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Chicacabra (Ch 26) Suckle Honey

November 14, 2010

Chicacabra

By

Yoly Solis

Chapter 26: Suckle Honey

 

 Hablando disparates

Talking nonsense, gibberish

Common occurrence after five mojitos. 

Warning: If sober, do not attempt to decipher mojito disparates; headache inevitable.

 

**

 

Joyce’s telephone arm had fallen asleep. One o’clock in the morning and Gisela was still going strong.

“…and that time that he told me our love would be forever. I believed him, I really did–”

“Gisela, it’s really late. Just think about it, okay? He swears that nothing happened with the puta, and he says he’s not going to the Amazon, he just wants forgiveness, okay? Just talk to him. What have you got to lose?”

“Joyce, I’ve decided. I think it’s time I drink from another man’s vineyard.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve never tasted the sweet elixir of another man’s wine glass.”

“Maybe counseling is the way to go.”

“I’m serious. The chicas don’t believe me either. I think I want a puto in the back of my van, for once!”

Ay, ay, ay.

“I think I’d like a stranger’s hands groping me, relishing every inch of my body, taking me with desire, with uncontrollable hunger…

I could use me some of that.

…consuming me until I lose every ounce of energy in my soul—”

“Okay, I get it, I get it. Let’s take a break and discuss it tomorrow.”

“Who knows whose bed I’ll be lying in tomorrow–anything can happen.”

“Tell me about it.”

**

 

Gisela’s curls popped over the cubicle wall. “Tonight, we’re going to happy hour. It’s time I find my own puto.”

Joyce refused to look away from her computer screen. “Good luck with that.”

“You must go, too, Joyce. It’s all arranged.”

“Ah, noooo. I’m exhausted, Gisela. Do what you want, just leave me out of it.”

“I need you, Joyce. You’re my best friend in the whole wide world. Maybe we can hook up with two putos?”

“Forget it. Now way, no how, will I go to happy hour. There is absolutely nothing you can say to convince me to go. Nothing, I mean nothing you or the chicas can cook up can get me to go. I’m serious this time. Not even if you drag me by my flat, Anglo hair. Do you understand?”

Gisela smiled. Joyce’s phone rang. She stabbed a finger at Gisela in silent, scolding position.

“This is Joyce, may I help you?” She stifled a yawn.

“Hi, Joyce, it’s Manny.”

Ay, ay, ay. The Gladiator, lust of her life, the mighty warrior.

“Hi, Manny.”

“About your car,” he said, “looks like we need to replace the radiator.”

Replace anything you like, just use those strong hands to maneuver around…

“Uh-huh.”

“I can get the parts from a salvage yard instead of the dealer. It’ll be cheaper that way and just as good.”

Oh, yes, you make salvage yards sound so interesting…

“Uh-huh.”

“If I find one, then I can replace it for about $100, otherwise, it’ll cost a lot more.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Joyce?”

“Uh-huh?”

“What would you like me to do?”

Please don’t ask that question. I might answer it honestly.

“Uh, okay, whatever you say, Manny.”

He chuckled. “You sound a little tired.”

She smiled. “I guess so. I trust you, Manny; whatever you think should be done.”

“You shouldn’t trust strangers, you know. You never know what they’re thinking.”

Oh my God, can he read her mind?

“Uh, well, okay then, I’ll try to find a radiator in the salvage yard.”

Don’t hang up, please don’t hang up.

“Okay.”

“So, I guess I’ll see you later?”

She shook her head. “Later? You mean at your shop?”

“No, tonight at Casa Juancho.”

“Casa where?”

“Gisela’s happy hour.”

Whoa! She’ll plow him with drinks and ravage him in public! What an opportunity.        

“Oh, sure of course. I’ll be there with bells on.” Argh. West Virginia, did you make me say that?

 “I don’t know why Gisela’s got it in her head that she’s wants to be single. The good news is once she tastes the scene, she’ll go running back to Pedro.”

She grinned. “So you don’t like being single?”

“Hate it; you?”

She sighed. She didn’t hate it. Better single than with the wrong person.

“I guess it depends who you’re with or who you’re not with.”

“I guess you’re right.”

I guess you’re hot!   

“Save me a dance?”

Her jaw dropped. She didn’t dance. “Sure.”

She didn’t press the intercom button this time.

“Gisela!”

Her curls popped over the cubicle wall.

“What kind of music do they play at this happy hour place?”

“Salsa.”

“Argh.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The Glad—I mean Manny asked me to save him a dance. I don’t dance, much less salsa.”

“So you’re going, eh? And I didn’t have to pull your hair?”

“What can I say; the flesh is weak.”

“Yeah, I hope you take care of that before tonight. We need to look our best.”

**

 

“This is Joyce, may…”

“Yoyce, you must help me. I am desperate. I am floating in the ocean. Sharks surround me….”

Argh. When was Mrs. Anderson going to pay for caller I.D.? “Pedro, I’m sorry, I’m very busy at the moment, I–”

“I am waiting for you outside, I must speak with you. My chest hurts, my heart is breaking; it will explode out of my…”

“Okay, okay, okay. But only for a minute.”

“Gisela,” Joyce banged her fist against the cubicle wall, “Pedro’s outside. Why don’t you go out there and talk to him?”

No answer. She peeked over the wall. Empty.

She walked into the lobby, looked through the glass front doors and watched Pedro’s Hawaiian shirt flap in the wind as he paced the bottom steps. She opened the door.

He ran towards her. Joyce cowered back. “Yoyce, please, you must help me. Tell me what she say; throw a lifeline to save me from hell. I am drowning, I am nothing without her, I am…”

“Okay, okay. Uh, I guess she’s not ready yet. She needs to work some things out, but I’m sure that eventually…”

He scrunched his face as if he were ready to cry while his bald head glistened in the sunlight. He looked cute, in a neurotic sort of way.

“I know she goes to Casa Juancho tonight.”

The Gladiator sold Gisela out? Hmm. Disappointing.

“How did you know about Casa, er, whatever it’s called.”

“Tía Margarita told me. She is going as chaperona.”

“Tía Margarita’s going, too?” Joyce stifled a chuckle. No better chaperone than a woman obsessed with male genitalia.

“You must convince my Gisela that there is only one man for her. No one will love her like me. She is my flame, my budding flower. I am her bee, I suckle her honey…”

“Okay then, I will pass on this important message and…”

He dropped to his knees. She heard a painful crack. Ouch. “I beg of you, you must save me, my life is in your hands, I cannot…”

“Please, Pedro, get up. Please get up.”

He stood, rubbed his sore knee then, “Waah!”

She tentatively patted his shoulder. “Please don’t cry. Look, I promise I’ll do my best to convince Gisela to talk to you, okay?”

He nodded. She wondered if there were grief manicures for heartbroken chicos, too.

 To be continued…

 

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