SevenThe three maids

were folding the clothes for the charity bazaar as if they were swaddling a baby in her crib. They could have stuck it in garbage bags, but la Señora told them to pack them inside old suitcases so they would not waste time watching TV. Ignacia and Jacinta were laughing hysterically. When he heard them, Gabriel, who was bringing the luggage, stayed outside, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Well, Adolfo is supposed to be batting for the other team, you know, but he’s always all over me,” Ignacia said. “He keeps asking me to scratch his back.”

Zenaida tried to disguise her alarm.

“He asks me too,” said Jacinta. “Can you believe it?”

“And you both do it?” asked Zenaida.

“Well, I did when I first got here,” said Ignacia, blushing. “But now I play dumb, or I tell him my fingernails are too short.”

“He makes me come up here just to change the channels with the remote. He can’t even do that by himself. Es solo por jorobar,” said Jacinta.

Zenaida was appalled.

“And... has he done anything to you?”

“No. He just wants us to scratch his back, right?” Ignacia confirmed with Jacinta. “And he says, higher, more to the right, lower...”

“He has lots of freckles,” said Jacinta.

The young maids started shrieking again.

“Next time he asks, I will come up myself, see if he wants me to scratch him,” Zenaida said.

“Are these the bags you wanted?” asked Gabriel.

“You didn’t clean them with a rag, Gabrielito? They are disgusting.”

“These people are so lazy that they can’t even handle their own handouts,” said Gabriel. “They can’t clean up their own luggage, they can’t go down to the kitchen to get a glass of Coke, they can’t put a dirty dish in the sink, let alone wash it, and on top of everything, they can’t give to charity without making us work. We might have to wipe their asses too."

Jacinta and Ignacia howled with laughter.

“Don’t be rude,” said Zenaida. “Who do you think feeds you? And what are you laughing about? Stupid girls. La Señora Natalia brought me here when she got married. I went to her wedding. And when Adolfo and Lucía were born, I waited for them at the door, fresh from the hospital. They have given me room and board for thirty years and all you like to do is complain about the bosses. If you don’t like it, Gabriel, we can tell your dad right now, so he can send you back to the street, if you prefer.”

“Let me get the rag,” said Gabriel, rushing off.

It was eleven and lazy-ass Adolfo was still asleep, but the door to Lucía’s room was ajar. Gabriel stopped by the crack and was able to glimpse a slice of the plush pink carpet, and another of a bedcover with big pastel-colored poppies. He gently pushed the door open. Lucía was deep into her magazine, leaning on pillows against the elaborate white rattan headboard, surrounded by plush toys. The TV was on. She had a mini stereo system surrounded by towers of compact discs. On the dresser, bottles of perfume formed a miniature skyscraper island. Gabriel could see lotions, cosmetics, thick and thin makeup brushes, hairbrushes, nail polish bottles, tiny treasure chests laden with rings, earrings, and bracelets. A white basket next to the bed overflowed with magazines.

Gabriel knocked on the door and walked in the room without waiting for an answer.

“Zenaida sent me to ask if you have clothes to donate.”

“You scared the hell out of me. I didn’t hear you knock.”

“I did though.”

“I left them in the TV room, Gabriel.”

Hearing his name from her lips shook him up.

“Okay. I’ll go get them.”

Gabriel left. Lucía noted he was no longer wearing the earring. It had probably been her mother’s idea, as wardrobe designer to the staff, to dress him with the rat-colored pants worn by the menial workers at every school.

Since Gabriel lived in the house, Lucía felt that a red halo of sin hovered over her head announcing her depravity like neon lights outside a seedy cabaret. She took to seeking him out in the garden while he watered the rosebushes, in the garage when he washed the cars, or in the kitchen as he helped unload groceries. Every time they met, she blushed, and her eyes would smile at him. All of this happened in a fraction of a second, unnoticed by anyone else. Why, she wondered, can’t you fall in love with Ricardo like any normal person? Why do you have to be thinking about the son of the driver?

She went back to her Quién magazine. She stared at the photo of the civil wedding of Eugenia Franco, the younger sister of her bitter archenemy, Lourdes Franco de Moguel: the URO, Unidentified Religious Object, now president of the Life and Family Committee of the Annunciation School. There she was, just as Lucía had imagined: with the first two of many children to come, looking like a mummy in her knit Chanel suit, a religious medallion around her neck. The goody two shoes that had branded Lucía a skank for letting Gerardo Alanís make out with her when they were fifteen, the very same one who “ate her sandwich before recess,” even though her sister used to chaperone her; the idiot who believed in the Billings method as if it were the gospel and had to get married without finishing high school, wearing white with lace and blessings, yet with a surprise bundle on the way. But “I swear it was only once. I’ll bear as many children as God grants me.”

