Damaged Goods

by Dane, Cynthia

  The only one in the family completely oblivious to all that ugly shit was Reina, who had been too young at the time, and that was probably why she had the best relationship with Joseph. She wasn’t a stranger around his apartment.

  Joseph still considered these people his family, though. His father had set up multiple trusts and hired his son the best financial advisor around. I don’t need to work. Technically. But like his father, he liked to work to the point it became an addiction. Didn’t matter if it was creating an investment portfolio for Latin billionaires or taking down high profile assholes in the Pacific Northwest.

  So he was here, the day before Independence, readying to eat enchiladas and listen to his step-mother and grandmother bicker in highly regionalized Spanish as they had since the day he moved in. Eavesdropping on their conversations were what let young Joseph Stone turn into a dastardly fluent Joseph Montoya.

  “Joseph!” Horatio was one of the only ones who called him by that name. And when he bellowed his oldest son’s name like that? Joseph was eight again, happy to have someone who wanted him so much. “There’s my boy! Haven’t seen you in ages!”

  He ruffled his son’s air, jacket still on. The smell of cigars and tequila followed him. “It’s been a whole two weeks.”

  “Has it? Feels like ages.” Horatio rounded the coffee table and kissed his daughter on the head. “Mi mjia reina gets lovelier every day, doesn’t she, Joseph?”

  A cursory glance at his sister, wearing nothing more than a red and blue tube dress that probably made her mother have a stroke, was all he needed to fulfill his familial duty to their father. “Indeed she does. You’ve got four grown children now.”

  “You listen to your big brother,” Horatio said, wagging his finger in front of Reina’s face. “If you don’t have me to listen to…”

  “Then listen to Josef, yes, yes, I get it.”

  “See? Be glad you don’t have a daughter.” A hand clapped onto Joseph’s shoulder. “Though I should be asking what you’re doing with your life to be over thirty and have no wife. Don’t forget: we’re Catholic.”

  “You’re Catholic. I was never baptized.” Genevieve Stone was a staunch agnostic, and having her son admitted to any church was the one thing she did not condone after letting said son run off to live with another family.

  “Worse. You’re culturally Catholic. You simply don’t have a mother to make you feel that delicious guilt that you haven’t given her grandbabies yet.”

  Juanita rolled in at the sound of her son’s voice. “He’s got me. Get married, Josef. I’m not dying until you give me a great-grandson.”

  “At this rate Rafael’s going to beat him to it.”

  “Hey, idiot son,” Juanita barked. “Get over here and give your mother a kiss.”

  Horatio hugged his mother on top of kissing her forehead. After that, every person in the family was summoned to the dining room.

  An afternoon with the Montoyas was always an exercise in patience and multitasking. A dozen people talking at once, food passed around even though servants were ready to do it for them, an argument brewing at one end of the table only for the other to be nothing but a string of dirty jokes that had been told since Joseph was ten and deemed old enough to understand. (He hadn’t been.) Everyone was in everyone else’s business. Even Rafael, who showed up in a Valentino suit and wearing enough aftershave to choke his grandmother, grilled Joseph about his love life. He may not have been the next in line of succession, but he was still the big brother figure, and there was an unspoken rule in the Montoya family that nobody would marry until Joseph was paired off with a woman who lasted more than a few months. They had all hated Stella. They loved Angelica, though. I never did call her back… About Stella, no less.

  Sometimes Joseph made an uncomfortable connection: his family had announced his disinheritance right around the time he had his first super serious girlfriend.

  By the time Joseph headed home, careful to bypass holiday traffic as he followed the Willamette River northward, he faced a sore truth. His sexuality was a threat to his family. Angelica had shown them that, even though the Montoyas expressed disappoint every time they split up over the past ten years. The last time had been the most final, with Angelica announcing she was marrying another man.

  Now she had the children that Joseph had never been able to give her. Because no matter how compatible we were on the outside, inside our genetics refused to mesh. He was healthy. She was healthy. For some reason, however, both of their children hadn’t made it past the second trimester.

