CHAPTER SIX

Emilio Zapata Ibarra picked up his daughter, Carmen, from school on Tuesday. Usually she walked or biked home. But today her dad pulled up in his own Oldsmobile, which he parked alongside Ernesto’s Volvo in the Chavez parking lot.

“Aren’t we sporty dudes?” Mr. Ibarra shouted to Ernesto, who was a bit intimidated by Mr. Ibarra. Once he had attended a party at his house, and it was a lot of fun. But the big man with the mustache and the loud voice had made him nervous. Ernesto had seen very little of Mr. Ibarra since the city council race started.

No doubt Carmen had told her father that Ernesto was not actively supporting his campaign because his girlfriend was related to Ibarra’s opponent. So now he felt even more uncomfortable meeting him face to face. Ernesto wasn’t quite sure how Mr. Ibarra would react. Ernesto didn’t actually think he would get in Ernesto’s face over the issue. But he had an absurd fear that the big man would grab Ernesto’s shirtfront and lift him off his feet. Then he’d yell, “Hey muchacho, how come you’re not a Zapatista?”

“Uh, hi, Mr. Ibarra,” Ernesto said in a voice about an octave higher than normal. He glanced up at the sky, which was filling with puffy little clouds with dark edges. “The weatherman said it might rain. I guess that’s good. We need the rain,” Ernesto rattled on. Talking about the weather was always safe.

But Ernesto feared the topic would change from the weather swiftly. He dreaded having to explain himself to the big man. Ernesto knew Ibarra was best for the people of the barrio. But he was putting his personal romantic relationship ahead of his civic duty. Ernesto really didn’t know how he would explain himself. Anything he had to say would sound lame at best and downright despicable at worst. In his mind, he tried to construct a script in case Mr. Ibarra asked.

“Yeah,” the script went, “I know the whole barrio needs you man. But, see, I got this babe, Naomi Martinez, and she’s related to that jerk Esposito. What’s worse, Naomi’s father is a bear, and he’s tight with Esposito. So the deal is I gotta keep my chick and her family happy. You understand, right dude?’

“Hey Ernie,” Mr. Ibarra said, interrupting the boy’s unspoken speech. “You’re looking good, muchacho. Lotta muscle. Carmen told me you’re ripped. I see what she was saying. You’re bustin’ outta that T-shirt.”

“Thanks,” Ernesto replied, giddily happy to be talking about anything but the election. “I run a lot, and I’m exercising. It’s fun. I’ve put on some weight too, mostly muscle, I guess.” That was all Ernesto could think of saying. He thought, “Now here comes the big question. It has to be coming now.” Again, the script starting running silently in his mind.

“So why aren’t you supporting me, Ernesto?” Mr. Ibarra was sure to ask. “Your parents were at the fund-raiser at Hortencia’s, but I didn’t see you. Oscar Perez made beautiful music. Everybody was there. How come you were missing, muchacho? How come you’re not on board for this?”

But he didn’t. Instead, he asked about the track team. “I gotta come see you at the next track meet,” Mr. Ibarra promised. “Carmen told me you did great at the last one. Only one to beat you was that Avila boy. He runs like the wind. Oh, hey, Ernesto, I’m glad I run into you.”

“Uh-oh!” Ernesto thought. He stopped breathing, and he thought his heart stopped too. “Here it finally comes.”

But it didn’t. “We’re having a birthday party for Carmen at our house next Saturday,” Mr. Ibarra said. “You gotta come. You remember when you came to that party before at our house? Well, you be sure to come for this and help us celebrate mi hija’s big day. Be sure to bring Naomi. Last time she couldn’t come to our party because she was with Clay Aguirre. I don’t let guys like that in my house. But you and Naomi come. Oscar Perez, he might just drop in too. He comes to the barrio every chance he gets ’cause he’s sweet on your Tía Hortencia.”

“Hey, thanks! I’d love to come,” Ernesto answered when he started breathing again. “Naomi will be happy to come too. She and Carmen are real close.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Ibarra remarked, “my little girl, Carmen, she’s gonna be seventeen. I can’t believe it. To me she is mi pequeña hija, but she is seventeen!”

“She’s a wonderful girl,” Ernesto told him. “Everybody at school loves her.”

“Gracias, muchacho,” Mr. Ibarra responded, beaming and turning to go. “Oh, one more thing . . .” The man swung back to face Ernesto.

