Reece
I’ve been in LA for the last couple of days. My attempts to keep Lucía out of my mind have turned out to be a total failure. She’s all I’ve been able to think about. I went out for drinks with my three best friends from high school, Oman, Graham and Dave. Not a single woman I saw sparked any interest. I just kept comparing them to her.
Plus, the email she sent this morning makes me feel guilty for not keeping a closer eye on her.
“Liza, get operations on the phone and get Lucía Vega a new driver,” I say into my speakerphone. “Already on it, Reece,” she responds. Of course she is. Lucía’s email was addressed to Liza, but she put me on copy. It was only a couple of lines, asking how she could go about getting a new driver assigned. She didn’t say why, but I know my cousin. He’s an asshole, and always has been. I wish my dad would let us fire him. But when my father’s younger brother died, my father promised to take care of his son. And he has.
He’s only a couple years older than me. When we were kids, we were close. But as we’ve gotten older he’s changed. He’s accused my dad of treating me differently than he treats him. The truth is, when it comes to Artemis, my dad doesn’t mix his personal feelings with the interest of the company. He’s passed me over for promotions before because someone else was better. His actions just made me want to work harder.
But Coco? It made him angry and he’s acted out in ways that have left my parents up at night worrying and making excuses for him. He’s a shit of a person. I shouldn’t have let him be assigned to her in the first place. I open my email and write to Lucía.
To: Lucí[email protected]Throwawaythekey.com
From:[email protected]ArtemisFilms.com
Subject: Your request
Luc,
Got your email. I’ve requested a new driver be assigned. He’ll be there this afternoon. Care to tell me why you need a new driver?
R.
Less than two minutes later, her response pops into my mailbox.
To: RCarras
From: Lucía
Subject: RE: Your request.
Reece,
Thanks for the heads up. I’m not trying to get Coco fired, just felt a little uncomfortable. I can tell you more tomorrow during our yoga lesson.
See ya,
LV
I respond right away.
To: Lucía
From: RCarras
Subject: Re: re: Your request
All right 55, I’ll let you off the hook. But tomorrow, we’re swimming. We’ve had four days of yoga. I need to spend some time in the water. I do have other things to do, but if you need something, I’ll take care of it for you. Coco’s not getting fired, unless what you tell me tomorrow warrants it.
See you in the morning.
R
I start to close my browser when another message come through.
To: RCarras
From: Lucía
Subject: Re:re:re Your request.
What’s 55? I’m not ready to swim. And your yoga isn’t progressing, you need more practice.
See you tomorrow.
LV
I chuckle. She’s right that I’m not progressing. I still can’t do that fucking headstand.
From: RCarras
To: Lucía
Subject: Roman numerals.
LV = 55. You’re more than ready to swim.
R.
An hour later, she hasn’t responded. But our email exchange has made me want to talk to her some more. I decide I’m going back to Malibu tonight. I pick up the phone and call her.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hello?” Her voice is so sultry. Her hello sounds like a “come here.”
I clear my throat. “Fifty-five, it’s me. Dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Please don’t call me that. It’s weird. And seven o’clock should be fine.”
“It’s not weird. It’s actually perfect. If that’s how you always sign your name, I’m sure there are a bunch of people who call you that for short.”
She huffs, but I can tell she’s smiling. “Fine.”
As I hang up, I feel myself perking up at the thought of seeing her. She’s got me tied in knots. And I’m not sure that I mind anymore.
At seven on the dot, I knock on Lucía’s front door. I see her come out of her bedroom. I’m holding flowers and when she looks at me and sees them, she smiles widely. She looks gorgeous. Her white dress is sleeveless and shows off her beautiful shoulders. Her silky, golden skin glistens where her breasts swell at the top of the dress and my mouth waters. The dress’s bodice is caught at the waist with a wide white belt that shows off her amazing body. Her hair is shining and her lips are coated in that red lipstick that I think of as her trademark. She’s wearing black open toe heels tonight and her legs look amazing. They’d look even better draped over my shoulders. . .
