Tequila Sunset (23 page)

“Show me your room,” Graciela answered.

Flip did not turn on the lamp by his bed and in the dark he stripped off Graciela’s shirt while she helped him with his buttons. She took off her bra and when they embraced he felt her nipples drifting against his skin. He lifted her and she put her legs around his waist and they kissed, tongues and lips, before they went to the narrow bed.

He loved the way her jeans slipped away from her body as he tugged them, revealing soft flesh beneath. Graciela raised her hips to let him take her panties. Flip kissed the insides of her thighs, then lower, kneeling by the edge of the bed with her leg resting on his shoulder.

She was quiet, but he felt her and when she came she let out a whispery, shuddering breath that was as delicate as she was. Flip struggled out of his pants and went to her gently, mindful of the way she touched him, the way she told him what to do without saying anything.

Flip wanted to take his time, but his body got ahead of him and he was inside her and shuddering as she kissed his chest.

There was barely room enough on the bed for them to lie side by side, facing each other. Flip stroked her hair and she touched his face. His eyes were used to the shadows now and he could see her clearly, watching him back.

“Thank you,” Flip said after a while had passed.

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” Graciela whispered back.

“I do,” Flip insisted. “I need to thank you every time.”

“No, you don’t. I wanted to.”

“Why? Why with me?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

Graciela smiled. “Because you’re a good guy.”

“I’m not such a good guy.”

“Yes, you are. I could tell right away. You talked to me with respect. You didn’t expect me to put out just because we were in a club. You treated me like a lady. You still do.”

“I didn’t want you to think you I was some kind of bum.”

“That’s the thing, Flip: you aren’t. That’s why I tell you it’s all right when you worry, because you got a good heart. The way you make love to me, I
know
.”

“I don’t feel it sometimes,” Flip said.

“Sooner or later it’s gonna get through.”

Graciela kissed him on the point of his chin, then on his lips. She put one leg over his, drawing him closer to her. Flip felt like he could break her if he held on too tightly, but he did not want to let her go.

“What time is your mom getting home?” Graciela asked.

“I don’t know. Late.”

“I’m gonna use your shower.”

She left him on the bed and he saw her slim figure framed in the doorway as she slipped away. The water started. Flip turned onto his back and listened to the tinkle of the spray as it carried to his ears, imagining her there.

Sooner or later it’s gonna get through
, she said. Flip still didn’t feel it. He wanted to call Alfredo on the phone and beg his forgiveness for being such a fool. This man who took his mother dancing, who gave him a job, and was paid back with José Martinez. The thought made him feel ill.

The shower stopped and there was a long quiet as Graciela dried herself. He heard her leave the bathroom and come down the hall to his room. She reappeared with a towel around her. “I got to go,” she said.

“Where do you got to go?”

“Just home. I got to get up early.”

“Can’t you stay a while?” Flip asked.

“I don’t want to be here when your mom gets home.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Graciela kissed him on the forehead. “You worry about other stuff. I worry about this.”

“When can I see you again?”

“Call me tomorrow.”

She gathered up her clothes and got dressed by the closet. Flip put on shorts to take her to the door. He held her close and this time he was sure he’d break her, but she didn’t.

“Call me tomorrow,” she said again and then she left.

SIX

T
HINGS CONTINUED THAT WAY FOR A WHILE.
Alfredo still drove Flip to work and brought him home without inquiring into his evenings or weekends, when Flip would go to the club or visit José’s house for one of his barbecue gatherings. Graciela was always with him during those weeks, visiting him after his day was done or accompanying him to the parties. When they were together at the club she didn’t vanish into the VIP rooms without him anymore; her friends came to her.

José introduced Flip to other Indians on those warming nights at his house. Flip kept a mental record of their names and faces and anything else about them that he could glean from talking to them. He passed these things on to the detectives, who promised him payment the next time they met. Flip asked José when he could expect to have some action sent his way, and whenever he asked José would tell him not to worry about it. He worried anyway.

The warehouse job paid every two weeks. Flip gave his mother money to help with food, though she swore she didn’t need it. He would have offered to pay for his room, but he was still saving for his own place. Flip thought maybe he would be able to settle somewhere close to Graciela. Segundo Barrio was not large.

On Wednesdays Graciela had a short day at school and she came to pick him up at work. This Wednesday was no different; she waited by the gate for him to come down to her and they went off together. Alfredo had nothing to say about that.

“Where are we going today?” Flip asked.

“I thought you might like to see my apartment.”

She drove him to a building that couldn’t be more than five minutes away from his mother’s house. There was no off-street parking, so they left Graciela’s car by the curb. Graciela unlocked the door on the ground floor and let them into a narrow hallway with stairs leading up at one end. Flip followed her up the steps.

There was another hall with three doors. Graciela opened the closest. “Here it is,” she said.

It was dark inside, and warm, with the only light creeping in through closed blinds. Then Graciela found a lamp and turned it on, illuminating a small room. After a moment Flip realized that the room was almost the entire apartment.

Graciela’s bed was a mattress on the floor, made up with black sheets and a comforter. She had a petite sofa against one wall and a tiny television set in the corner opposite it. The kitchen was basically a niche with enough space for a miniature table with two chairs. Another door must have been the bathroom.

She turned on a window-unit air conditioner and cool air started to creep into the room. When she looked at Flip she made a gesture with her hands as if to say this is it. “My place,” she said.

Flip noticed that she had nothing on her walls, too. Her mattress was lain in front of a closet with sliding doors, one half open to reveal a compact book shelf with a few volumes on it. She had her alarm clock there, too. Everything was laid out to save maximum space, and in this way Flip was reminded of what it was like to be in prison, when room was an issue and everything a convict owned had to be compressed into as small an area as possible.

