Inner Diva

by Laurie Larsen

  Luisa nodded, unable to form words past her full mouth. Carlos nudged Luisa’s shoulder and shared some murmured Spanish words. Luisa swallowed her mouthful. “Thank you, Barbie. I’d like to come visit.”

  Barbie shifted Mae to one hip and reached out a hand to Carlos. “And it was so nice to meet you too, Carlos.” She held on to his hand, then pulled him closer, and to Monica’s horror, she whispered something into his ear. He nodded, smiled and gave a thumbs up, while Monica turned red from her hairline to the base of her neck.

  As Barbie and the kids headed back to their table, Mae wailed, “Auntie Mon! Mon!”

  But Monica couldn’t worry about Mae’s temper tantrum at the moment. She had to find out what Barbie had embarrassed her with. She knew it had to be embarrassing, or why had she whispered it?

  “Okay, fess up.” They sat back down and resumed tackling their ice cream.

  He gave her an innocent, eyebrows-up look.

  “You know very well what I mean. What did my sister say to you?”

  He shrugged and stuck another huge spoonful in his mouth. Monica could tell, despite the ice cream, he was stifling a smile. Carlos swallowed. “She said I should take good care of you.”

  Monica sighed. That could be embarrassing on any number of levels.

  “Considering she wouldn’t let the children hear, I have to wonder how she intends for me to do it.”

  Monica ducked her head and concentrated on a maraschino cherry.

  He lowered his voice. “Or just how good she wants me to be for you.”

  Monica gasped and felt her cheeks burn, an odd sensation, considering her mouth was so cold.

  Carlos did a “pssst” to get her attention. She looked up and he grinned at her. She couldn’t help smiling back. He reached over and placed a hand over hers while they finished their treats. A moment later, Luisa placed her free hand over theirs.

  When Monica arrived home that night, her Caller ID light was blinking. She pressed the button; her mother. She pressed it again; her mother. She pressed four or five times, all her mother. All in the last hour.

  There must be an emergency.

  Yet, she had just seen Barbie. If there had been a family emergency, surely Barbie would’ve told her.

  Unless…

  Barbie had called Mom and told her about running into Monica … of course.

  Monica debated and decided against calling her mother back. Instead, she got undressed and washed her makeup off her face before the phone rang again. Drying her face with a towel, she trotted out to the living room where her Caller ID machine sat. Her mother again. Could she ignore the ringing phone, knowing it was her persistent ma on the other end? If she ignored it this time, Mom would only call her again.

  “Hello, Mom.”

  “Monica? How did you …? Oh, that blasted machine. I swear I can’t get used to people knowing I’m calling before they pick up the phone.”

  Monica rolled her eyes.

  “Anyway, what were you doing tonight?”

  If she waited long enough, she was sure her mother would tell her exactly what she had done tonight. At least the portion Barbie knew about.

  She didn’t have to wait long. “Were you out with that little girl and her …?”

  Irritated, Monica interrupted, “That little girl, Mom? Try her name. Luisa. I’ve told you the child’s name, and I don’t think it would be too much for you to remember it.”

  She instantly regretted her retort when her mother gave her something she hardly ever gave her … a moment of silence.

  “Mom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you. It’s been a long day and it’s late.”

  “Barbie said Luisa’s older brother was with you.” Monica heard her mother sniff.

  “Yes, Carlos.”

  “But the brother – Carlos – isn’t a child, is he?”

  Monica laughed. “No, not by a long shot.” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. She really must start thinking before she spoke.

  “He’s a man, isn’t he?” her mother persisted.

  “Yes, Mom.” And how.

  “Monica, do you really think it’s a good idea to socialize with him?”

  Monica let the question hang there just a moment longer than Mom was comfortable with, because she forged on. “I mean, isn’t there something in your contract that says you shouldn’t fraternize with the family members?”

  Monica silently counted to ten. “No, Mom. I don’t have a contract, to begin with.”

  Her mother decided to change tacts. “You know, you hurt their feelings, seeing you there with another child.”

  “Who? Whose feelings did I hurt?”

  “Spencer’s and Mae’s.”

  Monica shook her head, although her mother couldn’t see it. “That’s not true, Mom. Spencer seemed happy about Barbie’s idea to have Luisa over to play. And let’s face it, Mae is almost one. Everything hurts her feelings, if the situation is right.”

  “Barbie said Mae cried.”

  Monica sighed. “Yes, because she wanted me to hold her and play with her. Not because she saw me with another child. Mom, this is … this is ridiculous. I’m going to hang up now, and I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  Her mother didn’t say anything.

  “Mom?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m hanging up, okay? I’m tired. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, dear.”

  Monica hung up and shook her head. What had Barbie told Mom? And when would they ever adjust to her having a life of her own, and people in it who didn’t involve them?

  Chapter Eight

  A few nights later, Monica sat in the Garcia’s living room, listening to Luisa read her library book aloud. The science fiction novel chronicled a world where talking dogs were the ruling race and cats were servants. Luisa giggled at parts, so much that Monica had a hard time following the storyline. But the sound of her laughter was more gratifying than following the exact wording of the story, and Monica caught the gist of the unusual plot, regardless.

  When she finished the chapter, Luisa set the book aside. “Want popcorn?”

  Monica nodded and headed for the kitchen. Luisa watched her place the bag of kernels in the microwave and push a button. When the timer rang, Luisa carefully pulled the bag out, opened it and poured it into two bowls. They took them to the table and sat down.

  “How was school today?”

  “Great.” Luisa licked fake butter from her fingertips. “We watched a movie about a boy in colonial times whose father was killed in the Revolutionary War, and he was forced to go to work to support his family. He’s only ten.”

  “Wow. That would be tough.” Monica tossed a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

  They ate in silence for a few moments. “My daddy died, too, just like the boy’s father in the movie.”

  Monica stopped and looked over at the little girl. Luisa stared into her bowl, as if mesmerized. “I know, sweetie. Carlos told me.”

  “But I didn’t have to go to work.” Luisa smiled.

  “You were only a baby, weren’t you?”

  Luisa giggled. “Yeah.”

  “And your mom and Carlos take good care of you, don’t they?”

  “Yep.” She went back to her popcorn with gusto. The moment had passed, but Monica recognized the opportunity for an important conversation.

  “Luisa, what do you think about losing your daddy?”

  Luisa shrugged. “I never knew him. Most of my friends have daddies, though. When I play at my friend Anita’s house, her daddy is always nice to me.”

  Their snack finished, they carried their empty bowls to the sink and returned to the living room. Luisa sat next to Monica on the couch. “I lost my dad too, Luisa.”

  Luisa gave her a surprised, eyebrows raised look. “When? How?”

  Monica smoothed Luisa’s dark hair. “About five years ago. He had a heart attack and died right there at home. My mom was heartbroken. They�
�d been together a long, long time.”

  Luisa studied her with interest. “How old were you?”

  “I was just finishing up college – I was 22. I didn’t live with them anymore, and I was an adult, but it was still very hard for me.”

  Luisa traced a light line running through the leg of Monica’s blue jeans with her finger. “What was he like?”

  Monica smiled as she conjured up a visual of her dad’s face. “Very funny. Easy-going. He was the perfect father for two daughters. Nothing ever bothered him. Total opposite of my mom.”

  Ooops, had she said that part out loud?

  “I wonder what my daddy was like.” Her tone was curious.

  “Have you ever asked your mom? Or Carlos?”

  Luisa shook her head.

  “Well, when you think you’re ready, ask one of them about your daddy. I bet they’d be glad to tell you stories about him, show you pictures. Maybe they even have videos. They’re probably waiting till they think you’re ready.”

  Luisa’s face developed a serious expression. She sat quietly, thinking. “Did you love your daddy?”

  Monica felt a hint of unbidden tears behind her eyes. Even after five years, the loss was still painful. “I sure did, sweetie.”

