On the Ropes (Down for the Count) (22 page)

“Oh my God! Why do I always come off like such a bitch?” Salem whispers to herself as she enters her closet. She begins rummaging through her extensive wardrobe, looking for the perfect outfit, but coming up with nothing.
It would help if you knew where he was taking you. Okay, pull a few of your favorite outfits out and go ask him.

Of course she has a walk-in closet, why wouldn’t she?
I try not to be judgmental of her. It’s not her fault her parents have money. No more than it’s my fault that my parents were poor.

“So where are you taking me?” her head pops out of the closet.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Well, I need some sort of an idea so that I know how to dress.”

“Dress casual.”

She disappears again.

A couple minutes later, she walks out in dark blue skintight jeans, a cream colored sweater with an oversized scoop neck, and black high heel boots up to her knees. “Will this work?”

“I said casual.”

“What? This is casual,” she says, as she steps in front of her full length mirror to look at her outfit.

“I thought you’d be wearing sneakers and a T-shirt, that’s all.”

“I can change,” she points to her closet.

“No, you look great,” I reassure her.

“I just need to do my hair and makeup then I’ll be ready to go,” she walks back into the bathroom.

“I’ll be waiting,” I murmur as I hear the blow dryer come on in the bathroom.

Jesus, how long does it take for one woman to get ready?
I’ve never actually had to sit and wait for someone, so this is all new to me. Usually, the girl is ready and waiting by the time I get there. Returning to her desk, I look at the last remaining picture. It’s a picture of Salem and her two roommates. The three of them are lying on beach chairs, in bikinis, with margaritas in their hands. My eyes go straight to her in the picture.
Man, she can certainly fill out a bikini.

The blow dryer turns off. I place the picture back on the desk and sit on the corner of her bed, waiting for her to come out. I hear a light tap on her door, and then it opens. “She still has you waiting?” Jocelyn steps into Salem’s room.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Well you’d think she’d hurry it up since you’re sitting here all by your lonesome,” she teases and sits down next to me. “So, Salem tells me you’re a boxer. Is that why you have a black eye?”

I gently touch my cheekbone with my fingertips. “Yes, I fought last night.”

“How does the other guy look?”

“Probably worse… I won,” I smile at her.

“So, are you a champion or something?”

“No, not yet, but I’m hoping to be someday.”

“Salem said something about you and Blaine partnering up?”

“Yeah, he’s sponsoring me as ‘the face’ of his gym.”

“You’re actually going to work with that piece of shit?”

Her statement catches me off guard. “He seems alright to me,” I shrug my shoulders.

“Well, thankfully you’re not his girlfriend,” she responds sarcastically.

I give her a strange look.

“He cheats on her left and right,” she huffs, “he’s actually hit on me before. Like I’m going to fuck my best friend’s boyfriend? Puh-leeze.”

“Does she know he cheats?” I say softly, just in case Salem can hear us talking. I try to play it off like I don’t know even though I saw it with my own two eyes last night. I want to find out as much information as I can.

“I’m sure, deep down, she knows. But Salem is very loyal. She loves him and is expected to marry him.”

“Expected to marry him?” I blurt out, not hiding my disbelief. “People still do that?” with the conversation I just had with Salem fresh in my head, I figure, why not get a friend’s point of view.

“It’s not an arranged marriage, or anything,” Jocelyn explains, “but his parents and her parents are very good friends. Salem and Blaine practically grew up together. Their mothers have been planning their wedding for years.”

“They’re not engaged, are they?” my heart drops into my gut.

“No, he hasn’t asked her yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s coming soon. He’s been hinting around. And after last night…”

“What about last night?” I play dumb.

She raises her eyebrows at me, “I know you know. Salem told me about last night. How you were at the club and that you brought her home.”

“Yeah, so, I was helping a friend out.”

“Pfft… yeah, okay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“All men have ulterior motives and those motives usually involve their dicks.”

I give her a double take, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t give me that look. I know how men work; I grew up with three older brothers. Your dick rules you.”

“Jocelyn!” Salem reprimands as she re-enters the room.

“What? It’s true,” she smiles at the both of us.

“Goodbye, Jocelyn,” Salem looks at her and then at the door.

“You never let me have any fun,” she puts on a fake pout and stomps her way out the door.

Salem is laughing. “Please, excuse her, she’s a piece of work.”

“Nah, she’s fine. But you’re right; she is a piece of work.”

“I heard that,” Jocelyn yells from the hallway.

“We don’t care!” Salem yells back.

It’s actually nice to see Salem in her natural element, laughing and smiling with her friend. I’ve only seen her with Blaine, where she’s tense, or last night, in tears.

“You should smile more,” I suggest, watching her.

“What do you mean? I smile all the time,” she gives me a look.

“Not like that, you don’t.”

“Like what?”

“Just then, when you were teasing Jocelyn, you looked so happy and carefree. It’s nice to see you like that.”

“Well, how did I look before?”

“I dunno. I don’t know how to explain it,” I’m getting flustered. I shouldn’t have even said anything; I’m just going to get myself in trouble.

