Read Naked in LA Online

Authors: Colin Falconer

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Romance

Naked in LA

BOOK: Naked in LA
10.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

NAKED IN LA

Book 2 in the Naked trilogy

 

by

Colin Falconer

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1 

 

Miami, 1961

 

Please don’t read this. I wrote this just for me to remember. I didn’t want anyone else to find it. Besides, you won’t want to read it; you’ll only get angry, or disgusted. You’ll say: “Who is this woman? Who does she think she is?”

I’ll tell you who she thought she was. She thought she was a princess. She thought the world owed her.

Here I am--if you’re interested--in this photograph. I was ten years old. It was taken in Havana just before my mother died. That’s my father. He was a good man, as far as the world will allow any man to be good. Look at me: chubby, ribbons in my hair. You see that tiara I’m wearing? I have no idea whether it’s plastic or real. Knowing my father, those could be real diamonds. He would do things like that. Anything I asked for, I got. Anything.

I thought that was just the way it was.

 

 

So now fast forward ten years or so and the tiara is a waitress” cap. Not so chubby anymore because I’m worked off my feet, trying to make a buck waiting tables in a greasy diner a few blocks from Key Biscayne.

Well that was all about to change.

The rain was whipping in gusts against the windows. I heard the doorbell ring as a new customer walked in, the wind slammed the door shut behind them. Frank was cutting salami. I took the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it in the trash on my way out. “The boss sees you doing that, you’ll be out of here,” I said.

“Haven’t heard of smoked ham?”

There were two of them; shirts open to the third button, chunky gold rings, fancy shoes, it was like they were in uniform. They were sprawled over one of the banquettes like it was the Hilton. I checked out front, there was a black Plymouth right where it said NO PARKING, some other wiseguy sat behind the wheel.

One of them looked me over like I was a used car. “Where’s the non-smoking section?” he said.

“Do you smoke?” I asked him.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then this is it.”

The other guy liked that. He tossed the menu back on the table. “You got any recommendations, sweetheart?”

“I recommend you don’t call me “sweetheart” unless you want a fork in your eye.”

That amused him; too, we were getting along well. They ordered three coffees.

“Why three? One of you not getting enough caffeine?”

It was then I heard the washroom door slam and Angel walked out.

“Magdalena?” he said.

The look in his eyes. I supposed it was how a buzzard looked when it saw a mouse running across a bare field; the slow blink of the eye, a slight flick of the wings. They can’t smile or show satisfaction because it isn’t in them but you can tell from the attitude, the way they tense up, just how they’re feeling. It was like that.

I couldn’t believe it. The last time I had seen him was when he tried to rape me at his wedding. He was just an excitable kid then, too much money and any brains he had were between his legs. Looking at him now, I couldn’t believe I ever loved him.

He still had too much money. He looked like a banker or a lawyer in that three-piece suit, and the watch was worth more than I made in a month.

Diners like this were a dime a dozen in Miami. What the hell brought him in here?

“I don’t believe it! It
is
you. What are you doing here?”

I could feel my cheeks burning; he was last guy in the whole damned world I ever wanted to see. “What does it look like I’m doing?” I saw him staring at the grease stain on my uniform. He might as well have found me standing on a street corner turning tricks.

“You know this broad?” one of the gorillas said.

He talked over the top of me, straight to his two associates. I guessed they were his bodyguards--they sure didn’t look like they could be the intelligent part of any operation. They didn’t even look sophisticated enough for the diner. “Her old man used to own a nightclub in Havana, before the Revolution.”

“Every busboy in Miami says they used to own some action in Cuba.”

“Not like this. It was a classy place, Lena Horne sang there one night.”

“Fuck’s Lena Horne?”

“Maracón,” Angel muttered and shook his head. He turned back to me. “Hey, you’re looking real good.”

I was near the end of my shift, I hadn’t washed my hair in days and I’d torn a nail on the door coming out with dishes. I looked like hell and I knew it.

“When was the last time we saw each other?” he said.

“Let me think. Was it the night you ran away from the cops and left me in the street? No wait, I got it, it was when you tried to screw me in the garden at your wedding.”

The goons chuckled; they thought I had just made it up.

“How’s Amanacio?”

“He’s dying.”

“I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Life happened. Fidel happened. Your friends happened. These three coffees, you want cream?”

“I’m watching my waistline,” one of the gorillas said, a real card. He patted his gut, which spread over his belt like someone threw a sack of flour over a wall.

“I’ll be right back.” I went into the kitchen and put my face against the tiles just because they were cold. Frank put a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Time of the month,” I said, to deflect the attention. This was all I needed; Angel, seeing me like this, in a uniform, working for tips.

“Take a break for a few minutes,” he said. “Go outside, get some air.”

I went out the back, sat on the steps next to the dumpster, watched the rain pouring from the gutter. There was a dog scavenging in the bins. I never saw such a sorry-looking stray, at least not since the last time I looked in the mirror. I put my head between my knees and took a couple of deep breaths.

I lit a cigarette, a bad habit I’d only taken up since we left Havana. I really couldn’t face talking to Angel again. I sat there for as long as I could. Maybe if I stayed here long enough Frank would take them their coffees and they’d be gone by the time I came out.

The smell coming off the trash was ripe, the rain was stinking it up even worse. A plane took off from the airport. I watched it disappear into the overcast and I wished I were on it, headed any place but here. I thought about those days back in Vedado--lying in till whenever I wanted, having Maria run my bath for me--they were like some sick joke now.

I looked at my watch. I had to get back; if my boss came back and found me smoking when it wasn’t my break time I’d lose my job. I stubbed out the cigarette and flicked it into the wet yard. The mutt looked up thinking it might be some tidbit for him. Look at the eyes on him, he looked so bowed and desperate. We could have been soul mates.

 

 

“It’s okay, they just left,” Frank said when I got back to the kitchen.

I went to the banquette and picked up the check, the bastards didn’t even leave a tip. I was taking their cups back to the kitchen when Angel stepped back in to the diner, he’d been waiting for me just outside with his goons. Now they were standing up I could see the bulges in their jackets. Angel was clearly a very important man these days.

He grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hiding from me.”

“Still here? I thought you’d sneaked off so you wouldn’t have to give me my tip.”

He pressed a hundred dollar bill into my palm to complete my humiliation. That was just about what I took home in a week. “I didn’t forget,” he said. “My numbers on there. Give me a call, okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

He pressed close and put his hand on my butt. I couldn’t believe it, right there in the restaurant in front of my regulars. “I still burn for you, baby,” he whispered, and strolled back outside. One of his gorillas opened the back door of the Plymouth for him and he slid inside.

I walked straight into the kitchen, screwed up the bill and tossed it in the trash.

“Two more customers waiting for orders on table eight,” Frank said, flipping a couple of burgers into the pan.

I went back to the trash, took out the hundred and tucked it into my bra. “I got it,” I said.

“You know who that was?” he said, as I pushed open the door.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You want to stay away from that guy.”

“It’s too late for that, Frank. Five years too late.”

They wanted cheeseburgers on table eight. Side of fries and two coffees--black, no cream.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

BOOK: Naked in LA
10.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Scavengers: July by K.A. Merikan
True Magics by Erik Buchanan
Captivated by Deb Apodaca
Zom-B Mission by Darren Shan
In Too Deep by Coert Voorhees
Karoo Boy by Troy Blacklaws
Celebrity Chekhov by Ben Greenman
A Family Madness by Keneally, Thomas;