Lucía Orozco Lemaitre and Ricardo Mestre Sáenz, “The Golden Couple.” She saw herself featured in the pages of that magazine on her wedding day, but Gabriel appeared in her mind just as she had seen him two minutes ago in her own room, with the inkling of a smile on his lips, his gaze ripe with possibilities.

She jumped out of bed, fogged up the window with her breath and wrote the word “Gabriel” with her finger. Chuckling in disbelief, she erased the word with her fist and hopped back to bed. She visualized the servant’s lips brushing against hers, his hands clasped around her waist. She was astride him in an immense bed with fluffy down pillows, covered by immaculate sheets of the softest cotton, in a suite with translucent curtains that swayed with the breeze. She was lulled by the whisper of the waves while Gabriel caressed her pearly skin, transfixed by the delightful textures of everything touched by his eloquent fingers: the cool marble of the floor, the sandalwood rocking chair, the sea breeze, and the foam and the sand that he was experiencing for the first time in his life, thanks to his benefactress. He fucked her in a bubbling jacuzzi under the stars on a virgin beach on a private island in the Caribbean named after a French saint, where only the créme de la créme are welcome.

Lucía bottled the deep groan of pleasure that tried to escape her lips. A perplexed shiver ran down her spine.

She washed her stubborn jelly off her hands and ran down the stairs to catch her dad in his library. He sometimes worked from home, locked in his inner sanctum with a whisky on the rocks. That’s how she found him, behind his desk, reviewing some contracts.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“What’s wrong Lucía? I am working, honey.”

“I’m here to say hello. You always complain you never see me.”

“You only come here when you need something, I know you.”

“Come on, papá, you don’t trust me? Seriously, I don’t want anything. I just wanted to talk.”

Roberto’s eyebrows raised.

“What do you want to talk about, hija?”

“Well, security on the streets is terrible. I don’t feel safe with so many kidnappings. You don’t know what I’ve been hearing at school: Emilio Zaib was kidnapped to steal his money from the ATM. Someone’s cousin got ambushed in the middle of the freeway and got shot twice because he resisted. A friend of mine, his dad gave him an armored car, with bulletproof glass and everything. And María del Pilar has a bodyguard in a van with tinted windows.”

“You’ve got to be careful, hija, and not hang out late at night, like you and your brother do.”

“This happens in broad daylight, papá. Lots of my friends’ parents got them a driver, so they are not on their own.”

“How many is lots?” asked Roberto, aware that this was the most affordable option. “I am not Ximena’s dad.”

“Marifer’s. And two other girls in my class. Lots of people at the Ibero have drivers.”

“Well then ask Marifer to give you a ride.”

“No way, papá! She lives in San Ángel!” Lucía protested. “Mamá has Agustín. I could use Gabriel. And if Mom or you need him, we can work it out. Really, other than washing and moving cars, he doesn’t do anything else all day.”

“You think that scrawny little thing will defend you? If they see you with a driver, you will call more attention to yourself. I don’t have a driver.”

“Well, you should. What if something happens to you? It’s not the same to stick up one person than two. And this way, the car is protected, and they won’t steal it. Plus, I could study in the car.”

Her father eyed her skeptically.

“I’ll have to pay him extra for driving you around. Have you thought of that?”

“I’ll chip in from my allowance. Seriously.”

“And who gives you your allowance? For you to pay Gabriel, I have to give you more, isn’t that right?”

Lucía smiled with the innocence of an angel. She didn’t usually pay attention to where her cash flow came from.

“In fact, it’s not a bad idea to give your brother a driver so he can stop crashing cars.”

“Of course, Fito and I could share him,” said Lucía, concealing her disappointment.

“But only if you work at the office in the afternoons.”

“When in the afternoon, Dad? Lucía whined. “If I’m not in class, I have homework to do.”

“You have an answer for everything. Fine. If Gabriel has nothing better to do at a given time and you want to use him, you can. Check with Agustín first. You and your brother better not use him for stupid stuff, you hear me? I’m holding you responsible.”

“Thank you, papá ! You have no idea how much this helps.”

Lucía hugged him.

“I thought you came to tell me you are marrying Ricardo.”

“No way! I gotta finish school first. There is plenty of time for that.”