Taming Cross (Love Inc 2)

“No fair!” she cries, but she's laughing.

I lean my head down and wait for her to free the barrette.

If only I had known how nice life is when you're focused on something besides yourself.

When Maria gets the barrette, I clap and kiss her cheek. I hold her close for just a second, telling her a silent goodbye. Tomorrow, I'm leaving. I hope she wears the barrette for a long time. I hope that she’s the prettiest girl at preschool.

10

Cross

THE CLUB IS less than fifty yards ahead: a boxy white and red building framed by a parking lot that’s surrounded by dirt. As I come up on it, I realize it’s not quite as small as I thought—maybe about the size of a skating rink back home. The parking lot isn’t empty, but it’s not full, either. I count maybe fifteen or so cars and one ragged-out white Honda.

I notice, as I park beside an old Maxima, that on the wooden porch there’s a girl with long, bleached blonde hair wearing nothing but a sombrero and a black string bikini. I wonder how seedy a place has to be for Priscilla to call it that.

It takes me a minute to get off my bike, because my body is so stiff and sore, and after that I have to dig through my bag to find the one source of protection I was able to take across the border: a small, palm-held Taser. I bought it for Suri years ago, when we were all starting college, but she refused to carry it, and somehow it ended up at my house. I slide it into my pocket, check for my wallet, and lock my bag onto the bike.

The whole time, this girl is dancing for me. As I cross the dusty parking lot, where the air smells of sour liquor and fried foods, she rubs her palms over her tits. I try not to ogle her, but her tits are huge, and her dark eyes seem to beg me not to look away. When I get to the door, she holds out her hand for me, like she wants me to take it and pull her inside. I don’t take it, and she makes a pouting face. A second later, a short, broad-shouldered bouncer comes out the door, trailing a cloud of bar smoke. Mexican party music booms behind him.

He gives me a murderous look, but the girl laughs and says, “This one is okay, Pedro.”

The guy flicks his fingers at the door, and I step into the thickest cloud of smoke I’ve ever seen. I can hear the clink of pool balls before my eyes clear enough that I can see. In every direction, there’s a pool table, and on my left is a long bar where girls in short shorts and skirts are talking to guys in grungy, baggy clothes and sometimes baseball caps. Like inside a lot of bars, the patrons are mainly in their 20s and 30s.

I choose a booth near the back of the room and pull my flip phone out of my pocket, pretending to text someone while I get a better look at things. I rest my right hand on the tabletop and cringe at the sticky filth that coats it. That’s when I notice the filmy curtain on the wall a few feet to my right. Beyond it, I can see women’s bodies in various states of undress, gleaming in stage light. Someone gives a catcall, and one of the girls rips her thong off.

After few minutes of pretend texting, a waitress comes to my table, wearing nothing but a lacy pink apron and a G-string. She turns her body to the side, giving me a good view of her ass. Then she bats her fake eyelashes and smiles at me. “Can I get you something to drink, sir?” she asks in Spanish.

While I order a bottle of Corona, she looks me over—slowly. I must be really off my game, because it makes me feel uncomfortable. Like she can see all the scars under my clothes. Like she knows my hair is short because I had my skull sawed open less than six months ago.

When my beer arrives, the uncomfortable feeling magnifies. I look around the club and realize I have no idea what to do next. I take a few swigs, discreetly searching the room for someone I could ask about Carlos. I see a few bouncers—one with prominent acne scars, one with a permanent scowl, and one surrounded by flirting women—but none of them is nearby, and none looks in charge.

I finish my drink and order a second. It’s been a long while since I drank regularly, so I feel a little lightheaded, but it works. Makes me looser. When the waitress brings my second Corona, I lean in and ask her if she knows Carlos.