by Jesse Jordan
“Yeah, my father's pretty fluent in fuck-in-ese,” Andrea rumbles. “So, what's the fallout?”
“Your father pissed off nearly everyone in the building with his rant,” Harry says. “My guess is that it's going to boomerang on him. Right now, a lot of people are scared, running for cover, but I've already had three people say that what he did was wrong. Carl's a good guy and a damn fine editor. To curse him out like a little bitch like he did... and then that grade school shit about you didn't quit, you got fired... no, your father hurt himself with that tantrum.”
“I'm not that upset about it,” Andrea says, opening her eyes and looking at me. “What do you say, Joey?”
“I say fuck 'em, the man wants to cut his own throat go right ahead,” I comment, coming the rest of the way over and sitting down. “You don't need Darren anymore.”
“Hey, is that really Joey Rivera? Wow, big fan, man,” Harry says on the other end of the line. “That's my point of view too, by the way. Listen, don't worry about Darren. I talked with a friend in HR right before I called you, he said that Darren doesn't know shit about HR law or procedures. Not only is what he's demanding illegal as shit, but he wouldn't know how to do it anyway. They won't do a damn thing.”
“Tell them thank you,” Andrea says, shaking her head. “How'd I miss him being so petty?”
“We're often blind when it comes to family, 'Dre. Hey, I've gotta get going, I just wanted to give you a heads up, and to tell you that literally, every person I've talked to has said they've got your back. I told them I'd pass it along, just to keep you safe.”
Andrea's got tears in her eyes, and I can understand. I speak up. “Harry, I don't think you need to put yourself at this much risk. Are you sure?”
“Hey, when he went off about 'that dirty fucking bean eater,' I was having flashbacks to some of the stupid shit I heard as the only black kid in my high school in Utah. So yeah... I'm totally sure, and so is everyone else. I’ve gotta go for now. Take care.”
The phone goes dead, and Andrea's openly crying now, wiping at her eyes. Rocky gives her a pat on the back before leaving us alone, and I take her hand, enveloping her in a hug. “I swear Andrea, you are safe and I will always be here for you.”
We hold each other for a minute or two until Andrea steps back, wiping away the last of the tears. “I love you, Joey. For now, though, let's go show the world how awesome Cora and Rocky are. I should be able to get enough to put together some awesome stuff tonight.”
“George T loves your work,” James says as he sits in the living room, looking around. Maria brings him a cup of coffee which he accepts gratefully, his eyes flickering over Maria for a moment before turning away. I don't fault him for it, he's single, Maria's nineteen, and she's still in the prime of her youthful loveliness in my opinion. Then again, she's my little sister, I'm always going to think she's beautiful.
“I'm glad to hear it James, but you didn't need to come over here just to tell us that,” I comment, sitting next to Andrea as she takes her laptop back after showing James the latest stuff that she's prepped for upload to the band's website.
“You're right, I didn't,” James says, sipping the coffee. “Maria, thank you. It's delicious.”
“You're welcome. I'll give you guys some privacy if you like. Angel and I are working on some reading lessons anyway. Take care.”
Maria leaves, James watching before he turns back and sets the cup down. “Okay, I didn't want to say it with your family around, so do you mind if we take a walk? Backyard even?”
I glance at Andrea, who nods, and we get up, leading James onto the back patio where we close the door. James looks around and nods in approval. “Nice back yard. Anyway, Joey, this is more you than Andrea, but it involves Darren Coates. I figured you both needed to hear it.”
“What's going on?” I ask, Andrea nodding in echo. James sighs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, the November wind is brisk today. I've gotten used to wearing sweatshirts almost all the time, or jackets if I know I'm going someplace that will be warm inside.
“Darren… well, he's got his fingers in with some of the trash tabloids,” James says, shaking his head in disgust. “Anyway, after what happened earlier this week that you guys told me about, apparently, he's having some of those shitstains go after you, Joey.”
“What are they trying to say?” I ask. “I mean, I'm no choir boy, but I've never been arrested. I'm boring as hell for the most part tabloid-wise.”
