Skip to content

Chicacabra (Chapter 29) Doctor Predator

December 5, 2010

Chicacabra

By

Yoly Solis

Chapter 29: Doctor Predator

 

 

Descarado (dess-kah-rah-doe)

Low-life, shameless, scum of the earth.

Politicians fit nicely in this category. Lawyers are a close second. Suck in cheeks for emphasis.

  

**

 

“Pedro’s out of his mind. I don’t know what to tell him anymore,” Cristina said.

“I know. He’s called me at least fifty times today. They’re going to fire me,” Maria Elena said.

“Bueno, it’s up to us to fix this,” Tía Margarita said.

“But how?”

Joyce looked out the window. Cars arrived, people walked towards the house. Men carried coolers and charcoal and Gisela greeted them all with a smile. Chicacabra Divorce Intervention equaled Super Bowl Sunday.

“I have a plan,” Tía Margarita said.

Joyce turned back to the chicas. “I don’t think she’s going to listen.”

Tía Margarita pointed at her. “Joyce, this is all your fault!”

“My fault?”

“Si, you told her how wonderful it is to be divorced so that the two of you can go out and pick up strange men. Yes, it’s tempting to have wild sex with strangers, yes I’ve thought about doing it many times, many, many times, especially when I see Tío Roberto’s huevos crash against each other, but that doesn’t make it right. If anything you should have just told her to have a fling and get it over with, but never, never a divorce.”

“Tía, I didn’t say–”

“Yeah, Joyce, she listens to you,” Cristina said, pointing a French-tipped fingernail. “You should have just told her to do the nasty with a stranger in the back of a van and she would have been back with Pedro already.”

No point arguing. No point whatsoever. “Uh, sorry.”

The chicas seemed satisfied. They diverted their attention away, leaving Joyce free to look out the window and await the Gladiator’s arrival.

“We couldn’t get the famous doctor but I got his secretary’s brother, who just came over from the Old Country,” Maria Elena said.

“Psychologists in the Old Country aren’t any good, especially marriage counselors.”

“It doesn’t matter. I told him all he has to do is convince her to get back together with Pedro. If he doesn’t, he’s doesn’t get paid.”

“Good. How much?”

“Twenty dollars, dinner and a six-pack of Heineken.”

“Imported, eh? Pretty fancy for a recent arrival. I bet he would have done it for fifteen and café.”

Maria Elena shrugged. “He says he has a foolproof plan.”

Intervention guests didn’t bother to come through the front door. They went through the gate and under the shaded awning at the side of the house. Beer bottles sprung open, charcoal smoked on the grill. Only serious intervention guests entered the living room. Joyce wondered where The Gladiator would go.

The empty space on the sofa soon filled up and Joyce sat trapped between six women. She tried to get up but one of the women, wearing paint-by-numbers-eyebrows, yanked her back into the sofa.

“It’s about to begin.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to go to the bathroom.”

“Too late–he’s here,” painted eyebrows said, smashing her elbow into Joyce’s rib.

Joyce looked out the window. The Gladiator strolled through the front lawn. He headed towards the house. Come this way, that’s it, over here. He waved at someone and headed towards the party area. Crap.

Sweat drops poured into Joyce’s bra. She tugged as discretely as possible, hoping to avoid wet rings under her armpits. But as long as she was trapped, a meltdown was unavoidable.

The Old Country psychologist had arrived. Joyce tried to get a look at him but the intervention women crowded around him like chicas at a Macy’s clearance sale. Finally, the excited women led him to a seat.

Joyce’s jaw dropped. Whoa! Antonio Banderas, eat your heart out!

Cristina yanked Joyce out of the hot sofa.

“We’re doomed! The minute Gisela sees that muñeco, she’ll never go back to Pedro. Hell, I’m ready to leave Papito.”

“How can he fix a marriage? He’s a marriage destroyer! Any woman lays eyes on him; she’ll never want her husband again.”

“Maybe he’s gay. He’s too good looking.”

“Cheito and Henry already sniffed him out. Hetero- hotty. We’re screwed.”

“Where’s Gisela? She can’t see him.”

“She’s outside at the barbeque.”

The chicas never took their eyes off of the gorgeous doctor. Neither did Joyce. The doctor enjoyed the attention.

“I heard he was a male jinetero in the Old Country.”

“No one told me that.”

“You should have known, Maria Elena. This is all your fault.” 

