SixThe next morning,

she looked out the window while she got dressed and saw a scrawny young man leaning against a tree on the median, smoking a cigarette. She thought she saw the flash of a small earring, and she was struck by his sunglasses and the geometrical haircut that made strands of his abundant black hair blow against his face, giving him a rebellious air. He wore a tight white t-shirt and loose jeans tucked into black rubber boots. The elastic of his white briefs was showing. She assumed he was the boyfriend of one of the maids. Though he was far away, she thought he spotted her at the window and was openly staring. It was hard to tell with the shades.

At breakfast, her father mentioned that Agustín’s son did things fast, well, and as soon as he was asked. Lucía felt her cheeks flush. Could he be the guy who had been staring at her from the street? Who would have thought? With such an ugly dad.

“I haven’t seen him,” she said. “When did he get here?”

“Two days ago,” said her mother.

“Wow, I had no idea. What’s his name?” said Lucía.

“Gabriel,” her dad answered.

“Gabriel,” Lucía repeated.

“At least he’s not named Gumersindo,” Adolfo laughed.

Ignacia came in with the tray to pick up the dishes.

“How about that Gumersindo, my Nacha? He ain’t bad at all, right?” Adolfo asked the maid. “Don’t blush, Nachita. I have a feeling you like Agustín’s son. Have you given him a proper welcome?”

“Shut up, Adolfo,” said Roberto.

Lucía thought about how Agustín’s son looked so modern (she could not get used to just “Gabriel”), unlike the classic naco wearing cheap Kalvin Clean or Nino Venrucci jeans, bought at La Merced, with matching moccasins with fringes. With the excuse of getting something from her car, Lucía went out to the garage with her brother.

The doors of Adolfo’s Jetta were unfurled like the wings of a dragonfly. Gabriel was drying the hood with a chamois rag.

“You gonna be long?” Adolfo asked him. He flicked his cigarette ash on the ground.

“No, it’s almost ready. Just waiting for the plastic mats to dry,” Gabriel replied.

His voice was rich and virile, mellifluous like a radio announcer’s. Lucía expected a servile singsong it did not have. In fact, it sounded slightly annoyed. His face reminded her of the pre-Hispanic figurines Sister Cueto showed them at the Anthropology Museum in high school. His eyes were very black and narrow, framed by long lashes. His nose was a little hook, and his mouth was red and fleshy like a strawberry cut in half, with the slanted edges typical of the Olmecs, one of those things you learn in school that you never forget, like the first row of the periodic table or the Anthem to the Flag. His cheekbones and jawline were well-defined. For a naco, he has personality, she thought.

“You dry them, bro. I’m in a hurry,” said Adolfo.

Lucía thought she saw a shadow of contempt darken Gabriel’s eyes, but he obeyed in silence.

“Shit, you take care of the car much better than your dad, man,” Adolfo said.

While Gabriel dried the mats, Adolfo got in the car and turned on the engine without bothering to close the doors. The blast of music startled Gabriel and Lucía. Gabriel hurried to place the mats in the back and closed the rear doors. He put a mat on the front passenger side and walked in front of the car to slide in the last mat. Just then Adolfo hit the gas and burst out laughing behind the windshield. Gabriel bent down to place the last mat under Adolfo’s feet and closed the door without looking at him. Although the windows were closed, the pulsating bass of the electronic music rumbled in the garage. Adolfo opened the gate with the remote and screeched out of the driveway. Lucía noticed the look of disdain in the young servant.

“My brother drives like a maniac. Can you move my mom’s car so I can get mine out?”

“Yes, of course,” Gabriel replied, smiling.

She wanted to say something more but didn’t know what else to say. She had an idea.

“Wait,” she said, taking out a textbook from her bag. “Instead, can you do me a favor? Can you get me some photocopies? From where it’s marked here, to this little paper. Just one set. This should be enough.”

Lucía gave him the book and a twenty-peso bill.

“Where can I get them?” asked Gabriel.

“At the pharmacy in Barrilaco, they have a copier.”