When she opens the door, the ocean breeze catches the short lacy skirt of her dress. It billows around her thighs, showing me more of that incredible skin of hers. Her scent is different tonight. All flowery and sultry.
I can’t seem to remember why I needed to keep my distance from her. Every time I see her, I learn something about her that makes me feel like I’m crazy for not pursuing her.
“Hey,” I say hoping I don’t sound as hungry for her as I feel. I bend to press a kiss to her cheek. Her hair is floating around her face and I push it back a little to expose her ear and let another kiss land there.
“Hi,” she breathes back as she sways toward me.
I step back and hand her the flowers. It’s a bouquet I picked up from the florist on my way here, a cluster of white petals shot through with a verdant leaf. As she brings them to her nose and takes a sniff, I wish I’d gotten her something more vibrant. They pale in comparison to her.
“These are gorgeous. Thank you.” She smiles up at me, and it’s that smile. The one she gave Sol that day in my office. But, it’s got a little secret behind it tonight, and I can’t help but think of this as my very own.
She steps aside. “Please, come in.” I look around the house. I notice she’s put little touches of herself into the space. I see a small painting of a girl en pointe in her pink ballet shoes. There are a couple of framed pictures on the dining room table that she’s turned into her workstation. I see her bright red shawl, one that she wears almost every day at the office, hanging on the back of the chair. And there is a row of multi-colored vases on the kitchen counter. She grabs one of them and fills it with water for the flowers.
“I’m glad you’re making yourself at home,” I say as I walk into the living room.
She turns to me and looks up at me, her smile a little less bright, but her eyes full of light. “No one has ever bought me flowers before.”
“That’s a crime.”
She scoffs quietly, “Hardly. Let me put these in some water before we go. They’ll be so pretty on my dining table.” She grabs one of the multi-colored vases from her counter and fills it with water. She handles the flowers with a gentleness that borders on reverence. “Thank you so much for these.” When she looks at me, her large eyes are luminous and questioning.
“Lucía…” I’m not sure what I want to say, but drawn by a force that I can’t resist, I take a step closer to her.
A loud ding sounds from my pocket, and the moment is broken. I pull it out and see that it’s a calendar alert Liza created for our reservation tonight. “We better get going, if we’re going to make it in time for dinner.”
She sighs and looks like she is about to say something. But she doesn’t. She just grabs her purse and heads out the door.
Once we’re seated, Lucía twists and turns, taking in the restaurant and ambiance. I’ve been here before. I know the view is amazing, but seeing the excitement in her eyes as she takes it all in makes me feel like I’m seeing it again for the first time.
The tide is moving to a rhythm that the moon demands. I watch as the waves rise and break in front of us. Then, I look at Lucía who is even more beautiful than the magnificent display of nature that serves as the restaurant’s backdrop. The waitress takes our orders, fills both of our glasses with a delicious California sauvignon blanc and then leaves us alone.
“So, tell me what happened with Coco,” I ask right away.
She looks startled, but smiles gamely.
“He came on to me. And I think it’s best to nip this is in the bud now before something really uncomfortable happens,” she says simply.
“What do you mean? Did he say something?” My good humor is completely gone.
She winces a little.
“No. I mean…I just know when a man is looking at me in a way he shouldn’t. I don’t want things to get any more awkward than they are already.” She squares her shoulders. “I know he’s your cousin. I’m not trying to disparage him.” She sounds defensive. And I don’t like it. I want to nip that in the bud immediately.
“Hey, you don’t need to explain yourself. Yeah, he’s my cousin but that has nothing to do with knowing the difference between right and wrong.”
Her shoulders lose some of their tension and realization dawns. “Did you think I was going to ask you for evidence. Or try to defend him?”
“I don’t know.” She pauses and looks down. Then she looks back up at me and her eyes are full of uncertainty.
