’ll need to pass a physical,” Kurt says. “But assuming that checks out, I think it’s only right that she get a discount on the program fee since she knows you two.”
Tori walks over to Kurt’s desk and ruffles his hair. “You’re the best, Kurt.”
“Wait, wait, wait. This is getting out of hand.” I point at my reckless boss. “This is not how we do things.”
“Then how do you do them?” Tori asks.
“We have a waiting list—”
Kurt, the unhelpful motherfucker, knowing full well our waiting list is in the computer system, picks up a blank page and waves it in the air. “With zero people on it for the next session. I checked this morning.”
I jump up from my chair. “There’s an application process—”
“I’ll tell her to apply,” Tori says. “What else?”
“And an interview, either in person or on Skype.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. In fact, I think the more you get to know Eva, the more you’ll see she’s perfect for this program.”
I say nothing. What is there to say? If Tori thinks she’s going to railroad us into a hasty decision, she’s flat-out wrong.
Tori chews on her bottom lip, a thoughtful expression on her face. No, not thoughtful. Crafty. That little smirk raises a few hairs on my arm, but it’s gone in an instant, before I can make out whether it’s a sign of trouble.
“Anything else?” Tori asks.
She’s obviously not going to let this go, so I’ll pacify her for the time being. “We’ll think about it.”
Smiling brightly, she grabs the sides of my face and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Gracias, cielito. Bye, Kurt.”
“I haven’t made any promises,” I say to her as she bounces out the door.
“Neither has Eva,” she singsongs in return. “Just wanted to get the ball rollin’.”
I can’t believe this is happening. Over the years, I’ve been careful about my no-strings approach. I make clear that I’m not interested in a relationship, engage with like-minded women, and avoid flings with people in my social or work circles. Now I’m facing the prospect of working with a woman I’ve had sex with, and if that’s not enough, she’s my cousin’s best friend. Good job, Anthony.
“You handled that like a pro,” Kurt says after she’s gone.
It’s hard not to read his assessment as sarcasm given the tenor of my thoughts, but Kurt has no clue Eva and I hooked up, and I don’t plan on enlightening him.
“And I’ll tell you what,” he continues. “I’m going to let you lead the next training program. I’ll be here for some of the sessions, and I can still do the safety speeches and all that, but it’s time you get some experience running things. Let’s see how you do, and then we can sit down and talk numbers and specifics. See if it makes sense. Does that work for you?”
I want to pump my fist, but I play it cool and simply nod. There’s no question in my mind that I bring value to his venture, so there’s nothing to be grateful for. “That works.”
Now I just need Eva to abandon her idea of training with us. But if she wants an interview first, she’ll get one. After all, it’s only fair to give her a preview of what she’d be getting herself into.
Chapter Seven
Life tip: It’s never safe to go back in the water.
Eva
My trip to Tori’s place Friday evening gives me a glimpse of what it’ll be like to navigate LA without a car. Doable but not without its drawbacks. Exhibit A: My Lyft driver won’t shut up. Ordinarily, this fact would make me giddy—I’m the person who’s on a first-name basis with a driver within seconds of climbing into the car—but this guy’s sharing enough information about himself that I could probably ghostwrite his memoirs.
“So yeah, I’ve gone out for a few parts here and there, but I’m still waiting to hit it big,” he says, flashing an ultra-bright smile that sparkles in the rearview. I bet those shiny whites set him back a few thousand dollars. “My mom says it’s only a matter of time.”
Doesn’t he know not everything our parents say to us is true? Bless his heart.
“Maybe one day you’ll be telling people you met me before I became a superstar,” he adds.
I grin and nod because I don’t know what else to do. “Yeah, maybe.”
He exhales on a heavy sigh. “It’s been hard, though. Holding on to a dream when everyone makes you feel small and insignificant for pursuing it. I’ve been busting my ass for years. Most nights, I walk into a seedy club and take off my clothes for people who see me as nothing more than a means to their own pleasure.”
Shit, this largely one-sided conversation is taking quite a turn.
He slams his hand against the steering wheel, causing me
to jump in the backseat.
“And even that’s not enough money to survive,” he says. “So I drive people to rich neighborhoods like this one, where people are living the life I want to live. It’s so fucking unfair.”
A peek in the rearview confirms the emotion clogging his throat is also causing tears to pool in his eyes. I may be one of the most cynical people on the planet, but even my icy heart can’t take much more of this. I open the Lyft app and increase my tip by 100 percent. “Listen . . .” I struggle to remember his name and look down at my phone. Oh, right. Dean. Because of course. “Dean, dreams aren’t meant to be easy. If they were, everyone would achieve them, and we both know that will never be the case. I see your passion . . . it’s inspiring, and it’ll help you persevere even when—”
Dean throws his head back and laughs like a rabid hyena. Now his passion is alarming. Shit. Am I going to need to jump out of a speeding car tonight?
When he sees my wide-eyed response, he pulls himself together and settles down. “I was just testing my acting skills on you, Eva, and I can see from your reaction that I’m legit.”
“So all of that about struggling and stripping was a lie?”
“Yeah, I haven’t been at this very long, and I live with my parents in a very comfortable home in Los Feliz. Thing is, LA’s all about making connections, and I figure there’s a bunch of Hollywood-adjacent people who probably don’t drive. This car will be my audition room.”
That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. I reopen the Lyft app and reduce my tip back to its original amount. Dean—if that’s even his real name—can sashay his ass back to Los Feliz without the benefit of any extra help from me. “You’re a genius. Truly.” I can’t believe I fell for that trickery. You’re slipping, Eva.
The phone rings, saving me from my conversation with Dean.
“Hello?”
“Eva, honey. It’s your mom.”
I knew she’d be calling soon. My parents and I have been playing the longest-running game of telephone since I moved into my own apartment after college. He calls her, she calls me, I call him, and then we restart the cycle. And just like the game, what gets passed on in the last phone call in no way resembles what was communicated in the first.