  “Shit.” Joseph blatantly broke the law he promised to uphold when he held his cell phone to his ear. The other end of the line rang while he stopped at a red light. “Hello?” he said, when the other person picked up. “Angelica?”

  The silence made him wonder if their line dropped. Then, “Hello, Joseph. Only took you a week to call me back.”

  He could hear her smiling. Angelica had a smile that could ring for miles. “I’ve been busy with work. I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

  “I should be saying that to you. I know this weekend is big with your family.”

  Only a year ago Angelica had accompanied Joseph to the Montoyas’ Independence Day dinner for the last time. We broke up a month later. After a long, long conversation about what they both wanted from their lives. Joseph often wondered how much the miscarriages played into it. Did Angelica resent him? Was looking at him a painful reminder that they were not genetically meant to be? Angelica wanted to be a mother so badly that perhaps it was possible she could never be with a man who would only bring her gestational heartbreak.

  “It’s fine. Like I said, work. Now, what’s on your mind?”

  He pulled into his parking garage and shut off the engine. Angelica respectfully waited until Joseph was out of his car and heading toward the elevator before explaining. “It’s Stella. I know you’re not seeing her anymore, but she’s been coming around our house and trying to get info out me. About you.”

  “Don’t know what you could tell her that she doesn’t already know.”

  “It’s for that tell-all book she’s writing.” Angelica scoffed. “She wanted me to spill dirt on you. As if I would.”

  The elevator doors opened to Joseph’s floor. “Thanks, Angel.” He cleared his throat while removing his keys from his pocket. “Hey, if you have time, maybe we should have lunch soon. Catch up.”

  He fumbled with his keys until his damn door finally opened. “Not sure that’s a good idea, unfortunately.”

  The apartment was dark after dusk. Lights came on. Joseph locked his door behind him. “Why not?”

  Was that a sigh? “I don’t want to upset you.”

  “Why would you upset me?”

  “Let’s put it this way. I don’t want Stella trailing me because of my delicate disposition. Doctor says I need to eliminate as much stress as possible. Suffice to say, she stressed me out.”

  Joseph caught himself on the kitchen counter. Leftover enchiladas cooled in a paper bag. “You’re pregnant.” He had to say that with his eyes closed, otherwise he’d topple from nausea.

  “Yes. Eleven weeks. I’m treading carefully.”

  A heavy breath echoed in the otherwise quiet apartment. “Congratulations. I wish you the best of luck.” Can I sound any more deadpan? Jealous? How could he not sound jealous? The biggest love of his life had left him to be with another man who could give her what she wanted. Angelica had only been married six months and was already finishing her first trimester. It’s the second that petrifies her. Angelica wouldn’t be relieved until the baby was born, proving that it wasn’t her fault she miscarried twice before. I wish I could be there for her, like I was before. No. That would cause more of that stress. Not to mention… Angelica’s new husband probably wouldn’t like the ex being around much.

  “Joseph.”

  He sank into the nearest dining chair. “Yeah?”

  “I wanted to ask you one last thing. You’re
the only other person besides my doctor and husband who knows I’m pregnant right now.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “That’s not it.” Angelica audibly swallowed. “I wanted to ask if I could name it Joshua.”

  “So it’s a boy?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Joseph tried not to think of the implications of her question. “Why are you asking my permission? You can name your child whatever you want.”

  “Because you know… Josue…”

  The phone almost cracked in Joseph’s hand. Our son. They had decided on that name after finding out their last child was a boy. Josue Montoya. My son. He would’ve been five by now. Or was it six? The years were escaping Joseph already. “Joshua is a great name. Very gringo to match your new husband.” Like some man named Alan Mitchell would have a son named Josue.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “I’m not doing anything.” Joseph checked himself. “All right. I’m sorry. Truly. It’s fine, Angel. Name him whatever you want. I’ll… think of it as a second chance for him.”