“You're right, George T ran a full background on you before he called me up on this. He's getting personally involved, he's pissed. Basically, Darren told his tabloids to start spreading the rumor that... well, that you're an illegal alien.”
“What?” I ask, more shocked at the stupidity than the actual accusation itself. “James, that has to be the stupidest way to try and get at me... for fuck's sake, I was born in the Naval hospital on Camp Pendleton! Mama was born in San Juan, and Papa was born in New York!”
James nods, sighing again. “Hell, I know that. George T showed me your birth certificate, at least the publicly available one. The bullshit that Darren's putting out is that it was forged. But, George is already all over it. He already directed the legal team, not for Gashouse but his legal team, to ready a response. He's also got the PR team going overtime. Seems that the label's sort of overlooked until now that your father was a hero, I think they were worried that if they made an issue about it, you'd feel like they were milking a tragedy for dollars. But regardless of what else might happen, going after the son of a Silver Star hero is a stupid fucking move. George T has your back, and he's a powerful man to have in your corner.”
I nod, slightly shaken, but grateful. “Thanks, James. I'll need to tell Mama, but thank you. Pass it along to George too.”
“He’ll appreciate it. He had a suggestion that, regardless of whether this shit with Darren continues or not, is interesting. George knows some of the people in the area, and I already checked, Pendleton's booked... but what about you guys playing the Marine Corps Birthday Ball at Twenty-Nine Palms? It's short notice, but you guys could do a low key set easily, right?”
I think about it, then nod. “I think I'd like that. Tell George I'll talk it over with the guys. Even if I have to, maybe I'll play it solo if the guys can't or don't want to.”
James grins. “They'd like some of those songs you've been working on. Think you can figure out an electric guitar version of Halls of Montezuma?”
“It's actually officially called the Marine Corps Hymn, but yeah, I can play that,” I reply, nodding again. For some reason, the idea fills me with energy and strength, and I enjoy the thought. “I worked out how to do that years ago on the tenth anniversary of Papa's death. Thanks, James.”
After James leaves, I stay outside, watching the sky. Andrea stays next to me. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. Thinking about all this, the good and the bad... gimme a few moments? Then, well... I was thinking I'd like to hit the gym. You want to come with?”
“I'd like that. I'll go change,” Andrea says. She leaves, and I watch the sky, the wind pulling the clouds quickly from my right to my left until I feel a presence behind me, and I turn to see Mama looking at me with those dark, sad eyes of hers.
“Andrea told me what James said. I am proud of your reaction, hijo.”
“Thank you, Mama. I just... right now, there's a deep anger inside me, and I don't know how to get rid of it. I'm hoping that the gym will help me control it.”
Mama nods, coming over to stand next to me and watch the sky. “You know, Tomás had the same anger. When he first got posted to Camp Pendleton, before you were born, we were so young. He was just a Lance Corporal at the time, and his platoon sergeant was one of those old-style Marines. I wouldn't call him racist, he was just a pendejo to everyone.”
I chuckle, nodding. Even though I was less than ten years old, I remember a few of the Marines Papa served with. Some of them were hardly gentlemen. “I'm sur
e that made Papa angry enough to want to scream.”
“There were so many nights Tomás would come home, fuming. Gunny Allen this, Gunny Allen that. It seemed not a week would go by without Allen saying something that pissed off Tomás. But, he knew that if he did anything, Allen wouldn't hesitate to bust him and throw him in the brig. I got pregnant with you about that time, and Tomás, he was like you, a real man, verdad macho. So, he dealt with it, but the one thing Tomás never did was pop Gunny Allen in the mouth. Although Allen did get what was coming to him eventually.”
“Oh? What happened?” I ask, and Mama chuckles.
