Chulito (3 page)

“It’s a secret man. Besides, tomorrow’s Saturday. A way better night to go bug out, right?”

The fellas all looked at each other and considered the possibility.

“So what you doing tonight, Chulito?” Davey asked.

The traffic light changed, but Martha and her posse paused to hear the answer.

The question reverberated through Chulito’s head. “Chillin’ with Carlos who’s coming back from school” is what he wanted to say. “A special date.”

The “ooooh’s” rose and fell from their throats in perfect harmony.

“With Catalina?” Davey gave his lips another lick. Catalina was the girl who worked at the Salome Ureña Nail Salon. Everyone thought she was Chulito’s girl, including Catalina.

“Yep.” Chulito did a hump dance where he pumped his hips and pretended to spank whoever he was pumping. The women exchanged glances and crossed the street.

“What?” Chin-Chin asked incredulously. “You could fuck that chick any time. You goin’ out with the fellas, hear me?”

“O.K., hear me out, fellas.” Chulito called them over in a huddle. “It’s someone else.”

Another chorus of “ooooh’s” from the fellas as they separated.

Papo knitted his brows. “Pussy you could get any time. We organized this shit and tonight we going out. Way out.” High fives were served up again.

The clapping sounds of palms meeting palms were like gun pops shooting down his plans with Carlos. Chulito couldn’t cancel on him. Maybe I could invite Carlos to come along? Would that be so bad? It would be a disaster. Besides he wanted to be alone with Carlos to share his thoughts. Carlos always had a way of knowing what he wanted. He knew Carlos would help him understand.

“O.K., here’s the deal, fellas. You get the party started and I’ll meet you at the spot later.”

They exchanged glances and nods.

“I guess so, just as long as it’s not too late.” Papo moved in close to Chulito and put his arm around his shoulder. “Damn, she must be something special if you don’t want to break that date.”

“It’s just that, you know how chicks get when they make plans, especially for birthdays and holidays.” They all nodded.

“Shit. This is gonna cause a problem,” Davey said. “It’s not just us right here.” Some of the auto glass guys had arranged to take off work early so they could get cleaned up to go and many of the guys in the neighborhood were prepping as they spoke.

“You’re right, Davey. Nah, Chulito, it ain’t gonna work,” Papo said. “Everybody is ready to go tonight and you can’t be showin’ up all late. We all gotta go together.”

Chulito wished he’d just stayed in his room and waited for Carlos.

Just then, Notorious B.I.G.’s booming rap vibrated the air around them and drowned out their conversation. They all turned to see Kamikaze roll up to the corner in his special order Royal Blue Lexus LS from next year’s line. The sun reflected off all the chrome accents and the tinted mirrored windows making the car sparkle like a giant jewel crawling along Garrison Avenue. Kamikaze rolled down the window and yelled, “Wassup, bums?”

Chulito thought Kamikaze would be just what he needed to escape their plans. He was Kamikaze’s boy and even though Kaz was cool with everybody, he rarely did the group thing with the fellas.

“Yo, Kaz,” Davey called out as he approached the car. “Lookin’ good, bro. Sweet running suit. Adidas?”

Kamikaze smiled and looked down. “Nah, man, it’s Armani. But what up, D?”

“Chulito has plans, man,” Davey said.

Kamikaze turned off the music. “I know. He’s going out with us.” He leaned toward the passenger window, pulled down his blue tinted shades and stared Chulito down.

“Kaz, I didn’t know,” Chulito said.

Kamikaze stepped out of the car. “That’s because it was supposed to be a surprise, nigga. Show a little gratitude. I don’t normally do this shit, but I’m making an exception and even organized this motherfucker ‘cause you my pana.”

Being taken out by the fellas was a coming of age rite, a boricua bar mitzvah thrown by your buddies. Chulito knew that to have a party posse organized for his birthday meant that he had gained an important position in his neighborhood, even though he was just sixteen. Davey hadn’t had one yet and he was eighteen. Chin-Chin never had one and he was twenty-four. Papo had one only a year ago for his twenty-first birthday. And Looney Tunes would never have one.

