Shaken: An Interracial Second Chance Romance (L.A. Nights Book 3)

by Sylvie Fox

  He was confused more than ever. Isn’t loyal, fair, and upstanding what a city wanted in an employee, a woman wanted in a man? “You say that like it’s a crime.”

  “In our case, Cameron, it’s always been a bad thing. You have greater loyalty to the force than your family. You love something that can’t love you back.”

  Like that, he pushed away his vow not to fight. “You’re being unfair, Yesenia.”

  “How?”

  “I may not have let Dori out of jail. I couldn’t do that without jeopardizing my job. Maybe another officer could get away with it. But I’m under greater scrutiny at the force.”

  “I can’t apologize any more for my stupidity, Cameron.”

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to understand why I have to go by the book.”

  “I understand. I’m just…I guess I’m just unhappy with the whole situation. You can’t help Dori. I can’t help her either.”

  He watched Jessie stand, snap on her bra, and pull on her panties, followed by the rest of her clothes. Cam stared at the empty wineglass in his hands. This was not how it was supposed to go. He had planned to give her what she wanted, freedom and her own place, woo her with wine, food, and well…the magic in his pants. Forge a new future together. Instead they were at the same old crossroads again. His job and her family squarely between them. Their marriage was like gridlock. And like L.A. traffic, he couldn’t see a way out of it.

  “You’re leaving?” he asked. He’d hoped she would stay and that they could figure out a way back to each other. But the time was never right for them.

  “I have to go home. Get some sleep. Figure out how I’m going to get my sister out of this mess. If she’s deported, Mama will kill me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Yesenia was damp and hot by the time she found parking on Wilshire Boulevard. She stuffed as many quarters as she could find on the Jeep’s floor into a meter. Retrieving her car held ransom in a tow lot was not on her list of things to do before broadcast. A ticket would be the worst thing that could happen to her today. She wished she could say the same for Dori.

  She glanced at the business card, then sized up the buildings rising from the pavement. Ignoring the sweat trickling between her breasts, she sighed in relief. Dolores’ appointment was in a squat four story structure, next to a fifteen story monstrosity next door. Smiling for the security guard who recognized her got Yesenia stair access with no questions asked.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, barging into the office that held her sister and the lawyer she’d hired on Ernesto’s recommendation.

  Dolores was leaning forward, full cleavage on display from the low cut top. The handsome young lawyer stood behind a desk bigger than him. The attorney was flustered, having been caught taking in the view.

  “Victor Alvarado.”

  He wasn’t the first man, nor probably the last, to be bowled over by her sister’s charms. Out of her usual velour sweats, Dolores was in skin tight seven hundred dollar jeans, no doubt courtesy of Raul, leather boots, and a white lace top that managed to be conservative and sexy at the same time. For a brief moment, Yesenia envied her sister’s flair. Dori probably wouldn’t have a problem with a give and take relationship in the bedroom.

  Comparing herself with Dori was inevitable. How could she not? She had citizenship, a career, and even a husband, though estranged. Dori had none of that. So she had to rely on what she could: wits, looks, Raul. She cleared her head and sat in the empty chair, leaned forward and extended her hand. “How are you related to Jose Alvarado?”

  “I’m one of his sons,” he said, grasping her fingers and shaking.

  A son. For the kind of money she had, she didn’t rate the lawyer who regularly had lunch with the local ad guys at KESP.

  “So you’re saying it isn’t true?” Dolores asked.

  “What isn’t true?” Yesenia interjected. Since she was paying, she at least needed to know what was going on here.

  Dolores turned to her. “You remember how Mama said that Julia got pulled over for a traffic ticket? Next thing she knew, Julia had gotten a green card. Same thing for Raul’s cousin in Georgia. He got busted for driving without a license. The judge took pity on him. Got him a green card. Maybe this arrest could be serendipity, was all I was saying.”

  It took Yesenia a moment to grasp the meaning of Dolores’ last sentence.

  “Habla español?” Yesenia asked the lawyer out of courtesy, and then asked her sister in Spanish what she meant.

