Chapter 47

One night of tango and Mary’s ready to jump on a banana boat to Santa Cruz. I try pushing her hand away, but she’s got a strong forefinger hooked on my belt and a lion in her eyes. “Goodnight, kids,” she calls to Judy and Muller. Once we’re in our room, she gets me against the wall. One leg goes around my waist. “Let yourself go, Sam,” she says.

“Let what go?”

“Everything,” she says. “Sólo lo hacen.”

“You’ve lost me.”

I’m forced down on the bed, suddenly having flashbacks of my youth, while she is trying to unzip my pants. “That’s the way, Sam,” Mary cries. “Let yourself go.” Her hair is in my face, swishing back and forth, knees digging into my sides. Mary lets out a voleo, throwing her head back. The shower starts in the washroom. “They can hear us,” I say.

“Shut up, Sam. Como quieras.”

“What?”

“Como quieras.”

“No idea what that means.”

“Push, Sam, push.”

She twitches and squirms, making more faces than she did at Judy’s birth. “Ya voy! Ya voy!”

“Again, no savvy.”

“Ya voy! Ya voy! Ya voy!”

Mary shudders, says, “uch,” and then rolls off me. Air suddenly bursts into my lungs. The woman’s not as light as she used to be. I hope she realizes I’ve gone the extra mile here. “I can’t paint houses all day and do this sort of thing,” I gasp.

“Then give up painting.”

“I haven’t finished the overhangs yet.”

“Ruby can find someone else.”

“It’s too short notice.”

“Sam, this is the hottest I’ve been in years. Maybe the hottest I’ve ever been. Don’t spoil it.” She gives me a crazy smile.

“Don’t even think about it, Mary.”

“What was I thinking?”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“Screw work.”

“Those soffits aren’t going to paint themselves.”

She’s holding my shoulders down, swishing her hair against my cheek. “Come on, Sam,” she says. “Como quieras.”

“This is just cruel, Mary,”

“Como quieras.”

“Judy and Muller can hear us, for chrissake.”

“Sólo lo hacen.”

I can see Muller nodding away in the hall, telling Judy it’s the language of love, as long as you’re Spanish or south of the Equator.