“I want to ask you something, but I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” she says and she worries her lower lip with her teeth.
“You can ask me anything.” And I mean it. I’ll answer whatever she asks me, honestly.
She looks skeptical, but says, “You didn’t say why you wanted to have dinner. It wasn’t exactly an invitation. More like . . . my boss ordering me to have dinner with him.”
The straightforward question, the unexpectedness of it, catches me by surprise.
She’s really this innocent. She really doesn’t have an agenda. She has no clue I’m one of the men who is looking at her the way he shouldn’t. “I know I’m not your type.” She says type with air quotes.
If she knew how untrue that was, she might be afraid. She’s not my type, she’s something much better. I wouldn’t have been able to dream her up if I’d tried. She’s fucking charming. And I’m completely bewitched by her.
“I can’t read you. I don’t know what you want from me. But I know it’s not just to make this movie. So, if it’s not sex, I don’t know what else it could be.”
Oh God, I want so much more than sex from her. I can’t say that to her, at least not yet. So, I answer as honestly as I can.
“It was an invitation. I’m so used to giving orders that sometimes, I forget to switch it off. But, I want you to know that even if it had been a work invitation, you can say no to me. You’re an employee, not a servant. If something doesn’t sit well with you, tell me.” She nods shyly, but I can see the relief in her eyes.
“Now, you answer a question for me.” Her look turns wary. “What happened in the past to make you think sex could be the only other thing I want from you?”
She tents her fingers under her chin, elbows resting on the table. Her eyes are solemn and frank. She swallows hard and then says, “There haven’t been many people who have given me a chance without wanting something in return.”
“Well, that just proves that the world is full of fools.” She rolls her eyes.
“No really, Reece. You’ve done much more than give me a chance. You’ve taken a huge risk and given me the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ve admired you from afar for a long time. I know you could be anywhere else in the world tonight. With people who are much more interesting than I am—”
I interrupt her with a chuckle. “I find you endlessly fascinating. You work hard and you don’t bullshit anyone. You’re teaching me yoga. What’s not to like?” I don’t add that it doesn’t hurt that her eyes captivate me. Or that when she smiles, I feel motivated to make it happen again.
My humor disappears as I look at her and see that she’s not smiling back.
Her tone is resigned when she speaks. “I started working when I was twelve. I’ve cleaned other people’s toilets. I’ve parked cars, I’ve bussed tables. I’ve worked for every single thing I have. I’m not sophisticated or well-educated.” Her laugh is short and humorless. “The first people who didn’t ask for anything other than friendship were Jessica, and then Sol. And even they are really just my landlord and my agent.” Her shoulders slump a little.
“I don’t want to start thinking we’re friends if we’re not. I know you want this film made. And I’m afraid that’s the only reason you’re spending time with me. I’ve learned the hard way that life is too short for assumptions and innuendo. So, if it’s just to get the movie made, cool. I promise I want that, too. You don’t have to hang out with me, teach me how to swim, take me out to dinner, tell me I look nice, and act like you care that Coco hit on me just to keep me around. This,” she spreads her arms out as if she could hold the whole universe in them, yet she never takes her eyes off me, “is already more than I ever thought my life would amount to.”
She brings her hands down, and rests them on the table. “So, if you’re doing this for any reason beside enjoying my company, you can stop. Tell me now, and there won’t be any hard feelings.”
Her eyes are naked, and her vulnerability bared. So, I return her gaze, and hope she can see the sincerity in my eyes.
“I want to make this film to honor the story you told in your book. It touched me. I have the ability to bring it to a huge audience. So, I’m doing it.” I sit back and look away as I speak less candid thoughts. “I also really enjoy your company. I think your honesty is refreshing and I admire that you’re not willing to compromise on anything that’s really important to you. So, yes, I want to be your friend, Lucía. And I want you to be my friend too.”
She rewards me with one of those smiles that makes me feel like a fucking superhero. “That’s awesome. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Lucía. Now, that’s settled.” I lift my hand and signal our waitress. “Let’s eat, I’m starved.”
