“Anything for the hero,” Fredo said. “What would you like?”
“I guess I’ll have the Tulúm Platter,” Rawly said.
“An enchilada, a cheese taco, a beef fajita taco with rice and beans,” Fredo recited. As he prepared Rawly’s dish, an idea dawned on him. “You know what? We ought to change the name of the Tulúm Platter to the Rawly Platter.”
“Yeah,” Enrique agreed. “Or maybe the Hero’s Special.”
Rawly didn’t say anything. He took his plate to the dining room and sat in a back booth. While he ate, he thought about his upcoming visit with Nikki Demetrius. He didn’t feel like seeing her any more. Miyoko couldn’t go with him, and he still hadn’t told her. Miyoko was going to think he was a chump when she found out he had gone without her and her friends. What did it matter? Thanks to Nevin Steinberg, the whole school thought he was a chump.
Rawly fished Mr. Hair’s note out of his pocket and read it. Sooner or later, he would have to show it to his mother. She had pitched a fit when she saw the failing notice. He wondered how she would react when she saw this. Rawly shoved the note back in his pocket. He would give it to his mother after their visit with the Demetriuses. Rawly finished his meal and went to work.
The restaurant was unusually crowded for a Thursday. Mrs. Sánchez took Rawly around to each table and introduced him. A number of customers had seen him on TV and said they were excited about meeting him in person. Each time, Rawly forced his lips to curl into a smile as he retold his story.
After he shared his adventure for what seemed about the thousandth time, he told his mother he didn’t want to talk to anyone else. He said he wasn’t feeling well, which wasn’t entirely untrue. Rawly was sick of being a hero.
His mother told him to take a break. She wanted him to be rested for their visit with Nikki Demetrius.
At six-thirty, a man named Bernard Jackson arrived at the restaurant to pick Rawly and his mother up. Rawly was disappointed when he saw that Bernard Jackson wasn’t driving a stretch limo but a green BMW sedan.
The three of them got in the car and drove off. It was time to meet the Demetriuses.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The BMW pulled up to a black iron fence. Bernard Jackson pressed a button on his remote control door opener, and the electronic gates swung apart. He drove his car around the circular driveway and stopped in front of the house. He stepped out of the car, opened the rear doors, and helped Rawly and his mother out.
Gazing up at the enormous, two-story brown brick home, Rawly blinked incredulously. Stately oak trees surrounding the house stood on magnificently manicured grounds. Between the gate and the circular drive was a large water fountain with a statue of the Greek goddess Aphrodite holding a pitcher. Water poured out of the pitcher and into the fountain.
Mr. Randall waited for them out front. He opened the door and led Rawly and his mother inside the house to the formal entry foyer, while Bernard Jackson drove the car to the garage.
A twenty-eight lights crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Across the room, dual marble staircases led to the upper level of the house. A grandfather clock standing against a wall startled Rawly when it began to chime. Rawly checked his watch. Seven o’clock. They were on time. He and his mother followed Mr. Randall to a spacious family room.
The first person Rawly noticed when they entered was Nikki Demetrius. She was seated on a brown leather chair. Her right leg, which was wrapped in an air cast, was propped up on the chair’s matching ottoman. A bandage above her left eye hid her wound’s stitches. Her right arm was supported by a sling. She was dressed in a white silk blouse and black cropped pants. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, giving a full view of her face: high cheekbones, oval-shaped, dark-brown eyes and full lips. Despite her casual attire, Rawly thought she looked stunning. So different from the first time he saw her.
Nikki’s mother, a dignified, slender woman, sat on a burgundy loveseat. Next to her was her twelve-year-old son, Michael. He still had on his school uniform—gray slacks, a white oxford shirt and a navy-blue sweater.
On the couch across from them sat Harold Skiles, an attorney, and Zane Archer, Nikki’s publicist.
Mr. Demetrius, a barrel-chested man with black curly hair and a charcoal-gray suit that seemed too small for him, stood with an arm resting on the hand-carved mahogany mantle above the fireplace. Together they looked as if they were posing for a group portrait.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Randall said grandly, “may I present to you Mrs. Leonor Sánchez and her son, our young hero, Rawly.”