“Listen to me, you stupid, stupid…”

Word got out and the women outside rushed through the front door for a peek at the doctor. They weren’t disappointed. Soon enough, over fifty women crowded the living room while the men drank beer outside. The hot doctor only served to increase the temperature in the room and in the pulsing, pre-menopausal women.

“Ay, are you the doctor?” Gisela asked, posing like Betty Boo.

“Si, estoy aquí para ayudarte.”

“Ay, si, ayudame.”

It didn’t sound good.

Gisela pulled up a chair next to the eye-candy doctor and at every opportunity, brushed his shoulder.

The men finally realized the women had disappeared and began to wander inside. In a matter of minutes, men crowded the living room.

Women swooned. Men growled and sucked in their beer bellies.

“We need to get rid of him.”

“They’ll hang us if we try.”

“This isn’t helping Gisela.”

“She looks happy.”

Gisela and the gorgeous doctor pointed at her. Joyce turned around, uncertain of the attention. Gisela signaled for her to come.

The Gladiator came through the front door. Joyce waved hello; so did he. He looked flushed.

Up close, the doctor looked even better.

The Doctor stood then kissed her cheek. Not an air kiss, a kiss that lingered too long for a casual greeting and which left behind saliva humidity. Joyce blushed. She fought the urge to fan herself.

“Oooh,” the women moaned.

“The doctor wanted to meet my single partner; my sister who would help me on my way to independence.”

The doctor smiled. The Gladiator frowned.

“He wants to know how long you’ve been divorced and if you realize how pretty you are.”

A masculine hand encircled her arm.

“Joyce, I need to talk to you about your car.”

The Gladiator’s eyes intensified, gold sparks shot from his irises. He was ready for battle.

“Tu amiga esta buenísima,” the doctor said, smiling.

Sounded good. Gladiator didn’t like it though.

It was Joyce’s turn. “Will you excuse me a moment?”

“A donde tu vas, niña linda?”

The Gladiator’s nostrils flared. Fun, fun, fun. He pressed a possessive hand against the small of her back and led her towards the kitchen. Joyce unsuccessfully wiped the smile off her face.

They faced each other. He looked flushed, sexy and jealous.

But he said nothing. He looked down at his feet.

Don’t get wimpy, Gladiator! Now’s your chance.

“So what did you want to tell me about my car?”

“I was just thinking that maybe we should…”

Trumpets blared. Was she going insane?

The crowd ran towards the oversized living room window. If Gisela’s house were a ship, they would have capsized. Every inch of window was cluttered with gawking faces. Finally, Joyce snuck a peek.

“What the…”

Pedro stood on the front lawn, in front of a Mariachi band, and sang off key.

“Gisela, I love you!” He screamed over the music.

“Humph.” Gisela pretended not to be interested.

“Gisela, you love Mariachis.”

“I used to.”

Pedro fell to his knees. The men laughed. “Te amo, te amo, te amo!”  

“What do you think, doctor? Does this mean that he really loves me?”

“It means nada. Diviértete ahora.”

The doctor was a predator.

Tía Margarita whispered something in the Gladiator’s ear. He nodded then spoke to two of the bulkiest men in the room. They approached the doctor.

By then, predator doctor affectionately patted Gisela’s arm, whispering doctor-ly advice in her ear as she giggled.

The Gladiator took advantage of the Mariachi distraction, bent over and said something in the doctor’s ear. The doctor looked up, held his palms out as if the police were arresting him. Gladiator & Co. escorted him outside.

Joyce would have given anything to know what the Gladiator had said.   

“Tía, why did you take the doctor away?” Gisela said, pouting. “He was helping me work through my issues.”

“The only thing he was helping you with was your fantasies. And if Pedro would have seen him, you would have lost your husband forever.”

“I’ve lost him anyway; to a frizzy-haired puta.”         

Tía Margarita crossed her arms. “Really, then why is he outside making a fool of himself in front of the world? Would he do that for a puta? Would the doctor ever do that for you?”

Gisela’s lips trembled. Then suddenly,“Waah! Why am I the bad one all of a sudden? I didn’t do anything wrong! Waah!”

“No, but you were about to.”

“Waah!”

The chicas comforted Gisela. The Gladiator comforted Pedro. And who the hell would comfort her?

Joyce watched Pedro and The Gladiator through the window. Their conversation seemed long and arduous, but then again so did most Miami conversations. Okay, Gladiator, step away from The Desperate Desperado and come back to me.

