Everything Begins and Ends at the Kentucky Club (20 page)

“Have you seen someone?”

“I went to a therapist for awhile. She told me what I already knew. That I suffer from depression. She gave me pills.”

“Do you take them?”

“Sometimes.”

She took a drag from her joint. She smiled. “What’s wrong with a little happiness?”

Carmen was right. I was more in love with sex than with the people I slept with. I had sex with Serena for about six months. But then it got old with her. I wanted that high again. I broke up with her. She didn’t seem to mind all that much. She kissed me on the cheek and said, “It was fun, the sex part, anyway.” She looked at me. “Conrad, I like you. But you want to hear the truth?”

The truth? What the hell. I could always use a little of that. “Sure,” I said.

“You’re not a lot of fun, Conrad. You’re four years younger than me—”

I interrupted her. “And already I act like an old man.”

She nodded. “Well, not an old man, exactly—but serious, not, well, you know, you don’t know how to have fun.”

“The sex was fun,” I said. I felt like an idiot even as I said it.

“And that was about as far as it went.”

“So how come you just didn’t, I mean, why didn’t you just come out and say it?”

“You’re strange, different. You’re sophisticated and smart and articulate. But you’re aloof. I like you, Conrad. There’s something about you that’s real.” Then she laughed. “And, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re beautiful to look at.”

I thought of what Carmen had said about my mother.
She’s a statue.

I slept with another girl a week later. God, we did everything that night. She wasn’t really a girl. She was a woman, much older than me. She had some real experience behind her and I learned more than a few tricks that night. Not that I hadn’t imagined doing them. I also discovered one other thing: it was easy for me to get picked up, and I knew why. I remember what my mother told me as boy,
You’ll be much better looking than your father.
I was. I didn’t mistake my looks for virtue. But my face was going to be my co-conspirator in my obsession with sex. Or maybe it wasn’t an obsession. I had just turned eighteen. Maybe I was just normal. But normal didn’t really run in our family.

I thought of Carmen, how she said she was going to experiment with every mood-altering substance in existence. Maybe I was just like her. Only my drug of choice was sex. Sex was all I thought of after that night in the hotel with a woman whose name I had already forgotten.

I decided to stay home and go to college. I didn’t have money and a degree was a degree. And I had always liked living on the border. Unlike my uncles and aunts, I liked hearing all the Spanish and liked speaking it—even if I mangled half the words. I couldn’t see myself living anywhere else. Maybe it had something to do with my mother and my father—I don’t know. I sometimes analyzed myself—but I didn’t take it very far. It was Carmen who was the therapist in the family.

I didn’t know what I was going to study. English probably, because of my obsession with language. Well, it wasn’t exactly an obsession. I was good at writing and terrible at math. So the decision was practical. And anyway, I wasn’t very ambitious. Who the hell knew what I was going to become? In
the meantime, I had a new girlfriend. There weren’t girls at the high school I was graduating from because it was a Catholic school for boys. My aunt Lucille had insisted. “We’re sending you to Cathedral High and that’s the end of it.” I didn’t have any say in the matter. But one day after school I walked to the university and struck up a conversation with a girl named Liz. We started having sex a week later. I think she enjoyed the sex more than I did. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. After graduation, we saw more and more of each other. The sex got less exciting, but I really liked her. I thought maybe I could even fall in love with her. Why not? Except that I cheated on her.

I informed Uncle Louie about my decision to attend the University of Texas at El Paso. He didn’t really say much. I was on my way out the door to spend the weekend at my sister’s apartment. She’d called me on my cell and told me, “I scored some good shit, and Antonio’s out of my life.” So I was off for a weekend of partying with my sister.

When I got to her place, she said, “Okay, I’m going to bitch for five minutes and then I’m done, okay? Did you know Uncle Hector paid for my college? Did you know that?”

“No. You never told me that.”

She looked at me. “Are you mad?”

“No. But, well, we’re supposed to tell each other the truth. I thought that’s how we played it.”

“Don’t be mad.”

“You said you got loans.” I smiled. “I’m not mad. Why didn’t you just come out and tell me? What’s the big deal?”

“Because I’m ashamed of myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate my fucking job. Uncle Hector bribed me.”

“Bribed you?”

“He made a deal with me. If I went to college and got a major in something practical, then he’d pay for all of my expenses. I mean already I live rent free. I didn’t know what to do and, well, here I am a fucking CPA.”

“I thought it was because you were good at math.”

“Yeah, well, I am. I don’t know how I made it through college. I was—I don’t want to talk about it. The thing is that I hate my fucking job. Look, Conrad, don’t make the same mistake I made. If Uncle Hector wants to make a deal with you, tell him to shove his money up his ass.”

I smiled. “So far I’ve had no offers.”

She laughed.

“Quit,” I said. “Do something else. The arts. You’d be good at that.”

She laughed.

“You would be,” I said. “I’m serious.”

I followed her into the kitchen where she opened a bottle of wine. She poured us both a glass. “Tonight, something special.” She had this look in her eyes. She took a couple of small plastic baggies out of her purse. I knew what it was right away. “A little something to brighten up your otherwise boring existence in Aunt Lucille’s spotless house.”

I didn’t say anything. I just watched her put the powder on a plate. She divided it into straight little lines with a credit card. I studied her as she intently took out a twenty dollar bill and rolled it up tightly. Presto, it was a small straw. She snorted a line of coke up her nose in an instant. Then she did another line. She handed me the rolled-up bill. I didn’t really want to do this shit. But I was powerless in her presence. So I just went along for the ride. It
wasn’t going to kill me.

