Tarnished Beauty (8 page)

J
AMILET APPRAISED
the fruits of her labor. In the kitchen, she surveyed the gleaming counters, and the coffee cups stacked neatly next to the coffeepot, ready for tomorrow's breakfast. In the living room, there wasn't a beer can to be found. They had all been gathered up, along with load after load of food wrappers, and deposited in the trash cans outside until they bulged, their lids tilted off center like cockeyed hats. The couch had been thoroughly cleaned and the cushions propped up evenly from end to end, and it was no longer necessary to squint through layers of greasy dust to see the TV screen. In the bathroom, the tub was scrubbed, the mirror polished, and the floor mopped. In her own little room, Jamilet threw away what was obviously trash, organized and rearranged the myriad boxes into one corner, and swept out the rat filth along with everything else.

The only room she didn't touch was her aunt's bedroom. She did peek in, however, and was not surprised to find that the clutter had invaded this room as well, although to a somewhat lesser degree. There was clothing draped everywhere, and various books and magazines were strewn about on the bed. They were similar to books she'd seen thrown into a pile in one corner of the living room. Jamilet had organized them as best she could so that they all faced in the same direction. Now and then, she flipped through the pages with her thumb, first in one direction and then the next, enjoying the cool slip of air on her face, and the smell of ink on paper.

She studied the pictures on the covers next. They were different, and yet all the same. Beautiful ladies swooning in the arms of athletic men whose muscles bulged as they struggled to control their wanton passion, for there was almost always a breast or a thigh poised to reveal itself. Their expressions were also fascinating, with eyes half closed in breathless rapture, nostrils flaring, and lips parted as though preparing to bite into a succulent peach. Never had she been more curious about the kinds of stories that could provoke such a frenzied state.

As she cleaned, she returned to the books several times in order to stare at the faces and wonder. While polishing the mirror in the bathroom, she tilted her chin, and narrowed her eyes in an attempt to imitate one woman's expression: passion laced with anger; the tender surprise of a fawn covering her naked bosom; and the seductive eyes, ready to submit or be taken by force. All the while she played this game, she pondered the most intriguing question of all: When and how had her aunt managed to learn how to read?

 

When Carmen came home, she stood frozen in the doorway. The grocery bag she held in one hand slipped through her fingers and dropped to the floor with the unmistakable clunk of a six-pack. Her purse was the next to go.

“My God,” she said, tugging on the loose flesh under her chin. “I didn't realize how big this place was…”

She drifted in as though in a trance, not sure of where to look next, and then turned suddenly toward the kitchen. There she stood in the center of the room, mouth half open and eyes blinking slowly. Swiftly, she ducked her head under the counter, as if she might catch someone there, and here too her eyes met with a wondrous sight. Where yesterday it had been impossible to accommodate her feet, it was cleared out and spotless. She straightened up slowly, her face slack with the shock of it all. It was rare that Carmen should ever find herself speechless, and it took a few moments before she could shake the feeling and find her bearings. “How did you do it all in one day?” she finally asked.

Jamilet felt herself pump up with pride, and she straightened her shoulders in spite of her fatigue. “I'm a hard worker.”

“You sure are,” Carmen said, heaving her massive chest as if she were out of breath just thinking about it. “You did the work of ten people here, Jami.” Then she burst out laughing. “Oh man, Louis is going to shit his pants.”

“Louis?”

Carmen propped her hands on her hips, feeling much more herself. “Oh, you'll meet him,” she said all a flutter. “He's coming over tonight.” She glanced at her watch, waddled quickly to her bedroom, and stood before her door, uncertain about whether or not to enter.

“I didn't clean up your room, Tía,” Jamilet said. “I thought I should ask you first…”

“Next time, don't ask,” she said brightly before disappearing into her room.

While Jamilet was putting away the beer Carmen had left in the living room, she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find a middle-aged man with skin as dark as strong coffee, and a shabby gray mustache that curled over his lips. He dropped his own bag of beer on the same spot Carmen had used moments earlier, looking even more amazed than she had.

“Excuse me,” he said, taking a tentative step forward. “Am I in the right house?” He repeated his question in a louder voice so that Carmen would hear him in her bedroom. “Am I in the right house, woman?” He was on the verge of laughter now and Carmen responded with, “Yes you are, old man,” and a cackle of her own that busted him up with pure pleasure. “I guess I am,” he said, turning to Jamilet with a jolly crinkled smile. Unlike Carmen, he took his own bag straight to the kitchen while Jamilet trailed after him.

“You do all this?” he asked, looking all around as he popped open his first beer.

Jamilet noticed that Louis was able to drink beer even faster than her aunt. “I did it all today,” she replied.

She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down three times before he set the can down on the counter and swallowed a belch. “That's amazing…what's your name?”

“Jamilet.”

He nodded, his eyes slightly glazed. “You're the cousin, right?”

“The niece.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at her face. “That's right, the niece. Carmen told me you were coming.”

“I don't think she expected me so soon,” Jamilet said, hoping he'd tell her she was all wrong about that, and that her aunt had been looking forward to her arrival ever since she'd learned of her sister's death, and that she'd been worried sick about her only niece.

Louis ran his finger along the rim of his empty beer can, seemingly preoccupied with whether or not to have another one so soon. “Let me tell you about your aunt,” he said with the gleam of admiration in his eyes. “She never expects nothing and she never plans for it if she does. If she knew a year ahead of time you were coming, it would've been the same to her.”

Jamilet took his empty can and tossed it in the trash, hoping he'd taken good care to notice where it was.

“You must be real tired,” he said, leaning on the counter as he took note of the dark circles under her eyes and the pale lips.

