Houston, We Have a Problema Read online

  “Yes, yes, claro que sí. Let me just . . .” The woman drifted slowly through the bead curtain that led to rooms Jessica had never seen.

  Jessica took a seat at the black velvet table with her gold vinyl purse on her knees, because it was bad luck to put it on the floor. Madame Hortensia returned achingly slowly, bringing a mahogany box, then arranging it and herself at the table. In the reddish light, she transformed from a regular neighborhood grandma to the all-knowing figure Jessica needed to see.

  “Piensa en que quieres saber. Do you have questions, m’ija, or do you just want a general reading?” The old woman laid out the cards in precise patterns as she spoke.

  “I have questions, yes. And I want to know what’s going to happen in the future, too.”

  “Of course. Think of your questions, then. Say them in your mind.”

  What were her questions this time?

  How about: What the hell was Guillermo’s deal? Did he want to have a real relationship with her or not? Or was he seeing other women, giving them the runaround like he gave her?

  Should she give him up once and for all, before she ended up going crazy and killing him?

  Or could she make him change?

  If she did give him up, what would happen next? Would she ever meet anyone else?

  “Ready?” the old woman asked. Jessica nodded, and up flipped the first cards.

  The Sun, the World, and three of those circles with stars in them, like the one on the neon sign. Jessica didn’t bother to study the details. She could never make heads or tails of all the stars and sticks and cups and people on the cards, and that was why she paid someone else to do it.

  “O, sí. Ah, yes . . . ,” Madame Hortensia said to the cards. Then, to Jessica: “Now, remind me, m’ija, what we said the last time you were here.”

  It had been two months ago. Jessica remembered it well. Things had been going well with Guillermo then, so they’d talked mostly about money. “We said that I had improved my finances, and that this would enhance my life.”

  “Mm-hmm. And did these things come to pass?”

  Jessica thought back to the end of March. She’d just gotten paid for Toby’s friend’s web site. She’d put some of the money in savings and bought a new comforter set and USB drive with the rest. Also, she’d finally switched from generic cereal to name brand. “Yes, things happened. Money did enhance my life.”

  Madame Hortensia nodded. “And did the cards say something else?”

  “That I would help to enrich the lives of others.”

  “And did you?”

  Well, sure she had, Jessica thought. She’d given her parents money every pay period, and she and Sabrina had gone in together on steam-cleaning Mami’s carpets. Also, she’d done volunteer work for ALMA, the nonprofit organization where her friend Marisol worked. She tried to think of something else.

  She’d been there for Toby when he’d needed a shoulder to cry on, hadn’t she? And at work, she’d done all the things her bosses didn’t know how to do for themselves. But that one didn’t really count, since she was getting paid for it. However, at least she could say that she’d livened up the place for Olga and Rochelle, who’d be bored without her. And for Xavier, who would probably work himself to death if she didn’t make him go out for lunch once a week.

  “Yes, you were right,” Jessica concluded. “I did enrich the lives of others.”

  “Okay. And what did we say about romance?” Madame Hortensia asked.

  Jessica felt herself blush. “That my romantic life seemed confused, and that I had to be careful not to go down the wrong path with any tall, dark strangers.”

  “And how has that been going?”

  Now Jessica knew for sure that she was blushing — she felt it up to her ears. Why couldn’t they do this with a curtain between them, she thought wistfully, like at confession?

  “Well, let’s just say there hasn’t really been any good, clear path to go on. So far.” There. That was all Jessica was going to say.

  Luckily, Madame Hortensia was done asking questions. She tapped each of the three overturned cards with her thick, chipped fingernail. “These represent your recent past. You were a good daughter, making your way in the world, being successful for yourself and for loved ones. You may have made some mistakes, but nothing too bad.”

  Jessica nodded, resisting the urge to bite her thumbnail.

  “And now you want to know what comes next, verdad? Maybe what comes for you in love? Or money?”

  “Yes. In both, please.”