“It seems that Gunny Allen was as free with his foul mouth against black Marines as he was against Chicano Marines. One night, Allen found himself on the receiving end of a sleeping bag beat down out in the field. Afterward, not a single Marine in the entire platoon knew what the hell Allen was talking about. But Tomás bore the anger and the frustration, never raising a voice to me. If you need to work off some anger, do so. I trust your ability to direct the anger where it needs to go. Tomás never did as well on the PT test as he did during those years with Gunny Allen making him angry so often.”
Mama's quiet little story about Papa makes me think. She doesn't talk about him much, and when she does, it's with love and affection. To hear her talk about Papa going through some of the same challenges I'm facing now, and for Papa to come through it with his honor and his strength intact, it feels like a little bit of wisdom passed down father to son, even if it must come from my mother. If Tomás Rivera can do it if he can direct his anger safely... I can do it too.
“Thank you, Mama. I think I'll go introduce Andrea to the gym. We'll be back in time for dinner.”
“I hope so....” Mama replies, teasingly. “You're cooking.”
Andrea
My website looks great, and I'm working in another window, getting ready to check my upload of my interview with Ian about his favorite foods. It's a total fluff piece, but it allows me to do more than just copy and paste the same article from the band's website to my blog. I know that James told me that I can do just that, but I also know that one of the big things that drive website traffic is unique content. Selfies alone aren’t going to do that, even though my recent work with Joey at the gym makes me think I might just be looking good enough for a halfway decent booty-selfie. No duck lips though. Never duck lips.
Thankfully, Ian was glad to let me film us going out for lunch at a food truck in Huntington Beach, and the video is going to be the centerpiece of the article. The food truck was, of course, more than happy to let us film, and I even got a plug from them so that once it's uploaded to my website and it launches, the article will also include a link to their Facebook page. It's sort of a mutually beneficial relationship. I friend them, they friend me, I try to drive a little bit of traffic to their pages, they try to drive some stuff my way, and in the end, our network grows bigger.
I'm typing in Ian's comment about what he likes on his favorite burritos when my phone rings. It's a strange ring, and I realize with a bit of surprise it's coming in over my Skype app, I remember I used it yesterday to call one of the contacts that Harry forwarded to me. It's safer and more anonymous than using a regular phone number.
I open my app and see that the user ID is unfamiliar, but I figure I might as well, maybe it's one of Harry's contacts reaching out to me, although if that's the case I need to talk to Harry about being more careful with that. He said he'd notify me before he gave out my information to anyone. “Hello?”
“Well, well, I finally remembered you had a Skype ID.” Chad. Son of a... I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I'm sitting at the dining room table, with two other people in the house while Joey takes Maria out grocery shopping. Teresa is working on her paperwork in my bedroom, and Angel is content to work on some coloring pages next to me while the two adults do their work. Angel looks up when I start speaking, but shrugs, he's heard me talk to all sorts of people recently.
“What do you want, Chad? Wanted to ask what my plans were for Thanksgiving?”
“From what I hear, sucking on chorizo,” Chad taunts, and I pick up my phone, turning off the speaker to spare Angel any of this ugliness. Was I always surrounded by this much ignorant hatred?
“That's disgusting, even for you Chad. Now, one last time, what do you want?”
“Where are you living now, Andrea? I'd like to come by and see you some time, but the last time I went by your place, it was empty. I even went by to see your dad, and Darren tells me you've quit at the paper? So, what's going on?”
“Just what you've seen and heard, Chad. I left the paper, I moved to a new place where I have my freedom to be who I am, to spend time with the people I want to spend time with. Why got a problem with that?”
“Damn right I do. I mean, we've all played on the wild side, but dating a guy like that... what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I'm dating a man now Chad. Something I doubt you're ever going to be. By the way, how's the DA treating you?”
I really shouldn't, but he's gotten under my skin, and I'm this close to hanging up on him right now. The only reason I haven't is a lifetime of being taught not to be rude to people on the phone, and the journalistic instinct to pump a conversation for as much information as possible, even if it turns my stomach to listen to it. Still, I can't help but get some digs in on Chad, let him know how I feel.
