Playing With Fuego

by K. G. MacGregor

  She was a voracious reader, and I could always count on her to add details to anything, whether it was a movie, a news story or just some silly trivia that came up in one of our conversations.

  We were suddenly interrupted by an announcement over the building’s intercom, the only words of which I understood were “tow zone.”

  “Sounds like some idiot parked in the circle again,” Mordy said. “Everyone thinks the rules apply to other people. They should just tow the jackass and be done with it.”

  Edith went into the hallway to hear the message more clearly, but came back shaking her head. “I wish they wouldn’t use the intercom unless it’s an emergency. It’s only Javier who does that.”

  Javier was the doorman who never opened a door for anyone unless they were driving a Mercedes or Lexus. I begrudgingly tipped him every Christmas so he wouldn’t let solicitors up to my apartment, but he was otherwise worthless.

  “Anyway, this woman said her grandfather stayed behind to watch their property, just like your father did.” Except while Mordy’s father was trying to figure out how to move the money from his jewelry business to Belgium, he was picked up by the Germans and taken along with his brother to Bergen-Belsen, where it was assumed they perished.

  “It wasn’t the same. Castro wasn’t herding people into the gas chambers.”

  Edith winked at me as she refilled his wineglass. “Some have estimated Fidel executed fifteen thousand or more.”

  “For their political views, not their ethnicity,” he growled.

  “A cleansing is a cleansing.” She turned to me. “Mordy doesn’t like it when anyone compares the Cubans to the Jews.”

  I lowered my head a little so he would look me in the eye. “I know, and I wasn’t trying to goad you about it. Her family wasn’t running for their lives like yours. The weird thing about it was that her father grew up here from the time he was about fourteen, but he missed Cuba, and when they opened the borders for the Mariel Boatlift, he went back and stayed. The only reason I thought of you was because it broke up her family, and she grew up without her father too. It must have been very hard.”

  “We do what we must.”

  “I know.” I put my hand on top of his and stroked the rough, tanned skin. “I really appreciate how you’ve given me a window into history that I never got with books or movies. I understand the Holocaust so much better because of your stories and how you’ve lived your life. And now hearing this woman talk about growing up in the exile community here in Miami gave me a perspective I didn’t have, and I thought of you. That’s all I wanted to say.”

  Chapter Six

  Our last day at Saraphine’s house. She and her children were itching to move back in, and we were just as excited to kick off our next project in Grapeland Heights out by the airport, but today was all about satisfaction and pride in a job well done.

  Bo’s crew had prepped the dirt and stacked seven pallets of sod at various places throughout the yard, at least saving us the task of having to truck it all from one corner to the other, one wheelbarrow-load at a time. Jobs like this took little training and even less supervision, which was good because we had no time to lose. Not with a crew that consisted of three teenage boys and nine no-shows.

  Of all the groups that volunteered with us, youth were the most rewarding, as well as the most challenging and unreliable. I loved the message of hope they carried about the coming generation, but not their penchant for distraction and horseplay.

  “Where’s your hammer, homo?” one asked another as he pushed him playfully into the side of Bo’s truck.

  I resisted the urge to pinch his head off, especially when my mood got a favorable jolt from the sight of Mari’s Porsche pulling in next to Mustang Sally.

  The skinniest of the three teens, boasting several blots of supposedly flesh-toned acne medication on his forehead and chin, emitted a wolf whistle that changed octaves as Mari emerged from her car. “Some of that,” he murmured.

  As if.

  When Mari joined us, it was all I could do not to wrap my arm possessively around her waist. Not that I possessed her. I just didn’t want any of these peri-pubescent brats to think they could.

  “Today’s job is pretty simple. All these stacks of sod…we need to spread them out over the yard. Nothing really complicated about it, but I’ve done it many times and I can tell you it takes a lot of stamina. Your shoulders and legs are going to wake up very angry tomorrow. I was hoping a few more of your friends would join us, but if we keep at it and work hard, we should be able to finish right on time at three thirty.”

