Lizette sashayed back to the table then and bumped Diego with the back of her hand. “You’re being a real party pooper,” she said. “Al’s going in search of more hooch. Want any?”
Diego sipped his water. He told her no, thank you.
“You know,” said Lizette, “I was reading a book on—”
“You,” Diego said, “were reading a book?”
Lizette sat down. “I’m just all beauty and no brains. That’s what my family thinks of me, right?”
“No, not in the slightest,” Luz shook her head. “It’s all hips and no brains.”
Lizette shot her cousin a dirty look. She smoothed the lap of her dress, keeping her eyes on her palms as if she were reading a fortune. “This book said there will be no drinking water by the year 1955. Too many Anglos coming to the Southwest region. It’ll be like a war over water.”
Diego frowned, as though he were considering something very serious. He said, “Don’t worry about it, prima. You can keep drinking what Al mixes in the bathtub.”
“My goodness,” said a high hoarse voice. “My little feetsies are killing me.”
Luz was startled as David and his blond date rushed the table, plopping themselves into open seats. They were laughing and catching their breath, and they smelled strongly of whiskey. David’s curls had gone limp with sweat and the blonde’s makeup was smudged beneath her eyes, a white woman with lengthy teeth and collarbones like metal hangers, her cleavage wagging.
“How the hell is everyone?” said David. “Glad you could make it.”
Lizette made her hands into a cone and shouted, “Congratulations, David. Real great news.”
“Thanks.” He beamed. “Hey, where’s Maria Josie? Off stealing someone’s wife?”
“Come to think of it,” Diego said. “I haven’t seen your ma all night.”
David ignored Diego and straightened his bowtie. He was the only person in Rainbow Hall wearing a tuxedo. And why not? It was his night. “Meet Elizabeth,” he said. “Elizabeth, the Lopez family.”
“Elizabeth Horn,” the blonde said, fanning herself with a napkin. On an empty chair, she stretched her legs and slid off her shoes. There was a smell like spoiled milk. “Now, will one of you dolls take this maniac out for a spin? I need a rest!”
Lizette said no, that she was exhausted. “Plus, I’m waiting for Al.”
David said, “Always wanted to dance with a fortune-teller, anyway.”
“I’m not much of a dancer,” said Luz.
“Or a fortune-teller,” said Diego.
David placed his hands over Luz’s shoulders, his grip like his father’s, warm and dense. “We’ll go slow.” He dropped his hands to her wrists and guided her up from the table. A puppet without a string, Luz thought.
“Oh, you’re doing me the greatest favor,” said Elizabeth Horn, lighting a thin cigarette.
The song wasn’t slow, and David pulled Luz closer than he should. The frame made by their arms was more like a root than a box. Her breasts flattened into his chest as they danced deeper into the crowd. He wasn’t the best dancer at Rainbow Hall, but he was effortless, his movements as natural as taking a breath or falling asleep. His eyes were halfway closed like those of the shiftless who camped in the alleys. Luz noticed he hadn’t aged, but he’d grown broader in his shoulders and waist, more substantial in form.
“Why lie?” David whispered. “You know how to dance.”
“It depends on who you’re asking. Diego says I’m lousy.”
“You’ve got quite the step. I’m sure most men who aren’t your brother would agree.” David placed his palm on Luz’s left hip, squeezed. “You know, I remember when you were this tall.”
“Can’t stay little forever, right?”
David moved his face along Luz’s neck. The fullness of his lips grazed her throat. “No, you sure can’t.”
Luz breathed. She felt a dim pulse between her legs, and her face burned red. She placed her cheek against his shoulder and watched the ballroom spin sideways. The room stretched with the twirling faces of the crowd. “Congratulations, by the way. Everyone’s so proud.”
David plunged Luz into a dip. Her hair spread and caught around her nose and mouth until everything was upside down. She used to play like that as a little girl. She’d hang from a dead juniper branch, imagine she walked barefoot among the clouds, breathed sand for air, lay upon the sky as her bed. The air was always so sweet and full, so alive with sage and thistle. Though Rainbow Hall’s tin ceiling glimmered with gold, it was nothing compared to the vastness of her past. Luz felt sad then, as if she missed her mother and father, their decrepit cabin. David then raveled Luz upward. She forced a smile, shaken and disoriented. Near the front doors, an Anglo girl stood in an emerald coat. Her red hair was fire against her ghastly skin. Her eyes were punched black and her mouth was a tenuous line. Eleanor Anne? Could it be?
“Do you know her?” Luz pointed toward the doors, kept time. “The girl in the green coat.” She gestured again, but stopped. No one stood beside the entrance. The hallway was lonely in red carpet. Empty. “She was just there. I know—”
“Who?” David asked, looking around.
Luz reached for her mouth. Pain seeped from her molars into her jaw, spilling from one section of her face to another. She turned away from David and spat into her hands, expecting blood but finding only saliva. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered. “I need air. I’m sorry.”
Outside Luz shielded her face with the bottom of her dress, her legs exposed as she hobbled down the alley. She stared at the front end of a pickup truck, headlights blasting warmth into her eyes. Silhouettes shifted in black lines, and the sounds of the truck’s engine sputtered among footsteps. Luz staggered forward, her pumps crunching gravel, her breath a silvery cloud. She heard muffled sounds, broken coughs. She then saw Diego pinned to the truck’s metal hood. Two men held his arms outward like wings, while a third man, dressed nicely in white suspenders, heaved with something heavy in his hands. A brick. The man slammed it into Diego’s jaw. The slab gleamed wetter as he brought it down again and again, a sound like a mallet upon meat. The men had the movements of work, repetition, comradery. When they dropped Diego where he stood, his body made a sound like nothing else. A limp sack, the cold ground. The men looked up and one pointed his bloodied hands directly at Luz. “Was this in your tea?” he said, and then loaded himself into the truck along with the others as they barreled away. Luz screamed at the ribbon of Diego’s blood, luminous and long like a tongue stretched from his mouth to his belly.
FIVE
Night Owl
Teresita suffered from insomnia and was awake fixing posole when the men rushed into her kitchen, tossed cups and plates from her table, and dropped Diego onto the oilcloth. Luz and Lizette followed like flower girls, their eyes matted and red from weeping the entire ride to Fox Street. The kitchen swelled with voices, the slap of a spoon on the oven’s edge, a knife slicing pork. A single lightbulb swung over the table, casting bold shadows over Alfonso, David, Papa Tikas, Tío Eduardo, a handful of others, and a halfway-conscious Diego. His breathing was very slow and he could not speak. Luz avoided looking at him. She preferred the men’s scuffed shoes, the pristine linoleum, her ankles smeared with dust and blood. It was a little after midnight, but the night had expanded into something else, something immeasurable and void.