  They were silent. Don’t cry, loser. Joseph hadn’t cried since Angelica left him almost a year ago. And before that? The day he found out his little Josue was never going to be born. Maybe this would be a second chance. The kid needed a better father. Yeah. That was it. Alan Mitchell would make a much better father anyway. He had money, a house, and a job not in law enforcement. The many times they discussed getting married, Angelica asked her ex to take a permanent desk job to stay out of danger. He was going to do it, too.

  “Gracias, Josef.” That name was most painful coming from her.

  They hung up shortly afterward. Joseph grabbed a beer from his fridge and buried himself in work. Might as well get a jump on it so he would have a little free time the next day. Apparently he had a date with one of his exes… and not the one he still harbored a whole pit of pain for.

  Chapter 9

  Sylvia

  “Your move.” Sylvia sat back, hands curling on the table. Across from her, a haggard man who smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a week studied the chess board. “Want some more coffee? I’ll go in and get you a refill.”

  Carl gaped at her with wide, wild eyes and yellow teeth. His big bushy gray beard knocked over a pawn when the wind kicked up.

  Not many places around Sylvia’s house were open on Independence Day, least of all her usual haunts. She had no work that day. The Italian place down the street didn’t consider her good enough to employ on a holiday, and Decades was closed. Fine with her. Sylvia was going undercover the next day, right? Might as well enjoy her last day of freedom by having a latte at a trendy café and playing chess outdoors with one of her favorite neighbors.

  Carl, unfortunately, heard a lot of voices. Most of the voices were benign, but people in Portland did not take kindly to their hundreds of neighbors who talked to themselves and occasionally aroused the attentions of the local police. True, he didn’t smell great, but it wasn’t because he didn’t want to shower. The homeless shelters were overflowing, as usual, and Carl made due by making the rounds in Sylvia’s neighborhood. Whenever she saw him and had the spare time, she always bought him something and offered to play a game with him.

  Unfortunately for her, one of his voices was a former Russian chess champion.

  “Check… checkmate!” Carl leaped up from his seat, knocking half the board over. I’ll take his word for it. Sylvia cleaned up the pieces with the help of the man sitting at the table next to them. Together they put the pieces back in the box while Carl shouted – in Russian – at someone walking by. Sylvia didn’t know a lot of Russian, but she was pretty sure Carl was talking about being the eternal chess champion.

  “See you, Carl.” Sylvia gave him a hug before he grabbed his duffel bag, waved, and wandered down 21st Street. Immediately pedestrians began to swerve around him, even if they refused to look at him.

  “Friend of yours?” the man at the table next to hers asked.

  “Sure. A girl should know her neighbors.”

  “He doesn’t bother you?”

  No. Why? He bother you, asshole? Sylvia threw on her award-winning work smile. The man instantly relaxed. “My older brother has schizophrenia. It’s not a big deal.”

  Sylvia hated it when people were in awe of her ability to casually interact with mentally ill people… let alone the homeless ones. A vast majority of them were harmless. All they wanted was a couple of bucks to catch the bus to a shelter or maybe a bottle of water during the hot summer months. Sylvia never understood why it was such a big deal to offer the occasionally spare dollar here and there if it meant people like Carl or Sam Jean got through another day. Haven’t seen Sam Jean since the hospital. Even Sylvia was extra cautious walking home from Decades because of what happened to Sam Jean.

  Besides, when a girl had a schizophrenic older brother and a younger one with Down’s syndrome… nothing fazed her.

  The only thing fazing her right now was seeing Joseph Montoya get out of his car, put money into a parking meter, and walk up to a brick condominium across the street.

  “Well, well,” Sylvia said, leaning against the table. The man beside her packed up his computer and left. “If it isn’t Agent Big Shot.”

  For once, he didn’t seem to be stalking Sylvia. He was more invested in whoever lived in one of the pricey condos.

  A blond woman met him at the door and let him in. Sylvia let out a low whistle. Is that Stella? Well, well, indeed!

