Twenty-twoAdolfo and Luis put on fat terrycloth robes

and blow-dried their hair. Adolfo slapped his cheeks with one of Mr. Lombardo’s colognes, and Luis applied a very discreet layer of lip gloss he found in one of the drawers. They snorted one last line and went back to the party. They spotted Lucía dancing with Ricardo. He was holding her by the waist and stroking her back. They were kissing vehemently.

Luis raised an eyebrow.

“I couldn’t have planned this better,” Adolfo said, smiling proudly. “I don’t know what the hell Mestre is doing at this party, but I am so happy to see him.”

“Hadn’t they broken up?” Luis asked.

On the other side of the living room, Ximena was chatting with a purple t-shirt.

“Look who’s there. I can’t believe it,” said Adolfo, pointing toward the strange couple talking at the bar.

“Ximena,” Luis uttered.

“Ximena and who else, imbécil.”

“Oh my God,” Luis gasped. “El Chichifo Deluxe!”

Adolfo decided to circumvent Gabriel for the time being, and ran down the stairs to intercept Ximena, who was heading to the garden. He grabbed her arm.

“Who were you talking to?”

“What?”

“Just now at the bar. Who was that creep? What did he say to you?”

“He’s Adrián’s mechanic,” Ximena explained. “I don’t understand why they invited him.”

“He is no mechanic. He is Agustín’s son.”

“Oh, no wonder he looked familiar. And what’s he doing here?”

“He drove us. He’s shameless, the fucking Indian.”

“He’s super drunk. He even asked me to dance,” Ximena said.

“And what were you doing talking to him?”

“Well, I thought he seemed out of place, so I went to ask who he was. Stupid Luis doesn’t even know who’s in his own house.”

“What has Lucía told you?”

“About what?”

“About him?”

“Nothing. She only mentioned that the driver’s son is her driver.”

“And you’ve never seen him before?”

“I have my own driver and as you know, I must use my own vehicle with my own bodyguards.”

“And why did you two stop talking?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Isn’t it because you hate the idea that this little naco is fucking her?”

“How do you know he’s fucking her?”

“I think I saw them kissing.”

“What do you mean ‘I think’? Either you saw them, or you didn’t.”

“You knew it, Ximena.”

“I didn’t know anything.”

“You knew it. Lucía told you.”

“I swear she didn’t. We argued because I was upset with the way your sister treated Ricky.”

“I don’t know if you’ve seen them yet, but they are all over each other.”

Precisely today, Ricardo had come to the party alone, and she had loosened up and flirted with him and he had been so gentle, so sweet, and that puta had decided to steal him away from her again. Unforgivable.

“Do you think it’s right that my sister and the gofer are fucking?” said Adolfo.

“I think it’s in the worst taste, but I’m not surprised: your sister fucks anything that moves.”

“What should we do?”

“Do? I don’t know, Adolfo. I think we need to discreetly ask him to leave. Have Luis tell the guards to throw him out.”

Lucía buried her face in Ricardo’s shirt, inhaling his dapper aroma of cologne. She closed her eyes and swayed to the beat, as if the music and Ricardo’s arms could protect her from the chaos around her.

“I missed you so much,” Ricardo said. “I thought about calling you a thousand times, but I was too hurt.”

“It was hard for me too.”

I already said I’m sorry, stop going on about it.

“I love you, Lucía.”

“I love you too.”

Ricardo’s tongue began exploring her mouth. For a brief moment, Lucía felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. She would go back to her regular life; eat sushi and drink cosmos, buy new clothes without guilt, tan on the bow of a sailboat in Valle de Bravo every weekend. In the end, they can’t take anything away from you. True, she would miss Gabriel’s passion terribly, his perpetually melancholic air, his playful smile, his warm embrace; those impossibly fleshy and quivering lips that drove her wild. She would miss his hypnotic voice calling her “princess,” his agonizing climaxes, the tenderness with which he gazed at her after making love.

Ximena elbowed her way through the undulating throng to reach Lucía and Ricardo.

“Lucía, I need to tell you something,” she whispered in her friend’s ear.

“We’re back together,” Lucía announced.

