Craving Perfect (11 page)

“What’d she say?” Elena asked.

I smiled, but only briefly as I strode up to the front desk.

Elena braced the edges of the front desk, looking quite ready and able to leap at me if I didn’t immediately reveal the details of my visit with Grace.

The early morning crowd at Goldie’s Gym streamed through the front entrance, grabbing towels and flashing their membership badges, eager to begin their workouts and aerobics classes. I turned so that I faced away from the kid at the front desk and leaned against the counter closer to where Elena stood. Then I felt my smile fill my whole face when I looked down at her. She stood on the other side of the black granite counter, wide-eyed. Slowly, I removed my sunglasses.

Elena’s eyes bulged wider.

It was impossible not to smile but I made a show of wiping the lenses against my shirt.

Elena exhaled. Loudly.

“She said
yes
,” I whispered finally. “Satisfied?”

Her voice got higher. “For Sunday?”

I nodded.

Elena gasped but then a relieved grin stretched across her face. “See? I told you.” She jabbed her finger in the air. “And you worried for nothing.”

I nodded at her again. Elena was also the one who told me that Grace wouldn’t be at the gym this morning, which turned out to be a major bonus for me. Kathryn had mentioned it to her when she walked by the front desk and Elena happened to be standing there, folding the first batch of clean morning towels. I hadn’t really looked forward to asking out Grace in the middle of the gym, with two dozen people milling around. I’d probably have totally lost my nerve. Not that I was a complete novice at asking women for dates. I’d done it lots of times. It was just that with Grace I really wanted to hear
yes
. More than ever.

“You should listen to me more often,” Elena added.

I let her gloat.

She tsked like a grandmother. “Why you waited so long, I’ll never know.”

“Uh-huh,” was all I could muster because, really, I was pretty shocked that Grace said yes. I barely remembered the drive back to the gym. I’d grinned like an idiot in my rearview the whole way.

“So, where are you going to take her?” Elena switched to Spanish when the front desk kid’s beady eyes began to dart between us, even as he continued to scan badges like a robot with one hand and answer the phone with the other.

“Got it all planned.” I tapped the side of my head.

“Did she like the sopapillas?” Elena cringed with anticipation and I wanted to hug her. Like anyone would dislike anything she baked.

“Are you kidding? She loved ’em.”

Elena collapsed forward. It was like I just told her we won the lottery or something.

The front desk kid interrupted us. “Assistant manager just called. Said they’re all out of towels at the lap pool.” It wasn’t a request. “They need more.”

Reluctantly, I turned to face him. He barely reached the middle of my chest but he always acted as if he was in charge of everything. Pretty ballsy for a
gringo
who barely looked old enough to drive.

“I’ll take care of it,” Elena said, but I lifted my hand, palm up.

“No, I’ll do it,” I said. “I’m headed over there anyway.”

Elena tugged on my forearm. “Thanks, Carlos,” she whispered.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned over the counter and kissed her cheek.

She pulled back. “What’s that for?”

“You know damn well.” And then without another word, I jogged toward the locker room, my feet gliding across the floor. Absolutely nothing could ruin this day.

For once, working at Goldie’s Gym didn’t seem so bad. If it hadn’t been for this lousy place, I wouldn’t have met Grace Mills.

Too bad the weekend couldn’t come sooner.

“I got some fresh banana-nut bars coming out of the oven as we speak,” I told Kathryn as I scanned the pastry case, watching her in my periphery. “Can I bring you one?” My voice trailed off in a tease. I made them on purpose. They were Kathryn’s favorite and the baking smells wafting from the opened kitchen door made them harder to resist.

But Kathryn didn’t look up from the cash register. She continued to fiddle with the computer tape from the morning sales. “Can’t.” Her voice stayed flat. “Got to fix this.”

My shoulders sank. I thought for sure she’d weaken. “Well, how about I put one aside for you for later?” As soon as I stacked them inside the pastry case, they’d be gone within two hours. Maybe less.

“Not hungry.” Her eyes remained lowered, as if she was studying the Dead Sea Scrolls.

“But they’re your favorite…” I couldn’t hide the hurt in my voice.

Finally Kathryn raised her head. “I’m. Not. Hungry.”

I ripped the oven mitt off my hand and tossed it onto the counter. “What is wrong with you? Why are you so angry?”