Throughout Hunts Point word had spread that Kamikaze had organized a party posse and arranged for Chulito to get into a strip club in Yonkers. There was always an electric excitement in the air when all the guys in the neighborhood gathered to go out together. His party posse was growing by the minute. Tats Cru, a team of graffiti muralists who had their “headquarters” around the corner, were joining the posse. His buddies on the corner would leave their posts to attend. Those who had wives or girlfriends would leave them home or give them money to do their own thing.

Then the guys would all meet at a designated spot, the cars would line up, Hennessey would be passed around, the fellas would be dressed up, cologned down and blinged big time. The stories would live on for days.

Chulito began to think that the conversations he’d had with Carlos and their plans were a mistake.

“C’mere, Chulito.” He walked slowly to Kamikaze.

“So you going tonight, punto.” Kamikaze offered him his fist and Chulito bumped it with his own. “Good, I don’t wanna hear nothing about other plans, O.K.? I’ll be by around eight.”

As Chulito tried to think of another excuse to delay his arrival, he saw Catalina—all big hair and hips—stomping across the street with Martha, Brenda and Debbie.

“Chulito, you motherfucker!” Catalina’s presence parted the guys. “Who you fucking tonight? ’Cause if it’s supposed to be me, this is the first time I’m hearing about it.”

Her eyes were wide and her nostrils stretched to their max. Her manicured hands were crossed in front of her ample Dominican tetas. “Well?”

Everything stopped. The only sound came from Chulito’s cell phone when Big Pun’s “Still Not a Player” began to chime. Chulito looked at Carlos’ name flashing across the phone’s screen.

Catalina lunged for the phone, which fell out of Chulito’s hand and spun across the pavement. Looney Tunes picked up the phone.

“Give it to me!” Catalina and Chulito yelled at the same time. Looney Tunes passed it to Davey, who passed to Papo, who tried to pass it to Kamikaze, who didn’t accept it but pointed to Chulito. Just as Papo moved toward Chulito with the phone, Martha plucked it out of his hand just as it stopped ringing.

“Answer her,” Martha demanded. She commanded attention as she held the phone high in the air with one hand and pressed her fist to her waist with her other. She glared with a low tolerance for bullshit. She once played Rizzo, leader of the Pink Ladies, in Junior High School 125’s production of
Grease
and the role stuck. Now she attended Bronx Community College, was the president of its Latina Movers and Shakers Club and wanted to single-handedly deliver her neighborhood sisters from macho oppression. “Enough of your stupid games, Chulito. You are supposed to be a man now, according to these knuckle heads. Own up, Mr. Man.”

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Chulito saw Carlos stumble out of the passenger’s seat of a new white Range Rover in front of their building. He was laughing and dialing his cell phone. He looked a little different, maybe a little skinnier. Chulito felt excitement and dread. He hoped no one from the corner would notice Carlos.

Kamikaze walked over to Martha and held out his hand. She held the phone out, and he took it and gave it to Chulito. “Handle your shit, pana.”

“What are you doing tonight, Chulito?” The anger in Catalina’s voice had gone from a volcanic boil to a low simmer.

Big Pun’s beat chimed out of his cell, again. Looney Tunes danced to the beat.

Carlos held his phone to his ear while he unloaded a big suitcase, a bunch of shopping bags and two stacks of books tied with a thick heavy twine. Maria popped out of the building and gave her son a hug. She went over to the Rover and waved hello to the driver.

“You gonna answer that, bro?” Davey asked.

Chulito noticed Papo staring at the front of his building.

“Oh shit,” Papo said. “There’s Carlos. He must be back from college. Go get a bottle so we can welcome his ass back home.”

The fellas laughed.

Chulito hit the silence button.

“Chulito, look Carlos is home. Come say hello.” Maria yelled over to the corner.

The guys erupted into laughter.

“But hol’ up yo, check out his ride. That shit is sweet,” Davey said.

When Carlos saw Chulito on the corner, he flipped his phone shut.

“Chulito, come here,” Maria said.

Chulito took a few steps.

“Don’t even think about it, Chulito,” Catalina growled through her teeth. “We’re not finished.”

“I don’t want to disrespect Carlos’ mother.” Chulito walked away.

