“Real nice. Your best friend’s finally having his first gallery opening night here, but God forbid you put on a pair of slacks. Or maybe a sports coat?”
Enrique blew out a breath between his lips. “Look, Mami, quit your nagging and finish touching up your lipstick or whatever you gotta do so we can go already. You’re the one who said she didn’t want to be late.”
Leaning back in his seat, Enrique checked his watch, adjusting the black leather strap more comfortably on his left wrist.
She didn’t say anything, but Anamaría noticed that her little brother had gotten a trim today. His jet-black hair, cut tight on the sides, left longer and naturally wavy on the top, was even styled with a bit of product. No way he’d readily admit that he’d done his own primping before leaving his place.
Giving Enrique a hard time was mostly to keep her mind off the swarm of bees in her belly. And silence the ticking clock in her head.
Reaching for her trusty backpack between the two front seats, her hands met with her small envelope purse instead. Small being the operative word. It was a wonder how some women relied on a purse this tiny on a regular basis. Where the heck did they put Band-Aids and antibiotic ointment? A protein bar or hand sanitizer?
After only adding some cash, her ID and credit card, plus her cell phone, she barely had room for her plum lip stain. Not that she would share her grumbling disbelief with her brother. He’d only give her a hard time about it. Instead, she wiggled her evening bag at him playfully.
“See, this is what it means to be an adult, dressing appropriately for an occasion,” she teased.
He shook his head. “Yeah, not happening. It clashes with my outfit.”
“Wise guy.” She smacked his thigh playfully with her bag.
“Oye, watch it!” he complained.
Removing her plum lip stain, she tugged the lid off, then stretched up to peer at her reflection in the mirror, moueing her lips.
“Remind me again why I agreed to drive with you?” Her brother pressed his fingertips to his forehead as if he were trying to divine a secret message. “And how that wound up being me driving from my house, a few blocks from here, all the way to Stock Island to pick your ass up?”
“Excuse you.” She pointed her lip stain at him. “My fine ass, thank you very much.”
“So modest. What would Mami say if she heard you?”
“Says the guy wearing his shirt a size too small so he can show off his hot bod.”
Enrique flashed the cocky half smirk that had had most women, young and old, single and married, fawning at his feet from the moment his voice changed and his muscles started developing. “Hey, when you got the goods—”
“Ay. Dios. Mío.” Capping her lip stain, she dropped it inside her minuscule purse, then gave her brother a duck-mouthed, child-please stare. “Whatever you do, promise me, you will not present this”—she waved a hand in the air from his head to his seat cushion as if to encompass all of him—“machismo or whatever you’re playing at to Natalia Peréz when we get inside. Alejandro’s really impressed with her, and she sounds like a good professional contact for him. I’ve met her once, briefly, but I would like us to impress her so it reflects well on him.”
Enrique’s playful grin disintegrated, and he reached across the center console to cover her left hand where it lay on her chiffon dress skirt.
“Look, I know you have Vanessa and now Sara to talk about all your girl shit, uh, stuff, with, and Luis is the listener out of all of us, but if you need to . . . I don’t know . . .” Brow furrowed, he shook his head. His obvious discomfort at the touchy-feely “stuff” juxtaposed with his need to be supportive had her bad-boy brother endearingly at a loss for words. “Vent or . . . whatever.”
Touched by his gesture, Anamaría threw him a lifeline. “Or take a few jabs at a punching bag together?”
“Yeah. That’s more my speed.” He winked but also squeezed her hand a little tighter, his face serious. “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on with you and Ale, and you don’t have to tell me. But just so you know, I warned him when he first got here. If he hurts you again, I will hunt him down like a dog.”
Sappy tears pricked her eyes. “You’d do that for me?”
“Princesa, we all know you could probably kick his ass yourself. But please, remember my ego, and just go with me on this.”
Her more often wise-guy brother was being so sweet, she let him get away with using her dreaded nickname.
“You’ll be happy to know he won’t be breaking my heart this time.” She forced herself to smile, better to start practicing now, as she uttered the lie she’d soon be telling everyone. Just like she had been telling herself for weeks.
“Yes, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, but we’re both clear that Alejandro and I will part as friends when he leaves again, or when I leave for Europe on Wednesday. No hard feelings.”
Enrique squinted at her in the shadowed front seat. Doubt shone in his dark eyes, but thankfully he didn’t argue with her.
Down the length of Whitehead Street, city lights started to blink on as dusk neared. A rap sounded on her passenger side window, startling her. She jerked away from the door and swung around to glare at the interloper.
Luis stood on the sidewalk, his big hands buried in the pockets of his black slacks. He ducked his chin at her in greeting, as if not realizing he had just scared the bejesus out of her.
Beside him, Sara’s tall, runner’s figure had been poured into a bright orange fitted sheath dress that hit her mid-thigh. She sent Anamaría a wiggle-fingers wave, then tilted her head toward the intersection of Fleming and Whitehead a little farther down the sidewalk as if to ask, “Ready to go?”
“Okay, let’s get this party started,” Anamaría said to Enrique. He stared at her for a couple beats, his gaze intent, searching for a truth she didn’t want to share. Finally, he nodded and reached for his door handle.
Relieved, Anamaría did the same, grasping Luis’s hand when he held it out to assist her from the car. The usual hello hugs commenced, and by the time she and Sara had finished complimenting their outfits Enrique had joined them on the sidewalk. She ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch from the flamboyán tree near Enrique’s vehicle, surprised to see he had slipped on a black blazer.
She shot him an “are you kidding me” glare for pulling her leg the entire time she’d been grilling him about being underdressed.
He grinned, crooking his arm for her to loop hers through.
The four of them chatted as they strolled down Whitehead, making a right onto Fleming and heading toward the gallery on Duval Street a short block away.
Fourth of July meant tourists flocked to the island joining locals ready to kick off a long weekend of revelry and fireworks. At 6:50 in the evening, sunset was still about an hour and a half away, but as shadows lengthened along the busy streets, people headed west toward Mallory Square. The famed sunset festival would have kicked off already with street performers wowing the crowd, vendors hawking their beach-themed wares, and the breathtaking open ocean view of Mother Nature’s nightly artwork.
Despite the allure of an island sunset several blocks away plenty of people meandered the downtown streets, popping in and out of the various T-shirt shops and stores, grabbing a bite to eat at the smorgasbord of restaurants, or enjoying a TGIF happy hour at any number of downtown watering holes.