“Tired” didn't begin to describe it. She was now drifting and managing to move and breathe by drawing on what strength she could garner from the filaments of anxiety that sparked her into action just when she was ready to collapse. “I didn't sleep too good last night,” she said.

“You probably didn't eat too good either,” he said with a knowing wink.

Jamilet shrugged. Her mouth was past watering. It was positively dry, and the aching in her stomach had started to throb in her ears since the afternoon, and hadn't been relieved except for a few minutes when she gobbled down the stale crackers she found in the kitchen drawer next to an unopened package of rat poison.

“She's a good woman, your aunt, but she's no hostess,” he continued. “She's got no sense for it.”

At that moment Carmen made her entrance wearing a red dress cut so low that her cleavage must have measured at least a foot in length, yet there was plenty that still wasn't showing. Her black hair was teased big and high and she wore hoop earrings that could've strangled a cow.

Carmen smiled from ear to ear, delighted to see Louis's eyes bugging out at her cleavage and the slit in her skirt, cut way up to reveal a mighty thigh. Standing next to her, Jamilet thought that he looked small and bent, like a stick somebody had snatched out of the fire before it turned to ash. She imagined that if her aunt were to embrace him, he'd disintegrate in her great arms and ruin her dress.

But Louis was gushing and smiling, and sucking on the scraggly ends of his mustache as if they'd been dipped in honey. “You're a whole lotta beautiful woman,” he declared.

Carmen giggled and shoved his shoulder. He bounced away and sprung back at her. “A whole lotta sexy woman,” he added while sweeping his hand along the voluptuous contour of her buttock before placing it on her shoulder, and assuming a more sensible expression. “Your niece is very hungry,” he said, nodding at Jamilet. “She spent all day cleaning for you and I think we should get her some dinner before we go out.”

Carmen's face went suddenly pale and loose about the jowls, apparently disappointed that the compliments had ended so soon.

“That's okay,” Jamilet said. “I can eat something here.”

“Eat what?” Louis said. “There's no food in this house, never has been. Isn't that true, Carmencita?”

Carmen was pouting and examining a loose thread on her sleeve. “I like to eat out mostly.”

“Yes, well, your niece needs to eat too…my little flower…,” he said, cajoling her with the confidence of one who'd met with frequent success using such tactics. “How about if I stay over tonight?”

This cheered Carmen up enough to prompt her toward the refrigerator for her first beer of the evening. She offered another to Louis, who accepted by holding his hand up in the air like an outfielder. She turned to her niece, and Jamilet surprised herself by doing the same. In a few seconds beers were flying across the kitchen like frigid bombs. Jamilet caught hers like a pro, and flicked open the tab with an easy snap of her forefinger as it burped in a friendly sort of way. She'd never been curious about the taste of beer, but was certain that anything would be better than the stale soda crackers and tepid tap water she'd been consuming all day.

She took a cautious sip and felt the cool fizz dance over her tongue and throughout her mouth, bitter and toasty, like burnt bread. Her gums began to tingle with the next sip and she bit down on the bubbles escaping down her throat. After a few more swallows, her cheeks and ears were glowing and a pleasant numbing sensation had spread over her lips and part of her face. The hunger she'd felt earlier was almost gone, and she was swaying on her feet, listening to the talk between her aunt and Louis, and trying to discern its meaning. For a moment she thought they might be speaking another language—a language that wasn't Spanish or English, because she couldn't understand one word they said. She concentrated instead on the hairs of Louis's mustache, which fluttered like palm fronds in the wind when he talked. Moistened with beer, she imagined it was both windy and raining and that at any moment it would blow a gale. She swallowed her private giggles along with another swig of beer.

Next thing she knew, Carmen was guiding her by the shoulders to the door. “Okay, let's get something in your stomach, lightweight. You act like this is your first beer.”

Jamilet felt as if her feet were loose at the ankles, and she was afraid they might fall off if she walked too fast. “It is my first beer,” she said, taking another sip, most of which dribbled down her chin.

Carmen and Louis were laughing as they helped her into his old Pinto. She sat in the backseat sipping away and feeling happier than she had in months—light and free and not worried about how hungry she was, or about finding a job, or even about the mark. All worries had disappeared in this effervescent moment, and she felt wonderfully warm as the golden liquid flowed through her veins.

The engine started with a cough, and she looked out the window, across the street, and saw Eddie sitting on the porch with Pearly. She'd been looking out for him all day, and now there he was watching her drink a beer in the back of this old man's car while his hand rested on Pearly's perfect thigh. Pearly hadn't noticed that his attention was diverted, and was talking all the while, fluttering her long-nailed fingers in the air as though conducting an orchestra of admirers.

They drove to Tina's Tacos a few blocks away, leaving Jamilet in the car, and returned a few minutes later with a white paper bag stained with grease. It was piping hot, and its contents smelled so delicious Jamilet was certain that even her teeth were watering.

Back at the house, Carmen handed Jamilet the key. “Let yourself in and leave it under the mat.”

It was difficult to find the handle and open the car door, and when she went to get out, she almost dropped her precious bag of food in the gutter.

“You need any help?” Louis asked.

Tía Carmen waved an impatient hand at him. “She only has to get to the door, for God's sake.”

“Yeah, but she's drunk as a skunk.”

“She's fine.”

They waited until Jamilet made it to the front steps and then drove off as she was opening the door. She was preparing to slip the key under the mat as instructed when she looked up and saw them still on the porch. Eddie was kissing Pearly's neck like a vampire, and his hand was straight up her shirt, as though pumping the blood from her heart for his meal. Forgetting her hunger, Jamilet hid in the shadows and watched as they twisted and contorted themselves like snakes, slipping their hands between the spaces of their clothes, moving their lips as though eating from each other's mouths. She watched until her knees grew weak and she could no longer stand the growling in her stomach.