“Oh no!” Ernesto thought, stiffening. “I thought I was off the hook. But here it comes. The pitch. ‘Why don’t you join the campaign, Ernesto? You and Naomi should get on the team . . .’”

“There’s going to be a surprise at the party,” Mr. Ibarra asserted. “Nobody knows, not even Conchita, mi esposa. Your amigo, Abel Ruiz, is coming early to the party, and he’s making some of the food. He is very excited. He told me he made a salmon dinner for your family and his, and it was wonderful. So I asked Abel, ‘You make something for mi hija’s party too.’ He usually doesn’t do Mexican food. But this time he’s making special Mexican treats. Conchita will be so jealous.” The man laughed a big, booming laugh that echoed off the school building walls.

Carmen appeared then. “Hi Ernie, did Papa invite you to my party?” she asked.

“Yeah and I’m coming. Thanks,” Ernesto responded. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Remember,” Carmen said. “Everybody will be there to have fun. No gifts! I don’t want gifts. My gift will be having all my friends there to help me celebrate.”

“No gifts from Papa either?” Mr. Ibarra asked, making a face.

“No Papa,” Carmen chuckled. “That doesn’t mean you.” Carmen and Mr. Ibarra bid good-bye to Ernesto. Then they climbed into the Oldsmobile and drove away.

Ernesto couldn’t believe Emilio Zapata Ibarra did not once mention the council race. The man had class!

Ernesto stood by his Volvo a few minutes waiting for Naomi. He was taking her home today. Naomi finally came, lugging several books. “Sorry I’m late, Ernie,” she apologized. “But I had to get these books by Eudora Welty from the library.”

“You know about Carmen’s party, huh?” Ernesto asked.

“Yeah. She’s turning seventeen. I won’t turn seventeen until early next year,” Naomi replied.

“It’s gonna be March for me,” Ernesto said. “Carmen said no gifts, but we gotta get her something. I’d feel funny going empty-handed to the party.”

“Yeah,” Naomi agreed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since she told me. She’s so nice. I really love her. There were times when things were really horrible at my house. Then Carmen would ask me to sleep over at her place. That helped loads. But all the time I was with Clay, Mr. Ibarra wouldn’t let me and Clay come to parties. And I couldn’t come without Clay. I couldn’t blame Mr. Ibarra either. Clay can get really nasty, and he doesn’t mind spoiling a party with his cracks.”

“Yeah,” Ernesto said. “The other night Clay came in the pizzeria. He started badmouthing poor little Yvette Ozono, calling her a gang girl and stuff. All of a sudden everybody’s yelling. Poor Bashar comes racing out of the kitchen thinking war is breaking out. Clay has a way of makin’ stuff like that happen.”

“Yeah,” Naomi agreed but wanted to change the subject. “Hey, Ernie, why don’t we go to the mall now and get something for Carmen? I’m in no hurry to go home and hear another lecture about ungrateful children.” Naomi did her girlish imitation of her father’s gruff voice. “Kids who don’t listen to their fathers are the scourge of mankind!”

They both laughed at her poor imitation. Then Naomi asked, “And you don’t have to work at the pizzeria tonight do you?”

“No, I don’t. Great idea, Naomi,” Ernesto said, jumping at it. Not only did he not have a clue about what to get for Carmen, but any chance to spend time with Naomi was a gift for him. Off they went for the mall.

With the Volvo parked in the lot, they headed for the stores. The big store, which was the hub, was the first one they entered. But they hurried through it. “This place is too expensive,” Naomi commented. The salesclerks outnumbered the customers. The good-looking salespeople, all dressed in signature black outfits, looked like mannequins. “You can get almost the same stuff they have in here for half the price in another store,” Naomi said.

Ernesto looked at a graphic T-shirt. “Wow, fifty bucks for a T-shirt.”

Naomi laughed. “That’s what I mean!”

As they walked into a smaller store inside the mall, Ernesto asked, “Everything going okay at home, Naomi?”

“Yeah,” Naomi responded, poking through a rack of girls’ tops. “Dad doesn’t drink much during the week. He knows he’s got to be sharp to operate that equipment. In the beginning, he only worked a forklift. Now he does the heavy equipment. And you don’t operate heavy equipment with a hangover. The weekends are what I dread. Dad’s mad about something, he just drinks and drinks. And he gets meaner and meaner. I just pray for something good to happen. We need something to get his mind off grumping about his horrible children and poor Mom. According to him, she caused it all by letting us run wild.”