The group dispersed into the backyard; hunger drove them towards the barbeque. Joyce was hungry too, but not for ribs.

“Tía, you should have let Gisela have her fun. Didn’t you see how good looking the doctor was?”

“She would have screwed everything up.”

“You’re not kidding. She would have screwed every which way.”

“Shut up, Cristina.”

Joyce looked back out the window. Pedro shook his fists, waved at the air; The Gladiator patted him on the back. Then Pedro jumped up and down. Then the inconceivable: Pedro dismissed the Mariachis and left with the Gladiator.

Joyce wanted to scream.

**

 

Maria Elena, Cristina, Tía Margarita and Joyce climbed into the van.

“He didn’t leave you your keys?”

“No.”

“I’ll call him and tell…”

“No, don’t. Let him figure it out for himself. Besides, Gisela’s giving me a ride to work tomorrow.”

“Oooh. Somebody’s mad at Manny.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Remember what I told you.”

“That’s just silly. If Manny wants to be with me then he will be. Gisela can’t control that.”

“Really? You know that I’m right.”

“Sucker!” Cristina said and laughed.

“So, mi querida Joyce, once those two crazy fools are back together, you and Manny can start your life together.”

“Whoa, Tía, wait a minute. There’s no life together, I just like him, that’s all.”

“She only wants to play his violin, eh?”

“Nah, she wants to templar his guitar.”

“Nah, she wants to guzzle his fruit-y loins.”

“No, it’s more like…”

“Ya. Stop it, chicas.” Tía pursed her lips and stared at Joyce. “Your intentions are honorable, aren’t they?”

If wanting to fulfill uncontrollable fantasies was honorable then hell, yeah! She looked away from the old Chicacabra’s intense stare. “Tía Margarita, I, er don’t know what to say, I mean I don’t even know him, I can’t tell you what my intentions are.”

“How dare you!”

“Huh?”

“You just want to ravage his body and use him for sex! How could you?”

Beam me aboard, Scotty, hurry.

“Manny is a sensitive, kind boy. I promised his mother, who lives in New Jersey that I would take care of him. Certainly I was not to be a facilitator to a woman who spits out men like papaya seeds.”

Joyce couldn’t help it. She blurted out a laugh so loud, she herself was startled. So were the chicas.

The more shocked they looked, the harder she laughed.

“Are you a good girl, Joyce?”

Joyce’s eyes teared up. Her stomach clenched.

“I’m so sorry, Tía Margarita, I don’t mean to laugh, really.”

“Hmmph.” 

Maria Elena and Cristina made faces while Tía     Margarita crossed her arms and frowned.

“Ooh, you’re in trouble now, chica.”

**

   

“Gisela, Tía Margarita’s mad at me.”

“Ay, she’ll get over it.”

“No, I mean she’s real mad.”

“What did you do?”

“She asked me if my intentions towards Manny were honorable.”

“What did you say?”

“I laughed.”

“Oooh. You should never laugh at Tía.”

“I didn’t mean to, it’s just so ridiculous.”

“You can tell me–so what are your intentions?”

Argh.

The phone rang.

“Hi, Joyce.”

Joyce sucked in her cheeks–an expression she had learned from the chicas. “Hi.”

“Oh, ah, I guess you’re mad at me.”

Why was everyone mad at everyone?

“Why would I be mad?”

“I forgot to leave you your keys last night. I’m really sorry, but Pedro…”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it.”

She wouldn’t get sucked into his chocolate mousse voice or his hairy, thick thighs. He probably had toothpick legs underneath those mechanic pants anyway. She tapped her keyboard.

“Would you like me to bring your car over tonight?”

“Nah, that’s okay, Gisela will take me to the garage at lunchtime. Just leave the keys this time.”

“Oh.”

“So how much do I owe you?” 

Silence.

“Manny?”

“How did you plan on paying for this? We have a variety of payment plans to suit any desire.”

Whoa. Did she hear sexual undertones or blatant lust?  Was it her imagination or only her desperation?

“I guess we should discuss these options carefully.”

“I guess we should.”

Joyce hung up then pressed the intercom button.

“Gisela, do you really want to know my intentions towards Manny?

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, here goes. I want to chain Manny up to my headboard until the man dehydrates from lack of fluids in his body. Okay?  Are we clear now?”

Gisela giggled. “Tía Margarita will be so happy when she hears that.”

To be continued…

Advertisements
No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: