by Deanna Roy
“I guess you need to have some sort of flaw,” I say.
This makes him laugh. “Oh, I have plenty,” he says. He stands up and closes the door. A moment later, he appears on the other side and slides in.
“So where are we going?” I ask.
“My private helicopter to fly to Mexico for lunch,” he says.
My heart hammers. “What?”
He laughs again. “I’m kidding. I’m not that crazy.” He fastens his seat belt. “I was thinking the San José Mission. I haven’t seen it in years. It was my favorite.”
“It’s my favorite too,” I say. My father had us visit all the missions, including the Alamo, as part of our homeschooling.
“There’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant nearby, owned by the most amazing lady. She’s a friend of my family.”
The car zooms forward, and I resist the urge to clutch the door handle. “That sounds good,” I say.
We drive toward the freeway. I glance around at the debris in the car, trying to get a feel for what Blitz likes.
“How do you stay fit eating McDonald’s all the time?” I ask.
He glances down at the cups and bags. “Busted,” he says. “That was mostly on the drive from LA.”
“You drove?”
“Yeah. I avoid airports and other places with tons of people,” he says. “I think you underestimate how hated I am right now.”
“But you kissed a pig!”
He laughs again. “I’m going to have to do a lot more to get past this.” He signals and speeds up to enter the highway.
I screw up my courage and ask, “So why did you do it?”
“Do what?” he asks.
“The terrible thing,” I say. I really don’t want to say it out loud.
He sighs. “It wasn’t supposed to be a Tweet. I was tired. And sick of that girl. She was making my life hell. How that was supposed to make me pick her as the winner, I don’t know. She wanted to go somewhere off camera, so I took her to a hotel.”
His expression is dark. It’s as hard for him to say this as it is for me to hear about this girl he slept with.
“Are there usually cameras around?” I ask.
“Yes and no. The show makes it appear that they follow us everywhere, but they don’t really. Now, my house in LA is definitely rigged. You never know when they are going to activate something or where one might have been moved that you don’t know about.”
“That’s a crazy life,” I say.
“Yeah, well, we were avoiding it. I’ve been under some pressure since I didn’t pick anyone last season. The producers said I had to choose a girl this time, even if I didn’t propose.” He glances over at me. “I have no plans to propose, by the way. I might have danced with one of them for a while. They were all good. But there was no real love affair happening.”
I figure he has to say that. He’s on a date with me, after all.
“So you posted the picture without paying attention where it went?”
“That’s the thing. I just sent the picture to my friend Duke. It was a joke between us. A terrible, horrible joke. But meant to be private.”
“Still, sending a picture of a girl like that.”
He nods. “I know. I freely admit to being a bastard. I guess I just sent it to the wrong account. And screwed myself. I was going to throw this deal at some point anyway. Nobody could get through that lifestyle unscathed.”
My stomach sinks. What am I doing here? It’s so hard to talk to him. He looks like Benjamin. Acts like Benjamin. But this discussion is all about Blitz. That decadent life. And even if he didn’t mean to share that picture with the world, he still took it. And said what he said. Even if it was just to a friend.
I look at his car. His life as Blitz is just like this. Fancy on the outside. Trash on the inside.
“You think you’ll get your show back?” I ask. “Will kissing a pig and dancing with girls in wheelchairs really do it?”
“I adore those girls,” he says. “Don’t think for a minute I don’t.”
“Okay,” I say. I’m not sure I believe him right now, but I’ll go along.
“I’d rather leave them out of it, but it looks like we’re filming them on Tuesday.”
“I gathered.”
“I don’t know about the show. I’m not sure I even want it back at this point.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “I had forgotten what normal life was like.”
His fingers are warm and strong. I feel that glow again. I’m running hot and cold. I don’t know what is real and what is acting. It’s so confusing.
I glance around the car. “Did they put cameras in here too?”
He shakes his head. “No. This car is brand new. I bought it on my way out of town.”
“But your old one had them?”
“Yes. And I didn’t feel confident that they weren’t still turning them on even after the show was suspended. Some of the camera work was done remotely, and footage of me is easy to sell to tabloids and gossip shows.”
“Wow. That’s quite a life.”
“It is no life at all.”
We’re already near the exit that leads to the mission. It’s a beautiful day to go, warm and breezy. And midday during the week with school in session means it should be quiet.
“Do people recognize you around town?” I ask.
“Not as much as you’d think,” he says. “Generally I can walk around fine until somebody does spot me. If they start taking pictures, others figure there must be a reason, and before I know it, I’m mobbed.”
We drive down Southcross. The houses here are large and historic looking with wide flat lawns. The trees grow more numerous. I feel happy about my city, full of pride that I live here, and that Blitz was born here. I aim to have a good time today. Nobody’s giving him a chance anymore. But I will.
We park in the near-empty lot. In the distance, the round-topped church and the stone tower are visible. It’s always breathtaking to see the old buildings after the modern drive on a highway surrounded by cars. I feel settled here, like I’m walking a path that has been paved by people braver than I am.
