GRINGA (51 page)

             
‘Maybe narrow your nose and remove some skin around your eyes,’ Elaine said, peering at me with a mixture of sympathy and disdain.

             
‘What about her breasts,’
Paris
said, ‘she could have breast reduction, then she wouldn’t look so heavy on the top?’

    
             
‘Yes,’ Elaine agreed. ‘Maybe gets some highlights, thin the eyebrows ...’

    
             
I was still in the room, yet they talked like I had left already. I didn’t know how to react but inside, I felt like I was from a reject shop - damaged goods that needed fixing.

             
My father was in the room and just mumbled something about them being ridiculous but he never really stopped them from saying all those hurtful things about me.

    
             
I hated him for allowing that. He should have protected me. He should have said, ‘But she’s only nine.’ He didn’t.

             
I loved him but he failed as a father. 

    
             
Strangely, in spite of everything, I want baby Liam to have a happy home so I want Paris and Austin to work it out. 

             
I think about Diago and I smile. He makes my heart sing so I really need him to get over the diary.

             
Psyched up, I seek him out, determined to end our rift. 

             
Maria points to his room.

             
I barge into his room without knocking and look at him, prepared to argue.

             
Surprise registers in his eyes at the sight of me gnashing my teeth, a crazy look in my eye.

             
‘Diago, listen! You …you hurt me and I was mad at you so I wrote those things. You raped me and that changed me. Yes, I call it rape and I’m entitled to my fucking thoughts. Don’t you ever make me apologise for my feelings. Nobody should, you hear me?’

             
He glowers at me for a moment. ‘Fark you!’ he spits.

             
‘Fuck you right back!’ I say, arms akimbo.

             
He appears a little taken aback by my bravado. ‘You a farkin’ bitch.’

             
‘You’re a fucking bastard!’

             
His glare wavers for a moment. Suddenly he
lunges at
me and I expect a slap. But he kisses me, hard
.
I
quickly recover and kiss him back while he drags me to his bed. We fall onto it, me on top of him. His erection is immediate and I lock my hips
against his. I’m out of control;
so is he. Spurned on by this, he flips me around so that I’m under him. We kiss again, our kisses deeper, wilder, his body weighing deliciously down on me, his hard
-
on trailing my thighs. Fuck! That’s what I want - to have him deep inside me, dousing this raging inferno of want and need.

             
‘Fuck me baby,’ I moan into his mouth and raise my hips to his.

             
He tears of my panties then strokes between my thighs making me moan. His breath turns raspy as he fights off his pants, parts my thighs and plunges into me. We thrust together, hard and furiously and I explode first, then him.

             
Outside me, off course. 

      
             
‘That was make-up sex,’ I say, and kiss his lips lightly.

    
             
‘
Si
?’

    
             
I nod. ‘Senor Vito cover that?’

             
‘No, but I like it. Let’s fight again.’

    
             
I laugh and snuggle closer, wanting to unzip his soul and burrow into him. I’m so in love with him; beast, murderer, criminal, cop-killer.

             
I’m in love with the devil.     

CHAPTER TWELVE

I glance at the clock on the wall clock. 6 PM. 

             
‘We’ve been in bed all day. Donchathink we should go to dinner?’ 

             
He nods slowly. ‘Yes…but I’m not hungry.’

             
‘I am!’ I say and throw off the sheets. ‘Race you to the shower?

             
After a lengthy shower together we head for dinner.

             
One the way, we pass Maria and Rosa in the kitchen, their head together. They jump aside when they see us.

             
I smile. ‘I eh, found him.’ What a dumb thing to say.

    
             
‘Of course you did, Senorita,’ Maria says, her eyes not reaching mine. I just know they’ve been eavesdropping.

             
Diago and I exchange sheepish glances.  

   
             
He shrugs off my hand, walks over to Maria, picks her up and spins her around, ignoring her protests. Then he picks up
Rosa
and spins her around, ignoring her screams as well.

