“Jesus Christ, Mami,” I exclaim. “Are you trying to kill me? My heart almost came out of my mouth.”
“Count yourself dead, señorita, if you don’t start explaining,” she says, tapping her chancleta against the linoleum, her face twisted into a scowl.
I’m a grown-ass woman, for Chrissake. I shouldn’t be afraid of my own mother.
And yet.
Maybe it’s a Puerto Rican mother thing.
“It’s for work,” I say, my hands in the air, gesticulating God knows what.
Eli raises an eyebrow in surprise.
“Work?” Mami asks, unconvinced. “It’s past midnight!”
“I’m not exactly in the position to turn down jobs, am I?” I say defiantly.
“What work?” she presses. Then switching to Spanish, she adds, “What is this, some homeless makeover?” She glares at Eli, wrinkling her nose as if she’s smelling sour milk.
“Oh my God, Mami,” I cry out in Spanish. “Do you even hear yourself? That’s so offensive.” My face burns with embarrassment. I cut Eli an apologetic look, praying he can’t understand. And maybe he doesn’t, because he seems quite entertained by this whole shit show.
She rolls her eyes. “Miss high-and-mighty. You could’ve been a lawyer. You could be married already! Instead, you’re wasting your time and talent. Getting fired—why? You won’t say. And now this? Whoisthis gringo you’re sneaking around with?”
I dig my fingers into my scalp, pulling at my hair by the roots. Implied in “this gringo” is the staunch Islander belief that all mainland white men are colonialist pricks whose only aspiration is to pillage and plunder—they take and take and take until there’s nothing left.This gringo—she’s really saying—cannot be trusted.
I mean, sure, in this case, she’s probably right. But I’m not about to give her an inch.
“Thisman”—I motion to Eli, switching back into English, arms hovering up and down his body as if showing off a prize in a game show—“is Eli. He’s a…” My brain sputters, struggling to come up with an airtight story. This is exactly why I don’t do unprepared.
“An actor,” Eli asserts without missing a beat.
“That’s right,” I say, following his lead. “A friend of mine hired me to be his publicist. She works with one of those film companies always shooting around town.”
“A friend?” Mami asks pointedly. “What friend? You’ve never mentioned any friends?”
“Holly,” Eli offers. “She’s on her way. Excellent film producer.”
I stare at him, searching his face for any indications of a lie, but I find none. I’m both impressed and alarmed at his seemingly innate ability to deceive on the spot.
I should be thrilled, I tell myself. After all, that’s exactly why we hired him.
“He’s got a big audition in the morning,” I continue. “Playing a young, rich investor.”
“It’s a thespian emergency,” Eli deadpans.
I snort, then pretend to sneeze to cover it up.Thespian emergency?
“God bless you,” he says with a wink.
Mami stares dubiously between us, then evaluates Eli withthe fastidiousness of someone about to buy a used car. I can almost hear her mind ticking off a makeover checklist inside her head. Shave. Haircut. Nails. Eyebrows. Skin.
“Fine,” Mami says, as if answering a request that was never verbalized. “I’ll have to change into my work clothes.” And with that, she swivels and marches back into the house.
I watch her leave, then close my eyes in a strained attempt to find some calm.
“Taking a standing nap, are we?” Eli asks. I open my eyes to find him staring down at me, his expression bemused.
“More like contemplating matricide,” I mutter. “Do you have any experience digging graves?” I narrow my eyes, then rethink my question. “Actually, don’t answer that.” I put up a hand between us. “I don’t want to know.”
