It’s three thirty when the car is finally done, and Emiliano is more exhausted and depleted than if he had biked a hundred miles. His cell phone rings just as he drives out of the dealership. He pulls the car over to the curb and stops. It’s Armando. Emiliano tries to tell him about the brake job, but Armando doesn’t let him finish.
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, man, I had this brilliant idea. It came to me after you left and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. It was like a lightbulb clicked above my head, you know? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“You’re not driving and talking on your cell, are you?”
“No, I stopped right outside the dealership. I need to make a couple more pickups and then get to the shops downtown. What is it?”
“I thought of a way that you can make a lot, I mean a lot more money with your folk art business.”
Emiliano pauses for a moment. His folk art business is his business, and the fact that Armando has been thinking about it annoys him. But the purpose of the business is to make money, right? So he is also curious. “How?”
“Look, this is what I want you to do. I’m going to text you the address of one of my father’s business partners. I want you to head over there now. His name is Alfredo Reyes. All you have to do is show him the folk art objects you have with you today and tell him how you run the business. You know, who makes the objects, who you sell them to, who they sell them to.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I have time today.”
“Emiliano, don’t be stupid. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. All you have to do is see Mr. Reyes. Just listen to him, that’s all. I called him a little while ago and he’s expecting you. Look, I’ll pay you for your time, okay? I’ll give you two hundred pesos just for going over to his house and talking to him.”
“What does Mr. Reyes do?”
“Just a guy trying to make some money. Like all of us. Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t you keep the car tonight? Bring it to my house tomorrow morning. You can drive it to Mrs. Esmeralda’s birthday party. How were you going to get there anyway? You were going to show up at Jorge Esmeralda’s house on that bike of yours? Emiliano, Emiliano. Come on, optics are everything.”
Emiliano imagines driving up to Perla Rubi’s house in the elegant black Mercedes. He does need a way to get there tonight, and it would be kind of nice to show Perla Rubi’s parents that he’s—well—important.
“Listen, I have to go. I’ll text you Mr. Reyes’s address as soon as I hang up.”
“Wait,” Emiliano says. “Assuming I like what this Mr. Reyes has to say, what’s in it for you?”
“That’s my boy!” Armando crows. “You have a great head on your shoulders. We can talk about that later. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you right now. Say hi to Mr. Reyes for me. And listen, if you don’t like whatever he proposes, don’t be rude and say no to his face. Just say you need time to think about it. I’ll call him later and give him a good excuse. If the deal he offers you doesn’t sound right to you, you don’t have to take it. This is business, pure and simple, Emiliano. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He waits a few seconds for Armando to text him the address and then he loads the coordinates into the car’s GPS. He pulls out onto the street. This car is luxury on wheels. It responds to the slightest touch on the steering wheel or the gas pedal. What a difference from Brother Patricio’s old Honda, in which Emiliano learned to drive. He speeds up. According to the GPS, the place he needs to go is thirty-seven minutes away with no traffic. Perla Rubi wanted him to be at her house at six, and it’s almost four, so he’s cutting it close.
He should probably swing by Paco’s house on his way home and borrow Paco’s loafers. Paco is the snappiest dresser of all the Pumas and possibly all of Colegio México. Should he wear socks with Paco’s loafers or go sockless like Paco sometimes does? Maybe no socks is a little too informal. Perla Rubi told him to dress casual, but he’s going to be talking to Perla Rubi’s mother about his business, and business talk requires socks. That much he knows. He’ll wear his best pair of denim pants and a black crewneck T-shirt that’s a good imitation of the super-soft, expensive shirt Armando was wearing this morning. His only problem is the shoes. He’ll call Paco on his way home after he sees this Mr. Reyes.
As he leaves the city behind, Emiliano thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is his lucky day. He’s going to come out of today and tomorrow with nine hundred pesos. That’s next month’s rent payment right there. He’s on his way to talk to someone who will help him expand his folk art business. He’s going to see Perla Rubi later, and he’ll drive up to her house in a Mercedes. Perla Rubi’s plan feels clear to him now. She invites him to her mother’s birthday party. He meets her mother and impresses her with his ambition, so even though he’s poor today, he will be successful in the future. The mother likes his drive and determination, his level-headedness, and, of course, the respect he shows for her daughter. Perla Rubi’s mother then convinces her husband that Emiliano is solid, a good prospect, and he and Perla Rubi can date openly. That’s Perla Rubi’s plan. No doubt about it.
The lady inside the GPS tells him that in five hundred feet, his destination will be on the right. He has traveled for thirty-seven minutes in the blink of an eye. Emiliano slows down and stops. He can see a two-story white house behind a tall gray wall that takes up the rest of the block. He gets out of the car and walks to a black iron gate. He’s about to push the white button on the intercom when the gate opens magically. Only then does Emiliano notice the camera on the side of the wall.
He drives into the compound. There’s a separate garage-like building next to the three-story house. A man wearing a blue blazer has come out from a side door and waves him over. Emiliano parks the car and rolls down the window. Before he can say anything, the man says, “Mr. Reyes is waiting for you.”
They walk across a courtyard toward the front door of the house. Inside, the house is cool—not air-conditioned cool, but cave cool. Leather chairs and dark antique bureaus line the hallway, and on the wall hangs a painting of a dark volcano spewing ash and lava that reminds Emiliano of the picture Nieves and Marta made with bottle caps. In the air is a smell he can’t identify, something flowery, as if there were a garden of roses inside the house.
The man in the blue blazer leads him to what looks like a dining room. Mr. Reyes is sitting at the head of a long table, and Emiliano stops at the other end. The man’s thin white hair is carefully combed, and his gray suit jacket and purple tie make him look distinguished and wealthy. He is thin but not frail. A bowl of soup in front of him gives off steam. Beside the bowl sits a plate with one piece of bread, a roll. A woman dressed in black enters from a door behind him with a saucer and a cup. Mr. Reyes waits for the woman to place what looks like hot chocolate on the table and gestures with a nod for her to leave. Only then does he look at Emiliano.
“Emiliano Zapata, correct?” Mr. Reyes says, pointing at a chair in front of him.
Emiliano pulls out the chair and sits. He watches the man dip a large silver spoon into the soup and then raise it slowly to his mouth. Mr. Reyes grimaces slightly when he swallows. The man in the blue blazer stands in the corner of the room.