As soon as he stopped speaking, motorcycle engine gunning and the roar of motors could be heard. She dropped down gracefully and joked, “At least you aren’t like my cousins. They have litter all over their car floors.”
The group of bikers and low riders passed them noisily, honking and swerving in pretend aggressive moves. One of the bikers shouted something at a driver in an old white car and made a big show of waving his fist at the gray-haired driver. His companions laughed uproariously, pleased at the show of menace they’d made.
When the woman sat up, her face was pale. “Omigad, you weren’t kidding, were you? I have to thank you so much.” She craned her head around to look back and then stared straight at Luis. “My name is Teresa Santiago.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Luis mumbled, flushing under her close regard. “Like I said, I’ve seen you on that channel. You been there a long time?”
“Nearly six months now. I’ve been working my way home slowly over the last few years. Gigs in Phoenix, then El Paso. I like it in Albuquerque.”
“Home is the pueblo?” Luis queried. She didn’t look particularly Indian to him.
“My mother’s home. She passed about six years ago and my dad two years earlier. Mom’s family have taken over on me. I’ve got tons of aunts and uncles and so many cousins we could run our own radio station.” The smile she gave him when straight to his heart. “What about you?”
Luis stumbled a bit, rusty at first and then gaining in purpose. He told her about finishing college in California, washing out of a job in La Jolla, and his Aunt Fatima’s call to help her in her last months. He didn’t say much about that, leaving unspoken the hard days of watching out for her in the big hospital in Albuquerque, caring for the old dog that expired three days after she did, and how she’d gotten affairs in order legally and left him all her property.
“But you still don’t have a job?” Teresa asked, her eyes unreadable behind the sunglasses.
Luis pulled into the forecourt of Andre’s gas station and body shop. “No, I’m just about out of options for this town. Guess I’ll have to look in Santa Fe.”
Andre was a big man, an Eastern European transplant who’d met Lupe some years ago. She worked as a cook in one of local restaurants. They’d been married ten years and had a couple of blonde kids. He came forward now with his hand out, grabbing Luis’s shoulder and shaking him affectionately.
“What do you bring me here?” he bellowed, looking at Luis’s companion. “You know I’m an old married man!”
Luis took him aside to explain the breakdown. Andre listened intently, and then called one of his mechanics over. Angel worked out and did amateur wrestling. In short order, Angel drove off in the tow truck, while Andre urged Luis and Teresa to sit in the garage on chairs tucked in a back corner.
They talked and talked, finding connections in stories about bad bosses, road trips, and favorite movies. Teresa had spent ten unfruitful months in L.A. a few years back, and this provided fodder for more discussion of California. At one point, Angel returned with the Lexus in tow. Luis noted the lively conversation that ensued between the mechanic and his boss.
(Continued next week)