  Hortensia flipped over the next three cards. They were another jumble of symbols, with a knight and a woman on a throne. “Hmm. Very interesting.”

  “What is it? What do you see?”

  “I see . . . opportunity.”

  Jessica leaned forward.

  “Opportunity for money, and in love.”

  The old woman glanced up to check Jessica’s reaction to this. Jessica smiled and nodded so that she would continue.

  “You will meet a new man.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. A rich, handsome man. Possibly a new love interest.”

  “Huh.”

  Madame Hortensia waited.

  “So, I’m not supposed to keep seeing the guy I’m with right now?” Jessica asked.

  “I didn’t say that, m’ija. What you do or don’t do with the current man is up to you. I’m just telling you what I see.”

  A new, rich, and handsome guy? Jessica wondered where she’d meet him. It couldn’t be at work. A lot of the guys there were rich, but almost none of them were handsome. Unless they were planning to hire someone new. . . . But even if they did, it’d probably be the same kind of guy as all the others — old, white, bad hair, boring.

  Maybe Sabrina was planning to set her up with someone again. But Jessica didn’t have high hopes for that, either. Her sister really had no concept of Jessica’s type. Sabrina always picked out clones of her own husband. David was nice enough, Jessica had to admit, but he simply wasn’t her type.

  “Where am I supposed to meet this new man?” Jessica asked.

  “Uh . . . let me see.” Madame Hortensia flipped up another card. It had a big shining cup and nothing else. “The cards don’t say.”

  “When am I supposed to meet him?” asked Jessica.

  “It didn’t say that, either.”

  Jessica pointed. “Well, what does that cup mean, then?” Obviously it meant something.

  “That he will be a very good man. Handsome. Successful. Nice.”

  Jessica tried to imagine it.

  “Doesn’t leave his dirty clothes on the floor,” Madame Hortensia added.

  “What about the man I’m already seeing, though? What’s going to happen with him?”

  The old woman turned the next card. It showed a dark-haired man hanging upside down from a tree. She smiled her grim little smile, the one that made Jessica think that her dentures didn’t fit right.

  “Well, if you want to stay with this man, then he doesn’t have anything to worry about, does he?”

  Best to come right out and ask, Jessica realized. “Okay, but . . . Is he cheating on me? Is he seeing someone else?”

  Madame Hortensia stared at the hanging man for a while, finger pressed to her temple. “How long have you been seeing this man again, m’ija?”

  It had been since Christmas, so . . . “Five months.”

  “Has he given you a ring?”

  “A wedding ring? No.”

  “No, I meant a promise ring.”

  “What? No,” said Jessica. Madame Hortensia must have meant like in the olden days, when boys gave girls their class rings to wear on chains around their necks. Jessica wasn’t sure they even had class rings in Mexico, but Guillermo had never given her jewelry in any case, so the answer was no.

  “So . . .” Madame Hortensia seemed to be searching for a clearer vision of the future. She rubbed her temple and closed her eyes. “So, let me be sure . . . Is this man yo
ur novio, or more like a . . . como se llama . . . a friend with benefits?”

  Jessica raised her eyebrows at this terminology. It sounded as though Madame Hortensia had been watching Sex and the City. “Well, I guess he is kind of a friend with benefits. I mean, it is mostly about the benefits.”

  “I see.”

  Now that she was saying it out loud to an unbiased party, though, Jessica realized that wasn’t exactly the case. “But it’s turning to more than that, kind of,” she clarified. “At first it was just physical, but now we talk about things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like art. And our dreams. And . . . he likes to talk about me running away with him.”

  “To Mexico?”

  “No. To Washington. Or California.” Or, once, even to Canada. But Jessica kept that one to herself, since it was so extreme. She knew people who’d been there, and they’d told her it didn’t even have Mexican restaurants.

  “This is the other painter, no?” asked Madame Hortensia. “M’ija, does this man have his green card yet?”

