All the Secrets of the World, page 6
He went to his backpack and pulled out a laminated topographical map of California and opened it on his desk. She came and stood next to him. The map had a scattering of notations, all set down in his cramped, meticulous script. “The Chocolates are down here, a couple of hours past Fresno. High desert. Pretty terrain.”
“And the spots you’ve marked, the Xs, those are campsites?”
“Right.”
“How long were you camping?”
“Not quite a week.”
“What’s it like out there?” Lorena said.
Mr. Stallworth cocked his head and scratched at his beautiful neck. “Honest,” he said. “The wilderness doesn’t lie the way we do. Plants and animals deal in truth.”
“I’d like to go out there again.”
“You’d like it.”
Neither one of them had moved toward the other but now their flanks were brushing. The scent of him, an animal ripeness, rose up around her. She should have been disgusted. She imagined running her fingers through his hair. She imagined them snagging.
“Were you gathering specimens?”
“This was more of a planning trip.”
“What are you planning?” she said.
“Top-secret stuff.”
“I really would like—”
“I know,” he said. “I’ve had a feeling about you.”
She felt her hip beginning to tremble. Then, somehow, they were facing each other and his hand was on her cheek and he was lifting her chin with his thumb, very gently, so that she had no choice but to look directly into his eyes.
“I think you should leave before things get complicated.”
“Complicated?” The trembling was awful. She didn’t want it to stop.
“Animals don’t lie,” he said quietly. “And we’re both animals.”
LO STUMBLED UPSTAIRS. Mr. Stallworth had touched her. He had confirmed the thing between them, but only vaguely, as if that thing were happening by accident and you didn’t get to have feelings about it. Even his expression had been a puzzling blend of benevolence and something sharper—impatience or maybe disdain. She knew she should go home.
She went to fetch her backpack and found that Jenny had thrown up a little in her sleep, which meant she had to clean that up and get her friend into bed and pour the rest of the Absolut down the bathroom sink and stash the bottle at the bottom of the kitchen garbage. The backyard was a mess, too, so she cleaned that up, her body antsy and confused, half waiting for him to appear again. But it was Mrs. Stallworth who thumped into the house as she was finishing up. The zip of her purse in the foyer, keys cast into the crystal bowl, a soft grunt as she toed off her heels.
“Oh, hello! You decided to stay. How nice.”
“Jenny’s asleep,” Lo said quickly.
“Of course she is. You’re up late though, aren’t you? Keep me company. We’ll have some tea. Do you drink tea, Lo?” Before Lo could say anything, Mrs. Stallworth weaved toward the kitchen. “Who did all this cleaning up? It must have been my little elf. You should have left it for Lucia. That’s her job. It’s how she makes a living for her family. We all have our roles to play. Did you call your mother, Lo? Does she know you’re here? I wouldn’t want her to think you’d been kidnapped.”
Mrs. Stallworth got out a fancy wooden box of tea bags and dropped one in a mug, then filled the kettle, though she appeared to lose interest and never actually turned on the burner. “Your mother is a labor nurse,” Mrs. Stallworth continued. “That must be such a blessing. To help bring new lives into the world. I would have liked to become a baby nurse. I suppose I never took college seriously enough. I got distracted.”
“By what?”
“Boys. Social duties. I grew up in a certain milieu. Do you know what I mean by milieu?” Mrs. Stallworth went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of pink wine. “We had money. I’m not going to apologize. The president is right. Prosperity breeds aspiration. I saw this myself, when I visited San Miguel for a service project. That was one of the great adventures of my life. Do you know that village? Which part are you from again?”
“My mom is Honduran.”
“That’s right. I so enjoyed meeting her! She’s a bit shy, isn’t she? Still, it must have taken great courage for her to come to America. And great hope, too.”
Lorena worried that Mrs. Stallworth would start asking questions about her family history, which she knew only in fragments: that her father had left El Salvador for Honduras and met her mother, that they married young, that her mother’s parents disapproved. That her father had crossed the border with Tony and her mother had followed, seven months pregnant, so Lo could be born in America. It was supposed to be a story of triumph. But her early memories didn’t feel triumphant. They involved adults yelling, a mood of sullen accusation, crowded rooms in which something indispensable—a key or a document or a pack of cigarettes—had always been lost.