Ernesto just nodded, again feeling sorry for Naomi. He couldn’t imagine life in the Martinez house. His home was so different. His family was so different. Ernesto didn’t know how he’d cope with what Naomi was dealing with.

When they reached the jewelry counter, Naomi said, “Oh, Carmen loves turquoise. She’s been wanting a nice turquoise necklace to go with her scoop-necked tops. I bet she’d love this. It’s kind of expensive. What do you say we go in on it together? Then we can both sign the card, and it won’t break our budgets.”

“Cool,” Ernesto agreed. “I’m so glad you know what she likes. I was gonna end up getting her perfume or something. And I know I’d get the wrong kind, and she’d hate it.” Then he asked, “Do you know what Carmen’s parents are getting her?”

“It’s a great big secret, Ernie,” Naomi almost whispered, her violet eyes glowing with excitement. “You gotta promise me on your life that you won’t tell if I share it.”

“Promise,” Ernesto said, in a low tone, as someone would overhear him.

“Well,” Naomi began. She’d been bursting to tell someone. “Carmen got her driver’s license, and she’s been driving the family car.” Naomi was almost squealing. “But you know, of course she wants a car. She’s got that little job at the boutique, but she earns chump change there. Well, they’re buying her a car, Ernie.”

“Wow!” Ernesto exclaimed. “That’ll blow her mind.”

“It’s a used car, of course,” Naomi went on. “But Carmen’s mom told me it’s a cute little red convertible. They bought it from some guy that Carmen’s dad knows. The car has been in the family for a while, and it’s really in good shape. Their daughter moved away for college, and it’s just sitting there gathering dust. The Ibarras got an incredibly good deal on it, ’cause Mr. Ibarra has done that family a lot of favors.”

“Oh man!” Ernesto responded, feeling guilty again for not being a Zapatista. Mr. Ibarra was such a good guy.

“They’re gonna hide the car in the garage,” Naomi explained. “And they’re gonna put some little tiny gift in a box, so Carmen thinks this is it. Then they’ll ask Carmen to go in the garage and get something. And there’ll be the convertible with a big bow on the top!”

With Carmen’s present gift wrapped, they left the mall for the car. As they walked, Ernesto felt as though he needed to get something off his chest.

“Naomi,” he began, as they approached the Volvo, “I hope Mr. Ibarra wins the election. I really do.”

“Me too,” Naomi affirmed. “Right now the polls show him ahead. But you can’t tell what’ll happen between now and election day. I keep fearing some smear campaign or something. Esposito’s flyers are getting more personal. Mr. Ibarra’s flyers just talk about the good stuff he’s going to do. And Esposito is already putting out attack ads.”

“Doesn’t mudslinging end up hurting the person who’s throwing the mud?” Ernesto asked.

“Sometimes,” Naomi responded, “and sometimes, if you throw enough mud, some of it sticks. That’s one of the big things I hate about politics. If everybody just stated their positions and stuff, it’d be okay. But they use these horrible pictures of their opponents. They take little sentences out of a paragraph. Then they get a whole different meaning from what the person really said.”

“You know, Naomi,” Ernesto commented, “I was reading this book the other day, Profiles in Courage. It was written by President John F. Kennedy when he was a young man. It talked about really courageous things that individual senators did, even though it cost them a lot in support, in their careers.”

“I’ve heard of that book, but I never read it,” Naomi remarked.

“Well, there was this one guy, Senator Grimes,” Ernesto explained. “I think he was from Iowa. He really didn’t like President Andrew Johnson, but he thought it would hurt the country if Johnson got impeached. Grimes, he’d just had a stroke, and he was really frail. But the vote on impeachment was coming up, and four guys carried him into the senate. Everybody told Grimes that, if he voted against impeachment, everybody would hate him. They’d say he was a traitor.”

They were almost to the car, as Ernesto continued. “Grimes was pale and sick, but he voted against impeachment. And he saved the president from impeachment by that one vote. All his friends turned against him. They made effigies of him and burned them in public. He died with everybody hating him. But he said that he died at peace ’cause he followed his conscience. I read that stuff Naomi, and I feel creepy.”

Naomi stopped walking and turned to face Ernesto. “You want to join those Zapatistas, don’t you, Ernie? But you won’t because of my father and the problems you think that would cause between us.”