She didn’t respond.

“Take it out on Eddie, not on me.” I bit down on my lower lip when it started to quiver. “He’s the one who hasn’t called.”

Kathryn glared at me, her eyes blazing.

“And I’ve been trying to talk to you all week!” Not to mention that I still wanted to tell her all about my crazy treadmill daydream, experience—whatever it was. She never gave me the chance.

The set of her jaw hardened.

Kathryn and I fought about as often as two close sisters would, which is to say infrequently. Sure, we got on each other’s last nerve every now and again but always about stupid stuff. Like when she left all of her wet towels in the bathroom or if I didn’t wash her lacey bras on the delicate cycle. But we were so used to each other. We knew each other’s moods, good and bad. Sometimes we could communicate without saying a single word. All it took was a head tilt or a shoulder shrug. Even though we were mostly exact opposites, we were alike in all the ways that mattered. At least that was what I always believed.

“Jeez, just leave me alone, Grace,” Kathryn said evenly. “You’re pushing.”

“I’m pushing?
I
push?”

“Yeah,” she snapped.

“Fine.” I snorted and lifted my chin. “I will leave you completely and totally freaking alone.” I spun around for the kitchen. And I had planned to tell her all about my date with Carlos, a date she didn’t even have to arrange! And now I wouldn’t get the chance.

Kathryn was always pushing me to get out more, date more, find new friends, do something different, buy new clothes, lose weight, wear make-up. Well, she never really came right out and said
lose weight
but I knew she thought it. Why else would she push me to join the stupid gym? Now I finally had good news and the only person who knew was Charlie.

With both palms extended, I burst through the kitchen door, not caring that it slammed against the wall. I spun around, alone, and sucked back a few steadying breaths. Man, my sister could make me so mad!

But then I fingered the turquoise necklace around my neck. I inhaled, closed my eyes, and pictured Mom. She’d be so upset to see us fighting.

Instant guilt.

“Sorry, Mom,” I whispered. I was certain she could hear me.

Then I thought about Kathryn again. She was just all upset about Eddie. And I certainly hadn’t made it easier for her. It was just that I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to take off and leave for California. And she wouldn’t give me the chance to tell her, to talk about it like two adults. We had stuff to discuss—insurance money and unpaid bills and maybe even legal contracts. And, hey, this was a big step—for her and me.

With a little more time and space, we would work everything out. We always did.

I reached up for the radio dial and cranked up the jazz station. Dean Martin crooned some old song about
amoré
and I hummed along, albeit badly. If Dad were still alive, he’d know all the words. He’d sing it loud and off-key and spin Mom around the kitchen. I smiled at the memory.

There was only one way to feel better: I needed to bake. Everything always looked better after a few batches of crumble cake, with extra-large chunks of melted brown sugar.

It always made a day brighter when Mom used to do it.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded. “Hell, yeah.” I was wrapping tape around my knuckles when my cousin Michael found me.

“Here, let me help you with that. You never fuckin’ do it right.” With a heavy sigh, Michael crossed the locker room, shaking his head. He was kind of like my coach, even though I didn’t exactly train like I used to. Training these days was spotty. Law school and my job at Goldie’s Gym had ended any attempts at an aggressive training schedule. But I was still a pretty decent fighter and had been since high school. You had to be when you were born and raised on the south side.

I held out my right hand to him, palm up, grateful for the assist.

Outside the locker room, the ring filled with the voices and anxious laughter of people hoping to win fistfuls of money on their bets tonight. That was the weird thing about fights—it attracted people of all ages, from all places. Also, it was probably the only time the south side saw swarms of rich people from Scottsdale and Paradise Valley. They stood shoulder to shoulder with people from my neighborhood, betting on their favorite fighters who were all usually crazy
Mexicanos
like me who didn’t mind beating the hell out of each other without gloves. The more punches thrown, the louder the crowd roared.

I heard the bell ring in the distance. The night had already begun. The lightweights always fought first. I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath of the evening. The air was already thick with sweat and excitement. It always gave me a strange high. My heart began to beat faster with anticipation.

“Three fights tonight, Carlos. You’re up second.” Michael grabbed the tape out of my hands and began to massage each finger and palm of my right hand before he taped it up. “How’s the shoulder?”