“A man?” Chad scoffs. “Is that what you're calling him? He's a punk from the fucking barrio, and that's all he's ever going to be. I don't care if he outsells the Beatles and makes a billion dollars. You can take the boy out of the barrio, but not the barrio out of the boy.”
“He’s got Marine blood running in his veins, and if you keep it up, he might just introduce you to that. In case you've forgotten Chad, you and I are done, finished. We broke up months ago, back in June to be precise.”
Chad laughs harshly, sounding slightly unhinged. Or maybe drunk, he's never been someone who felt you had to wait until after five o'clock on the weekdays to start enjoying a good drink. “You mean you got your panties in a wad back in June, and you still haven't unclenched them. Like I said, I get it, he's giving you a tick on your bucket list, I did the same thing with a girl from Compton a few years back. But that doesn't matter. Where are you now?”
“I'm not telling you, Chad. And after this, I'm blocking this ID, going private. So, goodbye.”
“I'm not worried,” Chad says before I can hang up the call. “After all, between the P.I.s that work for my Dad, and those that work for yours, I'm sure someone's going to find you and your barrio boyfriend. Goodbye... for now.”
The call hangs up, and I resist the urge to slam my phone down on the table. Instead, I set it down, saving the work on my laptop before I stand up, forcing myself to stretch my arms overhead to try and calm myself down. Instead of going back to work I go into the living room, walking around for a full hundred count before I come back into the dining room, watching as Angel is working on a picture. “Hey, buddy, what're you drawing?”
“Mommy and me playing at the park,” Angel says, referring to the large brownish blobs on the paper. His imagination is a lot more advanced than his drawing skills, like most little kids. “I'd like to go there again.”
“Cool. So where is this park, anyway? I haven't really had a chance to look around town too much.”
“By the big kids’ school. It's a big park, with a play area, baseball fields, and basketball. Mommy takes me there if the weather's nice. I'd like to go have a picnic,” Angel asks, looking up at me. “That'd be cool. What do you drink?”
“You'd let me join your family outing?” I ask, touched. “Thanks, Angel.”
“Joey loves you, of course, you come! You're fun, too, you know. You make Joey laugh, even more than Mommy does.”
“I love him too, Angel. He's really a good man.”
Talking with Angel helps me feel at least better when Joey and Maria come home, and I help t
hem unload Joey's car, bringing in the week's worth of food. I load up my arms with four bags while Joey goes Hercules and carries a staggering eight full heavy bags, and Maria carries another four. Just helping them unpack and put away all of it takes them nearly a half hour. “Okay, as soon as I've got some money I'm going to get my own car so that I can help with that. Joey, are you sure we're not going to be putting another fridge or a chest freezer out in the garage if this keeps up?”
Joey shakes his head, his eyes twinkling. “I can think of at least a hundred things I'd rather put in the garage.”
Maria rolls her eyes, and I guess he came out to her about our intimacy because she gives me a knowing look. Joey goes in to check on Angel, and Maria stays behind, giving me a look. “Maria....”
“He's my brother. So yeah, I'm the kid sister, but still, he's blood, he's family. I like you a lot, Andrea. Don't screw it up, okay?” she says quietly, then smiles. “And he said he really loves you a lot. I gotta give you props for that.”
“Thank you. Listen, something happened while you guys were out, I think I should tell you both. Can you get Joey in here quietly?”
Maria nods, her dark eyes full of concern, but she gets Joey and they come back in, Joey's face concerned. “What's up?”
“Chad called me via Skype,” I explain, recounting my conversation. “I'm just worried... Joey, they've got the resources to find us. I don't want to put you guys in danger here.”
“Uh-uh, don't even start with that thinking,” Maria interrupts me. “I saw how he was those days you weren't calling, and I didn't even know why. I saw the way you were when you came in that first night, you slept like the dead because you were exhausted, and I don't mean just from the work. We're a family, and we're going to stay family. And yes, that means you too, Andrea. Now, are we going to stop that, or do I throw you to both in the garage and lock the door until you two figure that part out again?”
