Felix thought about the ring that was making a lump in his wallet. He’d filed the name Al off but left the “Always.” He wondered what his mother would say about his dreams of someday giving it to Maria Elena, the pretty girl with beautiful dark eyes he hoped to talk to that night. “I’ll be safe,” he promised. “I’m just going to see my friend Alejandro.”
Amelia looked worried. “Wasn’t he in a gang?”
“The Inca Boyz over in East Harlem,” Felix admitted. “But that was a long time ago, Mama. He doesn’t do gang stuff anymore. He’s a famous rapper now, and he’s my friend.”
“Well, he better take good care of my son or he will have me to deal with,” Amelia said with another smile as she brushed some food crumbs from the front of his sweatshirt. “I should have washed this,” she said. “You are so messy.”
“Aw, Mom,” Felix complained, aware that he and his mother were getting amused looks from some of the neighbors out enjoying the mild April evening.
“Do you know how to get where you’re going?”
Felix blushed. He knew that he was considered “a little slow”-he had difficulty comprehending what he read and math just made him confused. He had been held back in the sixth and eighth grades, and despite being nineteen years old he had just graduated high school. If there was too much going on, his brain seemed to shut down. Sometimes he’d come out of it and not remember where he’d been or what he’d done, but such episodes embarrassed him and he didn’t like to talk about it.
However, he could remember word-for-word anything he’d heard, so now his mother pulled out a piece of paper. “I got this off the Internet last night at work,” she said. “Catch the Four train to Grand Central Terminal and then the Seven to Times Square. Walk south on Seventh Avenue and then west on Thirty-eighth Street until you get to the Hip-Hop Nightclub. If you have any trouble, ask a policeman.”
“Okay, Mom, I got it,” Felix said, and kissed her on the cheek.
Amelia bit her lip and looked like she might cry again. “Are you sure? I don’t like you going out so late at night. And how are you going to get home?”
“I’m fine. Alejandro said he’d give me a ride back,” Felix responded, anxious to get going. She pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her purse and stuffed it in his front pants pocket over his protests. “Take it and have a good time. It’s not often I can keep anything from your father. Buy yourself a soda and maybe something to eat.”
“Thanks, Mom, I love you,” he said.
“And I love you, hijo,” she replied. “I always will, no matter what.”
Felix walked across Mullayly Park to the subway station at 167th and River Avenue and caught the 4 train into Manhattan. Repeating his mother’s instructions over and over to himself, he found his way to the nightclub, a former warehouse on West Thirty-eighth Street. He was pleased that he didn’t have to ask for help and made only one wrong turn-heading east on Thirty-eighth until he realized he was going the wrong direction. He was not so happy that there was already a line of people waiting outside the door to get in, but he took his place.
He didn’t have to wait long, however, before a limousine pulled up to the curb and Alejandro Garcia stepped out. The crowd cheered the appearance of the big-time recording artist.
Then Garcia spotted Felix. “My man,” the rapper said, which was followed by an embrace, “what you doing standing in this line? You’re a performer, homes, come with me.”
Garcia started to lead Felix to the front door but he pulled up short when he got a look at the right side of his friend’s face. “Who gave you that bruise?” he said with a scowl.
Felix shrugged. “No one. I ran into a door.”
“Don’t lie to me, Felix,” Garcia growled. “Was it your old man again?”
“It was an accident,” Felix said with a sigh.
“Accident my ass,” Garcia spat. “That fucker needs a lesson.”
Felix looked up in fear. “Please don’t,” he begged. “It’ll just make it worse later.”
Garcia studied Felix for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, homes, let’s forget about it for tonight. You ready for your big coming-out party?”
Felix smiled shyly. “I’ve been practicing a lot.”
“Good,” Garcia replied as he nodded to the bouncer at the front door who let them in. “Just try not to show me up tonight. Now, let’s see what’s shakin’ in the VIP room.”
The night went even better than Felix could have hoped. He performed raps by Common and Ol’ Dirty Bastard to the delight of the crowd. However, the highlight was when Alejandro Garcia bounced onto the stage and talked him into doing a duet with his latest hit, “Spanish Harlem Sistas.” As the crowd shouted encouragement, they traded verses, and although Felix had only heard the rap twice, he didn’t miss a word or mess up the beat. But it was his perfect imitation of his friend’s delivery that made the spectators go wild.
Flush with the praise of the crowd and his friend, Felix got the nerve to talk to Maria Elena, who was working the coatroom that night. She was short with long dark hair and full red lips, and he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the club. But she had just congratulated him on his performance when a large black man inserted himself between the two with his back to the girl and his angry face scowling down at Felix.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the man demanded.
“I… I… was talking to Maria Elena,” Felix said.
“I seen that. You hittin’ on my woman?”
“No,” Felix replied, beginning to wish he was anywhere else. “I… I… I was just talking to her.”
“Bullshit, you was cozying up, real smooth,” the man said accusatorily. “You’re trying to get in her pants, aren’t you?”
“I… I… I…”
“‘I… I…’ nothin’, motherfucker, you’re trying to hook up with my woman, ain’t that right?”
Frightened and under pressure, Felix did what he always did. He agreed. “Yes. I was trying to hook up with Maria Elena.”
“Why, Felix…,” Maria started to say with a smile.
But the black man’s eyes widened and his lip curled up in a sneer. He shoved Felix backward. “Why, you little…”
Whatever he was going to say was cut off when someone grabbed his arm and spun him around. That someone was Alejandro Garcia, who, although six inches shorter than the other man and forty pounds lighter, looked like he was going to go for the bigger man’s throat.
“You got a problem?” Garcia snarled, his eyes fierce.
“Yeah, this joker was messin’ with my girlfriend,” the man said, trying to sound tough, but his voice was guarded.
Garcia looked at Maria Elena. “Was Felix bothering you?”
Maria Elena shook her head. “No, we was just talking.”
The rapper turned to the other man. “They were talking,” he repeated. “No law against that. Now get the fuck out of here.”
“Why should I?” The black man was looking around for support without seeing any.
“Two reasons, pendejo,” Garcia said, moving forward until he was only a few inches from the other man. “One, you pushed and insulted my friend for no reason. Two, if you don’t, I’m going to kick your ass up around your ears. Comprende?”
The black man scowled down at his smaller opponent but made no move. “Fuck this place anyway,” he said. “Come on, Maria, we’re leaving. You don’t need this job.”
“Screw that,” she replied, shaking her head. “I ain’t quittin’ nothing but you, Perry. I’m tired of the macho bullshit.”
Alejandro cocked his head and smiled a most unfriendly smile. “Guess you heard the lady; now get your ass out of here.”
“Yeah,” Felix added. “Guh… guh… get your ass out of here.”
Garcia and Maria both looked at Felix in surprise. Then they both laughed as Perry turned and pushed his way out the front door.
“Watch out, Maria,” Garcia said. “I think Felix is going gangsta on us.”
“I don’t know,” Maria replied with a wink at Felix, who was blushing, grinning, and shifting back and forth from one foot to the other. “I like the new Felix. He’s kind of sexy.”