    
             
‘Is good to see Diablo happy again!’
Rosa
calls after us. ‘He pain in
nalgas
when he mad at you.  Big pain.’     

             
Okay, dinner, a huge challenge considering Christa will be present. How do we handle this?
             
This may be
my
concern but it doesn’t appear to be Diablo’s. He holds my hand as we saunter into the dining room. When I try to shrug off his hand, he grips tighter.

             
When they see us, the men start heckling Diago and make kissing noises. As for Christa and Santana – they are not smiling. Bet they’re furious that Diablo forgave me so easily.

             
Christa is smart enough to say nothing but the venomous look in her eyes is enough to stop any thoughts of gloating I have. I’ve learned never to underestimate her.

             
After dinner, Diago walks over to me, takes my hand in his and leads me back to his bedroom.
             
‘Wait here,’ he says, then disappears. 

             
What’s he up to now?

             
Then I see him carrying mountains of stuff into his room. My stuff.

             
‘What ...? Diago, what are you doing?’

             
He looks directly at me. ‘I bring your stuff over. You sleep here. You my woman now. You sleep here with me every night.

             
“You are my woman now”. My grin is coat-hanger wide.   

             
He drops everything on the floor into a heap, grabs me and tackles me onto the bed. ‘I miss your laugh, most. Is good to hear it, Payton.’ He lies over me, our noses touching. ‘Everyday day, everyday night, you stay with me,
si
?’

             
I smile, accept his nuzzling and say, ‘
Our
bedroom then.’

             
Around midnight, I get up, tiptoe over to the listening device, remove it and flush it down the toilet. I’ve crossed the Fed. Big trouble heading my way but I give a fuck right now. I’m too caught up, too euphoric to care.

I’m pacing. Today is my private meeting with the FBI. I have to go, I have no choice. As I slip on my heels, I think about the listening device I flushed down the toilet and groan. I kick off my heels, slip off my dress and head to the kitchen. Hope they don’t come looking for me.

             
Diago and I now live in a tableau of wedded bliss, except that we’re not wedded and we have to hide our bliss. But I’m in a state alien to me - pleasant, strange and deliriously happy.     

    
             
Diago, well, he’s skipping work to be with me, even postponing Senor Vito so he can laze around in his king size bed with me. We notice nobody; it’s just the two of us. This hypnotic state we live in - we’re not fighting it. 

             
In spite of my new-found happiness, there’s this gnawing feeling inside of me – guilt. I’m guilty about a lot of things, which mars my happiness.

    
             
I’m guilty for betraying the FBI. I don’t want to but I feel I have no choice. 

    
             
I’m guilty about the current marital situation between Paris and Austin. Maybe I dangled my feelings out there for
Austin
to pick up and act on. Maybe I
willed
them to fight, causing all this tension between them.

    
             
There’s my guilt about Diago. I’m betraying him by cavorting with the FBI. That really hangs over my head like a black cloud.

    
             
But most of all, I’m guilt ridden about Santana. I understand where she comes from, what responsibility was thrust on her by Christa and how much she loves Diago. I took away her man, took her place at the dinner table and reduced her worth in everybody’s eyes. Not only did I replace her in Diago’s bed, I’ve made him smile. I see how she looks at us, the sadness in her eyes and I hate the thought that I could make another human being sad.

             
‘Tell me about Santana.’ 

    
             
Diago shrugs then frowns.

    
             
‘She’s been your woman for a long time, Diago. She must love you.’

    
             
He takes a long time to answer. ‘What you want me to do, Payton?’ He’s probably heard the reproach in my voice. I hear the helplessness in his voice.

    
             
‘I dunno. It’s just that I feel bad for her and ... ’

    
             
‘I didn’t want her to be my girl. She my sista. But at night, she force herself on me and I fark her.’

    
             
‘You “fark” her! That’s so funny Diago.“Fark” her! Anyway, I think, maybe you should talk to her, sorta explain things. She loves you, she must be hurting, donchathink?’