I have to say that it was great. I’d never felt anything like I was feeling right then. But this was the thought that passed through my head:
I wonder what it would be like to have sex while I was on this shit.

Saturday morning, Carmen and I slept in. Then we went to a movie. She knew I hated them. But she’d bought my uncles’ theory on movies making you happy. I stood in line to buy popcorn and Carmen disappeared into the women’s bathroom. I knew what she was up to. A moment of panic shot through me. I knew that drugs for Carmen were not simply recreational. Maybe she wasn’t an addict yet, but she would be. And I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

On Saturday night, Carmen brought out the coke again. I got high with her. She wanted to do more. She said, “Let’s walk over to the bars.”

“The bars?”

“The gay bars down the street. I know someone who can hook us up for more.”

Us
, I thought?
Us
? I took a sip from my glass of wine. “I’m not twenty-one,” I said. I didn’t want to do any more shit.

“Oh, you can just hang around outside. All the smokers, they hang around on the sidewalk. You can just hang there until I take care of business.”

Even the way she was talking was changing.

“Sure,” I said. I could never say no.

She smiled as we walked out the door. “Besides, you just might get lucky and get picked up by some hunk.”

The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But I hung on to that thought. I’d thought about being with guys—and maybe this was my chance.

It wasn’t a long walk to the bars. Carmen was happy and high. She asked about our uncles and aunts. “I only see Uncle Hector,” she said. “And even
then, not very often. The others don’t contact me. They’re too afraid of Lucille to cross her.” She laughed. “What a fucked-up family.”

“Well,” I said. “They’re more boring than fucked up.”

“How much do you know about them?”

I shrugged. “Nothing really. I mean they raised us. That’s what I know.”

“Oh,” she said. “I have stories.” By then we’d reached the strip of bars on Stanton Street—and the bars were hopping. There was this look of euphoria on her face. She walked into one of the bars, a place called the Toolbox. Subtle. “Just hang out. This won’t take long.”

I felt a little uncomfortable. I leaned against the wall and watched the scene. A guy came up to me. I guessed he was in his late twenties. He had dark eyes, thick wavy hair and a nice smile. He wore a tight T-shirt and it was obvious that he went to the gym. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I said.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Not old enough,” I said. I was always good at hiding my nervousness.

“You don’t need an ID in my apartment.”

I was definitely interested. “Can’t tonight. I’m with someone.”

“I’m with someone too,” he said.

“My sister. I’m just waiting for her.” I took my cell out of my pocket. I handed it to him. “Name and number,” I said.

He smiled, took my cell phone and punched in his name and number. He handed my cell phone back to me. “Mark,” he said.

“Conrad,” I said.

“Call,” he said as he walked into the bar.

“I promise,” I said.

My sister stepped out into the street and we walked back to her place.

She did more lines of coke, but I didn’t. I was tired. I stayed up with her. “C’mon,” she urged me, “just one more line.”

She had some tequila on the table. I poured myself a shot and downed it. “That’s it for me. I’m going to bed.”

As I was lying in the dark, I thought of the road my sister was taking. And then I thought of Mark. That was the road I was going to take.

On Sunday afternoon, I was back at my aunt’s place. That was where I’d lived since my mother had “died.” Not that it had ever felt like home. It was my aunt Lucille’s home. Hers and hers alone. Even my uncle Louie was a visitor there. After having spent the weekend with Carmen, it was a relief to be in an environment that didn’t have dark and dangerous corners. Carmen had driven me home—but I knew she wasn’t going back to her place. She was all dressed up and I knew she was going out. I also knew what she was looking for.

My uncles and aunts were gathered in the living room, having their traditional Sunday afternoon happy hour. The smell of my aunt Lucille’s roast permeated the house. The smell of her cooking gave me a sense of comfort. What I didn’t know was that they were all gathered to intervene. That’s exactly what it was—an intervention.

My aunt Lucille took the lead. “I understand you’re going to this university in the fall.” I almost laughed at the disdain in the
this university.

“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t apply anywhere else.”

“With your grades, you could have gotten in anywhere.”

“And with my money, where would I have gotten in?”

“You should have asked us. You should have consulted with us.”

“What’s wrong with going to school here?”

“You’re better than that. You’re smarter than that.”

My aunt Susan, who was as quiet as she was lovely, put up her hand and motioned for my aunt Lucille to stop. “Don’t you want to experience anything else but this nothing of a town?”

“I don’t feel that way about this town,” I said. “I like it here. I like the border. I like the people.”

“And you don’t want to leave your sister,” Uncle Louie added.

“No, I don’t.”

“She’ll hold you back,” Lucille said.

“Hold me back from what? Haven’t you noticed I’m not exactly the most ambitious young man on the planet?”

“You’re smart, smart, smart,” Uncle Hector said. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

I wasn’t going to win this argument with them. I wanted to ask for a drink, but that wasn’t going to happen. “It’s too late anyway. School starts in six weeks.”

“Well, next year you’re transferring to a better school like U.T. Austin. Getting you out of this town will do you a world of good—and that’s that.” Aunt Lucille was adamant. “We’ll all take care of the money. That’s not an issue.”

I wanted to say, “Doesn’t it matter what I want?” But I didn’t. Lucille controlled the family. Control is how she loved. But it was true what they said. I couldn’t bear to leave Carmen. I knew her life was going to hell, and even if I couldn’t keep her from going there, I was willing to go to hell with her.

I sat there quietly, my uncles’ and aunts’ eyes on me. “I know you love me,” I said. And it was true, they did love me. But their love was material and contained little or no affection. I don’t know why, but tears were rolling down
my face. I wiped them away. “I’m hungry,” I said.