Four Roberto and Natalia Orozco surveyed

the aftermath of the party like generals touring the battlefield after defeat. A stench of rancid smoke emanated from the wallpaper and the upholstery. Ignacia and Jacinta were on their knees furiously scrubbing the rugs.

“What happened here?” asked Roberto. Agustín came in behind him carrying two valises.

Lucía ran down the stairs to hug her daddy in her pink flannel pajamas. She looked like an angel.

“Hi Daddy! We threw an Independence Day party. We did the Independence Day grito.”

“I’m the one who’s going to be screaming, at your brother,” said her father.

“It was chill, Dad. Not many people came.”

Luis Lombardo came down the stairs buttoning up his coat, his hair disheveled.

“Good afternoon, Sir. Madam,” he said gallantly, bounding down the steps in two strides. Roberto glared at his wife, who let out a bored sigh.

“Where is your brother?” Roberto asked.

“In his room. He helped clean up and went to bed super late.”

“Sure, Lucía.”

Adolfo appeared at the top of the stairs wearing last night’s jeans, shirtless, barefoot, and scratching his head.

“Come in, padres, make yourselves at home.”

“You have no shame, Fito,” said his mother. “We can’t leave you two alone. Zenaidaaa!” First, she yelled and then she whispered. “By the way, how did the maids behave? Did they gobble up all the groceries?”

“No, mamá. Did you bring them anything?” answered Lucía.

Zenaida was already there.

“I didn’t have time. Zenaida, bring me a Coke with ice.”

“Hey, Zen Buddhism, be a good girl and make me some chilaquiles,” said Adolfo.

“Coca-Cola, for you too, Señor?”

“Better make it a brewski, Zenaidiux.”

Zenaida froze.

“Just joking. A Coke with ice, like my mami .”

Zenaida went back to the kitchen.

“It’s not funny, Adolfo,” said Roberto. “Every time we travel, you destroy the house with your parties. The help is not here to clean up your messes.”

“Oh, come on, papá,” intervened Lucía. “Don’t get upset. I promise everyone behaved and it was a mellow night.”

But when Agustín came in with more luggage Roberto took the opportunity to proceed with his inquisition.

“How many cases of liquor were bought, Agustín?”

“Only about three, Licenciado,” lied Agustín.

“This is the last time I’m going to say this, so listen carefully, Agustín, and you too Adolfo: there will be no more parties without my consent while we are away.”

“Yes, Licenciado,” said Agustín.

Adolfo went back to his room and threw himself on his bed. A few minutes later, Lucía came in followed by Jacinta who was carrying a tray with Adolfo’s breakfast.

“How I loathe that cabrón, hijo de su chingada. He is not happy unless he makes my life a living hell.”

“Adolfo!” Lucía advised he should be more discreet in front of the maid.

Jacinta put the tray on the desk, slid a little folding table next to the bed, arranged the breakfast and left.

“No one ever says anything to you. The issue is always with me,” said Adolfo. “I don’t know how you can stand Dad. He is a fucking hypocrite. He takes Mom shopping, so she won’t whine about him fucking his secretaries.”

“And why is Mom still with him? Only for the dough,” Lucía answered.

“For your information, the money is hers. I don’t know why she married that holier-than-thou poser.”

“The house is a mess, and it reeks of weed. What did you expect?” said Lucía.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t dry hump Ricardo Mestre.”

“You should be grateful I defend you. Remember that I keep my mouth shut about the blow, the molly, your entire fucking drugstore, and all the rest of it.”

“The rest of what?” her brother answered but she had already left.

Agustín had spent the entire day avoiding his colleagues, who stared at him inquisitively since Gabriel had rung asking for him. He was done with Zenaida’s inquiring glances.

“It was my son Gabriel. He came back from the United States. He needs a job.”

“Újule, Agustín, why didn’t you ask him in?” asked Zenaida, pinching the masa for the sopes for dinner.

“How am I going to let him in without the bosses’ permission?”

“He’s your kid, isn’t he? How long has it been since you last saw him? Plus, for a few minutes, the bosses don’t have to know.”

Agustín sipped his café con leche. He regretted opening his mouth.

“So, what’s he going to do?” inquired Zenaida.

“I don’t know what he wants me to do, with the way things are in Mexico.”

“Maybe he was homesick. My kids are, very much so. They don’t like California one bit, but they make more money there. They don’t want to cross back. At least your son is here. I haven’t seen my kids in six years.”