“I love this view,” he says. “It’s like nowhere else.”
We peer out the window, then seem to simultaneously realize how silly that is when we could be walking around. Within seconds, we’re out of the car and flying down the path toward the mission.
Entering through the stone arch is like walking into another world. The mission grounds are large and surrounded by a stone wall. The modern city is erased, invisible from inside.
“I’ve forgotten how peaceful it is here,” Blitz says. He takes my hand, and I let him. We’ve escaped everything that plagues us in our lives. His Blitz Burns. My overbearing father. We’re not affected by those people right now.
We wander down a path, heading toward the towering church with its round roof. The tiny cross on top seems almost an afterthought. Only a few other people wander the grass, which is still green, even if patchy with dirt.
Instead of aiming for the church doors, though, Blitz leads us up to the long row of double archways, two stories that were supposed to be reconstructed but never were.
We duck inside the roofless enclosure. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, just as breathtaking as the first time I saw it.
But now, with me feeling so happy with Blitz, it’s beyond beauty and into the magical. The light and shadows of a dozen arches cast patterns across the ground.
“Fit for a princess,” Blitz says, and his hand position changes on mine. I recognize it, and without him having to cue me at all, I twirl into him until I rest against his body, chest to chest.
He whirls me out again, and soon we’re waltzing, one-two-three, music not necessary, just the beats of our hearts. My shoes slide along the rough floor, keeping time with him.
Blitz brings me back to him and we cross through one of the archways in big sweeping steps. Then we’re inside again, through the next arch,
turning as we go. The light flashes bright and dark, and the stone walls rush past.
He turns me again, and this time when he reels me back, he holds me close, leaning me back on his arm.
I’m breathing hard, staring up into his face. His eyes are on me, happy, light. I wait, expectant, so happy, for his kiss.
When it comes, I feel sparks, honest-to-goodness fireworks all throughout my body. The breeze rushes through the arches and tousles my hair. His lips are warm and seeking.
I open for him, drawing him in. He breathes into me, and it’s like life itself has caught hold of me. I’m so alive, feeling everything. The heaviness and misery fall away. I release his hand and bring my arm up around his neck.
My fingers memorize his skin. The muscles that lead up to his head. The bristle of the short hair behind his ear. I want to know everything, touch it all.
The ground crunches as someone else enters the archways. I hear “Did you know this used to be a convent?”
Then an abrupt stop and a startled “Oh!”
Blitz smiles against my mouth and breaks this kiss. “It doesn’t feel like a convent right now,” he says against my ear.
He stands me upright and we dash away from the tourist couple with their cameras and information book. We run along the path, past the stone water well and the spartan trees. We fly to the farthest corner of the mission, away from anything interesting enough to draw probing eyes.
And he kisses me again, thirsty, hungry, longing. He leans against the stone, drawing me against him, our bodies pressed tightly together.
I never want this moment to end. The warm air, the cool stone, his lean muscled body against mine. His hands roam my back and waist and shoulders. I long for more privacy, to release myself into his possession. But I know I can’t do that. I’m glad we’re here, this beautiful place, but also public, and outdoors. We can’t be tempted.
My traitorous stomach rumbles against his. He breaks the kiss and his mouth nibbles along my jaw. “Hungry?” he asks.
I want to shout, “No!” but I can’t deny the noises of my belly. When it happens again, he laughs.
“Come on, then, let’s eat something.” He takes my hand.
We walk slowly along the path. The world is so bright, green and blue and beautiful. I can’t remember feeling quite this high, even in the time before. Maybe because I was young then. Maybe because we were so wrong.
Today feels right. I’ve lied to get here. I’ve taken risks. But walking here with Blitz is absolutely worth whatever the cost.
Chapter 14
The restaurant Blitz chooses is definitely a hole in the wall. The outside is white stucco with a dark brown door. The roof is tin.
But the gravel parking lot is packed with cars and pickup trucks. When we go inside, a couple gruff-looking men with bushy beards are ahead of us for a table.
A stout Hispanic woman in a white ruffled blouse and brightly striped skirt whisks one of the men to a booth. Blitz stands patiently by a window, drawing me close to him, his chin on my shoulder and his arms around my waist.
When the woman returns, she notices him and her eyes light up. “Benjamin! Is that you?” She fans herself with a menu. “¡Dios mio!”
A few customers notice her surprise, and she immediately straightens her expression. She motions him forward. “Come this way.”
We walk toward her, and she gives him an enveloping hug. “How is your mama, hijo?”
“She’s good,” he says. “Glad I’m home for a bit.”
“You not cause her any trouble, no?” The woman’s face is stern.
“No, no,” he says.
The woman turns to me. “And who is this? She is lovely, but not Mexican!” She fingers my black hair.
I have no idea how to act. I just stand there, trying not to look panicked.
“No, Lita, I’m seeing a white girl.” Blitz can barely contain his laughter as Lita clucks.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll like her anyway.” She smiles at me. “You don’t put up with any nonsense from this one, okay?”
I nod.
