Houston, We Have a Problema Read online

  The magic soap tingled.

  Then it itched.

  Then it made her skin turn red.

  Crap! thought Jessica as she poured water and then astringent over her legs.

  She hopped out of the tub with a towel wrapped around her waist and ran to her laptop. After it booted up all the way, she got online and did a search for “Houston fortune-tellers.” A list of names and addresses came up. She searched until she found Madame Hortensia’s phone number.

  “Bueno?”

  “Madame Hortensia!” Jessica was relieved to have caught her at home.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Jessica Luna. I just left your place? With the soap?”

  “Okay.” She sounded distracted. Jessica could hear dishes rattling in the background.

  “Madame Hortensia, I used the soap, and it made me break out in a rash!”

  “Oh no. I’m sorry to hear that,” she clucked sympathetically. “Rinse it off and be sure not to use it again.”

  “Okay, but what does this mean?” Jessica’s voice rose to a more panicked pitch. “That Guillermo won’t ever do what I want? Or that I need to be stronger? Or —”

  Madame Hortensia stayed calm. “It means you have sensitive skin, m’ija, and you have to be careful not to use soaps with too many scents or artificial colors.”

  “Oh.” Jessica had already known that, actually. Everything she applied to her body was hypoallergenic. In her eagerness to make Guillermo into the kind of boyfriend she wanted, she’d used Madame Hortensia’s soap without even reading its label.

  “Ándale, m’ija. I’ll give you a discount on your next reading, okay? I have to go now — I have other clients.”

  Jessica hung up with a sigh. Her legs were still red, but at least they weren’t itching anymore. Her cell phone rang. It was Sabrina. Jessica had forgotten to call her earlier and make up an excuse not to go to the barbecue.

  “Hello?”

  “Where are you? Are you coming to my barbecue or not?” her sister demanded.

  Making her voice very serious and hardworking, Jessica said, “I can’t. I’m busy.”

  “Doing what?” Sabrina asked suspiciously. Jessica hesitated too long, and Sabrina caught her. “You’re not busy. Just come over.”

  “Sabrina, come on. You know I’m not into the suburban social thing. I barely know your friends.”

  “I know. That’s why you’ll come over, so you can meet them. It’ll be fun!”

  “Sabrina —”

  “Come on, Jessi. You promised last time that you’d come this time. Come on!” This time it was less of a coax and more of a threat that her sister would throw a tantrum. She wouldn’t stop until she’d gotten her way. Jessica knew this from experience. Also, she realized that she could eat a good meal at Sabrina’s for free.

  “Okay, fine. Fine. I’ll go.”

  At least now David could hand her a check for the work she’d done on his site, instead of mailing it to her or having Sabrina give it to Mami. After hanging up on her sister, Jessica turned to her laptop and checked her handiwork one last time. The web site that would educate the world about her brother-in-law’s restored 1957 Ford Fairlane was now perfect. Every byte of it, from the photo gallery, to the slide show with classic rock sound track, to the forum where David’s fellow car freaks could share their own obsessions. It was a totally silly website, but he was paying her well.

  If she played her cards right, she could probably get him to show the site to his friends while she was there, at the barbecue. And then, who knew? Maybe she’d get some more business.

  In fact, she realized all of a sudden, maybe this barbecue would end up being the job opportunity Madame Hortensia had foreseen. Maybe one of his friends would want to build a site about his golf scores. Or maybe David had an HTML-illiterate boss who was dying to start a blog and spew his political views all over the Internet. Although in that case, it’d probably be some hard-core right-wing thing, and Jessica didn’t know if she’d want to be responsible for putting that on the web. But still. She would go to the barbecue and keep her eyes open for opportunity, just as Madame Hortensia had said.

  8

  As usual, there was traffic all the way to Sugarland. Or Yuppieville, as Jessica called it when describing it to Marisol. For the millionth time since her sister had become Mrs. Sabrina Luna Hoffman, Jessica wondered why David had bought them a house so far away. What was the use, she wondered, of having a big, fancy two-story if it was twenty miles from downtown and anything interesting? Sugarland was nothing but strip malls and chain restaurants. Jessica shook her head at the third Chili’s she’d passed on the way. Then she turned up her CD player and inched her way along behind the SUVs.

