Born at Dawn (10 page)

“Okay, it's all yours. Good night,” he said as he walked out.

“Good night,” Cynthia said, closing the door simultaneously hoping the next time she opened it Cheo would be on the other side.

“Senorita, senorita, please open the door. Please, I am desperate. I need your help,” Cheo shouted between each bang on the metal door.

In three days, Cynthia hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep. She didn't unpack nor had she left her new apartment. The center of the olive green rug became her permanent station. Incomprehensible mutterings and accusations laden with guilt dribbled out of her mouth. The word “monster” filled the air.

Riverside reminded Cynthia of the lofty buildings on Central Park West that overlooked the park. In her fantasy world, her work as a personal chef to celebrities like Beyoncé had earned her enough revenue for a place like this in New York. Riverside was too close to the river. The combination of the constant chirp of crickets, the dizzying buzz of fireflies, the golden glow of the moon bouncing off the walls, and visions of Keith's sunken cheeks and James's thick-lipped smile every time she closed her eyes made it impossible for her to sleep.

Wrapped in a hug from her own arms, Cynthia rocked back and forth as the walls of the apartment closed in on her. She would have succumbed to the guilt that was eating her alive if Cheo hadn't come knocking on her door.

Cynthia hoisted herself up from the carpet and cracked the door. Her eyes were glazed over from lack of sleep. Cheo's jaw fell open, his chin touched his chest; the look in his eyes told her she looked like an extra from Michael Jackson's “Thriller” video. Cynthia licked her lips and wiped the corners of her mouth in an attempt to compose herself. “Yes?”

“Ummm . . . I . . . uh . . .”

“Yes?” Cynthia implored with raised eyebrows, trying to exude an air of importance and give Cheo the impression she was busy.

“Uh, my furniture is supposed to be delivered this afternoon, and my boss wants me to come down to the office right away. I was, ah, wondering if you could hang out in my apartment until I got back.”

“Until you come back? Where do you work?”

“By day or night?”

Cynthia responded to Cheo's joke by folding her arms, jutting her hip, and cocking her head in b-girl stance that said “come on now, stop playing.”

“I work at the
Richmond Sun
when I'm not working on my travel books.”

“When I said where, I meant like the address, like how far away will you be and how long will it take you to get back?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Cheo shrugged his shoulders. “An hour or two.”

“Are you sure you want me to stay in your apartment? I mean, you don't even know me.”

“But I want to know you,” Cheo said, placing his hand on the top of hers, which gripped the door. “Besides, if you take anything, I know where you live. Listen, I promise to be back as soon as possible.
Tienes hambre?
”

“What?”Cynthia asked with an upturned lip.

“Are you hungry? If you wait for my furniture, I'll bring you back something to eat and we could get to know each other.”

The idea ping-ponged around in her head. Cynthia didn't want to be holed up in his apartment any more than she wanted to stay in hers, but the rumbling of her stomach reminded her that besides not sleeping in three days, she had not consumed much food either.

“Okay?” Cheo asked.

“Yes, I'll do it.”

Cheo reached into the back pocket of his black cargo shorts for his keys. He gently placed them in her palm. “
Muchas gracias,
senorita. You really are as sweet as you look.
Ciao,
” he said over his shoulder, bounding down the hall.

Cynthia plowed to her bathroom. Dark circles the size of Saturn's rings engulfed her face. Wild strands of her hair hung limply around her face. She turned on the cold water, parted the glass shower doors, and thrust herself into the cascading current of cold water. The frigid temperature sent a shock to her system large enough to wake her up for a little while anyway. She emerged from the shower with a sense of purpose.

 

 

Cynthia was apprehensive about going to Cheo's place. For fifteen years Marvin saw to it that Cynthia didn't get within ten feet of a man without him. The only time he couldn't regulate her choice of company was when she was in church. Now she was about to enter a man's apartment under the guise of friendship. The sweat on her palms and the beat of her heart suggested something more was in the works.

With the twist of the key, Cynthia contemplated the likelihood of the friendship budding between her and Cheo becoming more than a platonic relationship
.