Mrs. Stallworth poured her wine into the mug with the tea bag. “The important thing is you’re here now. You get to make your own way. Don’t let anyone else drive the bus. That’s my advice. The bus is officially yours. Sit, Lo. Oh my. I was going to have tea, wasn’t I? I don’t even like tea. It’s just something I always think I’m going to like. What a silly.” Mrs. Stallworth wore a scoop-neck blouse trimmed in lace, from which her throat rose like a mottled stem. It was an odd outfit for visiting a sick friend.
“Jenny said you fired Lucia,” Lo said suddenly.
Mrs. Stallworth looked at her with no great concern. “That’s more of a provisional situation. Jennifer knows better than to discuss family matters. It’s gauche. Shall I drink this rosé? Wait a second. We were talking about something interesting. What were we talking about? Oh, San Miguel. Can you keep a secret, Lo? I fell for a man down there, a married man.” She put a finger to her lips. “We were mad for each other. Jesus Armas. Chuy. We were going to run off together. To the Sierra Madres. Catch the train in Chihuahua City. What did they call it? The Chicken Train! I believe it transported actual chickens. Chuy had a cousin with a ranch near the Copper Canyon. We had provisions stashed in the basement rectory of the church we were rebuilding. It was all terribly romantic. Can you imagine? I would have lasted a grand total of two minutes on the Chicken Train. But we clung to the idea. Everyone is entitled to a getaway plan.”
“What happened?”
“We got caught. That was the point, I guess. What a scandal! I walked around like Hester what’s-her-name. Pastor Tom had me shipped home a month early. Such is the power of the forbidden. We dream in our waking moments and walk in our dreams. Is that the line? Something like that.” Mrs. Stallworth fished the tea bag out of her mug and drained her wine, then eyed the bottle, a little accusingly. “I don’t have to tell you how it is to be young. Glen is already dating. Whatever it’s called these days. You and Jenny will have suitors soon enough. Don’t look so embarrassed, Lo. It’s perfectly natural. The body matures. The rest is chemistry.”
Mrs. Stallworth chattered on in her bright oblivious way. Lorena felt guilty, but also a sort of jumbled gratitude. Her own mother never discussed any of this with her. The closest she had come was leaving a stack of pads on the toilet tank, the bulky kind from the maternity ward. The rest of her instruction had come from the Bible and bits of lore picked up in church basements and laundromats. Young ladies should behave in ways that were decent and honorable. This meant doing well in school, respecting elders, stifling urges. In this way, God might consent to forgive you.
“The most important thing is to make good decisions. Don’t let boys decide for you. They can’t think straight at your age. At any age, really. They just keep telling you how beautiful you are until they get what they want.”
“Is that what happened with Mr. Stallworth?” Lo said.
Mrs. Stallworth sat back. Lo had meant this question to be amusing but she could see at once that it had been wildly inappropriate. Mrs. Stallworth released a short sharp laugh. “You’re a funny little bird, Lo. I can’t quite figure whether you don’t know anything, or whether you know it all. Neither one keeps you safe. That’s the point I was making. Or was I just being a boring old fool?”
It was difficult to resist Mrs. Stallworth when she exposed her doubts so openly. “I’m not bored,” she said. “I like listening to your stories.”
Mrs. Stallworth examined Lo, searching for signs of sarcasm. “How sweet you are, Lo. I’ve always seen it. This is what I mean. We’ve got to stick together, us girls. We have to look out for each other.”
LO SPENT JUNE racking dishes and staring into mirrors at the broadness of her nose. She wanted to call Jenny but it was against the rules. Her mother dragged her to church; nagged her to eat. Lorena biked to the pet shop in Oak Park to see if they had scorpions, but it was just smudged cells of puppies and bleating parakeets.