“Your driver is here. He was drinking at the bar two minutes ago. He’s wasted,” Ximena whispered.

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. I can’t find him.”

“Where’s Adolfo?”

“He saw me talking to him a while ago. You must tell your driver to leave before all hell breaks loose,” Ximena said.

At that moment, they both saw the black mane approaching, its wisps framing the tormented brow, his eyelids halfway open, the whites of his eyes shimmering with anger. Lucía wanted to soothe him, kiss his hair, drink his sweet saliva, comfort him. Yet she didn’t budge. She tried to detach herself from Ricardo, who floated in ecstasy and had not realized that the driver was staring at them as if they were a horrifying insect and that his brother-in-law was rushing towards them.

“Take the car and go home,” Lucía said to Gabriel.

“Don’t order me around. These are not work hours, milady,” Gabriel snapped.

“What the fuck are you doing here, you miserable bastard?” Adolfo said.

“Leave him be, Adolfo,” Lucía interjected, with a mix of recklessness and panic. “Don’t start.”

Ricardo watched the three of them with utter bewilderment. To everyone’s surprise, Gabriel opened his mouth.

“You can go fuck yourself, you fucking faggot. Are you coming with me or not, Lucía? Let’s go!”

Lucía hesitated for a moment and shook her head. As Ricardo saw the expression on the driver’s face, Adolfo’s agitation, and Ximena’s shock, and realized that his girlfriend had cheated on him with the driver, as he debated whether he really needed to pretend to want to beat him up to save his wounded pride, as he grappled with the conflict between his use of reason (preserve your dignity, don’t stoop to his level, don’t get dragged down) and the vertigo of his humiliation (send him to the hospital, fuck her up), Adolfo had already drawn the gun he had borrowed from a corner in his father’s closet and was pointing it at Gabriel.

A couple of girls screamed in panic, but the music was so loud that many people were oblivious to the unfolding situation.

“Calm down, Fito. Put that away, please,” Lucía pleaded.

“What’s wrong with you, Fito? Put that thing down. What’s going on?” Ricardo said.

“Let’s settle this like men, you stupid fucking fag,” Gabriel exclaimed.

“Put the gun down, Adolfo,” Luis ordered. “We don’t need another tragedy in this house.”

“It’s okay, Luigi. Look, I’ve put it away. This is a family matter.”

Adolfo put the gun back in his groin. Its weight made his pants sag and reveal the black elastic band of his designer briefs.

“Fito, let’s leave right now,” Lucía implored.

“I advise you to shut up, Lucía, unless you want to see blood,” Adolfo retorted.

Adolfo was playing the role of dishonored firstborn son with conviction, although to Lucía he sounded as if he was imitating a TV show about cops and robbers. Everything seemed like a ridiculous performance in which she was also playing a role, poorly. She noticed a crowd had gathered to watch like bystanders gaping at a traffic accident. Her gaze was fixed on Gabriel’s, who stood frozen in front of the gun, his expression more daring than fearful, as if he also found Adolfo’s drama ludicrous. She didn’t dare look at Ricardo.

“Give me the gun, Adolfo,” Luis demanded. “And if you’re going to fight, do it outside.”

Adolfo handed the gun to the host, who skillfully removed the bullets and stored them in his pocket.

“Listen, cabrón, I didn’t invite you to this party. You already left. Beat it,” Luis said to Gabriel, snapping his fingers in his face.

“Let’s go, Lucía,” Gabriel repeated, ignoring Luis.

“What do you mean, let’s go?” Ricardo screamed.

“Ricky…” Lucía whimpered.

“Did this Indian lay his hands on you?” Ricardo asked.

“If you are going to fight, get out,” Luis insisted.

Lucía was terrified, but her mind was very alert, as if she’d snorted two lines of coke. She had run out of tears.

“I fucked her and better than you, asshole,” said Gabriel.

An incredulous buzz arose among the onlookers.

“He’s totally wasted. Who could even imagine?” said Lucía.

Ricardo felt as if he had been thrown into a pigsty. His body convulsed with nausea.

“I would never do such a thing, ever,” Lucía insisted.