In three days Cheo had managed to take advantage of the space. He already slathered some pasty pumpkin hue on the walls. Two large treelike plants now resided on his deck and one in the corner of his living room. Cynthia treaded across his oyster-colored rug to the kitchen, wondering how she got stuck with olive green. She was looking for anything that she could use as an excuse to deter the potential romance. Cigarettes, pornography, a Cheese Whiz obsession. Anything.

The cupboards were bare except for a lone box of crackers, peanut butter, and a jar of olives. She popped open the refrigerator. It adequately reflected his bachelor lifestyle. Two six-packs of beer, three limes, and a box of Domino's pizza with one slice of pepperoni decorated his refrigerator. She strolled down the hallway straight to his bedroom.

A chocolate comforter formed a makeshift sleeping bag for Cheo in the left corner of the room. His duffel bags occupied the space beneath his windowsill. Cynthia peered out of his window. He had a boring view of the traffic on Riverside Drive.

The blaring toot of the intercom snapped her out of her hypnotic daze. Hanging on to the wall for support, Cynthia shuffled to the intercom. “Yes?”

“Delivery for Mr. Cheo Rivera.”

“Send them up.” Cynthia opened the apartment door and left it cracked so the movers could enter easily, and she could exit right behind them. She could hear their booming voices as they tried to figure out which way to go. A few moments later they came barreling through the door.

One of them looked like a grizzly bear from the back, and before he crossed the threshold, he shouted over his shoulder, “Where do you want this, miss?” It was a high-back champagne-colored couch; gold swirls decorated the upholstery. The grizzly bear used his right shoulder to sweep the sweat from the side of his face.

Cynthia looked around the living room. “Uh, I don't know.”

“Could you hurry up and make a decision?” the guy holding the other end of the couch pleaded. “This thing is pretty heavy.”

Embarrassed, Cynthia giggled. “I'm sorry. This isn't my apartment, so I don't know where anything goes.”

“Coming through,” chimed another couple of movers carrying a chaise longue that matched the couch, forcing Bear and his partner to bring the sofa all the way into the apartment.

They walked past Cynthia and placed it against the back wall of the living room. “Put that over there, Larry,” said Bear, pointing at an empty space opposite the deck. “With the front facing the deck. We'll be back, ma'am.”

They trotted in and out, toting more champagne and gold furniture, two end tables, and a peculiar-looking coffee table with a square opening in the middle for storage. Cynthia stood in the middle of the living room observing them as they transformed the living room into a showroom at Bob's Discount Furniture. The telephone rang, interrupting the choreography of Bear's moving day dance.

“Aren't you going to answer that, ma'am?”

“This isn't my place.”

“You know it could be the guy who does live here calling to check on things,” the other mover suggested.

Cynthia stood next to the phone, feeling a bit trepidatious about answering the phone. She let it ring two more times before picking up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Cynthia, it's me, Cheo. What are you doing answering my telephone?”

Cynthia let out a squeal. “Cheo, oh my God. I am sorry.”

“Relax; I was just kidding. I was just calling to make sure everything was okay over there.”

“I'm sorry. I don't know you well enough yet to tell the difference.”

“Yet? That means I have a chance,” Cheo squeaked into the phone. He cleared his throat and continued in a slow and seductive tone. “Believe me,
mamí,
I plan to teach you everything there is to know about me.”

The rhythm of Cheo's words sent shockwaves rippling through Cynthia's body. With a shake of her shoulders Cynthia reminded herself that she was not in Richmond for romance. “Everything is fine. The movers are here right now,” Cynthia said after reclaiming control of her thoughts. “Is that all?” She rejected Cheo's offer by not acknowledging it.

“
Ay Dios mio.
Do you think you could do me one more favor?”

“Cheo, you're asking for a bit much now, don't you think?'

“Please, Cynthia,
por favor.
It's really very simple. I forgot to leave them a tip. Would you—”

“Cheo, I really don't know you well enough to feel comfortable lending you any money.”