Ignacia and Jacinta eavesdropped as they chopped onions and fried the sopes .

“Maybe the Licenciado has a job for him in the office, it all depends on what he’s good at,” said Zenaida.

“How do I know what he’s good at!” Agustín shot back.

Zenaida shrugged. She felt like crying, and she didn’t know if it was because she remembered her boys or because Agustín spoke harshly. The awkward silence was interrupted by the purr of the boss’s car engine. Agustín came out of the kitchen to greet the Licenciado, as he did every single night, Monday through Saturday. Blinded by the Mercedes’ headlights, he listened for the soft click of the closing car door. As usual, the boss activated the alarm even though the car was safely parked in the garage.

“Good evening, Licenciado. Can I help you with your briefcase?”

“It’s not necessary. Here are the car keys.”

“Licenciado, may I have a moment?”

“What is it?”

“One of my kids just came back from the other side and he’s looking for work and if you need a gofer or a messenger for the office, or if you know someone who does, I would be very grateful.”

“I can’t think of anything right now, but I can ask.”

“Thank you very much, Licenciado,” replied Agustín.

“Agustiín! My car keeeeys!” Adolfo yelled, coming in through the main door.

“Where are you going?” Roberto intercepted him.

“To dinner. I’m late.”

“If you want your keys, get them yourself.”

Roberto warned Agustín with one look to not even think of getting the keys. He handed his briefcase to the driver.

“How old is your son, Agustín?”

“He’s around twenty, Licenciado.”

“Let me speak to my wife.”

“Thank you, Licenciado.”

“And you,” he turned to Adolfo, “are going to sit down for dinner with us.”

Natalia shook the little bronze bell to summon one of the maids to bring the red sauce. Roberto waited until the other maid finished serving the sopes.

“How I’d love to throw you out of the house,” Roberto said to Adolfo, “but that’s what you’d like best.”

“You’re equally stubborn, that’s why you can’t stand each other,” said Natalia.

Roberto observed her sitting at the head of the table. She was still winning the battle against the forces of gravity. She slathered creams on her face, bust and neck and did comical facial exercises. A plastic surgeon had already tightened her eyelids. Now she talked about Botox injections to freeze her wrinkles. She was still slender, thanks to her diet of grilled protein and vegetables, two liters of room temperature water a day, white wine, and ultra-light cigarettes.

When he met her at the wedding of his cousin Luisa Lemus, he thought she was even more striking in person than in the society pages she appeared in regularly, escorted by Italian barons, international tennis players, and movie star wannabes. He could never fully explain why she chose him. Perhaps she liked his Mustang convertible or that on their first date he took her to the most expensive restaurant in Mexico and spent a small fortune on her. The Lemaitres did not jump for joy when he asked for her hand in marriage. “Orozco what?” they asked but they did not complain: while other juniors let their hair grow long and got stoned in Avándaro, Roberto’s partying consisted in joining his dad for business meals with industrialists, bankers, and politicians.

Theirs was never an intense passion, rather a calculated assessment of the future: a handsome couple from two good families, each with their real estate properties and assets. In the beginning they traveled, spent money, and had fun. But soon Roberto had to pay more attention to his business to balance their extravagances. Natalia turned out to be very industrious at redecorating the house every three years, renovating her wardrobe assiduously, and organizing weekly lunches with her friends at all the top restaurants. She raised her kids sheltered behind a small squadron of maids commanded by Zenaida, whom she had inherited from her mother. As to her conjugal obligations, once the children were born, she generally pretended to be asleep, had a headache, the kids could hear them, or she was tired. Roberto wondered what she could possibly do all day to be so exhausted.

“Natalia, don’t we need a gofer?” asked Roberto when the maids went back to the kitchen.

“Why would you want to hire someone else? You always complain about how expensive everything is.”

“Agustín asked me to help him find work for his son who just came back from the States. We’re fully staffed at the office.”

“For starters, you know I don’t like servants with children. Why do we have to take in the kids of the maids?” she stage-whispered, splitting half a sinful sope with fork and knife. “I don’t understand why he came back.”

“Mom!” said Lucía. “How long has Agustín been here? Did you even know he had a kid?”

“Don’t you know, they all have kids. Usually, more than one,” said Natalia.

“The man has worked here for almost fifteen years, and he has never asked for anything,” her husband argued.

“Fine, let him help. Ça suffit,” said Natalia with an exhausted gesture. “He can sleep in his dad’s room. There are two beds. The last thing we need is for him to get the maids pregnant.”