In July, her brother, Tony, returned home for the first time in six months, buzz cut and draped in camouflage. Graciela had flown into a panic when he first joined, certain he would be deported. But Tony assured her that the navy had a special program for guys like him, with a green card at the end of the rainbow. The recruiter had explained it all.
He wound up stationed at a base called China Lake, down in the Mojave. It didn’t make sense to Lorena. What was a naval base doing in the middle of a desert? Tony said China Lake was where they assigned all the advanced weapons personnel. His work was Top Secret.
Tony the Hero, strutting around the July Fourth picnic at Rinconada Park in his white tunic and polished boots, saluting all the viejos while Graciela beamed. Tony showing the little vatos how to take apart a rifle in thirty seconds, talking calibers and muzzle burn, blast radius, how pussy can’t resist a uniform. Tony who had turned his life around. He escorted his mother to church in full service dress and kissed her on the forehead. But when she was gone, he prowled the corners with his old crew and glowered at Lorena. Tony was the same person who’d left for basic a year ago: a bully on the sly.
A few days after the Fourth, able to stand it no longer, Lorena called the Stallworths. She got Rosemary, who promised to have Jenny call her back. Lorena knew this would never happen, but the next weekend—under orders, no doubt—Jenny did call. There was her voice, sort of friendly, sort of bored, her inflection soaring at the end of every sentence. Maybe Lo wanted to come over for, like, a swim or whatever. They would have the place to themselves. Lo stared through the window at the blistered paint of the dumpster, the sulfurous spatters of fireworks on the pavement. “Cool,” she said.
Tony emerged from the room they had shared, which he had commandeered. “Who the fuck is that?”
Lo covered the receiver. “None of your business.”
“I need the phone.”
“Who’s that?” Jenny said.
“Nobody,” Lo said. “My brother.”
“The Latin King? I thought he was in the navy.”
“He’s on leave.”
“Does he still look like a chihuahua?” Jenny said.
Tony, now aware he was being talked about, hollered, “Off the phone. Now.”
“Oooh, an angry chihuahua! I’d spank his little butt if he yapped at me like that.”
“I’d like to see that,” Lorena whispered, curling away from Tony. “Maybe I’ll bring him.”
Jenny let out a squeal. “I totally dare you.”
The line went dead and Lorena turned to find Tony grinning, his thumb on the hook switch. “I warned you.”
Lorena went into the bathroom to comb out her hair and put on some makeup but Tony planted himself in the doorframe. “Don’t you got work today? Ma doesn’t want you skipping work.”
“It’s my day off.”
“Look at you. Putting on your whore paint. You got some kind of hot date? I’m serious, gordita. Where you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“I’m not fucking around.”
“To a friend’s.”
“What friend?”
“You don’t know her.”
“Bullshit. Is it that little Vargas slut? What’s her name? Where’s she live?” Tony wasn’t going to let up until he got an answer. With a pride that was almost vengeance, Lorena murmured, “The Fabulous Forties.”
“Bullshit,” Tony said. “Seriously? You hanging with some richie rich now? Some guera?”
Lorena knew it was best to ignore Tony, let him work off his tedium. But she kept thinking about how excited Jenny would be to meet Tony, and how small he would seem in the realm of the Stallworths. “You can drive me over if you don’t believe me.”
“Fuck that,” he said.
But a few minutes later he was insisting on it. Tony drove the Mercury Bobcat he’d borrowed from one of his burnout friends. It had chrome hubs and a busted muffler that roared.
“Ma says you’ve been fucking up in school,” Tony said.
“You’re one to talk.”
“Starting to get an attitude, too.” Tony had a beer jammed between his legs. His right hand rested lightly atop the steering wheel, which was composed of welded chain links. “Don’t fucking smirk.”
“I’m not smirking.”
“You grew some titties and lost a few pounds and you’re big shit now? A big-shit ninth grader. Just because mom won’t crack down on you don’t mean I won’t.”
“Right,” Lo said. “You’re in the navy, so you get to be my dad now.”