  “Wait,” the lawyer said. Yesenia stopped talking to Dori to look at him. “Solamente un poquito,” he said.

  Great. She’d assumed all immigration lawyers in Los Angeles spoke Spanish. They’d all be on better footing if the conversation were in her native language. It would guarantee no misunderstandings. If she weren’t paying by the hour, having paid well into this one, she’d have asked for a reassignment. But Dori was there. Anything Yesenia didn’t understand, Dori could explain later. She looked at the abogado. An immigration lawyer who didn’t speak Spanish. That was rich. If she wasn’t so annoyed, she’d almost have felt sorry for him.

  “Fine, English then,” she said curtly. Yesenia couldn’t afford to spend her savings on chit-chat. She had to get back to her paying job. Money had to come in before it could go out. “Bottom line, what are Dolores’ options?”

  Alvarado’s nice guy demeanor disappeared and he was all business. Good. “She can plead guilty. Petition for a moral turpitude waiver.”

  She glared at her sister. Dolores had said it was marijuana, not prostitution. She’d been stupid to ignore Cameron’s well-sourced information. “Moral turpitude?”

  A look passed between the lawyer and her sister. “Drug possession is considered immoral by the ICE. They don’t honor California’s medical marijuana laws,” Alvarado said.

  “Dori, I told you that a thousand times. But you insisted you needed it for your anxiety.” Yesenia all but said out loud that she didn’t believe even a little bit that her sister had any kind of condition that required the liberal application of marijuana.

  “A doctor gave me my card,” Dori retorted.

  “The doctor you found on Venice beach could be bought for forty dollars.” She looked toward Alvarado who probably thought her family was crazy. “Sorry. About this possible waiver?”

  “Possession of less than thirty grams, and the U.S. government may not count it against an undocumented person when they apply for a change in status.”

  For the first time in days, Yesenia’s heart beat at a normal rhythm. “That’s a relief. Now can we talk about what you were doing there with Raul? How many times does he have to get you in trouble?”

  Alvarado looked from Yesenia to Dori and back again. “Even though you’re paying the bills, Yesenia, what Dolores tells me remains confidential. She decides how much to share with you.” To Dolores, he said, “Do you want to continue this without your sister?”

  Dori nodded. Yesenia couldn’t believe it. Her sister had nodded her out of the room. If Yesenia hadn’t had a full day ahead and wasn’t on probation in her new anchor spot, she would have put up a fight. She got up slowly and walked to the door, her brain whirring. Resisting the urge to slam it, she closed the door softly behind her. All the tough love experts she’d read over the years would probably say it wasn’t her battle anyway. Would this non Spanish-speaking guy be able to save Dori from deportation?

  She tried to use the run down the stairs as an opportunity to relieve some of the tension in her body. It didn’t work. The thought of Dori on a prison bus to dusty Tijuana filled her head. The chaos of the newsroom and the oblivion of joining the nightly infotainment broadcast held greater appeal than ever.

  The thought of Dori in Mexico worried her down the stairs, in the car, and out on location. It bothered her through interviews with solid citizens about the pending arrest of their district councilman, and the opening of a much needed grocery in Pacoima.

  She flubbed twi
ce during her stand up in the field. The camera guy, pounds of heavy camera on his shoulder and loaded down with more weight from battery on his belt, gave her the evil eye.

  “You’re usually more professional, Yesenia. Anchor desk making your head big already?”

  “No. I know my job. I won’t mess up again,” she said firmly, shoving all thoughts of Dori and deportation from her head. The last thing she needed were any hint of rumors that she was hard to work with, getting back to Ernesto. If she didn’t keep this job and turn her probationary period as weeknight anchor into something more permanent—there’d be no money for the mortgage on Mama’s house, or lawyers, or much of anything else.

  She made it through the rest of the day and the broadcast without a single blunder. At her desk after sign-off, she finally had a chance to call Dori. Even though it was rounding midnight when she finally got home, Yesenia didn’t hesitate a moment to pick up the phone.