I waved off his concern. My left shoulder was fine, even though my opponent in the last fight kicked me so hard that I thought he’d broken a bone. That was my first loss all year. I hoped it wasn’t the start of a trend, especially since I really needed the winner’s money.

“You sure?”

“
Bueno
.”

“Good. ’Cause the guy you’re fighting tonight is gonna come at you harder than Pedro did. He’s got a longer reach than you.”

Pedro was my opponent in the last fight. He was twenty years old and solid muscle. I would have had him if he hadn’t landed a lucky kick to my chest. He knocked me to the ground and then got a leg lock around my neck. I had to tap out before I let him render me unconscious. “Yeah?” I said. “Has he fought here before?”

“First time.”

My lips sputtered. “No problem.”

Michael smirked. “You win tonight. You get three bills. Same as last time.”

I nodded. That would be enough for my date with Grace and then some left over for the new tire that Elena needed for her car. “What’s your take this time?”

“Same as last time. I get two. One for putting up with your ass and then the other for getting you this fight. So win the damn thing, will you? I told Brisa I’d be home early. Don’t make me a liar.” He grinned at me but for the first time I saw a hint of doubt cloud his eyes, like he didn’t believe I could win.

I smiled up at him but even I could feel that my heart wasn’t totally into this fight. And my mind was elsewhere. It was always elsewhere, lately.

I tried to concentrate on the fight again, visualizing my punches, and flexed the fingers in my right hand. If I won, I’d go home with three hundred dollars, more than I’d clear in one week at Goldie’s Gym. If I lost, I’d leave with bruised knuckles, bloody hands, and hopefully as few cuts to my face as possible. I really didn’t want to look like I’d just gotten run over by a train, at least not for Grace.

Grace…

I couldn’t wait to see her. She was all the motivation I needed. My fists clenched, anxious for the fight to start.

“Hold on,” Michael said. “I’m not done yet.” He taped my left hand.

Outside, the crowd cheered as the bell clanged three times. That wasn’t a good sign, at least not for one of the fighters. It meant that someone won the fight on a knockout.

“Good.” Michael tilted his head toward the locker room door. His eyes brightened. “Looks like I may get home early.” He finished with the tape and then quickly slathered a layer of Vaseline around my eyes.

I inhaled as he worked. Sometimes the Vaseline smelled so thick you could drown in it.

“Ready?”

I nodded, standing. “Let’s get this over with.” I’d been in so many fights that I wasn’t nervous anymore. I was usually more anxious to finish, collect my money and leave.

Michael tossed me my black gloves from his bag. Thin leather with holes for each finger, they slapped against my chest. Then he tossed me my plastic mouth guard. I slipped it over my teeth and chomped down. I already had two chipped teeth; I didn’t need any more. “You sure you’re okay?” His eyes narrowed.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s funny because you don’t look fine. You look like you’re a million miles away.”

“Chill out. I’m fine. I’m right here.”

“Well, you better be. ’Cause you’re gonna need to be better than fuckin’ fine to win tonight. Don’t let me down.”

I jogged in place, shook my head around and punched at the air. “I won’t.”

Michael exhaled but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

I grinned at him anyway, even as I pulled my shoulders back, waiting for my shoulders to loosen.
Three rounds. That’s it. Two if I get lucky
. A young fighter was usually inexperienced and cocky. Strong, yes, but so was I. All I needed was an opening, a split-second where he got too over-confident and didn’t cover his face…

“Okay, let’s go.” Michael extended a closed fist.

I touched my bandaged fist to his. “Let’s do it.” I genuflected and said a quick prayer. Mostly I prayed for as few bruises as possible.

Before we walked toward the ring, we waited at the door and looked across the gym. It wasn’t fancy like Goldie’s Gym with all the mirrors, towels, and treadmills but it was still a pretty decent city gym. It’d been in the neighborhood forever and was owned by Julio Carbajal.

I’d known Julio all my life; he was kind of like an uncle to me. He was also the first person who told me I should be a lawyer. At first, he said it jokingly after I persuaded my cousin Eduardo not to join a gang when we were both twelve years old. He overheard us both talking outside the gym. For some reason Eduardo listened and started coming to Julio’s with me every day after school. Julio was also the first person who told me I could be something besides all the dumb things I thought I should be when I was a kid. He planted it in my head like a seed. And then I realized I was pretty smart in school. Fortunately so did a few of my teachers.

