Caramel Flava

“It’s always open.”

They parked and walked up the steps. She stood beside him while Oscar crossed himself and walked carefully up the wide center aisle. Here and there a woman, an occasional man, hunched, kneeling in prayer.

“Is there a priest?” Melissa asked.

“We can’t talk,” he whispered. He pointed along the dark walls. A candle glowed here and there. “We’ll visit the stations,” he whispered. “You can see the artwork.”

In the gloom Melissa began to make out people, small women, some in rags, shuffling along the walls. Arched grottos held painted figures in bas-relief, and before these flowers were placed coins, bits of food, votive candles. It was an eerie sight. Oscar held her hand and released it at each station, each depiction of Christ’s journey to Calvary. His lips moved silently. They walked the perimeter and then returned to the great doors. Outside the noise and brilliance of the midday city assailed them. They found their car.

“Who are the people on the steps?” Melissa asked.

“Poor people. Sick people. Children.” They drove past the cathedral and continued down Avenida del Mar. “It’s a safe place for them.”

“Does anyone give them money?”

“They don’t get money,” Oscar said. “They get hope.”

“I see.”

A few blocks down they parked and had lunch at a little bistro Oscar knew. The food was good, and the waiters knew Oscar and greeted him like old friends. They spoke volubly in Spanish, and Melissa swore she would not return without knowing at least a little. At their hotel in the Golden Zone they made love. Afterward, Melissa spoke of the cathedral. Oscar, feeling very close to her, thought she had been impressed by its beauty and mystery. He was wrong.

“Want to hear a story?” she started. He didn’t. And he did. “When I was working in a church bookstore I went home with two boys. We were in college. They lived in a trailer on the other side of the river. We got drunk and fell asleep and in the morning there was two feet of snow. The city was paralyzed. Well, you know how I am, and around these two guys, and we’re alone and stuck and I’m hungover and we’re playing cards and I’m really really horny.

“We played strip poker and pretty soon we’re in our underwear and I’m teasing about having sex with one of them and how I’d love to suck the winner off. I knew neither one could get up to get another Bloody Mary. Their cocks were sticking out pretty bad so I said the heck with the winner, I suppose I can do ya both. We cleared out the living room and I got on my hands and knees. The one guy has a big ol’ hard-on and he sits down in front of me and I go to work on him. I sucked him up and down and the other guy puts a condom on and slides it right in from behind me. He pushes in and out while I suck up and down. It was every girl’s fantasy and soon we got a really good rhythm going: Push, suck, push, suck, and it gets faster and better and I feel something happening deep in my stomach. I came and when I do I really suck and as his cock spurts I gulp and gulp and deep down I feel it all the way in one big rolling orgasm from my cunt to my mouth and back down again.

“Afterward, drinking, we figured we all came together. End of story.”

“Impressive,” Oscar said. What did she want him to say? They slept.

An hour later Oscar kissed her ear. “Señorita,” he said. It was early evening, and time to visit Jorge for drinks and dinner. She came dreamily awake. Smiled. His angel. Sleep seemed to wash them both clean.

After dinner with Jorge, they went to see his new condo. Jorge gestured grandly. “My abode,” he said to Melissa, sweeping his arm as they entered. He spoke English as well as Oscar. They had dined at an expensive restaurant and a nightcap was in order, Jorge insisted. Oscar knew he would take any chance to show off his big condominium, the ocean view, the beautiful carved bar, the ten-thousand-dollar couch. Jorge made plenty of money with his four pizza parlors. “In the pizza business you have to be a drunk not to make money,” he liked to say, usually as a toast. He claimed his own girlfriend was unavailable for dinner, but would love for Melissa to meet her some other night. Oscar knew this was a pose. Jorge spoke of girls, of beautiful girls, of one-night girls, of girls in the coffee shops and girls in the offices. There weren’t any girls. Jorge was the type of shrewd businessman who learned to live without girls. He learned to distrust them, to place a value on them, and ultimately, to refuse to meet their price. Oscar knew him too well

to be fooled.

When Melissa excused herself to use the powder room his brother poked Oscar in the ribs. “A real tigress, that one.”

“Yes, Jorge.”

“You having fun with her?”

Oscar rubbed his temples. It had been a busy day. “She meets Papá tomorrow. And then Carnaval.”

“Yes. Watch her.”

“I hope Papá—”

“I was speaking of Carnaval,” Jorge interrupted. “Papá will love this girl. He will love her no matter what. She could fart in front of him, tell dirty jokes, take off her clothes.”

Oscar gulped. Was it that obvious? “He wants me to marry her.”

“He wants the whole world to get married.” His brother laughed. “He wants me to marry all my girlfriends. Just tell Papá the same thing you tell this gringa. ‘Maybe tomorrow.’Right?”

“I don’t tell her anything like that. And don’t call her names.”

“You can’t be serious about this woman, Oscar. Not the way she swings her ass.”

“That’s enough, Jorge.”