Cheo chuckled at Cynthia's assumption and speedy rejection. “No,
mi amor,
I was just going to ask you to go into my closet to get the money. There's a shoebox located on the bottom right hand corner full of papers, and at the very bottom is a pink envelope with money in it. Could you give them each fifty bucks?”

“Each?”

“There's only four of them, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then give them fifty bucks apiece. They've been really good to me. They've handled the furniture with love and care, as if they knew my mother before she passed. One more thing. Do you want light or dark—”

“I don't drink,” Cynthia said firmly cutting Cheo off.

“Besides a few beers, I don't either. Do you want a light soda like Sprite or something dark like a Pepsi?”

“A Pepsi would do just fine.”

Cynthia hung up the phone, excused herself, and eased into the bedroom.

She kneeled down in front of the closet, which was adjacent to the bedroom door. Most of the papers in the box were requests for Cheo to pay his student loan bills. The one exception was a picture of him with a chestnut-colored girl. Cynthia wondered where his beauty queen girlfriend was at right now to help him with all this.

Brushing the picture aside, she proceeded to pull out the pink envelope. Cynthia removed the $200, and in the process she also unearthed a card with hearts on the front of it. She figured it was a love note from the chestnut girl. Upon opening it, she immediately recognized some of the words from the tattoo on Cheo's shoulder blades.

As she read the rest of the card she felt like an idiot as she recounted the grumbling that was going on in her head:
Cheo, I know you can barely read in Spanish so I want this to be clear, I love you. You are my heart and soul.
—Mamí
.
The card came from his dead mother. Cynthia stopped snooping and trotted back to the living room.

When she entered the living room, the movers were dragging in a tall bookcase. “In the old house, this was in the bedroom,” Bear said, looking at Cynthia.

Cynthia pointed straight down the hallway and took a seat on the hard high-back sofa. The other pair of movers brought in Cheo's platform loft bed.

“You got anything to drink, ma'am?” asked the scrawny mover. “I forgot my Gatorade at the last house we worked in.”

“This—” Cynthia began.

“Isn't your place,” they all said in unison.

“Well, how about at your place. You got something to drink over there?” the scrawny one continued.

“Actually, I just moved in as well, and I really don't have anything either, but here.” Cynthia doled out the tips. Each man snatched their cut. “Why don't you guys take a break and go get yourselves something to drink?”

“Woohoo!” the scrawny one exclaimed in a singsong voice.

“That won't be necessary, ma'am. We're almost done,” Bear said, jabbing the scrawny one in the ribs hard enough to put him in check.

“Awww, just go ahead.” Cynthia winked at the scrawny one. “A short break won't hurt. Consider it a morale booster.”

“Thanks, ma'am. You want us to bring you anything back?” Bear asked.

“Yeah, you look like you're the one who's been doing the moving,” another one chimed in.

“Thanks, ah . . .”

“Harold, Harold Johnson,” Bear said, extending his paw for a handshake. “This wise guy over here is my cousin, Larry Johnson, and this here”—he planted his hand on the shoulder of the scrawny one—“is Mike Johnson, my nephew, and the quiet one is my son, Derek Johnson. How about you, ma'am. What's your name?”

“Cynthia, Cynthia Hathaway.” Cynthia was shocked at how easily her maiden name rolled right off her tongue after only using it a couple of times. “Harold, I would really appreciate it if you brought me back a hot dog and Slurpee from the 7-Eleven.”

The door slammed behind the Johnsons. Cynthia lay down on the chaise longue, tracing the swirls the gold made with her fingers. She liked the chaise longue, but she found the rest of the set to be a little bit gaudy and tacky, from the faux ivory-topped coffee table to the gold embellishment on everything. It looked as though Midas used the furniture as a canvas for finger painting.

The furniture didn't seem to coincide with the man she'd met. The impression she gathered from Cheo's rugged clothing and his loft bed was that he delighted in the simple things and would never go for this champagne and gold spread. The fact that Bear had mentioned the furniture came from his old home totally escaped her. She continued tracing the gold pattern until she fell asleep.