Michael and I watched as the crowd rushed the metal cage that surrounded the elevated square ring while the referee knelt over one of the fighters. The other fighter climbed to the top of the cage, breathing heavy, but sweaty and victorious. Even with a bloody lip and a swollen eye, he looked as if he could wrap his arms around the whole world. I knew that feeling. I craved it. The crowd cheered when he waved a bloody white towel over his head.

Dust clung in the wake of the four spotlights that brightened the ring. The referee crossed the ring and raised the fighter’s arm, declaring him the winner as the loser was dragged out of the ring by his coach, his head lowered in defeat and exhaustion. I knew that feeling too. And I was determined not to go to that place tonight.

I started to jog in place again, anxious to fight. I jammed my right closed fist into my left palm and felt the sting. It pulsated throughout my whole body, energizing me even more.

From across the ring, we watched my opponent and his coach emerge from the other locker room. Like all fighters entering the ring, he was hooded.

I lifted the hood from my gray sweatshirt as well. It hung past my eyebrows.

The bell clanged again, once.

Michael and I began to walk down the narrow path that led to the ring.

The crowd parted and started to clap wildly all over again. I felt people patting my shoulders, my head, my arms. I recognized a few of the faces and voices, even as they blended together.

“Good luck, Carlos!”

“My money’s on you tonight!”

“Beat the sucker!”

“Don’t let me down!”

I jogged the rest of the way to the ring, trying to steal a glimpse of my opponent’s face beneath his hood. But bodies and bobbing heads kept blocking my view.

Michael and I reached the three steps that led to the cage opening in the right corner of the ring, our usual corner for the fight.

Once inside the ring, I still jogged around the corner and punched the air.

I was ready. My chest already had a thin layer of sweat.

My opponent stood with his back to me and ripped off his sweatshirt and kicked off his shoes. He was as big as me, maybe even a little beefier across the chest. He wore shiny red shorts, the fancy kind with silver stripes up the sides, along with Chinese symbols tattooed across his back.

Watching him from my corner, I did the same, tossing my shirt and shoes to Michael, who stuffed them into our bag along with all the other stuff I hoped we wouldn’t need like bandages, gauze, and a new jar of Vaseline.

I inhaled, deeply.

While I jogged in place, ready and waiting, the referee walked over to our corner and went over the rules like he did at the start of every fight. “No biting, no kicking below the belt, fight fair, and remember to tap out when you’ve had enough.” He motioned to the ground with his hand.

I nodded.

But I had no intention of giving up. I had every intention of wiping the floor with my opponent.

I looked over the referee’s shoulder. Finally, I had a good look at him. He turned around and flashed a set of white teeth like he wanted to rip my head off.

My jaw dropped. My feet stopped jogging.

My opponent was the prick from the gym, the same one who laughed at Grace. My mouth snapped shut and my teeth clenched, hard.

“What’s wrong?” Michael stood behind me, his hand on my shoulder.

I started jogging again, brushing off his hand. “Nothing.” I punched the air. Behind us, the crowd stood close to the cage, cheering, even though the fight hadn’t even begun.

“You know him?”

I shook my head without turning. I didn’t want to take my eyes off Max Kramer. I glared at him, even as he kept grinning like he’d already won.

“’Cause the dude sure looks like he knows you.”

“Let’s get this started,” I said, pressing my knuckles together.

Michael patted my back just as the bell clanged twice.

The referee took his place in the middle of the ring, waving us toward him with a flutter from his fingers.

Reluctantly, I extended a closed fist to Kramer.

He returned a weak fist pump. “
Amigo
,” he said. He grinned again, darker than before and inches from my face.

I allowed myself an exhale. “I ain’t your damn amigo.”

Max laughed and I could smell his thick breath. Sweat already trickled down his forehead. “When this is over, I’ll make you my bitch.”

I chuckled. “Bring it.”

The bell rang one final time and we sprang apart.

Even though the crowd began to scream and cheer, I tuned out everything, even the usual instructions that Michael barked out from the corner. “Cover your face with your left!” he’d scream. Or, “Jab! Jab!”

None of it mattered as I lunged toward the center.

There was only going to be one winner in the ring and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Max Kramer.