The Cartel Read online

  Lost in her daydreams as she lay by the pool, Lydia didn't hear him approach. She opened her eyes when she felt the sun being blocked.

  "Hey, gorgeous," Emilio greeted her.

  She tried to conceal her happiness, but found it difficult. "You're in my sun," she remarked testily.

  "Am I?"

  "Yes."

  “I am so sorry, Señora," he answered. He straddled her lounge chair. Lydia sat back, pulling the towel up around her. Emilio sat down.

  "Emilio, what are you doing?"

  "This."

  Emilio reached out his hand and lightly stroked Lydia’s cheek. She turned away from him in order to avoid his eyes. He then pointedly turned her toward him again, placing both his hands on her face and kissing her softly on the lips. She momentarily resisted, but as the kiss became more heated, she quickened to his desires, which had now become her own.

  Abruptly she pushed him away. "Not here."

  "Why not?" Emilio asked.

  "There are servants everywhere."

  "That's what makes it so much fun."

  "And risky. My God, Emilio, what we’re doing is so wrong."

  "Do you really care?" His finger traced the outline of her breasts inside her bikini. "I want you. Now."

  "No."

  "Come on." He grabbed her hand. She knew it was a losing battle, and her only choice was to follow him. He led her into the poolside cabana.

  "I don't think we should," she continued her weak protests.

  "Shh, relax." Emilio placed her down on one of the sofas, where she closed her eyes and gave in to her desires.

  Emilio wasted no time. He quickly unfastened the tiny cloth scraps that covered her breasts, and began to caress them. He ran his tongue over her nipples making Lydia squirm in ecstasy. She tried as hard as she could to keep her breathing quiet. His tongue traveled down across her flat stomach, which showed no signs of the children she had borne.

  Once again, Lydia attempted to resist him by sitting up. But he pushed her back down and lightly placed his tongue upon her soft mound of flesh. With expertise, Emilio brought her to an orgasm. She tried with all her might not to let out a sound, but as much as she resisted, she couldn’t stop the soft moans that escaped her lips.

  Now it was Emilio’s turn. He stood and unzipped his suit pants, and even before completely removing them, he was inside her. With heated passion, his rough side took over. Emilio pulled out and turned Lydia onto her stomach where he entered her from behind. As he made love to her hard and fast, Lydia climaxed again. Emilio felt satisfied enough to achieve his own release.

  As soon as he was finished, he stood up and zipped up his trousers. Lydia was still on the couch, stunned and exhilarated.

  "You and I were meant for each other. Mark my words," Emilio said. "I will see you at dinner. Antonio is expecting me now. Thank you, my love." He bent down and left her with one last kiss.

  *****

  Javier watched his daughter riding her horse Salsa. He hated the thought of her getting hurt, but the image of Bella on that horse was amazing. Pedro led both horse and rider around with a lead line.

  The young man had surprisingly turned out to be an asset to their organization. Pedro had a great future with their business, and Javier was prepared to put him in control of all of the marijuana distribution within the Los Angeles area, as long as Antonio concurred. It was important for Antonio and Javier to appear to be a legitimate business. Even though the cops, immigration, and anyone else who needed to be, were paid off, and no one gave them any real trouble, it was still important, since Javier was seriously considering running for the Presidency. It was something he wanted to discuss with Antonio who he expected momentarily.

  He’d been concerned about his friend lately. Something seemed to be distracting him. Minutes later, he arrived. "Ah, Antonio. I didn't hear you."

  "Comes with practice," Antonio replied.

  "I’m pleased you are here. I am worried about you. You seem troubled lately, my friend. Your age has begun to show."

  "Thank you," he said with a smirk.

  "You know I am only concerned."

  "I know."

  "Talk to me. We are like brothers. If you can't talk to me, then at least talk to God."

  "God cannot save me from the torture I am going through."

  "What on earth do you mean?"

  Antonio looked away.

  Javier reached across the table and poured him a glass of cola he’d had brought out prior to their meeting. He patted Antonio on the hand.

  "Marta," Antonio finally said.

  "Marta?" Javier asked.

  "Yes, Marta."

  At first, Javier was very confused. Who was Marta? Then, as if a bucket of cold water had slapped him in the face, he realized who he was speaking of. "You mean that pretty servant girl who used to work here, the one who left suddenly without giving any reason?"

  "Yes.”

  "What about her, Antonio?" Curiosity overcame some of his concern.

  "We were lovers."

  "I knew as much." Javier picked up his cola and took a sip.

  "It was more serious than that. I made promises to her."

  "What kind of promises?"