Another table leaves and she waves for one of the men in line to go take it. “You wait right here, Benjamin. I’ll seat you somewhere no one will look and see who you are.”
“Thanks, Lita,” Blitz says. He takes my hand and pulls me closer to the side wall, behind the little podium where Lita keeps the menus.
When she has settled the other man and motioned for a waitress to attend to him, she returns to us. “I’ll take you to the family table, of course,” she says. She picks up a couple of menus and looks me over. “You could use a few tacos, little one,” she says to me.
“She’s a dancer,” Blitz says as we walk along the wall that borders the kitchen. I can hear the sizzle of fajitas and smell something in a fryer. My stomach rumbles again.
“Ah, so she has to stay skinny,” Lita says. “A pity.”
A half wall in the back corner separates a long table from the rest of the restaurant. The chairs are empty, although the space is littered with cups and newspapers and books.
“Everybody works the lunch rush,” Lita says. “You will have your secret space.” She winks at him. She is about to pass us the menus, then thinks better of it and tucks them under her arm. “Never mind these. I will bring you what you need.” She takes off to go into the kitchen.
“She really is like family,” I say.
Blitz holds a chair out for me. “Lita is a very pushy friend of my mother’s.”
“She doesn’t want you dating a gringa, then?”
He laughs. “She is just seeing how you will react. It doesn’t matter. Nobody cares.”
When we sit down, Blitz takes my hand and kisses each finger, one at a time. The food smells divine, and I try to relax. I’m in another world, and it’s good to be out among new people, even if it’s scary.
“So who is your best friend in the world?” I ask him.
He presses his lips against my knuckles and scrunches his eyebrows. Finally he says, “Well, up until the scandal, I would say it was Duke. We grew up together, and I moved him to LA to be a bodyguard of sorts. But we haven’t talked since everything went down.”
“Hasn’t that been a while?”
“Almost a month now. I stuck around a couple weeks, hoping it would blow over. But I swear every day there was some new women’s group ready to express their outrage.”
“Have you talked to the girl?”
He closes his eyes as if the thought of it is painful. “My lawyer has advised against it.”
“I’m sorry I keep bringing this up,” I say. “I really didn’t know anything about this until I met you.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I wouldn’t go out with me either without the third degree.”
“I don’t even have a Twitter account,” I say. “So at least I can’t jump on the Burn Blitz Burn hashtag.”
He smiles, kissing my hand again. “I’m hoping I never make you feel like you should.”
My heart flips. This is intense. I lay my cheek against his hand, wrapped around mine. I want this moment to last, every moment to last. But I don’t even know how often I can see him, or how long he’ll be here.
Lita returns with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. “It’s got sugar,” she says. “You can burn it off later.” She plops them on the table. Behind her, a short man sets down a basket of chips and an enormous bowl of queso.
Blitz and I look at each other and laugh.
“What?” Lita says. “Your girl will blow away otherwise. You too!” She throws her hands up in the air. “Humans are supposed to eat! And don’t tell me you want vegetarian frijoles! They aren’t any good without lard!” She takes off again, followed by the server.
“My LA friends would run screaming from this place,” Blitz says, dunking a tortilla chip deep into the melted cheese. “But Lita’s right. We can burn it off.” His eyes dance with mischief. “One way or another.”
My chest constricts. I loo
k away, picking up a chip and nibbling on the corner.
“Come on,” he says. “Dunk it good. Don’t make me eat all this cheese alone!” He picks up another chip and buries it in the queso, then lifts it to my mouth.
I bite it, feeling the queso drip. Blitz catches it with his finger, then brings it to his lips. “You cannot take the San Antonio out of this LA boy.”
“You think you’ll go back?”
“I haven’t succeeded in convincing them to let me yet. I’ll have a decision then.” He picks up another chip and taps it on the edge of the bowl. “I really don’t know what to do.”
The thought of him leaving just as I get to know him, to pick out a dance partner on live television, is just too much.
At least it isn’t a wife.
Or so he says.
Lita returns with a steaming platter and a tortilla warmer. She plops them down. The metal plate, nestled on a wooden base, is filled with shrimp and chicken, peppers, and onions.
“Flour tortillas,” she says with a huff and makes the sign of the cross. “Because you’ve gone as white as the belly of a whale.”
“Lita, you are so cruel to me,” Blitz says. “Come give me a kiss.”
Lita rolls her eyes, but leans down and presses her lips to Blitz’s forehead as if he is a child.
“You know you love me,” he says.
“I do.” She laughs and shakes her finger at him. “Bring your mama around. I haven’t seen her in too long.”
“Will do.”
The other server comes up and sets down more plates. A bowl of pale orange rice. A plate of refried black beans. Then a pile of something green, flat, and somewhat squishy looking.
I don’t want to ask what it is in front of Lita. She looks over the plates that have been placed on the table and nods in approval. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she says.
“It looks great,” Blitz says. “Thank you.”
Lita waves her hands at him as she leaves, the server trailing in her wake.
When she is gone, I poke at the green things. “What are these?”
“Nopales.”
When I look at him quizzically, he adds, “Cactus.”