  “My dad’s picking me up at eleven thirty,” Pimple Boy said.

  “Mine too,” said Josh, the smallest of the three.

  I whirled toward the third, practically daring him to speak.

  “And I’m riding with Josh’s dad so…”

  Bunch of lazy Jenkos. But as much as I wanted to scream, I had only myself to blame. I should have realized the moment their faculty sponsor called to say something had come up for him on Saturday my leverage over the boys was up in smoke. Without their teacher to impress, they had no real motivation to even be here, let alone work. I was lucky these three had shown up.

  And just in case all that wasn’t enough, Mari’s time was officially up at twelve thirty. That meant Bo and I would probably be here until well after dark getting the last patch down.

  With two wheelbarrows, we broke into teams of three. I corralled Mari and Josh with the sole purpose of interrupting Pimple Boy’s wet dream.

  We started in the back corner of the yard with Josh handing me one square at a time to place, just as if we were laying tiles on a floor. Mari kept us supplied from the closest pallet.

  “We leave a couple of inches between the squares because this is St. Augustine sod, the good stuff. It grows fast, so it’ll thatch over these gaps in a few weeks.” The rest of the story was the sod had been donated—left over from a city park project—and if we didn’t space it out we wouldn’t have enough to cover the yard.

  After forty minutes of squatting, my thighs were on fire. And not in a good way, I noted, pushing away thoughts I didn’t need to be having around a teenage boy. We rotated jobs and I took over the wheelbarrow part, which gave me an excellent view of Mari as she worked.

  She looked just fine in her carpenter jeans and boots, but I’d been ruined forever by seeing her in that cocktail dress. Tanned legs that looked like they went all the way up. What I liked best about her outfit today was her white short-sleeved shirt, more like a V-neck than a Henley, since the buttons were undone all the way down to what looked like a sports bra. At one point she stopped for a long drink and the water dribbled onto her chest.

  My entire kingdom for a cool breeze.

  “Here you go, Josh. Why don’t you handle the wheelbarrow for a while?”

  I hadn’t said a word about our usual morning break, and neither had Bo. We all stopped a couple of times for water but something told me if these kids ever sat down, we’d never get them up again.

  Mari pulled off her hat and wiped her brow with her dirty forearm. “I should take a turn doing all the bending and twisting. Looks like a killer.”

  “I don’t mind doing it again. You can hand them to me if you want.” Fundamentally, I’m the same person who only four short weeks ago sent this woman on my very own version of the Bataan Death March just because she was a few minutes late. Now I’m volunteering to double down on the hardest job of the day so she won’t have to. What was different?

  I refused to believe it was because Mari was an attractive lesbian. Even though she triggered some of my more primitive instincts, I gave myself more credit than that. Emily Jenko was proof positive I can dislike an attractive lesbian.

  The difference was Mari earned my respect over and over. She snapped out of her Oblivious Fog of Specialness the moment I signed her in on that first day. No more waltzing in late and not once had she complained or slacked off. I could add to that the fac
t her criminal transgression was bogus, and if we’d been friends at the time, I probably would have helped her do it.

  “Today’s your big day, Mari. I bet you’ll be out celebrating tonight.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Party on South Beach?” Of course. She was exactly the sort of woman who got through the ropes at the most exclusive clubs.

  She stood up and stretched backward with her hands bracing the small of her back. As she arched, the outline of her nipples was plainly visible. “I think tonight I’ll settle for a long, hot, soapy bath.”

  Whereas I’d have to make do with a long, very cold shower.

  “We’ve had a lot of…”—I couldn’t exactly call her a volunteer, and I didn’t want Josh to know she was doing community service—“workers come through here. You’ve been one of the best.”

  “What did you expect? You’ve watched my every move like you were afraid I’d try to escape over the back fence or something.”