  “What’s the bottom line?” she asked without preamble.

  “Moral turpitude applies to more than prostitution,” Dori said.

  “I heard the lawyer. I don’t care what you got charged with, Dori. So we’ll pretend you didn’t sell yourself on Sunset Boulevard.”

  “The U.S. considers drug possession immoral.”

  “As do I. So on that, I and the U.S. Congress agree. But I’m not having a political discussion with you. Or talking about putas. Can you get the waiver? Is there a way to get you off so we don’t have to think about petitioning for anything?”

  “If I have to plead guilty and get a waiver, I can still apply for permanent residency without this affecting me. But that’s a lot of ‘ifs’.”

  Yesenia didn’t hear the rest as she nearly fell down with relief. Dori hadn’t messed up completely. A green card may be as far out on the horizon as the setting sun over Santa Monica Pier, but it was out there. Doing rough calculations in her head, she figured if she sold the new Jeep, gave up the apartment before it was sold out under her, and moved back home, she could save enough to hire a real lawyer this time, jump the hurdle of their illegal entry, and finally get her family citizenship. For a long moment she cursed the mistakes she’d made. Hiring a paralegal when she first got out of school. He’d taken ten thousand dollars and gotten them no closer to citizenship. Finally getting her citizenship after marrying Cameron, and failing to do more for her family before 9/11.

  She didn’t share any of this with her sister, though. She’d have to raise the money, and present it to her family as a done deal. Admonishing Dori to stay out of trouble, she hung up the phone. She was elated that Dori’s latest mistake hadn’t been fatal either to her in body, or to her chances of remaining in the U.S. Maybe it would work like Mama’s folk tales. Getting in trouble might get her citizenship.

  That elation quickly changed to defeat. Her one opportunity at freedom and independence was gone. It would be a long time before it came around again. She tried not to look around her apartment with longing. She’d loved finally living on her own, without having to watch Dori piss her life away, and without her mother’s constant nagging. And this time she hadn’t had to be married to do it. Maybe she and Cam could have worked out. She didn’t know. Might never know. But she had run into her marriage looking for shelter. The next time she got married she wanted to run toward love and fulfillment, not away from her family and responsibility.

  The Jeep, the apartment with only her name on the title, those markers of success would have to wait. Why did she need a house and car anyway? Los Angeles was a city of renters and leasers. She could appear to have it all for half the price. Whatever. She needed to get to bed so she didn’t come to work with suitcase-sized bags under her eyes. Yesenia was able to sleep peacefully, secure in the knowledge that at least she wouldn’t have to pack her sister’s bags first thing in the morning.

  Chapter Eight

  Yesenia looked at the clock. Six AM and the phone was already ringing. Cameron worked her same shift, so the likely culprit was Mama. With some fondness, she remembered the days when she and Dori had conspired to lace Mama’s horchata with sleeping pills on more than one Saturday night.

  But it was Wednesday, not Sunday, and she had to get up anyway. So she picked up on Mama’s second try, not doing the usual muting of the ringer until the voice mail button went from slow blink to solid red.

  “You need to come over, now,” Mama screeched into the phone.

  “Is it Dolores?” She feared those few precious hours were the last sleep she was going to get for a long while.

  “Yes. She says she’s going back to Mexico!”

  Yesenia took a deep breath. This decision was completely out of the blue. Not six hours ago, she’d thought her sister was going to stay and fight. But how could she have expected that? Fighting was not Dori’s way. In that way the Morales girls were complete opposites.

  She’d fought her way out of agoraphobia, anxiety, and undocumented status. While Dori had let her and Mama guide her life. Let Raul steer her off the tracks.

  “Are you there, Yesenia? What are we going to do? She wants me to come with her.”

  She promised to come over. After a quick shower, Yesenia stuffed her work clothes into her portable garment bag. She decided to take the tongue lashing her mother was going to give when she showed up in sweats. But it was too damned early, and this was too damned important to wait until she was in full battle armor.