  She hadn’t stressed over what to wear. It seemed as though none of her sister’s friends ever did — they showed up for everything in uniforms of cropped pants and golf shirts. So Jessica was wearing jeans and one of her favorite T-shirts. It was red with a glittery black cat silhouette, and it said BAD KITTY across the chest.

  The only parking she could find was a block from her sister’s house. She wedged in between a Yukon and a Lexus and then stepped out of her car and started her walk of shame. She was embarrassed to be spending weekend time outside the Loop. The suburbs totally weren’t her scene. It must have been the subdivision’s designated barbecue day, because everyone had smoke and top 40 light rising from their backyards. Jessica peered at each house as she walked past to make sure she got the right one. They all looked the same — two stories in taupe or beige, with carefully boring landscaping. She recognized Sabrina’s by her butterfly wind chimes and then by her skinny husband and his light brown hair. He was standing in the garage with two of his friends, showing them the Fairlane. Seeing Jessica, he immediately called out her name with an expression that showed he was genuinely glad she’d come. She had to smile back and remind herself that for a goofy white guy, David wasn’t so bad. Even if he had exiled her sister to this suburban wasteland.

  She walked over and let him introduce her to the other men in the garage.

  “This is my sister-in-law, Jessica. She’s the one who made my baby’s web site.” He patted his baby’s hood. “Jessica, the site looks awesome. I already showed it to the guys. Oh — meet Lloyd and Todd.” All three look-alikes smiled at her.

  “Hi. Actually, I think we’ve met already,” she said to Todd. “On New Year’s Eve.” This was the last guy Sabrina had tried to set her up with. His lame sense of humor and color-blind taste in clothing had turned her off completely. Not to mention that he had the modified anchorman hairdo — all molded down except for a gel-hardened curl on the forehead.

  Todd reached for her hand. “Good to see you again.”

  “Hello, Jessica. That’s a pretty fancy web page you made for a junk heap like this,” said the older guy, indicating the Fairlane and smiling at his own joke.

  Jessica smiled back. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. You know, I can make sites for cars that aren’t junk heaps, too. Or for anything you want. And I’m cheap — just ask David.”

  The old guy chuckled pretty loudly at that. “Well, I wish I did have a reason for you to make me a web site. But I don’t really get on the computer much outside of work. Hell, I can barely work my e-mail when I’m at the office.”

  Jessica could totally imagine him bothering some poor admin, needing help with his e-mail, just as Mr. Cochran always bothered her. There was no use pushing it with this guy. He’d probably be too high-maintenance as a client.

  After taking leave of her brother-in-law and the others, Jessica took the walkway into the backyard. There, on the patio set, Sabrina sat entertaining her husband’s friends like the belle of a really boring ball. Jessica noticed that she’d cut her hair even shorter. Now it was a chin-length bob. As usual, her sister wore her little gold quinceañera earrings, her wedding rings, and no other jewelry. And almost no makeup. And boring khaki capri pants with a plain white tank top. Jessica remembered how, whe
n they were young, people had always thought they were twins. Not anymore. For a split second, Jessica almost felt bad about what she had on. Were her jeans too tight? Was she wearing too much eyeliner? Were her own earrings too big? Jessica had to be honest: Sometimes, for a split second, being around Sabrina’s friends made her feel out of place. Maybe even a little trashy.

  No, she told herself firmly. I look good. Sabrina’s the one who’s underdressed.

  Jessica received her sister’s hug and got introduced to three women who looked like mannequins in the windows at the Gap. One turned out to be Todd’s fiancée, one was the e-mail-disabled guy’s wife, and the other was married to the guy in the blue polo who was hovering near the women. Jessica learned their names and then, once she found out that none of them needed web sites, forgot their names and took a diet soda from the cooler.

  These people, she reflected for the millionth time as she perched on a flowery lawn chair, were all the same. They were bland beige clones who stood around laughing fake laughs at unfunny jokes and complaining about golf clubs and swimming pools and other things that Jessica couldn’t afford and wasn’t interested in.