  "Promises I couldn’t keep."

  "I see," he replied.

  "There is more." Antonio took his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit one. Javier stared at him in silence. "She left here because of me."

  "Why?"

  "The lies. I never told her I was married. I told her that she and I would be married, and I would take her away from her servant life."

  "You knew you could never do that."

  "Yes, but part of me wanted to believe that I could do these things for her. God knows, part of me wanted to." He paused for a second and looked at Isabella on her horse. "She's growing up."

  "Yes."

  "She's as beautiful as her mother."

  "Thank you."

  "Javier,” Antonio continued, “I fell in love with Marta. She was like a forbidden treasure. She filled a void in me that no other woman, including Lydia, ever has."

  "What happened?"

  "You know that I could never leave my family."

  "Why didn't you keep her as a mistress?"

  "I would have, but because I failed to tell her the truth from the beginning, she left here when she saw me with Lydia at the party you gave for Cynthia, shortly after she became pregnant with Bella."

  Memories flooded Javier's mind. As soon as Antonio mentioned it, Javier remembered the fiesta as if it were yesterday. He remembered how happy he’d felt, how his wife had looked. He even remembered the teal-colored dress she’d worn, loose around the midriff where she was beginning to show that she was with child. That dress had matched the color of her eyes—eyes their daughter now possessed.

  "I'm sorry, I know how much it still pains you to talk about it.”

  "It's all right." The lump in his throat made it difficult for him to say anything more.

  "She was pregnant, my friend. Can you believe it? Pregnant with my child."

  "How could you let her go?"

  "I had no idea she was pregnant. I would've seen to it that she’d been taken care of if I had known."

  "How did you find out?"

  "It doesn't matter. I didn't find out until after the baby was born. By then, I felt wrong about going to see them. My loyalties were to the family I already had. Believe me, I wanted to go to her, to take care of her and my only son." Javier raised his eyebrows. "Yes, that's right. My son. She bore me a son. I found out their address, and I’ve been sending them money every month. A few weeks ago, when both of us were in Los Angeles, I finally worked up the courage to go and see where they lived."

  "Did you see them?"

  "Yes."

  "What was their reaction?"

  "They didn’t see me."

  “I don't understand."

  Antonio explained to Javier what had occurred when he went to see Marta and his son.
>
  "So you never spoke with them?"

  "No."

  "Now I understand why you have been so distracted. This, along with the Levine fiasco, must be very difficult to deal with. How have you remained sane?"

  "I don't know, but I am going back to Los Angeles today, and I have decided to go and confront Marta."

  "What about Lydia?"

  "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Marta may throw me out. I wouldn't be surprised if she hates me, but I have to see her again. She has to know how sorry I am. If there is any way I can make it up to her, I will."

  "I wish you luck, my friend, I really wish you luck."

  At that moment, Bella came running up to them. "Tío Antonio," she squealed with delight.

  "Hello, sweetheart."

  She climbed into his lap and gave him a big hug. A bittersweet mixture flowed through him. He thought of Rosa, who was close to Bella's age, and of his son, who was also around the same age. He questioned himself as to whether or not he was betraying his wife and daughters by desiring to know his son better.

  But perhaps the real betrayal was to the woman he had lied to, and the son who had never known his father. He prayed that the answers would come to him soon.

  *****

  Antonio slept through the entire flight from Guadalajara to Los Angeles, his subconscious plagued by dreams of Marta and his son, and of Lydia and their two daughters.

  A limousine picked him up, taking him to the Century City Plaza, where he checked into a tower suite.

  After tipping the bellman who had brought up his bags and checked to see that all was in order, he closed the door behind him and rang for room service. "A gin and tonic, please. Yes, room 1274. Thank you."

  When in the United States, Antonio was always very conscious of his accent, and he made sure to restrain himself from speaking any Spanish. Javier had once chided him about being embarrassed about his own nationality and culture.

  "Embarrassed? Ha. Never. I know how much hatred the gringos have for us. And to get ahead in their country, you must play their filthy gringo games. If that means acting like a filthy gringo, then that is what I must do."

  A knock on his door signaled the arrival of his drink. Again, he saw disrespect in the eyes of the boy who held both the drink and the bill. His pride made him leave a large tip.

  "Marta, Marta, Marta," he whispered as he stood on the balcony, staring twelve stories below at the swimming pool. "What have I done? The agony I've put you through." He walked back into the room, leaving the sliding glass door open for the cool, spring breeze to flow. He sat on the bed and stared at the phone. He took the piece of paper with the number on it and fingered it, trying to decide whether he should call her or go there.