  Oh, for Jenko’s sake. That wasn’t something I’d wanted her to notice. “It’s your own fault for skipping the safety orientation. I was scared to death you’d cut your hand off or something.”

  “I’ve still got some time left to make that happen.”

  A horn blew from in front of the house and Pimple Boy announced with relief that his dad was here. The other boys called it a day as well and went out front to wait for their ride, leaving Bo, Mari and me standing over a yard that was barely half finished.

  I was so hungry I could have eaten a school lunch. Instead I had about half a cup of crunchy peanut butter slathered on two thick slices of multigrain bread, and a bright green Granny Smith apple. A royal feast couldn’t have tasted better.

  Mari, as usual, spent her entire lunch break leaning against her car and talking on the phone. I don’t even think she ate, but after her crack about me watching her all the time, I did everything I could not to stare.

  “Sorry about the volunteers, Bo. A full house would have been nice today.”

  “I might be able to bribe a couple of my daughters into coming in tomorrow and helping me finish things up.”

  “Mari’s time’s up in about an hour, you know, and it’ll be just us. But I’ll work as late as you want me to.”

  His joints crackled as he pulled himself up. “Let’s just see how much we can get done. We’ll worry about the rest later.”

  Mari quickly joined us, somehow rejuvenated. “We ought to make good time now that we don’t have those kids slowing us down, right?”

  By her playful attitude, I figured she was already celebrating her departure. I was surprised when twelve thirty came and went without notice. If she was too distracted to check her own watch, I surely wasn’t going to remind her.

  “Mari!”

  I looked up to see six teenagers rounding the corner, four boys and two girls. The fellows were dressed in baggy shorts and T-shirts with sneakers, while both girls reminded me of Mari on her first day—skinny jeans with ruffled tank tops. Obviously Hispanic.

  “Chacho! You guys actually came.”

  “Because no one ever says no to Pepe,” one of the girls said, trading cheek kisses with Mari.

  “Come on over here and meet what’s left of the crew.” Mari introduced Bo and me as los jefes, the bosses. “Talia here is my niece, Chacho is my cousin—second or third, I can’t ever remember—and all these other faces I’ve seen in Mima’s kitchen at one time or another, but I don’t think I’m related to any of them.”

  She took over the training as Bo and I watched, too overwhelmed with gratitude to even speak. It was like Teddy Roosevelt had just ridden over the hill again, but this time carrying the Cuban flag.

  I ended up in a trio with Chacho and one of his friends, enjoying arguably the easiest job of passing the squares to Chacho for placement. Best of all, we’d worked our way around to the shady side of the house.

  “Sounds like everyone in your family tries to keep Pepe happy.”

  Chacho grinned, and for an instant, I saw a dimple that resembled Mari’s.

  “Pepe is like Papá Noel—Santa Claus—to people all over Miami, but especially family. He takes care of us. We all want to do our best and make him proud.”

  I remembered Mari’s words about him wanting to spank her for getting arrested being punishment enough. “Your cousin sure thinks a lot of him.”

  “Mari? Pepe loves her. We all kid her that she’s his favorite because she was the only girl until Talia was born. Everybody talks about how he took her with him all the time and whenever she cried he gave her whatever she wanted. He’s the same way with Talia now. Both of them are spoiled.”

  I had no trouble imagining Mari as spoiled. Two weeks ago I might have sneered to think that, but here I was chuckling along with Chacho like a laugh track. It actually made me jealous to think of this family growing up so close and loving one another the way they did.

  Not that my folks were Darth Vader and Joan Crawford. It’s just that they were formal and didn’t show a lot of emotion, whether they were happy, sad, angry or proud. I never felt unloved or anything awful like that but there were lots of times when I was with my friends and their families that I wondered what it would feel like to be hugged spontaneously just because.

  By the time we reached the front yard, Mari, Talia and one of Chacho’s friends were laying down the last corner. Bo and his crew were stringing sprinklers all over the yard to soak the ground before we left.