  Not her brother-in-law so much. David was nice — very down-to-earth, once you got to know him. Even if he had been the one to move her sister out here, where she’d morphed into a Pod Person wannabe. Sure, he was obsessed with his car, but not because it was worth a lot of money. He did make a lot of money, but he didn’t brag about it. In fact, Jessica had the impression that if Sabrina hadn’t bossed David into buying her a house, he would have been happy in someone’s garage apartment, as long as he had his Fairlane and a few video games.

  All his friends, though, were boring. Jessica had always imagined that getting married meant having someone to spice up your life. Not so in Sabrina’s case. It was as though her sister had OD’ed on dried flowers and Martha Stewart Living.

  “David will have the burgers ready in just a few minutes,” Sabrina announced, “and then we’ll dig in.”

  “What, no brisket? No chicken and sausage, beans or rice?” Jessica said, but so that only Sabrina could hear. “Why’d you call this a barbecue if you aren’t serving real food?”

  “Hush, mensa. I didn’t have time for all that.” Sabrina didn’t even seem ashamed.

  “You didn’t have time? It’s not like you have a job,” said Jessica. Sabrina had quit her receptionist gig at Halronburco a year ago. “Shoot, Mami works hard all day, then throws a big barbecue and sends everybody home with leftovers. What’s your excuse?” Even though they were adults now, the sisters still pushed each other’s buttons as they had when they were children.

  Sabrina remained unperturbed. “I don’t know how to mess with that stuff. If you wanted beans and rice, you should’ve cooked them yourself.”

  Touché. . . . Jessica had never learned to cook their mother’s beans and rice, either.

  She sipped her soda and listened to the others talk about property taxes for a good fifteen minutes. Then one of the women looked out at the huge empty yard and asked Sabrina if she was still planning to put in a pool.

  “We haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well, you guys have waited so long, you might as well just put in a playscape instead!” said Todd’s fiancée.

  In response, Sabrina blushed and gave a quick little smile. Jessica raised an eyebrow. Was this how she was supposed to hear that her sister was considering starting a family?

  Jessica reflected on how much Sabrina had changed since she’d married. Sure, they could still relate to each other, but just barely. Back when they were kids, Sabrina had been her idol. And sure, they’d had their arguments, as all sisters do. But for the most part, everything Sabrina did, Jessica had wanted to do, too. Sabrina got a perm, and Jessica wanted a perm. Sabrina said she wanted to be a glamorous executive assistant when she grew up. Jessica didn’t know exactly what that meant at the time, but she wanted to be one, too. Sabrina would lie on her bed flipping through Brides magazine, and Jessica would be right there with her, helping to pick out dresses.

  “When I get married, you’ll be my maid of honor,” Sabrina had explained. “Then, two years later, you’ll get married and I’ll be your matron of honor.”

  And now here they were, two years after the first wedding, and Sabrina had left her behind. Jessica wanted to be more than a secretary now. And Sabrina, meanwhile, didn’t have to work at all. And with no work at all, Sabrina had more money than anyone in their family.

  But that wasn’t what bothered Jessica, not really. It was that now that Sabrina was married, she had stopped confiding in Jessica — she’d traded her in for David’s friends’ wives. Who knew, though? Maybe Sabrina needed new people whose lives she could plan, now that Jessica had messed up the original plan by failing to get married.

  Sometimes Jessica wondered if her sister had outgrown her. Maybe Sabrina thought David’s friends, with all their money and middle-class American manners, were more sophisticated than Jessica. Maybe, Jessica thought, I don’t meet her standards. Maybe that was why Sabrina was always trying to set Jessica up with one of David’s friends — so that he would make her change. Jessica wondered, now, if Sabrina saw her own sister as a sad, poor Latina from the ghetto.

  That actually was how Jessica felt around these people. She couldn’t help but feel different and less than. It was something that she had never really admitted out loud. And it was a complex she was sure she’d inherited from Papi. She wasn’t an idiot. All her life she’d heard her father talk about us versus them, meaning Latinos versus white people, and she’d always disagreed with him. But then she’d started working at McCormick and experiencing some of the same things Papi had talked about.