  A half hour and another latte later Joseph emerged from the building, fuming beneath his white shirt and sunglasses. He was dressed for work, minus the jacket. On a federal holiday? Interesting. He wasn’t kidding when he said he would be busy before the investigation began.

  He was about to get in his car when he happened to look across the street. Sylvia twiddled her fingers at him.

  She half expected him to get in his car and drive away without acknowledgment. But, to her curious chagrin, he crossed the street and pulled out the chair across from her. He found a stray Rook where Carl had once sat and handed it to Sylvia.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Stalking your exes now?”

  Joseph crossed his arms. “How much did you see?”

  “I saw you going into Starling’s condo. That’s about the extent of it.”

  “Her name is Stella,” Joseph said. “You don’t want to be called Quail? I doubt she wants to ever hear the name Starling again.”

  “Funny. Sebastian was always partial to her name out of all of them.”

  “And how is Sebastian doing?”

  Sylvia shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen him since the trial.” It was going to stay that way. Sylvia wasn’t going to some prison to visit her shitty ex. “I’d rather talk to you.”

  “Is that so?” Joseph leaned his chin against his hand. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Sex, obviously.”

  “Oh, obviously.” Someone was not immediately impressed. Darn. Walk into my traps, please. Starting tomorrow, this man would be spending most of his day living in her ear. She might as well get her kicks in now. “By the way, I like the look. Very Portland chic.”

  “Huh?” Sylvia glanced down. She had left her black dresses in her closet and went out wearing a white and blue plaid shirt coupled with a flowy black cotton miniskirt. “This old thing?” She touched her top undone button. He’s got some undone buttons too.

  “The hair is nice too.”

  Her high ponytail was the only thing keeping her neck cool on that warm July day. “I’m getting it cut tomorrow. So drink it in while you can.”

  “Ah, that’s right. The big makeover that I’m paying for.”

  “So gracious of you. Thanks for the dresses, too.” For the first time in months, Sylvia had marched into Pioneer Square Mall with her head held high and a credit line courtesy of Horatio Montoya’s eldest. Five designer dresses (from that year, no less!) were hers to wear ar
ound Alexander Sheen. With any luck he would be so enthralled with her charm and body that he would divulge every disgusting bit of information he had about the human trafficking operation plaguing the area. Then I’ll take the longest bath ever to wash the loser off me. “I’m going to look so fine this next week. I’ll be fabulous for all my future arrests, you wait. I’ll be escorted into that station wearing clothes you bought me.”

  Joseph wouldn’t respond to that. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  That caught her off guard, if only because she wasn’t anticipating talking about that kind of work. “Yeah, I guess. What? It’s a sweet gig, being the escort of a billionaire coming through town. I’ll be able to put it on my résumé when I apply to that company in LA.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oops. Shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t want you telling your cop buddies down south and killing my best bet of a dream job on the west coast.”

  “No worries. I don’t care about escort agencies. Besides the fake ones I operate, anyway.”

  “Hey, wanna see something cool?”

  “What?”

  “I can turn ‘on’ at any moment. Boom.” She snapped her fingers. “The good hotness that bags me some money for the night. Right now you’re looking at civilian Sylvia, girl about town and staying in the shadows. Say the word and I’ll transform into a woman who will have every guy in the neighborhood thinking lewd thoughts about her.”

  Joseph was hard to read with his sunglasses on, but Sylvia didn’t miss him leaning back in his seat and crossing both arms and legs. So distant. So vulnerable. Sheesh. “Including me?”

  “Like you’re not already.”

  He didn’t answer that either.

  “Here, watch this.” Sylvia went to the corner of the building, where she leaned against blue shingles and pulled her ponytail down. Chest length black hair fluttered in the breeze as she pulled out her cell phone and lazily scrolled through Reddit, her feet curling in her sandals and her cheeks occasionally puffing out in perceived boredom – but really, she was mimicking the tried and true blowjob face. Every man who walked by would immediately think of that when they looked at her.