Catalina turned and crossed the street back toward the salon, swearing in Spanish. Martha, Brenda and Debbie followed her.

“Yo, pana,” Kamikaze called out as he got into his car. “I’ll see you at eight, right?”

Chulito turned to face Kamikaze and slowly nodded yes. The fellas hooted and hollered. “The party is on!”

As Chulito approached the building he saw that Carlos and his mom had gone inside and the driver, a tall, slim guy with curly blond hair, was carrying the two stacks of books inside. He was wearing cut-off jean shorts, sandals and a loose black concert T-shirt that had “Nina Simone, Carnegie Hall, June 28, 2001” written on the back with a big picture of Nina Simone on the front. He reminded Chulito of the guy with whom Carlos held hands and his heart tightened into a fist. Carlos appeared in the doorway, took one of the stacks from the driver and smiled at him. Then he paused and looked at Chulito, who stopped in his tracks.

Back on the corner, Looney Tunes asked the crowd. “Who’s that? His boyfriend?” The guys burst into convulsive laughter and gave Looney Tunes high-fives.

Carlos glared at Chulito a moment, then went into the building with the driver. Chulito felt the cake and coffee he’d eaten earlier rising and he swallowed to keep it down.

He quickly flipped open his cell and called Carlos, but he didn’t answer.

As he prepared for the party posse, selecting his finest threads, Chulito kept dialing Carlos. He knew no one was upstairs because he didn’t hear any footsteps. Where did Carlos go? And who was that dude in the Range Rover?

It was a half hour before Kamikaze would pick him up. The cars had already begun to congregate across the street in front of Master #1 Auto Glass. From his window, Chulito saw that they’d begun passing warm, amber bottles of cognac around. Chulito checked his phone for the hundredth time to see if he’d received a response from the texts he’d sent to Carlos.

Carmen appeared in his doorway. “I can’t stop you, right?”

“Don’t worry, Ma. Kamikaze has got my back.”

“What happened to your plans with Carlos?”

“I didn’t know about this,” he said gesturing out his window.

Carmen entered the room and touched Chulito’s face, but he flinched. She patted his shoulder and smiled. “You look nice.” Part of him wanted his mother to hold him like when he was a little kid, when she would take him into her lap in the rocking chair and hold him close. Swinging back and forth and singing boleros by La Lupe and Hector Lavoe. Another part of him wanted her to ground him and say that he couldn’t go out. He wished that she was high strung and more emotional like other Latina moms who yelled at their kids and might say something like, “Just try to leave this house and I will slap you so hard you will see the Virgin Mary.” But after growing up in a household with lots of yelling and fighting, and then later dealing with his father’s drunken binges, she preferred peace. Carmen retreated and disappeared into the dark hallway. There was no one to save him.

Chulito sat on his bed and looked at the doorway as if he could still see her image there smiling at him.

As the daylight faded, Chulito’s room became an ethereal blue. It was the time of day where a lamp light could dispel shifting shapes in its the dark corners. Outside, Chulito heard Fat Joe thumping though speakers before he saw the blue Lexus roll up to the corner. The moment Kamikaze stepped out of his Lexus, he leaned against it and a group of the guys gravitated toward him as if he had a hook in each one and was reeling them all in. Kamikaze was dressed in his signature blue—sky blue Kangol hat, baby blue button down shirt with matching shorts and pale blue Timberland boots. Under his hat he wore a bright yellow bandanna.

The bandanna reminded him of the first time he actually met Kamikaze. Everyone knew him. They knew Kamikaze had run corners in the Lower East Side, El Barrio and the South Bronx, but that was back in the day when he was twelve years old. He quickly moved up and now he rolls with the big boys and has crews selling his packages out on the corners and in several exclusive night clubs and gentlemen spots. He personally handles the top level clients including rappers, politicians and some hip hop fashion designers.

Chulito had always seen him in the neighborhood, but they connected one unusually cool day the previous summer. It had been a few days after the bottle throwing incident, and Carlos had gone to Puerto Rico for the rest of the summer. Chulito was sitting on the steps in front of his building and the earphones from his iPod drowned out the sounds of the street with Trick Daddy’s ode to being a thug.