  Mari and I stepped back to let the kids finish.

  “You saved the day, Mari. Bo and I would have been stuck here till midnight if you hadn’t called these guys.”

  “I knew Pepe would send them when I called him because he was really glad I was working off my hours here. He likes your boss, Mrs. Ruiz.”

  “And she likes him. She wants him on our board, so when I found out he was your uncle, I had to start being nice to you.”

  “And you didn’t have much time.” Oh, she was cute, especially when she smiled. “Lucky for you, I made it easy.”

  “Yes, you did,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster without going overboard and looking like I was just trying to curry favor with Pepe. “And any time you want to come out on a Saturday and grace us with your hard work and charming personality, we’ll be happy to have you.”

  “Like I always tell my clients—dream big.”

  She pulled off her cap and loosened her hair, which was matted to her head from a day’s worth of sweat. The rich black dirt from the sod was caked under her fingernails, in rings around her neck, and in the tiny crow’s feet around her eyes. She was still gorgeous.

  I was busy admiring that when I backed up a couple of steps to give the kids room to place the last squares of sod. My feet got tangled in one of Bo’s hoses and I went sprawling backward onto my ass. Again.

  “Are you okay?”

  I gripped Mari’s extended hand and pulled myself up. She had a way of sucking up so much of my brain that my legs forgot to work. At this rate, I’d kill myself in another month if she kept coming around to the jobsite.

  “Good as new.”

  The water suddenly sprayed the very spot where we were standing and we leapt out of the way. From the faucet by the house, Bo rubbed his hands together with satisfaction.

  “That’s a wrap, guys. This one’s ready for a family.”

  There were goofy, giddy grins all around as we congratulated ourselves. While the kids were pleased to get our thanks, it was obvious Mari’s approval—and by extension, Pepe’s—was more important. She hugged and kissed each of them as they climbed into their cars. I wouldn’t mind if she did that to me.

  “Mari, it’s been a real pleasure,” Bo said, shaking her hand. “Next time you want to break the law and end up out here with us, you just go right ahead.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll take a pass on that.”

  Once Bo walked away, I started feeling awkward, like the last few minutes when you know
something might happen but you aren’t quite sure what you want it to be. I left Mari a few seconds to say something—see you around, thanks for the memories—and when she didn’t, I decided just to stick with the official stuff.

  “I’ll get your paperwork off to the courthouse on Monday so you should hear from them later in the week. They’re usually pretty good about following through right away.”

  “I appreciate it, Daphne. As much as I hate to admit it, it was kind of fun. If you guys didn’t start your day at such a god-awful hour, I might even come around again sometime.” She got into her car but didn’t close the door. “But you know how I hate having to be at work so early.”

  “For you, I’ll make an exception. Come back and see us anytime.”

  We were both just uttering pleasantries. There was little chance I’d ever see her again, unless her uncle came on the board and brought her along to one of our functions.

  Just because two women were lesbians—single lesbians of pheromone-producing age—didn’t mean they’d automatically be attracted to each other. Sure, I found Mari hot, but so did probably everyone else.

  Even if I’d been the most charming person in Miami, it wouldn’t have changed the fact I wasn’t in her league.

  Chapter Seven

  I have as much right as the next person to walk around on South Beach. It doesn’t matter—or at least it shouldn’t matter—that most of these other women take their fashion cues from J-Lo, while I take mine from Hillary Clinton. I just have a different idea about what looks good on me versus what looks good on everyone else. I’ve never been one to wear skirts or dresses, and that isn’t due only to my tendency to go ass over teakettle at the slightest bump on the sidewalk.

  Nor is it because I don’t consider myself feminine. It’s not like guys go around wearing Capri pants and sandals with bows or sequins like I do. But I have neither the eye nor the clothes budget to shop for the sort of stylish things I find attractive on other women.