Mr. Randall’s introduction was met with enthusiastic applause.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both, especially you, Rawly,” Mr. Demetrius said. He took Rawly’s hand and shook it so hard it felt as if he was going to yank it off its socket. Everyone else, except for Nikki, stood and joined Mr. Demetrius in greeting Rawly and his mother.
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up,” Nikki, said, “but it’s a little hard for me to walk.”
Daintily, she stretched out her hand. As Rawly took it in his, she pulled him toward her. She intended to kiss him on the cheek, but he moved his head, and her lips caught him on the mouth. It was the second time their lips had touched. This time, Rawly’s toes curled up in his shoes.
“I owe you my life, Rawly,” she said.
“We’re all indebted to you, young man,” Mr. Demetrius said. “We would have lost Nicolette if it wasn’t for your courageous actions.”
Still holding Rawly’s hand, Nikki placed it lovingly against her face. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for saving me.”
Mrs. Sánchez cleared her throat. “We can . . . discuss that later.”
Rawly shot her a disapproving look.
Mr. Demetrius invited them to sit down. They discussed the accident, going over the details that Rawly had shared countless times. Rawly learned that Nikki had wanted to call him afterwards, to thank him, but Zane Archer advised her against it.
“I’m sorry, Rawly,” Mr. Archer said. “But for days, Nikki was woozy from all the medication she was taking. I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to talk to anyone until she felt better. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Sure,” Rawly said.
Mrs. Sánchez told the group about her restaurant. She explained how difficult it was to keep it going during hard, economic times. “I’m doing my best, but with so little money coming in, I don’t know how much longer I can keep it open,” she lamented. She looked at Mr. Demetrius despairingly. He nodded but didn’t comment on her situation.
Mrs. Carmona, the housekeeper, brought coffee and a tray of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She offered milk to Rawly and Michael.
While they enjoyed Mrs. Carmona’s treats, Mr. Demetrius said, “Tell me, Rawly. What are your plans for college?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it much. That’s still a ways off.”
Mr. Demetrius smiled jauntily. “It’s never too early to start thinking about college, young man. Any ideas about where you’d like to go?”
Rawly shrugged again. “The University of Texas, maybe. That’s where my mom wanted my brother to go before . . . ” He caught himself.
“Jaime moved out of the house,” Mrs. Sánchez quickly interjected. “He lives in a small town outside of Houston.”
“I didn’t realize you had other children,” Mrs. Demetrius said.
Rawly’s mother smiled awkwardly. “Just the two. We keep in close contact with Jaime, though. We try to see him almost every week.”
Mr. Demetrius undid the button on his coat and released his ample belly. “The reason I mentioned college is that I’m setting up a trust fund to pay for Rawly’s tuition to whatever university he chooses to attend.” He turned to his attorney. “Harold?”
Harold Skiles retrieved a briefcase from the side of the couch and snapped it open. He drew out a form and presented it to Rawly and his mother. “While it is certainly our hope that
Rawly will attend college, Mrs. Sánchez, the money will be his either way when he turns eighteen,” Mr. Skiles explained.
Rawly’s mother gave the paper a cursory inspection until she came across the monetary figure. She stared at it, saucer-eyed. It was more than enough to pay off every bill she had! Much more.
Mucho dinero. Mucho, mucho dinero.
“Can the money be used now?” she ventured to ask.
“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Skiles said. “The trust fund is for Rawly’s protection, Mrs. Sánchez. We want to ensure that the money will be there, if and when Rawly decides to go to college.” He raised his index and pinky fingers while holding his middle and ring fingers down with his thumb. “Hook ’em, Horns!” he said. “I’m a UT grad myself. Good choice of schools, Rawly.”
Mrs. Sánchez tried to hide her disappointment. She was grateful for Mr. Demetrius’s generosity, but no one would be able to touch that money for another four years. At the rate things were going, La Chichen-Itza could be long-gone by then.
Standing alongside Nikki, Mr. Archer flashed a broad, publicist smile. “In the meantime, Rawly, we have big plans for you.” He looked down at Nikki. “Shall I tell him or do you want to?”