  “What? Yes. It’s not like that. He’s not looking for that.” Was he? Jessica wondered. No, he couldn’t be. He was here legally. She knew that. Madame Hortensia still looked skeptical. Without meaning to, Jessica blurted out, “He used to call me chiquitita, but now he calls me corazón.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she felt like a complete dummy. What did it matter whether he called her one name or the other? She sounded like one of those pathetic women on Oprah, making excuses for staying in a dead-end relationship.

  However, Madame Hortensia smiled at this. Her first real smile of the reading.

  “I’m beginning to understand. You’re like me, m’ija. We love our Latinos, don’t we? Even when they drive us crazy.”

  Jessica blushed again.

  “Well, okay,” the old woman continued. “Still, there is a man coming up in the future. Rich, handsome, and nice.”

  Jessica furrowed her brow. Who the heck could it be?

  Madame Hortensia went on, “And even if you don’t end up with this man, this will be an opportunity. Friends with benefits means you’re free to make friends with someone else, verdad? If your painter has other friends, why shouldn’t you? See what happens, then. Take a few chances, and see if he notices.”

  Ooh. That sounded . . . wicked. Even a little slutty. Jessica was surprised at the old fortune-teller.

  Madame Hortensia saw her quizzical look and winked. “You’re young, m’ijita. You should be having fun. If a man wants to keep you to himself, he can try a little harder and let you know.”

  “But what if he doesn’t? What if I go out with someone else, and Guillermo gets hurt and doesn’t try harder?”

  “Well, then you know. He’s not the one for you.”

  Jessica was so consumed with this train of thought, she didn’t even notice the old woman flipping up the next cards.

  “As for your job, I see it getting better for you, but only if you keep your eyes open for opportunity.”

  “Really? You mean I’m going to quit working in insurance?”

  “Possibly.”

  “What will I be doing instead?” Jessica asked. Was there a card that represented web design? The next one had two sticks with leaves, which could mean anything.

  “Maybe if you marry the new, rich man, you’ll be able to quit your job,” Madame Hortensia suggested.

  Jessica frowned. Her job was boring, but she liked working. She wasn’t ready to become a housewife.

  Seeing her face, the old woman added, “Or maybe you will find a better job.”

  Jessica realized then that Madame Hortensia knew a lot about cards and omens, but probably not too much about modern career options for women. But just because she couldn’t come right out and say “freelance web design” didn’t mean the cards hadn’t foretold it. Jessica would just have to keep her eyes open for the big web site contract that would help her make the switch from administrative assistant to entrepreneur.

  “So, when is this job opportunity going to happen?” she asked, just in case the cards would give a time frame.

  Madame Hortensia flipped up more sticks, more stars, and another woman on a throne.

  “Soon,” she said. “Very soon.”

  Jessica nodded. It was twenty dollars well spent.

  “In the meantime,” continued the old woman, “I have something you might be interested in.” She got up and went through the beaded curtain, to the room Jessica had never seen.

  She came back with . . . a box of soap.

  “Here you go. This will help you.”

  The box was crudely decorated with a drawing of a man on his knees. Above him, a woman in a tight dress pointed at his head.

  “What’s this?” Jessica’s voice was skeptical yet still betrayed her interest.

  “It’s a special soap, from my new line of products. It’s meant to put a man under your spell, so that he does what you want him to do in love.”

  “Wow.” Jessica had seen Mexican soaps like these before, of course, but she never knew they were supposed to be magic. “So, this will make Guillermo act like a real boyfriend?”

  “If that’s what you want it to do,” Madame Hortensia said. “Just concentrate on what you want while you bathe with this soap.”

  “Wait. If I’m supposed to use it on myself, then how does it work on someone else?”

  “Just bathe with it and concentrate on the results you want. It will give you the aura you need to accomplish your heart’s desire.”

  “Wow,” said Jessica again. This was hard-core. Why hadn’t the old woman given her this to begin with? “Thank you, Madame Hortensia. I really appreciate it.”