“Naomi, you mean more to me than—” Ernesto started to say. Naomi reached up with her fingers and put them over Ernesto’s lips.

“Ernie,” she told him, “I don’t want to mean more to you than your conscience. What’s going on in my house, I’ve got to deal with that. I don’t want to put it on you, Ernie. You gotta be the best person you can be. Whatever happens, whatever comes, nothing is going to hurt us, Ernie. You’ve got to believe that.”

When they reached the car, Ernesto took Naomi in his arms. They stood, hugging and kissing, for several minutes. Neither of them said a word.

Ernesto and Naomi arrived about fifteen minutes early for Carmen’s birthday party at the little house on Nuthatch Lane. There was a sign out front with balloons tied to it. It read, “Carmen Ibarra is diez y siete!”

Ernesto and Naomi glanced at the closed garage and thought about the red convertible inside it. They both smiled.

The house was filled with Carmen’s friends from school. Ernesto knew every-body. Julio Avila was there with Carlos and Dom, Jorge Aguilar, and Eddie Gonzales from the track team. Yvette Ozono was there with Tessie Zamora. Tessie had been in a wheelchair because of an accident but now hobbled around on crutches. Abel Ruiz had come with his girlfriend, Claudia Villa, but he had vanished into the kitchen. Carmen’s cousin, Oscar Perez didn’t bring his band. But he did bring his guitar and his beautiful voice to serenade the birthday girl.

Emilio Zapata Ibarra wore a red satin shirt, and his wife, Conchita, wore her beautiful red ruffled dress. They were ready for dancing. The atmosphere was warm and festive.

“I said no gifts!” Carmen complained as the pile of gifts on the kitchen table grew.

“We couldn’t help ourselves,” Naomi said, hugging Carmen.

“Here’s the gift from Mom and Dad,” Carmen remarked, looking at the small box. “I told them I needed a new wallet. So I bet that’s what’s in there. I bet they got me a nice one.”

“I bet they did,” Ernesto agreed. Naomi nudged him and gave him a look that said, “Don’t you dare give anything away!”

Abel Ruiz was in the kitchen with Car-men’s mother, putting the finishing touches on the food. Carmen and Naomi kept Claudia company. She went to a nearby private school, not Cesar Chavez High School. So she didn’t know anybody there but Abel. Within minutes, Claudia was laughing and joking with the other girls as if she went to Chavez too.

“Abel is gonna be a big chef someday,” Ernesto told Claudia. “He’ll be on TV with his own program I bet.”

“He loves to cook,” Claudia said. “Whoever marries Abel is gonna be so lucky. No being stuck in the kitchen for his wife!”

Abel, wearing a big puffy chef’s hat, emerged from the kitchen with a tray of appetizers. Conchita followed him with two more trays he had assembled. The trays were crammed with appetizers. They were little seafood canapés, filled with shrimp, crab, and lobster with cotija cheese and a heavenly mango salsa.

“Ta-dah!” Abel cried, enjoying every minute.

The party was underway!

Toward the end of the party, after Oscar Perez sang a sweet song to Carmen, she opened her gifts. She raved over all of them, especially the turquoise necklace from Naomi and Ernesto. She praised even the smallest token gifts. Oscar Perez gave her a lovely gold necklace. But when Carmen opened the package from her parents, there was just a little ladybug pin.

“Oh, it’s so cute,” Carmen exclaimed. But Ernesto could tell she was surprised, maybe even a little disappointed.

“Carmen, mi hija,” Mr. Ibarra told her. “There is one more little thing for you in the garage. We forgot to bring it in the house.”

“Yes,” Conchita added, “in all the excitement we forgot to wrap it. It’s still out there in the garage.”

Carmen looked puzzled. She looked from her father to her mother.

“Come outside, mi hija,” Mr. Ibarra suggested. “It is dark in the garage, and we shall open it up.”

The Ibarras and all the guests followed Carmen as she went outside and pressed the garage door opener. Slowly the door rose. Carmen began to scream. People across the street came rushing out to see why a girl was screaming.

Carmen leaped into her father’s arms, and he lifted her up as if she were four years old instead of seventeen. He kissed her. And her mother kissed her. Passing cars slowed in the street to see what all the excitement was about.

Carmen Ibarra was sitting in her red convertible, still screaming and laughing and crying when most of the guests went home.