“You go ahead, Zane,” Nikki said. She winced as she readjusted herself in her chair. “It was your idea.”
Mr. Archer checked to see if she was all right.
She nodded an I’m okay.
“We’ve kept up with all the stories about the accident, Rawly,” Mr. Archer said. “And I must say, you made a terrific impression on TV. You were so poised, so confident, not a bit nervous in front of the camera.” He rested a hand on Nikki’s shoulder. “Here’s what we have in mind. Once Nikki has completely recuperated, I want the two of you to go on a campaign together—on Entertainment Tonight, on Access Hollywood, on E! Entertainment, every celebrity gossip show on television.” His eyes brimmed with excitement. “You have a certain look, Rawly. Slender, but not too thin, clear skin, not full of pimples, like a lot of boys your age. That blue shirt you used to pull Nikki out of the water. Where did you get it?”
“I don’t know,” Rawly said. “Penney’s, probably. That’s where we usually buy my clothes.”
“Penney’s . . . yes,” Mr. Archer said, wrinkling his nose. “Well, we have a contract with the Christian Dior fashion clothing retailer. I suggested to Nikki that the two of you should appear in an ad together.” Mr. Archer moved away from Nikki and gestured with his hands as he explained their plan. “This is just an idea, mind you, but one I think is worth considering. In the ad, Nikki would be in a waist-deep pool of water, with an arm reaching up. You would be lying on a bridge, dangling a blue, Christian Dior men’s dress shirt above her. The ad would have a catchy slogan of some sort to go with it.”
Grab it! Rawly thought, but he didn’t offer it.
“We’ll put out a full media blitz. The ad will appear all across the country. I think it’ll be a huge marketing success.” Mr. Archer grinned triumphantly.
“Would Rawly get paid for it?” Mrs. Sánchez asked.
“Oh, lord, yes,” Mr. Archer said. “You don’t think we do this for free, do you? Of course, all this is just an idea I want to pitch to the company. But we want to know what Rawly thinks.”
Rawly would have cracked up laughing if he didn’t know they were serious. Him? A model? That was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
Nikki sat up. “You don’t have to give us an answer right away, Rawly. It’ll still be awhile before I’m ready to go out in public.”
“He’ll do it!” Mrs. Sánchez said. “Rawly will make those TV appearances with you. He’ll also be in that advertisement.”
Rawly was speechless. He wasn’t the model type. He wasn’t even good-looking. If the kids at school were mad at him now, he couldn’t begin to imagine what they would think if he started appearing with Nikki in ads. Earlier, Travis McHenry had accused him of trying to make money off someone’s bad luck. It would surely seem like it now.
Nikki patted the overstuffed armrest on her chair. “Come sit next to me, Rawly.”
Reluctantly, he got up from the couch and situated himself next to her. She wrapped an arm around his waist and asked the group, “Isn’t Rawly awesome?”
They answered in agreement.
“You and I are going to be a team, Rawly,” Nikki said. “After I get well, I’m going to show you off to the world. I want everyone to meet my hero.” She ran her fingers against his back, shooting goose bumps up and down his spine. “I will take you to new places. You will meet new people. Everyone will know who you are.”
“Yes! Yes!” Mrs. Sánchez chanted with a look of euphoria.
“Zane, I want pictures of Rawly and me in every newspaper in the country with the caption, The Hero and the Heiress,” Nikki said. “This’ll be our best campaign ever.”
“We’re going to make you a household name, Rawly,” Mr. Archer said. “You’re going to be famous. What do you think of that?”
Rawly was too stunned to reply. It had been fun, at first, seeing himself on TV and in the paper. He had enjoyed his time in the spotlight, being somewhat of a celebrity. But this heroing business was getting way out of control. He had no doubt that Nikki was grateful that he had rescued her. But she and Zane Archer were planning to exploit her accident, to exploit him, just like Miyoko. And Cruz Vega. And his mom. He looked over at her. She had her fingers locked together and was staring in a trance-like state. Rawly thought that if his mother was a cartoon character, she would have dollar signs in her eyeballs instead of pupils.