  “Ah, m’ija . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “The soap is seven dollars.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Here you go.” Jessica took out her wallet and paid up.

  7

  Jessica passed through her apartment’s vine-covered gate with her head full of Madame Hortensia’s words. She was waiting for two opportunities now. A man and a job. Really, it made perfect sense. Going out with a new guy would force Guillermo to commit to her, wouldn’t it? Now that she thought about it, he was probably trying to do the same thing to her. That thing about painting the skinny old rich woman? He just wanted Jessica to get jealous and chase him that much harder. It was so obvious.

  Even as she told herself this, she recognized her thoughts for what they were: a lame attempt to make excuses for Guillermo’s behavior. Not to mention the fact that she kept putting up with it.

  She sighed as she circled the courtyard pool, which was fuzzy green. This May hadn’t yet been hot enough for anyone to skim off the algae and dead frogs for a swim. It was kind of gross, really, but Jessica wouldn’t complain. This apartment was a total steal for being so close to downtown, and her neighbors were nice. Her landlady, out tending tomato plants in her housedress, waved as Jessica climbed the rickety metal stairs to her door with the rusted gold number 16.

  Jessica waved back, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She was mentally time-traveling back to December, to the fateful day when she’d gone to pick up Toby for a little outlet mall shopping. Mrs. Jimenez, Toby’s mom, had been having their house painted that day. She’d introduced Jessica to the painter, saying he was her cousin’s son. And that was when she’d seen Guillermo for the first time. Shirtless. Muscles glinting with perspiration as he’d pushed a long brown roller against the wall.

  Jessica had written down his number in order to get an estimate. And when he’d shown up at her place a week later, she’d gotten way more than that. Even though sleeping with strangers was totally out of character for her, it was as though she’d been possessed. There was chemistry between them such as she’d never felt before. And besides, he wasn’t really a stranger if he was Toby’s second or third cousin. So it wasn’t as if she’d been in any danger. . . .

  Unless you counted the danger that was developing feelings for someone you’d me
ant to be only a one-night stand.

  Looking back now, she saw that she’d gone about things all wrong. Guillermo was a classic mexicano. That meant no matter how modern she herself was, she should’ve gone old-school on him and played hard to get. That was the only way to have a relationship with a Latino — she’d have to use Rules girl mind games.

  Really, though, she was being too hard on herself. If she was honest, she had to admit that she hadn’t wanted a relationship with him back then. Had she? No, she’d wanted to use him just as much as he hadn’t minded using her.

  As the using went on, though, he’d become a bad habit she just couldn’t break. And it wasn’t just the sex, either, although that was a big part of it. There was just something about him. His art, his lifestyle, the way he didn’t care what anybody thought. The way he made her laugh. His crazy impulsiveness.

  Inside her apartment, as she searched for the stopper for her old-fashioned enamel tub, Jessica remembered the day back in March when Guillermo had called her early in the morning and asked her to go to the beach with him. It was a Tuesday, but he’d convinced her to call in sick, put on a swimsuit, and go. They’d driven south in his old truck, down to Galveston, and found that it was still too cold to swim. The beach was almost deserted. But they’d stayed for hours anyway, splashing and laughing in the shallowest waves and then sitting on the sand and holding each other in order to keep warm. After drying off, they’d had burgers and beers on the boardwalk and talked about nothing much at all. Then Guillermo had driven her around parts of the town she’d never seen, telling her the history of various crumbling churches and statues. He said he’d read about them in a book and had wanted to see them ever since.

  After that, they’d gone back to the ocean and stayed until dark, then driven back to her place and made love until late into the night. It had been the best mental health day of her life — a memory that kept coming back and making her return to him again and again.

  Guillermo could totally piss her off sometimes, when he canceled their plans or didn’t call her for a week. But at the same time, she had to admit that he was the only thing that got her blood racing.