The men were in the kitchen seated about a large round table covered in a purple cloth. The wooden sounds of poker chips clinked beneath their rumbling laughs. The room was blurry in lines of smoke. Tío Eduardo was the dealer, shuffling a red deck of cards with short, nimble fingers. Several men Luz didn’t recognize sat around him. Avel was seated against the window, the reflection of his neck on the glass. David was across from Avel, and Luz could see some of his cards. A red queen, a black spade, a red diamond seven. If she knew anything about poker, she might be inclined to think he was winning. The room moved with a mysterious language that was circular yet pointed, the language of men.
When Avel looked up from his hand, he glimpsed Luz with such anticipation that he immediately stood and almost knocked over the table. The others groaned and heckled him as he walked across the kitchen. He took Luz by the hand, kissing her gently on each cheek. “What a dress,” he said.
“She bought it special for you,” Lizette lied, and Luz jabbed her with her left elbow.
“Here,” Avel said, rummaging through his blue jeans pockets. “I have a present for you.”
David said over his shoulder, “Can’t it wait? We’re playing a card game here.”
“Jeez Louise,” Avel said. He shook his head and smiled, in a goofy way. “Forgive me, Luz. I have prior obligations, but you’re next. Well, you’re first. Always first.”
Luz swiped Avel’s right shoulder. She enjoyed his enthusiasm for her, the rabid way he focused solely on her. No one had ever treated Luz like that. “It’s not my birthday yet. A couple more days.”
Avel had gone back to his seat, and he looked up at Luz once more. “You deserve more than one day. A whole week. A whole month.” And then he was back to his cards, and Lizette was fixing a plate, which she thrust into Luz’s hands before dragging her into the parlor where the radio music was heavy and sumptuous.
Luz sat on a pink sofa and ate a pork tamale with her plate balanced on her knees. Lizette and Maria Josie were on the floor in the corner, going through a stack of records beneath a long-necked lamp. Maria Josie usually would have been in the kitchen with the men, had she any extra money to gamble away. A blond Anglo girl stood by herself, swaying to the music with closed eyes. She had on an expensive store-bought dress that was too tight around the middle and the buttons bunched and pulled away from her substantial breasts. Naturally, Luz thought, she was David’s date. She rolled her eyes at his predictability. Tía Teresita was standing with two of her sisters, both visibly pregnant. They all ate bizcochitos, spilling crumbs over their dresses and onto the rug. The little cousins were outside in the yard, tumbling in the cold grass and narrowly avoiding the lighted paper bags. Luz grinned at their joy. It amused her how children at adult parties celebrated in their own way. Not necessarily with their parents and aunties and uncles, but alongside them in their own smaller and happier world. Every now and then, Teresita would open the front door and scream for them to put on their coats. The children would disperse like geese being chased by a dog.
Luz had finished her plate when Lizette came over and set a warm cup of atole in her hands. “See that girl over there?” Lizette said, making eye contact with Luz and then dropping her gaze to her knee, jutted to the left. Near the fireplace, a young woman in a light blue dress stood with her face turned up, as if she were studying the ceiling. “She’s Avel’s singer.”
“That’s funny,” Luz said. “He didn’t mention he found a singer.”
“Yeah, supposedly she’s real good.”
Luz studied the girl. She was pretty, though somewhat plain. “Who is she? Why haven’t I seen her before?”
“Dunno,” said Lizette. Then, with a whistle, she called to the girl.
The girl lowered her gaze from the ceiling and widened her eyes as if she had won a prize. She first mouthed Me?, and after Lizette nodded, the girl cheerfully stepped across the room.
“Thanks for having me here,” the girl said. “And happy birthday, Luz. Wow. Eighteen. I guess that means you’ll be looking to start a family soon.”
Luz said, “Thank you, I suppose.”
“What’s your name?” Lizette asked.
“Monica.”
“And who are your people, Monica?”
“Oh, I’m a Pacheco. I’m from Delta. My husband and me just moved here.”
It was settled. She was a Western Slope girl. And a husband, too. “I heard you’re Avel’s new singer,” Luz said. “Does your husband mind you singing?”
Monica nervously giggled. “He doesn’t mind me making money. He’s working the night shift at the UP now, or he’d be here to see our show tonight.”
“What show?” Luz asked.
“Tonight. When Avel performs for you. We’ve been practicing for weeks.”
“Dammit,” said Lizette, who popped up from her seat and walked the girl back toward the fireplace. “Have you ever heard of a surprise?”
Just as soon as Monica left, two girls approached Luz with heavy, sorrowful expressions. One had a cherubic face. The other was nearly her opposite, flagpole skinny. They asked, almost simultaneously, if she had heard anything from Diego.
“What do you mean?” Luz asked.
The skinny one spoke up. She fanned herself against the room’s party heat. “I mean, is he okay? We’ve been dying to know.”
Luz stared at the white moon of her plate. She couldn’t talk about Diego without getting upset, and so she said, “He’s fine. Don’t worry about my brother.” Luz stood from the sofa and headed toward the kitchen.
She stopped in the hallway and looked at the card table. She was in the dark, against the edge of their light. The men had just finished their game, and Avel was seated before a stack of chips. Luz grinned with pride. It wasn’t that she didn’t expect him to win, but she was genuinely excited to see the jubilant way he studied his chips. The others were congratulating him, shaking his hand and laughing. David had poured a large glass of ouzo, which he glided across the table to Avel.
“Have another,” he said. “You’ve done good.”
Avel shook his head. He held up his hand, signaling no more.
“Come on,” David said. “Just have another. It’s tradition.”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” said Avel, taking off his hat and smoothing his blue-black hair underneath.
David said, with seriousness, “It’s a card game. Drink.”
Luz watched them from the hallway, at first smiling at their exchange, but the mood shifted and she soon felt worry enter the room, as if it had taken a seat beside the men and joined their game. Avel, she realized, was already drunk. Very drunk.
“You insult me,” David said. “You don’t drink what I’ve poured for you, and you insult me.”
“Come now,” said Alfonso. “Leave the boy alone. Good hand, Avel. You did good.”
Avel appeared to study the clear liquid resting before him. He reached for the glass, as full as a coffee mug, and guzzled the entire thing. A moment later, he was up from his seat, both hands to his mouth. He knocked the table, spilling his chips to the floor as he leaned over the sink and began to retch. The men laughed and hollered at him to leave the kitchen. “Get the hell out of here,” they said. “Did your mother teach you to drink?” Only Alfonso showed any kindness in the ugliest way. “Come on now, Avel. Take yourself out before you ruin the night for us all.” No one helped, and despite how much she knew it’d embarrass him later, Luz rushed in and pulled Avel away by his shirtsleeve, the vomit stench of his lips and hands rubbing into her skin.