“Well, I disagree.”

“You can disagree all you want. I’m just telling you; I haven’t seen you smile like you just did with Jocelyn.”

“Maybe I just didn’t have anything to smile about when I’ve been around you before. You ever think of that?” her face gets very solemn.

Now she’s making me feel bad, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just teasing,” she laughs. This is a side of Salem I haven’t seen, and it makes me want her even more. She actually has a sense of humor.

She crosses her arms and taps her toe on the ground, “Are you ready to go or what?”

“I’ve been waitin’ on you, doll,” I stand up. “Let’s get out of here.”

Once we’re in the car and driving she asks again, “So, are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I give her a smirk.

“That makes me worry even more.”

“All you need to know is that you’re going to have fun.”

“If you say so,” she sighs heavily.

“Don’t worry, no one has ever been killed where we’re going.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” She puts her sunglasses on and stares out her window.

We ride quietly. I’m trying to come up with a way to bring up Blaine without seeming nosey. All I can come up with is, “Sooo… you and Blaine?”
Yeah,
not very savvy.

“What about us?”

“You guys have been together for a while?”

“Since our sophomore year in high school.”

“So how long is that?”

“Almost nine years.”

“Nine years?!” my head shoots over in her direction.

“Yes,” she looks at me, smiling.

“So, he was your first?”

“My first?” she cocks her head.

“Yeah, your first boyfriend, first love, first sexual partner,” I’m hoping I’m not pushing my boundaries too far.

“My only,” she answers in a soft voice with her head bowed.

“Your ONLY?!” I can’t control my outburst.

“Yes,” she hisses, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m not like one of your sluts.”

“Don’t you want to experience…” I’m searching for the right words since I obviously pissed her off with my lasts ones.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she interrupts me.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I already get enough crap from Jocelyn about Blaine.”

“And why is that?”

“She thinks he’s a douche.”

Though I just met her, Jocelyn definitely made her feelings perfectly clear, and I’m beginning to like her more and more.

“And what do you think?”

“I think he has his moments, just like everyone else,” she pauses and a slight look of pain flashes across her face, “but deep down inside, I know he loves me.”

“Do you think love is enough?” I push her further.

“What else is there?”

“Respect, friendship, and most importantly, trust.”

Who the hell are you to give anyone relationship advice? What successful relationship have you been in? Even your own father couldn’t stand you.
I chastise myself.

“He has all of those things in me,” she says confidently.

“But, do you have them with
him
?”

Her right hand brushes her cheek, and she quickly turns her face away from mine.

“Hey, you okay?” I gently touch her knee.

“I’m fine,” she sniffles, pushing my hand away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Way to go genius, making her cry.

“You didn’t,” she insists and tries to change the subject. “How much longer until we get there?”

“About ten minutes.”

“It is not the size of a man but the size of his heart that matters.”

—Evander Holyfield

As we get closer to our destination, the crowds on the sidewalks are growing. “We’re almost there now,” I smile as I glance out my window. “I just want to find a place to park and we can walk the rest of the way.”

“Here?” she sounds shocked.

“What’s the matter with here?”

“It’s kind of…”

“The ghetto?” I interrupt her.

“I wouldn’t say it’s ‘the ghetto,’ exactly.”

“I most certainly would say it’s the ghetto. This is the neighborhood where I lived as a child.”

“Gabriel, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I can’t change where I came from.”

Pulling into a plaza that houses a few stores, Salem looks around. “Are you sure we can park here? This looks like private property.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I reassure her, “I know people.”

“You know people who are going to steal my car?” she says in a small laugh. The expression on her face says it all; she’s not comfortable leaving her car in this section of town.

“Well, sadly, I probably do,” I joke, “but, I meant that I know Pablo. He owns Pablo’s Market.” I point to the small market right in front of us, “He’ll let us park here and I promise your car will be safe. Come on, let me introduce you to him.”

The two of us walk through the door, and a buzzer goes off. Things haven’t changed much since the last time I was here; it’s still as small as ever. The cramped, dusty shelves are lined with Spanish groceries and a small variety of fresh produce. Still sitting on the bottom right-hand shelf is my favorite, Cola Champagne soda. That brings a smile to my face. As my eyes scan the store, I notice how everything is worn down and in need of repair; from the stained ceiling tiles to the cracked flooring underneath my feet.

“Pablo! Que Paso?” I yell.

“Que?” an old Hispanic man appears from the back room. Time hasn’t been kind to Pablo. His hair is almost completely grey with just a few strands of black running through it. You can tell he combs it over to one side trying to hide the bald spot on the top of his head. Deep wrinkles run over his brow and around his mouth. His plain white T-shirt is a few sizes too small and the jeans he’s wearing need to be washed. As he walks toward the front of the store, I notice that he now walks with a cane and a limp. The young playboy I remember is all but gone.

“Gabriel?” he inquires, squinting his eyes as if unsure of who I am.

“Si,” I confirm in Spanish.

“It has been so many years,” his accent is still as thick as ever. Laughing, he grabs me into a bear hug.

“I know,” I say regretfully, “time just got away.”