Part 19 (2/2)
”No.”
Bobby watched her run her hand over the seat, her finger tracing the bullet holes. Bobby s.h.i.+vered. She stepped back, her eyes moist now. ”It's kind of closure or something,” she said. ”Thank you.”
”I understand.”
She managed a smile. ”Well, I guess that's it.”
”Would you like to come hear me play?” he blurted.
She smiled. ”I don't know if that would be such a good idea.”
Bobby nodded. ”Sure, I understand.”
She looked away, then back at him. ”But hey, why not. High school crush makes good.” She had a beautiful smile and she gave it all to Bobby.
Bobby gave her the address of Gino's and they shook hands. She pressed her hand in his. ”Thank you,” she said, then turned and walked back to the bookstore.
On the way home, Bobby drove by a deserted warehouse with a huge fenced-in parking area. He slowed, then pulled in the open driveway and drove around to the back of the building. He sat for a moment, the car idling, then slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The car shot ahead. He got up to fifty, then hit the brakes and turned the wheel hard. He threw open the door, stood up, crouched down, stood up again, then threw himself back on the seat, trying to feel the bullet that killed Raymond Morales.
Eyes closed, leaning back, Bobby circled behind the singer on ”Lover Man,” looking for his openings yet not getting in her way. She finished her chorus and Bobby shuffled toward the microphone and played what he could till the bridge. He stepped aside and saw Gabriela Morales at a table to his left.
She was leaning forward, her chin resting on her hand, gazing at him with what he guessed was memory. Trying to remember that high school a.s.sembly? They finished the set with ”Just Friends,” and Bobby scorched the small audience with two choruses that got him a phony smile from the singer that said, Hey, I'm the star,remember Hey, I'm the star,remember?
He sat his horn on its stand and walked over to Gabriela's table. ”So, you made it,” he said.
She smiled. ”You're much better now than in high school.”
”Come outside with me,” he said. ”I need a cigarette.”
”Me too.” She picked up her purse and put a napkin over her gla.s.s.
They walked up Ventura Boulevard a ways, not talking much, just getting used to each other. Finally, they stopped and she turned to look at him.
”So where do you think this is going?” she asked. Her eyes were so dark and deep.
He moved in closer and kissed her lightly on the lips. She didn't resist, and when he pulled back, she opened her eyes and looked at him again. ”That's what I wanted in high school.”
”And now?”
She looked away. ”What is this? You want to f.u.c.k the kid sister of the guy who was killed in your car?”
”What? No, I-”
She waved her hand in front of her as if she was shooing something away. ”I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. Really, I'm sorry. I don't know why I came. It's just, I don't know, a connection with Raymond. Does that sound crazy?”
”No,” he said. ”I think that's why I came to the service. I wanted to see what your brother was about, what his family was about. I don't know if I can keep the car now.”
They turned and started walking back toward Gino's. ”Raymond was a g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger, a cocaine dealer, and he lost. He got in over his head and couldn't get out, except the way he did. I loved my brother but he gave my mother endless grief and worry. End of story.”
”And you?”
”This isn't a good way to start. There must be a girlfriend somewhere, right?”
Bobby nodded. ”I live with someone. Two years now.”
”Are you in love with her? Are you going to marry her?”
”I don't know,” Bobby said. ”I thought so.”
”I'm not going to be your girlfriend on the side.” A glimmer of fire in her eyes now.
”I know,” Bobby said.
She got quiet again, but her hand slipped into his. ”We're both here for the same reason,” she said.
Bobby knew immediately what she meant. They had both been touched by death and they were connected by it in a way only the two of them could understand.
”It's maybe the one good thing Raymond did,” Gabriela said.
”Yes,” Bobby said. ”Maybe it is.”
Ibarionex R. Perello
JERVEY TERVALON is the author of is the author of All the Trouble You Need All the Trouble You Need, Understand This, Understand This,and the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Timesbestseller Dead Above Ground. Dead Above Ground. In 2001, he received the PEN Oakland/Josephine Miles National Literacy Award for Excellence in Multicultural Literature. He is the writer-in-residence at Pitzer College and Occidental College, and is a California Arts Council Fellow. Tervalon was born in New Orleans, raised in Los Angeles, and now lives in the L.A. area with his wife and two daughters. In 2001, he received the PEN Oakland/Josephine Miles National Literacy Award for Excellence in Multicultural Literature. He is the writer-in-residence at Pitzer College and Occidental College, and is a California Arts Council Fellow. Tervalon was born in New Orleans, raised in Los Angeles, and now lives in the L.A. area with his wife and two daughters.
serving monster
by jervey tervalon
The interview for the position of personal chef for Monster Stiles was going to be at the Trump Plaza at this overblown, over-hyped restaurant that only idiots thought anything of.
Bridget, Asha's girlfriend, was a thin blonde who wore a short skirt, even as the first flurries of snow fell from the gray sky.
”I hate New Jersey,” I said.
Bridget laughed. I didn't mean for it to be funny.
”So, you had that cute restaurant in the Village?”
I smiled. ”I don't know about it being so cute.”
”I loved that place,” she said.
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