Mrs. Demetrius noticed the uncomfortable look in Rawly’s face. To change the subject, she said, “Why don’t we let Michael play a song for us?” She turned to her son. “If you don’t mind.”
Michael, who had taken piano lessons since he was five, made his way to the black Steinway grand piano and sat on the bench. “What do you want me to play?”
“What about Clair de Lune by Debussy?” Mrs. Demetrius suggested.
Michael opened his piano book and began to play the piece he had been learning from his piano teacher, Mrs. Curry.
Rawly scarcely heard Michael’s song. His mind raced with thoughts of Nikki’s plans. He didn’t want to be on television with her. He didn’t want to be a model. He didn’t want to meet her friends.
He almost wished he had never pulled her out of the water. Not that he thought she should have drowned. Someone else, Nevin perhaps, should have saved her. Nevin would know how to handle fame. If Rawly could, he would erase the past week out of his life.
When Michael finished playing, Mrs. Sánchez told Mr. Demetrius that they had to get back to the restaurant to help close up.
“You’ll be hearing from us,” Mr. Archer told Rawly and his mother.
Bernard Jackson brought the BMW to the front.
As they drove off, Mrs. Sánchez looked back at the house and said, “If things work out with what Nikki talked about, we could have a place like that someday.”
Rawly didn’t say anything. He was trying to figure out how he was going to live with himself after he let everyone down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“You lied to me!”
Miyoko stormed up to Rawly with a newspaper clutched in her hand. Amanda, Skye, Melissa and Iris were with her.
Miyoko’s eyes bulged out of their sockets and her nostrils flared. “Did you think I wasn’t going to find out?” She waved the paper in his face. “You went to see Nikki last night, didn’t you?”
Rawly took a couple of steps back. “Miyoko, I . . . ”
“Don’t try to deny it, Rawly!” she yelled. “There’s a story in the paper that tells all about it.”
Rawly expected Miyoko to be upset when she found out he had gone to see Nikki without her, but he didn’t think she would be this mad. “Wait, let me explain. The thing is . . . ”
“You promised we were all going to meet Nikki! I even asked you about it again yesterday and you said we wer
e going soon.”
“Miyoko, the fact is, Nikki didn’t want anyone else seeing her, except for me and my mom,” Rawly explained.
“Liar!” Miyoko’s mouth contorted grotesquely. Rawly couldn’t tell if she was smiling or baring her teeth, like an angry dog. “It also says in the paper that you’re going to appear in an ad with her.” Miyoko let out a strangled laugh. “Why would someone as famous and beautiful as Nikki Demetrius want to pose with a scrawny, horse-face loser like you?”
The girls laughed.
“You knew I wanted to talk to Nikki about modeling,” Miyoko continued. “But you decided to steal my opportunity for yourself. Didn’t you. Didn’t you!”
“I don’t want to be a model,” Rawly said. “That was her idea, not mine.”
“Well, in case you haven’t looked in a mirror lately, I’ve got news for you, Rawly Sánchez,” Miyoko said. “You’re too ugly and too stupid to be a model.”
Rawly had had enough. He could try to assure Miyoko that maybe once Nikki was ready to be seen by the public, he could arrange another visit, but he no longer cared what Miyoko thought. She had been using him all along, and her true feelings had finally come out. No matter what he did, in her eyes, he would always be a scrawny, horse-face loser.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” he shouted, not sounding sorry at all. “It just didn’t work out, that’s all.”
“Yeah, you’re sorry, all right,” Miyoko said. Then she unleashed a stream of words Rawly didn’t think existed in her vocabulary. He had never been cussed out in three languages before.
Miyoko stalked off with Amanda, Skye, and Melissa but Iris remained with Rawly.
“I really couldn’t take anyone with me,” Rawly told her. “Nikki’s still pretty banged up from the accident, and she doesn’t want anyone seeing her in her condition.”
“I believe you, Rawly,” Iris said, touching his arm. “But you could’ve told Miyoko. She was really excited about meeting Nikki. She told everyone it was going to be the greatest day in her life. She shouldn’t have had to learn about your visit from the newspaper.”
Don't Call Me Hero Page 14