  He had no idea what her reaction would be either way, so he picked up the phone and dialed Marta's number with trembling fingers. It rang three times, until a child's voice answered.

  "Hello?"

  Antonio froze. For the first time he was hearing the voice of his son. He closed his eyes and pictured the child he had seen a few weeks earlier.

  "Hello?" he said again.

  Antonio could not speak or move, and his son hung up the phone. His mind was made up for him at that moment. He had to go and see his boy. Tears formed in his eyes, tears that had accumulated from all the years he’d never known his son.

  *****

  Marta was tired from her day’s work, which seemed more brutal than usual. The foreman yelled all day long for the sewers to work faster.

  No matter how much Elisa harped about her using that money Antonio sent each month, Marta was determined to save this money for Alejandro. Her dream of sending him off to college one day could only come true with that money. If Antonio did only one thing for his son, it would be to provide Alejandro with an education.

  Alex was a good student, and since Marta had switched him back to the neighborhood school where the majority of the students were Hispanic, he improved day by day—learning his arithmetic and how to read. Each day, she thanked the Lord for blessing her with such a beautiful, intelligent son.

  As she made menudo for their supper, she glanced out the kitchen window to see Alex and Hector playing stickball. I wish I could give him more. I wish he had a father. Maybe I should never have run from Mexico. My child has a right to a father, like any other boy.

  Marta's mind traveled back to the day she had seen Antonio's pregnant wife. Alex not only has a father out there but sisters or a brother and sister. Marta’s insecurities about keeping Alex away from his father weighed heavily on her mind. She felt selfish for preventing the boy from knowing him. Then she stiffened and thought about how selfish Antonio had been. She reassured herself that he had no right to her child, none at all. However, she knew that was wrong as well. As much as she tried to hate Antonio, she couldn’t.

  The aroma of the menudo filled their small home. As Marta began making the tortillas, there was a tap on the front door.

  "It's open, Alejandro." There was no response. "Ay, niño. Mama is too busy for your games today." There was another knock on the door. This time it was louder and more decisive. "Okay, okay, silly boy, I'm game." Marta opened the front door, expecting to catch Alejandro hiding behind the oak tree in the front yard. Instead, it was Antonio. She jumped back, feeling her jaw drop open as she let out a startled yelp. It was as if it were only yesterday. He looked the same: that regal stance, that chiseled face and those serene eyes, looking right into her. There he stood—Antonio Espinoza. She had dreamed about this day for years, but now that the day had come, she was at a loss for words. Her shaking hands covered her open mouth.

  "Hello," Antonio said, finally breaking the silence.

  "Hello," she uttered through her palms.

  "May I come in and speak with you?"

  "I don't know." She dropped her arms and shook her head.

  "Please, Marta. Please, let me talk with you." His heart raced, studying her. He couldn’t force her to let him in, but standing there with her, seeing her—she hadn’t changed. She was more beautiful than he’d remembered.

  “You can't stay long. We’re getting ready to eat." She didn’t know what else to say, how to respond or act.

  "We, meaning your husband and son?"

  "No. Only Alejandro and me. I’ve never married."

  "Alejandro. A beautiful name."

  "He is a beautiful child."

  "I know."

  "Well, this is my home. It is nothing like you're used to."

  "It is lovely, Marta."

  She took him through their small home. The old hardwood floors creaked beneath their shoes. They were clean but badly in need of repair. Their furniture was sparse and old, and the blue-and-white curtains had doubtless been hand-made. But the home was immaculate, and held a charm that only Marta could've given it.

  She led Antonio into the family room, which appeared to also serve as a bedroom for Marta. The couch, shabby and lumpy, was a sofa bed from where he sat down on the sofa, he could see the hallway leading to a bathroom and his son’s bedroom.

  Marta saw him looking at Alex's room.

  "Would you like to see it?"

  "Yes, very much."

  "Go ahead."

  He peered into his son’s bedroom. It was the one room that was bright and cheerful. There were posters of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck on the walls. A small rocking chair sat in the corner next to the closet. There was a large wooden box filled to the brim with toys, and his stuffed animals lounged on the red comforter that covered his twin-size bed. There were several children's books on top of a white wicker dresser.

  The toys that filled it and the colors of the room made up for its small size. He thought of Rosa and Felicia's rooms at home, which were three times larger. His daughters had toys galore, but he saw that his son was far from neglected, and this pleased him.

  "He likes Mickey Mouse," Marta remarked.

  "I see. Has he been to Disneyland?"

  "No. I've been wa
nting to take him, but with work and everything… I'm saving our money as well."