“Alright.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Not really.”

“Well, then ask your dad to tell you. Don’t take too long.”

A pleasant feeling of wellbeing enveloped her. The staff her mother hired were better people, as she used to say, a little whiter, they tended towards progress. None of the servants who worked in her house were like Lolis’s maids, who were indistinguishable from those poor lice-infested women begging on the streets, surrounded by children with hair dulled by pollution and hunger, with snot hanging from their noses --except they had been given baths and dressed in aprons. Gabriel was nothing like that. Neither was Zenaida. Nor Agustín. Nor the other two maids.

Lucía went up to her room to watch TV and read magazines, but she could not focus. She waited for Gabriel by the window, she waited for him while watching TV, while leafing through magazines, while texting her friends, but he didn’t come back. Lucía thought he most likely screwed up the copies and now he was nowhere to be found. She was surprised to see him at her door, over an hour and a half later, with her copies and change. She thought it was Ignacia who was bringing her jicamas with lime and chili.

“Here are your copies, Lucía,” he said, with a voice as thick as hot chocolate.

Lucía? she thought.

“Thank you,” she said, checking the copies. “Keep the change.”

He frowned and put the twelve pesos in his pocket.

“Did you find the place okay?”

“I had to ask people on the street, but I found it. It’s not that close.”

“Did you walk?” asked Lucía. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought you’d take the car. Do you know how to drive?”

“Yes. I didn’t know I could take the car.”

In fact, his dad had not allowed him to take the car and had told him to take a minibus and walk the rest of the way.

“We always send your dad in the car. Otherwise, it’s too far. Next time you can take it.”

Gabriel left her room without closing the door behind him. He went back to the garden and watered the plants that his father cared for with more attention than he had ever paid anyone; verdant isles that looked like fantasy kingdoms populated by leafy midget palms surrounded by meticulously pruned shrubs and concentric lines of black irises, hydrangeas, and azaleas. Zenaida had told him that before his dad had arrived, that garden was nothing but wild scrub. Without waiting for anyone to ask, his father started cleaning up the weeds, and mowing the lawn and, little by little, he became so much the boss of the garden that he would not allow the children to play in it. Gabriel found it ridiculous that such a harsh man could be so tender with the little plants, that he was more polite and punctilious with things that did not belong to him.

He went to his room and flopped down on his bed. Little peeling flowers decorated the corners of the scraped white bedside drawer. The lampshade was crooked and festooned with a circle of prancing Smurfs. The beds were covered by thick wool blankets and clean but threadbare sheets. The room was cool when it was hot outside and freezing when it was cold. His father had not hung anything on the walls except for a calendar of Cantina La Antártica with images of Mexican volcanoes, and a small statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe above the drawer. A copy of La Prensa peeked out from under the bed. Gabriel was embarrassed by how stupid he had just been with Lucía. He heard Ignacia and Jacinta go up the service stairs, shrieking as usual. They tried to flirt with him, particularly Ignacia, who was butt-ugly, with her crooked teeth and hairy arms. These two were not fit even for an “open in case of emergency” situation, he thought. But the boss lady was hot, la cabrona. Stuck up, but super-hot. With her tight jeans, and her perky little tits, her big flirty eyes, and her sweet and scratchy voice like a mango-chili lollipop.

I can’t stand having to run errands for your asshole brother. But if it gets me closer to you, princesa, I’ll do it. I’d like to stick my tongue all the way down your throat, but from below. And then do you like an acrobat.

Gabriel turned on his knock-off iPod and put on the headphones to block out the peals of laughter from the maids. He closed his eyes and fantasized about taking off Lucía’s backpack and her sweater. He slurped her round breasts, sweet like vanilla custard, but she scratched him and kicked him. Gabriel overpowered Lucía on top of that tiny bed, and in that servants’ room, made her gag with his milky juice. He felt his hot seed spread on his belly, wet his hairs, and cover his bellybutton. The change that Lucía gave him jangled in his pocket.