“You know how it is, Yuri...” She comes in and stands by my side.
She smells divine.
“I don’t think there’s a problem waiting till Thursday.”
And she heads for the back room.
Yuri puts the bills away and lights a joint. He blows the smoke in my face.
“Don’t look at me like that. You just never had the balls for business.”
That’s true.
I’m just Omaha, you know.
Omaha, with the happy face.
The one who crosses the street without a lick of sunlight. The one who doesn’t get wet at the beach when it rains. The one who knows how to talk to kids. The one who sells his only pair of shoes today and then tomorrow somebody gives him a motorcycle. The one who never pays but always invites. The one who leaves for church and comes back from the cabaret. The one everybody knows, and who everyone thinks tastes like honey. Or like really cold beer. Or smoked cheese. Or snapper. It’s a matter of taste. The one who came to stay. The one who’s always leaving. That one, yes, Omaha. The one you want to be.
It just won’t stop raining outside.
But I have to go out.
Or I’m going to go crazy.
The rain masks La Gloria’s stench so that it’s bearable. She doesn’t realize I’m behind her, staring at her ass while she’s absorbed in her excavation, until a few minutes later. She turns to me with her arms full of empty bottles.
“Hey, c’mon, gimme a hand.”
To her surprise, I say yes.
We put the bottles in a sack, already about half full with God knows what crap. We drag it one, two, three blocks in the rain, until she says, “We’re here.”
I follow her into the dark hallway. Stairs. She goes first. I miss a step and fall flat on the sack. It’s a little softer than I’d imagined. We go on. Door, lock, key.
“Come in.”
I manage to find a bench and sit down. La Gloria throws me something that feels like a towel and suggests I take off my shirt. I obey. She turns the light on and the first things I see are her tits.
Beautiful tits.
“You look like a wet cat,” she says, throwing her sweater on the floor. “C’mon, you must have come for something.”
She goes through a door and turns on another light.
The first room is a warehouse full of bags and trash. It didn’t surprise me. But this one does. There are books to the ceiling, piles of them, lovingly stacked. In the corner there’s a shiny hotplate. In the other, a naked mattress. In the other, a few things on hangers. That’s all.
And La Gloria, nude.
I didn’t see when she took off the Lycra and her tennis shoes. I’m still slow, very slow.
“We have to hurry,” she says. “My man will be here soon.”
Why not? All women have a right to get some, even the Glorias.
“What does your man do? Does he dumpster-dive too?”
“No way. My guy’s big, he has his own thing. He’s a businessman.”
“Oh, c’mon. What businessman is gonna wanna be with a little pig like you?”
“Hey, I’m telling you. My man’s the king of the neighborhood. His name is Héctor. Don’t tell me you don’t know him.”
“Héctor, the blond guy who sells weed?”
“That’s the one. You’re surprised? There are a lot of men who like women like me, women who know how to move. He doesn’t sleep with anybody else. I’m the one he likes. He’s always bringing me gifts.”
I approach her. She opens her arms to me.
I slap her twice, in rapid succession, across the face.
She collapses on the mattress, dripping blood from her nose.
“Son of a bitch! Cocksucker! What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“I don’t like women like you.”
“You’re crazy, faggot.”
“If Héctor asks, tell him it was Yuri.”
“And who the fuck is Yuri?”
“I’m Yuri,” I say, and leave her there, bleeding.
It was me who invited Daniela and her friend to the theater that night. Should I feel guilty about that? It was me who said, “Let’s go down the street.” Should I feel guilty?
Yuri’s right at the door, brow furrowed.
I peer inside.
There are four guys playing dominoes. Two smoke and look out the window without speaking.
The sergeant is in the middle of the hallway that goes to the back, and he’s making an effort with the Nintendo DS.
“I hate it when it gets like this,” Yuri says to me. “Too many people hanging out. But since it’s raining... If we only had two or three more... It’s actually a good day to make money but I don’t have many offers... Got any ideas?”
I shrug. What am I going to come up with?
A man walks out of the room in back and moves past the sergeant. Yuri signals another guy, who hurries to the back. The one who’s just come out of the room talks to Yuri.
“You should clean him up.” And he leaves in a hurry.
“Omaha, do me a favor, fire up the water heater,” Yuri says. “And fill the bathtub. And grab a couple of clean sheets out of my closet too.”
I obey.
Yuri’s closet shares a wall with the other room, the one in the back.
Something can be heard.
Not much, but something.
In any case, I don’t stick around.
I’m tired of hearing it.
Dani spent more than a week without speaking, without crying, without stepping outside. Practically without eating or sleeping. “I can’t stand it, Omaha, I can’t stand it. Why didn’t you do anything?”
I told her to go to the doctor, to get drunk, to get some sleep. She ignored me.
“Are you going to be much longer?” Yuri peers in from the bathroom door. “Two more guys just got here, and one of them pays really well.”
“I’m almost done,” I respond.
He could care less, and he leaves.
I stick my hand in the water. It’s still warm.
The boy looks up at me for the first time.
I return his gaze. It’s easy. Too easy.
“Get in here... Sit down... Lean forward so I can wash your back... Stand up... Raise your leg... Now the other one... Sit back down... Now turn around... Close your eyes so you won’t get shampoo...”
It’s too easy.
And I like that.
I dry him, I dress him, I push him out, I leave him in the back room and go signal Yuri. Without missing a beat, he calls over to a man who could be our grandfather.
“He has a couple of bruises and some scratches,” I tell Yuri. “So I turned off the overhead light and just left the lamp on. You know how some clients don’t like that.”
“You’re learning,” he says.
And it’s true. I’m learning. Finally.
Not much, but something.
Enough.
At least, I hope.
Today, when Daniela told me she wanted to have some ice cream and then go to the movies, and then to the theater to see some friends rehearse, I felt so good.
Now I feel so stupid.
The sergeant throws the old man out of the back room, slapping him disdainfully, but not too hard. We all have bad days. We can all have a bad day followed by another bad day. We’ll all have a worse day. Until the end of days. Until the end of us.
The old man leaves, crying.
The boy’s on the bed facing the wall, and he’s shaking.