by Plakcy, Neil
Immediately I remembered the sexual history between Walter and Sal. “He doesn’t want you to…”
Walter looked at my face and must have read my thoughts, because he burst into laughter. “No, he doesn’t want sexual favors. He had me sign some papers swearing that I hadn’t felt discriminated against because of being Latino. I thought it was stupid at the time, but then as we were drinking I started wondering what was going on. I’m afraid he has some ulterior motive I don’t know about yet.”
“But if you get the financing, then what does it matter?”
He looked up at me. “I haven’t always done the honorable thing. But I’ve tried. I don’t like the idea of someone twisting my words around, or making me part of something I don’t agree with.”
“Don’t blow this out of proportion. Can’t you just be happy about the financing?”
“You’re right. If there is bad news coming, I can’t do anything about it now. We should celebrate. I know; I’ll make you dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that. We can go out somewhere.”
“No, I want to do this for you because you’ve done so much for me. But you’ll have to do the shopping—I don’t think I could manage that.”
“Not even if I put you in one of those electric carts?” I asked mischievously.
“Not until I’m ninety. I’ll make you a list.”
I left the house around noon and drove to the Sedano’s where Del worked. I was curious see if things were better between her and Hernan, and I didn’t want to wait until Sunday dinner to find out.
She wasn’t at a register, but when I went into the café, she was sitting there sipping an iced coffee. “Manny!” she said, jumping up to kiss me.
I slid into the chair across from hers and she sat back down. “How are things with Hernan?” I asked.
“He got that promotion he was hoping for.”
“That’s terrific. More money?”
She nodded. “So we have this choice. We could buy a house…or I could go back to school.”
“You want to do that? For what?”
“Maybe I’m jealous, seeing you graduate from FU and Beatriz going off to Miami-Dade in the fall. Or maybe I’ve been mad that I got married so young and didn’t give myself a chance.”
“You’re as smart as Beatriz and I. You could do well in school.”
“I don’t know. But I’ve been looking at that program Beatriz is going into—the one for medical records management. I might take that. I could do it part-time, and keep some shifts here.”
“That’s great. And then you’ll be able to get a better job, and that’ll make it easier for you guys to get a house.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” She sighed. “I’ve been cranky for a while because all I do here is scan items and punch keys. With Fabi, I feel like my brain is turning to mush and filling with baby talk.”
I laughed. “If I can help out, let me know. I liked babysitting.”
“That’s sweet.” She looked up at the clock. “I’ve gotta get back to work. See you tomorrow at dinner.”
I stood up and we kissed again, and I pulled out Walter’s list and filled my grocery cart. I checked out with Del so she could give me her employee discount.
I was expecting Walter to cook me something Cuban, but instead he made veal parmigiana with garlic bread and red wine. I had to help him with a couple of the steps, but it was all his technique.
“This is delicious,” I said after I tasted the veal. “Better than a restaurant!”
“And more private too.” He fanned himself. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hot.”
“Want me to turn down the air-conditioning?”
“You could. Or we could just take off our shirts.”
“I like that idea,” I said. Walter unbuttoned his baggy, short-sleeved linen shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. A few droplets of sweat glistened in the hollow of his neck.
I pulled my Three Lambs T-shirt over my head and smiled at him.
“Now I have great food and a great view,” Walter said.
“What? I’m not good to look at unless I take my shirt off?”
“Usted es un coqueto fatal,” he said.
I pretended indignation. “A flirt? Me?”
We teased each other for a while, and my dick swelled and pressed against my pants. When I got up to clear the table, I said, “You’re right; it is pretty hot in here. You don’t mind if I get more comfortable, do you?”
I unbuttoned my jeans and slipped them off my hips. I was already barefoot, so I was left in a pair of purple-and-green-striped boxer briefs.
“Only if you come here before you do anything else.” He spread his legs and motioned me to sit on his left thigh—the good leg. I settled carefully and put my arm around his neck.
“Tell Papá Noel if you have been a good boy,” he said.
I exaggerated a frown. “No, Papá Noel, I have been very naughty.” I tweaked his nipple and said, “And I intend to get much naughtier later.”
He kissed me and slid his left hand beneath the waistband of my briefs, tickling the uppermost part of my ass crack. With his right hand, he stroked the pouch, using his index finger to trace its way up the length of my dick.
I thought I might melt right there. Then he pulled his left hand out and used it to smack my butt. “Time to clear the table,” he said.
My mouth fell open, but I stood up and began to gather the dishes. I made sure to bend over in front of him, wagging my bubble butt in his face.
“Dessert?” I asked when the table was clear.
“You know what I want.” He motioned me over to him and pulled my dick out of my briefs. It was rock hard and oozing precum, and he bent down and took me in his mouth. He sucked me and reached around to stick a finger up my butt, and my heart zoomed. My orgasm began at my toes and rose through me with electricity. I whimpered and Walter grasped my ass harder, and I exploded.
He swallowed as much as he could, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Delicioso,” he said. “And now, how about some coffee to wash that down?”
I stuffed my softening dick back into my briefs and began brewing the coffee. “I could use some help here, Manuelito,” Walter said. He had his pants unbuttoned, and he was struggling to stand up without putting pressure on his right leg.
I helped him up, and his pants fell to the ground. He sat back down and kicked them off, and I bent over, again flaunting my ass. I picked up his pants and folded them neatly, then lay them over an unused chair. I poured the coffee for both of us and sat across from Walter.
I lifted my right leg and rested it on Walter’s chair. We looked deep into each other’s eyes as he took my foot in his hand and pressed it against his groin. I wiggled my toes, and he rubbed his dick against my foot.
His mouth opened and he shivered. “Dios mío!”
“Did you come?”
He nodded sheepishly.
“Oh, Walter,” I said. “Now I’ll have to clean you up.”
I wet a clean dishcloth and brought it over to Walter. His white briefs were soaked with jism. “Here, I’ll help you stand up.” Once he was on his feet, I peeled the soggy briefs down and attacked his dick with the wet cloth.
“Ow! Take it easy!”
“It’s your punishment,” I said. “For coming before I could suck you, or feel your dick up my ass.” I rubbed him roughly, and he squirmed. “Take it like a man, Loredo.”
“I’ll take you.” He reached for my dick, which hardened again at his touch, and I leaned close and kissed him.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I said.
I led him up the stairs and helped him into bed. By the time I had my briefs off and turned back to him, he was already asleep. I cuddled next to him, my dick up against his ass, and drifted off to sleep myself.
Smoke Rings
Sunday we slept in, then read the paper together in bed. Around one o’clock we started getting ready to go to my parents’ house. “
You know, you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to,” I said.
“Do you want me to come?”
I looked at him sitting there on the side of the bed in his slacks, with his shirt ready to be buttoned. “It’s just postponing the inevitable if you don’t. So I guess you should.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m in love with you, and sooner or later you’ll have to meet my parents. So it might as well be now.”
I hadn’t meant to bring up the L word. I’d alluded to it the other night, when I told Walter that he was the first guy I’d had sex with who I cared about.
“You’re so young, Manny,” Walter said.
I faced him with my hands on my hips. “I’m twenty-two. You’re thirty-two. What’s ten years between lovers?”
“It’s a big difference to some people. Your parents haven’t acknowledged that you’re gay. To bring an older man into the equation…”
“I actually thought I’d introduce you as my boss,” I said dryly.
He shook his head. “I doubt your parents are stupid, Manny. They’re going to see the way we look at each other and know there’s something more going on.”
“Then let them. Like I said, I’m twenty-two. I’m an adult.”
We dressed and drove over to my parents’ house—a quicker drive than from the Beach, for sure. This time I was able to park right behind Abuelo. “I guess Beatriz’s boyfriend isn’t here yet,” I said.
“One more time, Manny,” Walter said before we got out of the car. “You’re okay with this?”
“It’s no big deal,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Walter was able to walk up the sidewalk pretty well with his cane; I stayed behind him in case he had any trouble. The front door opened and my mother said, “Hola, mijito.”
“Hola, Mami.” I kissed her cheek. “Esta es mi jefe, Walter Loredo.”
“Encantada de conocerte, Señora Garcia,” he said.
She blushed. “Por favor, debe llamar a mí Delfina.”
“Un nombre hermoso para una dama hermosa.” A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
She tittered with pleasure as we walked inside. I was surprised to see that Jesus was already there; someone must have told him to leave the close parking spot for me.
I introduced Walter to everyone and helped him into a comfortable chair. I sat on the floor next to Del and Fabi.
“You own Loredo Construction?” Jesus asked Walter.
Walter nodded.
“One of the deacons from my church works there. Camilo Sanchez?”
“I know Camilo well. He’s been with me since I first started my business.”
“He’s a very good man,” Jesus said. “He has helped me with my religious education a great deal.”
We chatted for a while in a mix of English and Spanish. Walter charmed them all, telling Abuelo and Abuela about a college trip he’d taken to Cuba, where he had helped build houses in the countryside for a charity. He refused to brag about his success, even though Papi prompted him, and said it was all because he had great employees—like me.
I tried not to look at Walter because I was afraid that what he’d said would be true, that my parents would figure out our relationship that way. Del kept looking at me and smiling, though.
Mami called us in to dinner. As we clustered around the dining room table, Hernan brought two folding chairs in from the garage; Jesus followed with one. “Manny, you take the folding chair,” Papi said. “Let Walter have the good one.”
Walter started to protest, but Papi said, “No arguments. We are honored to have you as a guest in our home.”
Walter looked embarrassed, but he sat in my chair, and I squeezed in beside him. It was an interesting tableau—Maria del Carmen with Hernan, Beatriz with Jesus, and me with Walter. I wondered if this was the way our Sunday meals would be for a long time to come.
We ate and drank, and Walter complimented my mother effusively on the food. “You like cigars?” Papi asked Walter when we were finished.
“I’m Cuban, aren’t I?” Walter said.
Papi leaned close to him. “I have Cohibas.”
“No!” Walter said.
“Come with me.” Papi stood up and offered his hand to Walter to help him up.
“What about me?” I asked.
“You don’t smoke cigars,” Papi said.
“I’m Cuban, aren’t I?” I mimicked.
Papi raised his eyebrows but then said, “Fine, come along.”
The three of us walked through the kitchen, and Papi stopped to remove his wooden cigar box from a cabinet. “These are very special. My brother has a contact who brings them in.” He handed one to Walter. “You can smoke the Dominican,” he said to me.
I wasn’t going to argue. I’d smoked a couple of cigars in my life, but I wasn’t a connoisseur by any means. We went out to the backyard, where we bit off the ends of the cigars and Papi lit them.
“There’s nothing like a real Cuban cigar,” Walter said after he’d taken a couple of puffs. “Thank you so much, Señor Garcia.”
“You are like family, now, Walter,” Papi said. “You must call me Emilio.”
Like family? What was in those cigars?
We sat in plastic lawn chairs and smoked, and my father and Walter talked about the Marlins, and then Walter excused himself to go in to the restroom. “Don’t worry, I can make it,” he said to me. “You stay with your father.”
Papi watched Walter walk inside. “He seems like a good man.”
“He is. Great boss. I’m really learning a lot from him.”
“This is not the path I would have chosen for you, mijito,” he said. “It will be hard for you sometimes.”
My father had always supported my interest in construction. He was the one who bought me the tiny dump trucks and tractors I used to build makeshift buildings in the backyard. So I was surprised that he would have wanted me to do something else.
Then I looked at him.
“Oh,” I said. “You mean…”
“I hope he will be good to you. If he’s not, you always have a home with us.”
“Papi, it’s not—we’re not…”
There was a kindness in his eyes that I rarely saw from my papi. He had worked hard all his life, and when we were kids he was the disciplinarian, the tyrant who demanded we keep quiet, not irritate him.
“I don’t know what to say, Papi,” I said. “I didn’t think you would…”
“What? That I would not know my own son? That we would suspect nothing when you wanted to live at FU, when you moved into the fraternity? When you moved to South Beach? Manuelito, give your old mami and papi some credit.”
Papi took a deep draw on his cigar and then blew a series of perfect smoke rings.
“How do you do that, Papi?” I asked.
He was demonstrating to me when Walter came back outside to join us, and the three of us made smoke rings until the cigars burned out.
Have Faith
When we finished the construction meeting on Monday morning, there was a young guy in a white shirt and gray slacks waiting in the lobby. “Mr. Loredo? I’m Chuck Sampson from the Miami Herald. Can I have a few minutes of your time?”
“What’s this about?” Walter asked as the construction managers streamed past.
“I think it would be better if we talked about it in your office.”
Walter looked at him, and I could see some kind of recognition dawning in his eyes. “You’d better come in then,” he said.
Sampson followed Walter into his office, and Walter closed the door behind them.
“What’s going on?” Estefani asked me in a low voice.
“No idea. Did the guy say anything to you?”
She shook her head. “Could it be about his divorce?”
“Why would the newspaper send a reporter out here for that?”
“I don’t know.”
I went back to my office and tried to concentrate on the s
chedule for warehouse two, but I was too curious about what the reporter wanted from Walter. I fidgeted until I heard Walter’s door open and the reporter say good-bye to Estefani.
I walked out, and Estefani raised her eyebrows at me. I leaned my head into Walter’s office. “Everything all right, boss?”
“No, everything’s gone to shit,” he said. “You’re going to hear it anyway, so you might as well come in.”
I looked at Walter’s face. What could have happened? Had someone outed him to the paper as part of his divorce?
“Close the door behind you. I need to figure out how to present this before I go public.”
I shut the door and sat down across from Walter. “You’re scaring me,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Remember how I said Sal had asked me to help him out with some trouble he was in over preferential lending?”
That was not the direction I was expecting the conversation to go, and it took me a minute to remember. “Yeah, you said were worried about how he might twist around the papers he had you sign.”
“Well, it turns out that he approved my loan without going through the proper channels. And not just mine—a whole lot of loans.”
“What does that mean for you?”
“Sal is getting canned, and I’m royally screwed. While the big bosses review all the loans, mine is on hold, which means I won’t be able to get the next draw I need to pay bills. I spoke to Sal last week about refinancing so I could buy Heriberto out, but now that’s fucked too.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Damned if I know. I’d say we should get drunk and screw again, but that’s only postponing the inevitable.” He swiveled his computer monitor toward me. “I have enough cash on hand to carry us for about two weeks. After that, without the loan money, I have nothing.”
“What about rent from warehouse one?” I asked. “You haven’t handed that over to Heriberto yet, have you?”
“His attorney is drawing up the papers now. Once I give the building to Heriberto, I won’t have any assets to back up a loan except the land. And even if I had that income, it wouldn’t be enough to finance the rest of the project. The only way out is to sell the whole project to Heriberto—or some other investor—at a fire-sale price, and walk away.”