  Twenty-four minutes later, she stood at the front door of her mother’s house. The iron bars of the security door were cool and damp. She held on tight for a long time, seeking to ground herself. Screwing up her courage against the fear of what was to come, she stepped into the house.

  Silence greeted her instead of yelling. Mama was bustling in the kitchen. Dori was tapping away at the iPad. And Raul, remote control in hand, was flipping from one brightly colored morning show to the next.

  She started with the easiest target first. “Raul, how is it you’re out of jail?”

  “Never got arrested.”

  “You threw Dori under the bus to save your skinny ass?”

  “She asked to work for me. Told her this shit was dangerous. But your sister did what she wanted.”

  Yesenia wasn’t so sure of that. “You think she should go to Mexico?”

  “Nah, man. I can’t even remember Mexico. She doesn’t either. Don’t know how anyone can live without creature comforts.”

  “Dolores?” She looked at her sister. There were two things she noticed. First, her sister’s back was rigid, upright. She was working on the tablet with a sense of purpose. Second, she wasn’t high.

  “I don’t know why Mama called you. I’m an adult, old enough to make a decision. And this is the one I’m making.”

  “I called her because you’ve gone crazy. We left that godforsaken place for a reason.”

  Here we go again. Yesenia was that reason. She braced herself for the speech. It didn’t come.

  “Mama, if we only left for Yesenia, then she’s fine. She’s got her papers, she’s working. She’s even got a husband if she chooses.”

  “But the news says Mexico’s crazy. We’re going to be shot by blood thirsty warlords.”

  “Cool the drama.”

  “Why do you want Mama to go with you?” Yesenia stemmed the tide of guilt that threatened to close her throat. She loved Mama, dearly. A little distance between them wouldn’t be a bad thing. Solutions to her biggest life challenges lay within reach. Did it have to come from such a tragic situation, though? When she got no answer, she moved on to practical matter. “How would you even do this?”

  “Aren’t you going to talk her out of this? Aren’t you going to get that lawyer to do something? Can’t you get your husband to pull a few strings?”

  She looked her mother square in the eye. “Don’t you think Cameron’s done enough for this family?”

  Mama couldn’t meet her eye. A big sheet of plastic was the sole barrier between them as Mama wrapped a tray of some kind of foo
d.

  “Mama?”

  “I don’t know anyone there anymore. It’s been years, decades. I only know about life here in America now.”

  Yesenia turned back to Dori. “You have a plan?”

  “My cousin can get her a job.” Raul said.

  She spun on him. He was the reason Dori was in this trouble in the first damned place.

  “What, as a drug mule? Is she supposed to stuff drugs up her coño and hide in the trunks of cars? We’ve already seen what kind of jobs you have for my sister.”

  Raul held out his hands in supplication. Should have practiced that move in church more often. Maybe he wouldn’t be the degenerate he was today. “I’m serious. My cousin works at a call center in Mexico City. He said the guy in Encino is always hiring. He says—”

  “The one who was deported? The one who doesn’t speak a lick of Spanish?”

  “Yes.” Raul’s voice was more serious than she’d ever heard it. All the laid back Bill & Ted was gone. Contrition was a temporary cure for asshole.

  “Give me his number.”

  “Who?”

  “Your damned contact in Encino, that’s who. Throw in your cousin’s number for good measure.”

  Dori found a pad and paper and Yesenia took the information down. She turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” Mama called.

  “To make some calls. I have to get to work.”

  Out the front door, the first call she made was to Cameron.

  “Are you working today?” She hoped upon hope he hadn’t switched to the morning shift. “Can you meet me?”

  Cameron pulled another button-down shirt from his closet. Jessie hadn’t sounded like she was in a t-shirt and jeans mood when she’d called.

  Uncharacteristically, his wife was sitting on the front steps looking like someone had kicked her in the gut.

  “What are you doing outside?”

  She didn’t answer. Jessie pulled her head from one shoulder to another. “I took the day off work.”

  He stayed where he was, a good ten paces from her. She’d never taken a day off work that he could remember.