  Luisa raised her head and gazed at Monica. “I bet I loved my daddy, too.”

  Monica pulled Luisa into an embrace. The front door opened and Carlos stepped in. His face looked worn, the work of a long day paying its toll on his expression. But when he saw the two of them, he brightened.

  “What have we here?”

  Luisa pulled from Monica and ran to her brother, her enthusiastic hug oblivious to the grease and sweat on him. “Guess what, Carlos! Monica’s daddy died, just like ours. And she thinks I’m ready to hear about our daddy, and see pictures. Will you and Mama show me and tell me stories about him?”

  His sudden shocked expression as he met her gaze caused some unwanted laughter to bubble from her. Luisa’s head swiveled to look back at her. “Right, Monica? That’s what you said, right?”

  Monica stood and took a step toward them. “Yes, I did suggest to Luisa that if she thought she was ready to learn more about her daddy, she should talk to you and your mom about it.” She gave him a look that she hoped expressed her apology in case her revelation was not welcome.

  “O-o-kay. Yeah, good idea.” He snuck a quick peek at his sister. “Not right now though, right?”

  “No, silly. Later, when Mama comes home.”

  Carlos looked visibly relieved.

  “Did you know Monica’s daddy died, too?” Luisa demanded.

  Carlos looked stricken for a moment. “No. I don’t think I knew that.”

  “Well, it’s true, and that gives us something in common, right Monica?”

  Monica nodded. “Absolutely.” She gave Luisa a smile of pure joy. Was it possible to love the little girl even more? Their bond grew ever stronger the more time they spent together. Turning to Carlos, she said, “You look tired.”

  He shook his head and shrugged out of his jacket. “I’ll be fine once I take a shower.”

  “Long day?”

  He nodded. “See you in a bit. You’ll still be around?”

  Like she would miss holding him close when he’d freshly emerged from a shower. “Uh huh.”

  Carlos stood in the shower, letting the water flow over his head and shoulders, washing away the sweat and grime of the day. Steam rose off his body, making the air moist and thick. He turned into the flow, eyes shut tight, grimacing as the hot jets hit his face. When he had his fill, he soaped up his washcloth and scrubbed at his fingernails.

  Just because he worked with oil and grease didn’t mean he wanted to wear remnants of it at the end of every day.

  As he soaped and rinsed his hair, his thoughts roamed to the conversation Luisa had met him with at the front door. So, it was time to talk to Luisa about her papa. Of course, he knew the day would come eventually. He just wasn’t expecting it today.

  He smirked, marveling, not for the first time, over the rapport Monica shared with his little sis. Dead fathers? Who could predict that Monica would choose that topic to get into with Luisa? Yet, she seemed to have a sixth sense about Luisa. The little girl blossomed under her mentorship and attention.

  Finishing up, he dried off, dressed and shaved. He became aware of a small stab of regret that he didn’t know that Monica had also lost her father. He longed to know more about this woman who was stealing his heart, little by little. He wanted to learn about her past, and if he were honest with himself, he had to admit that he wanted to share more about himself with her. More than he usually shared with the parade of women who passed through his life.

  He thought back on the wasted week he’d spent fretting over what Monica must have thought of him when he’d revealed so much emotional trash from his past. Most of the women he’d been with would’ve thought him weak for talking so much about his feelings. Not Monica. She’d put him at ease over his revelations. She wanted honesty. It hadn’t even occurred to her to consider him weak.

  He walked down the hall. Three female voices, not just two, alerted him that Mama had arrived home. He greeted his mother with a quick kiss on the cheek. Pulling Monica aside, he said, “Do you have to get home right away?” It was only about eight.

  “No, not at all.”

  He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. I have something I want to show you.”

  “Great.”

  “But first, I think it’s time we told Mama. About us.”

  Her expression tightened, her eyebrows scrunched in concern. What was she afraid of? Why would she possibly think Mama wouldn’t approve?

