Woman of Light (51)
“I may be empty-handed, but not for long.” Alfonso reached over and squeezed Lizette’s ass before taking the enchiladas from Maria Josie, tucking the platter beneath one arm while he made his other arm as straight as a tree branch. He asked for their coats, and they shook out of their jackets, delicately placing them across his right forearm. Alfonso carried the enchiladas and coats in the same way he often stacked dinner dishes at the Park Lane. He dashed out of sight, into the kitchen.
“Why, don’t you two look strikin’,” said Lizette.
Maria Josie was dressed in a dapper men’s suit with her hair slicked against her scalp with citrusy pomade. Luz wore an emerald dress that had once been left on Diego’s bedroom floor. What the girl had worn home, Luz had no idea.
“Nearly everyone’s here,” Lizette said, slurring her words a bit, guiding them deeper into the small house. The smell of tequila floated around the air, mingling with the scent of cologne and perfume and green chile. The narrow hallway was lined with couples, some married, some courting. Men cloaked their women in their arms. When they neared the downstairs bathroom, Maria Josie cut away from the cousins, fiddling with the belt loop on her slacks as she walked toward a tall, slender woman with delicate pale skin and black hair. Luz hadn’t seen the woman before, and she admired her floral silk dress. It seemed Maria Josie knew her well, for when they met, she cupped both of the woman’s hands in her own and tippy-toed upward, as if to lay a kiss on the woman.
“Food’s on the stove. Mama made her famous mole, and I made the green chile.” Lizette didn’t look back as she walked. She only raised her hand as she spoke, as if putting emphasis on certain sounds and certain foods. “There’s fried chicken, too. DeeDee from Five Points made it. And the Greeks brought a rack of lamb.”
Though she hadn’t been consciously aware of it, Luz was searching the house. “What about Avel? Is he here?”
Lizette paused before rounding the corner into the kitchen. She laughed, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah, Avel’s here,” she said. And, then, softer: “And David.”
The men were in the kitchen seated about a large round table covered in a purple cloth. The wooden sounds of poker chips clinked beneath their rumbling laughs. The room was blurry in lines of smoke. Tío Eduardo was the dealer, shuffling a red deck of cards with short, nimble fingers. Several men Luz didn’t recognize sat around him. Avel was seated against the window, the reflection of his neck on the glass. David was across from Avel, and Luz could see some of his cards. A red queen, a black spade, a red diamond seven. If she knew anything about poker, she might be inclined to think he was winning. The room moved with a mysterious language that was circular yet pointed, the language of men.
When Avel looked up from his hand, he glimpsed Luz with such anticipation that he immediately stood and almost knocked over the table. The others groaned and heckled him as he walked across the kitchen. He took Luz by the hand, kissing her gently on each cheek. “What a dress,” he said.
“She bought it special for you,” Lizette lied, and Luz jabbed her with her left elbow.
“Here,” Avel said, rummaging through his blue jeans pockets. “I have a present for you.”
David said over his shoulder, “Can’t it wait? We’re playing a card game here.”
“Jeez Louise,” Avel said. He shook his head and smiled, in a goofy way. “Forgive me, Luz. I have prior obligations, but you’re next. Well, you’re first. Always first.”
Luz swiped Avel’s right shoulder. She enjoyed his enthusiasm for her, the rabid way he focused solely on her. No one had ever treated Luz like that. “It’s not my birthday yet. A couple more days.”
Avel had gone back to his seat, and he looked up at Luz once more. “You deserve more than one day. A whole week. A whole month.” And then he was back to his cards, and Lizette was fixing a plate, which she thrust into Luz’s hands before dragging her into the parlor where the radio music was heavy and sumptuous.
Luz sat on a pink sofa and ate a pork tamale with her plate balanced on her knees. Lizette and Maria Josie were on the floor in the corner, going through a stack of records beneath a long-necked lamp. Maria Josie usually would have been in the kitchen with the men, had she any extra money to gamble away. A blond Anglo girl stood by herself, swaying to the music with closed eyes. She had on an expensive store-bought dress that was too tight around the middle and the buttons bunched and pulled away from her substantial breasts. Naturally, Luz thought, she was David’s date. She rolled her eyes at his predictability. Tía Teresita was standing with two of her sisters, both visibly pregnant. They all ate bizcochitos, spilling crumbs over their dresses and onto the rug. The little cousins were outside in the yard, tumbling in the cold grass and narrowly avoiding the lighted paper bags. Luz grinned at their joy. It amused her how children at adult parties celebrated in their own way. Not necessarily with their parents and aunties and uncles, but alongside them in their own smaller and happier world. Every now and then, Teresita would open the front door and scream for them to put on their coats. The children would disperse like geese being chased by a dog.
Luz had finished her plate when Lizette came over and set a warm cup of atole in her hands. “See that girl over there?” Lizette said, making eye contact with Luz and then dropping her gaze to her knee, jutted to the left. Near the fireplace, a young woman in a light blue dress stood with her face turned up, as if she were studying the ceiling. “She’s Avel’s singer.”