  “Sabrina,” exclaimed one of the Pod People, “when are you and David going to come out and play golf with us?”

  Jessica wrinkled her nose and stopped listening. At first she’d been bored, and now she was starting to get annoyed. Not only were there no business prospects here, but the food was pathetic. Although she’d dreaded Sabrina’s trying to set her up with someone, Jessica was so bored now that she was beginning to wish Sabrina had thrown her at some bachelor in a golf shirt. Otherwise, what was the point of being here? She might as well have stayed home, eating cereal and conserving gasoline.

  Or she could’ve stayed home and worked on a mock-up web site. Then maybe Guillermo would have come over to apologize. Then she would have accepted his apology, and then they could have spent the whole evening . . . Her mind wandered into her bedroom and under Guillermo’s shirt.

  No. No more of that. Not until he’d learned his lesson, at least.

  Then again, Jessica reconsidered, there wasn’t any harm in thinking about what would happen after he changed his ways. She stared into the spinning blades of the portable fan as they pushed the humidity around, blowing her hair into the sticky trap of her lip gloss. Vividly, she felt Guillermo’s hands on her naked hips, pulling her down closer to him. He would run his hands over them, in complete appreciation of every curve. Through half-closed eyes, she envisioned the way he would stuff a pillow between her head and the headboard with one hand, so considerately, without missing a beat. . . . God, yes.

  She jumped up out of her chair. That was enough thinking. Luckily, none of her sisters’ guests had seemed to notice her mental vacation. She had to distract herself — get her mind off that man. But she couldn’t sit here and listen to the Pod People conversation anymore, either. They had moved on to insurance, and Jessica made it a point never to discuss that crap on weekends.

  She decided that if she could just find something decent to eat, her afternoon at Sabrina’s wouldn’t be a total waste.

  After excusing herself with a mumble, Jessica made her way through the back door, into the frigid quiet of her sister’s kitchen. There, she foraged for materials. Hidden in the very back of the refrigerator, Sabrina had corn tortillas. Further inspection yielded a little pot of beans a la charra and some Cotija cheese. There was al
so a gourmet-looking jar of what turned out to be green salsa. “Heck, yeah,” she whispered. Her sister wasn’t a total sellout after all. Jessica found half a deli rotisserie chicken that would do for the meat.

  She set to work on the marble counter, making herself a plate. She concentrated on the assembly of her food, not on any painters or their soft, strong hands. By the time she’d tapped out her calculations on the microwave, she was cool and collected again. While she waited, she twitched her hips in a dance of anticipation, humming a song from DJ Jump-Up’s latest CD. The microwave pinged and she sang quietly to the plate as she took it out. “Do it for me one time, baby . . .”

  “Make my body move,” sang a voice behind her, completing the line.

  Jessica whipped around with a gasp, almost dropping her plate in the process.

  A tall, blond man stood there. Apparently, he’d been watching her for a while. His green eyes looked at her, then down at her plate full of tacos. He smiled appreciatively. “Wow. Looks like this is where the real action is.”

  9

  Hi. I’m Jonathan,” he said, offering his hand.

  She should have felt embarrassed, probably, but instead Jessica was intrigued. With a somewhat sly smile, she shook his hand. “I’m Jessica. How do you know that song?”

  “DJ Jump-Up? Who doesn’t know the undisputed master of Latin house music?” He said it with mock surprise and sobriety, as if they were discussing classic literature.

  Jessica laughed. “Besides every other person at this party, you mean?”

  “Well now,” he said, still pretending to be serious. “We can’t fault them for being ignorant, you know. Not everyone is lucky enough to be exposed to good music.”

  “No, you’re right. That’s true.” Setting down her plate, she surreptitiously studied this Jonathan guy, wondering where in the world he had come from. Instead of a pastel golf shirt, he wore jeans and one of those retro Cuban resort shirts that were becoming so trendy now. His hair, dark ash blond, was a little longer than what would be considered strictly professional. He was tall and sort of gangly, but not in a bad way — not at all. He looked as though he could be a regular at any of the coffee shops or clubs in her neighborhood. But he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy she’d expect to find at one of Sabrina’s get-togethers.