“It’s nice,” Flip said.

“I’ve never had a guy back here before,” she said, and she shifted from foot to foot with nerves. “You’re the first.”

“I’m glad you brought me,” Flip said.

“You want something to drink? I’ve got sodas.”

“Soda is good.”

He stood in the center of the room because he did not want to sit down without her permission. Graciela had allowed him into her personal space, so it was up to her what Flip could do in it. It had been the same when she came into his house, his room.

Graciela came back with orange soda in bottles and gave Flip one. They stood there drinking and saying nothing. From time to time it seemed as though Graciela was about to speak, but then the silence went on.

After a long time she said, “You want to sit on the couch with me?”

“Sure.”

It was not a large couch and even sitting at opposite ends they were close enough to touch. Flip finished his soda, but there was nowhere to put the bottle. He held onto it.

“You really like it?” Graciela asked.

“Yeah. You keep it neat.”

“I have to, otherwise I can’t get around, you know?”

Flip nodded. He understood this, too.

“I don’t know why I didn’t bring you here sooner,” Graciela continued. “I guess I… I don’t know. Maybe I’m being stupid.”

“You like to have your own space,” Flip said. “I get it.”

“It’s nothing against you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“I moved in here when I was eighteen, just to get out of my parents’ house. I couldn’t be there anymore; it was crazy with all us kids.
Mis padres
, they helped me pay the rest for a little while until I could get on my feet. I worked at a grocery store for a while. I was a cashier.”

Flip listened. There was something coming, he could tell, but he could not guess what. It was in the way she spoke, the way she held her body on the couch. He had learned to pay attention to these things. He was patient.

“You want me to throw that bottle out for you?” Graciela asked.

“If you want. I’m okay.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Graciela said and she rose from the couch to do that. She came back empty-handed. Before she sat down she rubbed her palms on the seat of her jeans.

Flip reached across to touch her on the arm. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I got something to say.”

“All right.”

“I don’t want you to think bad things about me because of anything I’ve done,” Graciela said. “Not the way you did when Emilio told you that stuff.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay,” Graciela said and she looked away from him. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

“I want to.”

Flip touched her again and she moved closer so he could press his palm against her shoulder. Maybe it was the air conditioning, but she felt warm to him. There might have been color in her cheeks.

“When I needed money I did some things for José,” Graciela blurted out. “And don’t ask me what because I don’t want to say. He paid my way for a while, until I could get into school.”

He bided his time until it seemed there was nothing else coming. Flip didn’t take his hand away. He wished she would look at him. “It’s all right,” he said.

“I told you I was an Azteca girl.”

“You did. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No. You told me you got your own thing now. José don’t run your life.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Then you got no reason to worry,” Flip said.

Graciela leaned over then and Flip put his arms around her. They stayed like that, just together. Flip couldn’t be sure if she was crying, and maybe she was. All he knew was that he would hang onto her no matter what.

His phone rang. Flip ignored it, but then Graciela pulled away from him and he knew their moment was over. He dug the phone out of his pocket and answered it.

“Flip, it’s José.”

Flip felt a stab of anger at the interruption, but he kept it to himself. “Hey, José,” he said. “What’s up?”

“You free? I want to take you for a drive.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Don’t worry about that. You got your ID on you?”

“Sure.”

“Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

Flip looked around. He did not know the address and he did not want José coming here. Graciela was watching him now. Her expression was guarded. “I’m on the road with Graciela,” he said. “How about I meet you at that taquería, El Cihualteco?”

“Okay. Twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

He put his phone away. Graciela said, “You have to go?”

“It’s José. He wants me for something.”

“José always wants something.”

“Can I get you to drop me off?”

“Sure, Flip. Let’s go,” Graciela said, and Flip thought it was the bitterest thing she’d ever said.

SEVEN

T
HEY WERE AT THE TAQUERÍA IN TEN MINUTES.
Flip kissed Graciela good-bye, but she was distant. He wished they’d had time together, but José stepped into the middle of all that and ruined it. Flip wondered if he’d ever see Graciela’s apartment again, or if that would be the only time she’d let him in. He tried to push the thought from his mind.

José came not long after. Flip got in the car.

“Where are we going?” Flip tried again.

“Juárez.”

“I’m not allowed to leave the country, José. My parole—”

“Your PO won’t know you were gone, Flip. We go in, we come out, no problem.”

“I don’t have a passport.”

“Let me worry about that.”

Flip held his tongue as José turned them toward the border. They were there in minutes, crossing the bridge with the weak flow of traffic headed southward. At the customs check they showed their Texas IDs and the bored officer waved them through.

José drove familiarly through the streets and didn’t seem to notice when Flip tensed every time a police vehicle or one of the big army trucks rolled out in front of them. He changed the radio to a Juárez station and listened to the traffic reports and news interspersed with a little music. They could have been anywhere.

Without conversation to distract him, Flip’s mind chewed over
the last few weeks: the calls he’d made, the people he’d met. There was no reason he should end up in a fire, or dumped at the side of the road. And even if there was, José would not do the killing himself. If Nasario or Emilio had been with him, then he would have been in real danger, but not with the boss alone. Flip almost had himself convinced.

They kept heading south until at last they reached an overpass that cleared a section of railroad five tracks wide. José pulled up to the curb in the middle of the bridge and stopped the engine. “Get out,” he said.

Flip exited onto the narrow sidewalk that mounted the overpass. No trains were going by, so the tracks were bare and rusting except where they were worn smooth from the passage of metal wheels. They were out in the open. José would not kill him here.

José joined him. He put his hand on Flip’s shoulder. “Take a look,” he said, and he pointed.