  “I suppose you’re right.” She took a deep breath and he watched her chest heave. He chuckled and led her to the kitchen.

  “Mama.” He sat at the table and motioned for Monica to take another chair. “We want to talk to you.”

  “Si, hijo. Que es? Mama faced him. She had a haggard look about her, her movements slow, her eyelids drooping. She’d worked a long day, too.

  “English, Mama,” he reminded her in a gentle voice. He reached over the table top and grasped Monica’s hand in his. “Monica and I wanted to tell you … we’re dating.”

  Mama leaned her hip against the stove, momentarily silent. Carlos waited, glanced over at Monica. She blinked. Then it started. A chuckle escaped from the older woman and quickly accelerated to an all-out belly laugh. She leaned a little at the waist, put a hand over her stomach and shook with mirth.

  Monica wore a wide-eyed, bewildered expression. Carlos smiled his reassurance at her. He rose and covered the few steps to his mother, then placed his hand on her quivering shoulder. “That funny, Mama?”

  Mama waved a hand in front of her face and shook her head. “No, no. It’s not that.” She took a few deep breaths and settled her breathing.

  Carlos peered at her warily. She socked him in the bicep. “Do you think this a surprise to me? That I didn’t know?”

  He shifted his gaze to Monica who was turning a bright shade of red. Her eyes widened and her toe started tapping under the table.

  “I may be older, Carlos, but not that old. And I’m not blind. My eyes can see the two of you together.” She walked over to Monica and gave her a deep smile. “Monica. Not only are you good for my Luisa, you are good for my Carlos too.” She reached out and Monica gripped her hand, standing.

  “Oh thank you, Senora Garcia. That means so much.” Monica pulled the woman into an embrace and patted her on the shoulder. “Gracias.”

  Carlos watched them. Although he had told Monica he was a grown man and didn’t need his mother’s permission to date her, he knew his mother’s blessing was important to Monica. Of course, he didn’t doubt that Mama would approve. That was a safe bet if he ever saw one.

  “Mama, we’re going out. Monica is going to meet Thunderbolt tonight.”

  Mrs. Garcia rolled her eyes. “Ay, Dios mio.” She waved them away and pushed thr
ough the swinging door to the living room.

  Monica gave him a dubious look. “Thunderbolt? Who’s that, a racehorse you have hidden in the garage?”

  “Sort of. Come on.”

  She followed him out the back door. He swung the big garage door open and stepped into the darkness. “Hold on.” He left her side and suddenly the little space was bathed in florescent light. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the brightness. She stepped over to where Carlos’s Gran Torino was parked. She tried the passenger door, but it was locked.

  “Not this time.”

  She swung her head, locating him standing in the far corner. He stood by a motorcycle. Not just any motorcycle. He’d found this baby looking ignored and shabby from neglect, two years ago. He bought it for pennies and showered TLC on it, replacing parts, shining and buffing, painting and blow drying. The custom painted golden thunderbolt on the shiny engine cover in front of the seat marked his bike as his to all who knew him.

  “Wow.” Monica’s voice barely passed a whisper.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s really something.”

  He motioned her closer. “I did all the renovations myself. It was really junky when I got it. It’s been sort of a pet project over the last few years.”

  Monica smiled at him, her eyes gleaming with admiration. “Thanks for showing me this, Carlos.”

  Carlos shook his head. “No, carina. This isn’t what I wanted to show you. This is going to take us to what I wanted to show you.”

  Monica stared at him, her face stricken. “What, we’re going to ride it?”

  Carlos nodded.

  “Isn’t it rather chilly? I didn’t think you rode motorcycles this late in the season.”

  “You’ll be warm. Don’t worry.” He held a hand out to her, beckoning. He could see she was wary. Maybe even frightened.

  “I don’t know, Carlos. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.” She eyed the bike.

  “Perfect time to give it a try, eh?” He grinned. “I promise you’ll be safe. You’ll wear a helmet and wrap your arms around me.” He pounded his chest with his palms.