Tony slammed the brakes. Right in the middle of the Alhambra. “What did you just say to me?” He swung just to watch her flinch. “Look at me, gordita.”
She wouldn’t.
Tony swiped at his nose then reached down and pulled something out of his waistband and tossed it onto the seat next to her.
She glanced down at a small nicked pistol. “What the hell?”
“Don’t back talk me, Lorena. I’ll fucking end you.”
Lo stared out the window. So Tony was doing coke again. Maybe he’d never stopped. “You’re acting crazy,” she said quietly. “You’re gonna get busted again.”
Tony snorted. “That’s registered. I own that shit.” He gunned the engine.
Lo had messed up. But asking Tony to drop her off on the corner would only infuriate him. He whistled when he caught sight of the mansion. “That’s some Masterpiece Theater shit right there.”
Mr. Stallworth’s Jeep gleamed in the driveway and Tony’s eyes locked onto it.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said.
He grabbed her arm. “Hold up. Don’t just fucking jump out of the car.” The engine’s idling felt out of place, lewd.
The front door opened and Jenny stepped onto the porch in a leopard print one-piece that rode up her slender hips. She looked down at the rumbling car and waved.
“Let go of me,” Lo muttered to Tony.
“You’re not going to introduce me to your little friend?”
“Please.”
He released her arm and snatched up the gun and tucked it into his waistband. Then he got out of the car and waved at Jenny, who was still squinting. “She’s a pretty little flaca, ain’t she?”
Lo got out of the car and walked around to where Tony was. “Please,” she said again, and her voice was quavering.
“Okay. Calm down. I’m not going to mess with your rich bitch friend. She’s a fucking little kid. No tits and braces on her teeth. Shit.” Tony snapped into his military posture and swung his boots together so they smacked. He had tucked in his shirt and now offered a crisp salute to Jenny, who had ventured down the stairs to investigate. She stood canted against the railing, her legs radiant with tanning oil.
“Hey,” she sang out to Lo.
“Hey,” Lo said, then, to Tony, “Thanks again.”
“Are you Lo’s brother?” Jenny called out.
“Correct.”
“You’re in the navy?”
“Right again.”
“Lo told me about you.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.” He glanced at Lorena. “You going to introduce us?”
“This is my brother, Tony.”
Jenny descended to the sidewalk. She was trying to figure out if she should shake hands with Tony, what it would mean if she touched him. He wasn’t tall or handsome or rich or suave. He was nineteen, though.
“You’re, like, launching missiles from a submarine.”
“Not quite. Advanced munitions.”
“How old are you?” Jenny said.
“How old are you?”
“Old enough.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And you’re back on leave or whatever.”
“What are you doing hanging around with my sister?” Tony said.
Jenny smiled carefully to avoid showing her braces. “Did you go to Sac High? Maybe you knew my brother, Glen?”
Tony shook his head like it didn’t really matter. “You shouldn’t be walking around in a bathing suit.”
“Why not?”
“You got neighbors. They might talk.”
“It’s summer,” Jenny said. “We have a pool.”
All three of them were sweating. Lo had moved to the steps. She feared Tony would walk up on Jenny, the way he did with the younger girls in their building. But the neighborhood held him in check, the size of the homes, the grand trees and lawns shimmering with money. Next door, some old lady was watering her roses.
“You’re welcome to come inside if you want to cool off,” Jenny said.
Tony took a few seconds to mull this offer. Then he glanced at Mr. Stallworth’s Jeep, the rear door of which was ajar. He strolled over and leaned against it in a way that showed the faint outline of his pistol. “Nice ride.”
“That’s my dad’s.”
“I thought he was at work,” Lo said.
“What do you care?” Jenny said. She was playing to Tony now.
“He wouldn’t want some stranger touching his car,” Lo said softly.
Tony laughed. “Some stranger. Lorena. Always the good girl.” He ran his finger along the roll bar, like the supermodel in the TV commercial, and recited taglines in a mocking falsetto: “Going off-road turns me on. Why drive when you can Jeep? Danger is my compass.”
Jenny laughed like it wasn’t that funny but whatever.