Gabriel failed to grasp that her humiliating arguments were intended to protect him.

“I have fucked her in her bedroom and mine, and at the Mónaco Hotel thousands of times. She is dirtier and easier than a stray bitch in heat,” said Gabriel.

Ricardo doubled over, covering his mouth with his hand to rein in the torrent of vomit that he emptied into the parquet anyway. The crowd bellowed. Lucía tried to help him, taking him by the arm, but Ricardo pushed her away and made his way through the guests, without even glancing at her. Ximena ran after him. Gabriel decided to lunge at Adolfo and punched him in the ribs, his jaw, his legs. Adolfo fought back by kicking, pulling hair, and throwing punches that didn’t land. Luis allowed a few seconds of this grotesque scene to play out before losing his patience and pouncing on Gabriel.

“Shit, man, it’s on!” someone shouted.

“Leave him alone!” Lucía screamed at her brother and Luis.

But Gabriel was already lying on the floor shrunken like a fetus near the pool of Ricardo’s vomit, taking cover from the kicks and punches by Adolfo, Luis, and several other guests.

Adolfo seized the car keys from Gabriel’s pants pocket. Lucía tried to convince them to let him go. But the Lombardos had a friend in the Judicial Police and Luis had his personal phone number, so instead of two relatively harmless police officers, two leather-jacketed judiciales arrived at the scene. Adolfo and Luis claimed that this drunken individual had entered the premises without permission and had harassed several young ladies. Gabriel protested, saying that Adolfo had threatened him with a gun and that Lucía was his girlfriend, but they barely listened to him because the others said “What gun? What girlfriend? Look at him officer, he’s drunk, just a resentful domestic worker.” Then, from within the crowd the diminutive Amanda Lombardo emerged, her eyes bloodshot from drugs. She accused Gabriel of assaulting her next to the altar for the deceased. The officers decided to take him away. Adolfo, Luis, and Ricardo pooled together a fat wad of cash and handed it to the commander. Despite the preferential treatment, the officers of the law requested a contribution for the home visit, assuring the victims that the intruder would remain safely detained. Ogling Lucía as if he was about to suck every bone in her body, the burly, pockmarked officer asked her: “Were you also accosted and sexually abused by this boy?” Lucía denied it in a barely audible voice and suggested to the officers to release him; he had never intended to harm her at all. But the bribe was already in their pockets.

The next day, her father sent her mother to get her out of bed. He sat Lucía and Natalia on the plush leather sofa in his studio.

“What’s wrong, Lucía?” her father inquired. “Why are you so bent out of shape about the kid? He went to the party to pester you, insulted your brother, and you are crying over him. I want to know why.”

“Because the police took him away. He didn’t do anything.”

“Why did he go to the party looking for you?”

“He wanted to leave, he wanted to let me know he was leaving.”

“Why did you take him to the party?”

“Ask Adolfo, Dad. It was his idea.”

“And what he said about the hotel downtown?” Roberto asked. “Is that why you convinced me to let him drive you around?”

Lucía did not answer. Her defiant gaze met her father’s.

“You are a whore,” he said to her.

“That’s how you raised me,” Lucía replied.

In one step, Roberto reached the sofa where his daughter sat in her pajamas and slapped her so hard that her teeth rattled. Lucía buried her hot, humiliated face between her legs. Her father had never hit her before.

“Tell me what that bastard did to you,” her father demanded.

“He didn’t do anything to me,” Lucía bawled. “We did it to each other.”

“Do you want to be slapped again?”

Lucía raised her face.

“He didn’t fuck me. We fucked.”

“Go to your room if you don’t want me to beat you to a pulp,” his father warned, his fists shaking with rage.

“This is what happens when you let your heart bleed for the children of the servants,” Natalia said, livid with anger.

Lucía stood up in her fragile suit of armor made of hate and walked slowly towards the door.

“Don’t think I don’t know that your brother is a disgusting rat faggot,” Roberto said. “But I swear to you, Lucía, that I will make sure that miserable son of a bitch rots in jail.”

“Serves you right,” her mother said. “Perhaps now you’ll learn to stick with your own kind.”