We’re half way through dinner, and the company, food and view are the best I remember experiencing in a long time. The conversation has moved from less emotional things to progress on the screenplay. She asks me a lot of questions about my swimming career. I love talking about that. It was the most important part of my life for so many years. Throughout my entire childhood and until I was twenty-four and swam in my final Olympic trials. The injury I suffered in a car accident on the way to the airport, fractured my leg and tore a muscle in my rotator cuff. The injury cut my swimming career short. It meant downtime that I hadn’t had in years.
“So, what sparked your interest in the issue of immigration. One minute you were a famous swimmer, the next you were setting up a foundation, attending rallies.” I wish I could tell her, but I’m not ready to yet. I want to know her better and have her know me better too. It makes what I did easier to explain.
So, I give her my canned response. “While I was recuperating from my injuries, I started seeing stories in the news that bothered me. And when I did some reading to learn more, I discovered what a crisis it was, especially for the DREAMERs. I mean, you already know that. You wrote a whole book about it.” I shrug. “And I found that I had the right platform to elevate the conversation.”
“You said the new driver would be here tomorrow? Haven’t you wondered why I don’t drive myself?”
I’m perplexed, and I frown at her. “No, I haven’t wondered. A lot of people don’t drive here, even though I don’t understand how. I can teach you, it’s not hard. And then you can drive yourself.”
And the smile that’s been dancing on her face for most of the night disappears, as quickly as an extinguished flame on a candle. “What did I say?” I ask her, the urgency in my tone not disguised.
“I know how to drive, Reece,” she says softly, exasperation giving her voice an edge.
“Okay, I’m not following, then, why don’t you?”
Her hands, which had been moving fluidly between her wine glass and her cutlery are now balled into fists on the table.
“Can’t you guess?”
“No. I can’t guess. Tell me what I’m missing?”
She looks at me like I should understand, but I don’t.
I’m truly lost. “I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?”
“Reece, I can’t get a driver’s license. California doesn’t allow undocumented immigrants to have one.”
I scoff. I know this to be untrue. “Of course they do. The lady who worked for us had one.”
She looks at me like I’m a moron and then what she said finally registers.
“You’re undocumented?” I ask dropping my voice to a whisper. I glance around us, even though I know our table’s isolated and private.
She looks nervous and says, “Yes. Should I have told you? I have a work permit. Through DACA, I swear it’s legal for me to work for—”
I cut her off. “Lucía, you don’t have to explain yourself. Legal wouldn’t have approved this deal if there were any issues in that regard. That’s the last thing I’m concerned with.”
She visibly relaxes and seems to regain her composure. But I’m still trying to process what that means as she continues to talk. “There was a time, yes. Now, you have to have documents, unexpired ones, from your country of origin to get one. My parents left Mexico when I was two years old. I haven’t been back since. My Mexican documents, my passport, my identification cards, the things I would need to get a driver’s license are gone. All I have is my DACA work permit. I’d have to go back to Mexico to get the documents I need and if I do that, I wouldn’t be allowed to return.”
I’m stunned, not just by what she’s telling me, but by her poise. She lives a life I can’t imagine. Driving, traveling and working are all things I don’t think about as privileges. I take so much for granted that she has to negotiate every single day. Yet here she sits, wanting to contribute. To serve a country that renders her invisible and believes she should stay that way.
I grab her hand across the table. It’s completely impromptu, but as soon as her hand is in mine, I feel that spark. The connection we make whenever we touch that tells me her hand was meant to be held by mine. She links our fingers and I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb.
“Lucía Vega is just a pen name.” She pre-empts my next question by adding “L. Vega is an LLC I created so I could do business and not have to sign legal documents with my real name.” She guessed my next question. “It’s Ana Maria. But, I’m living as Lucía now, and that’s how I want you to think of me.” Her tone is testy and it makes me smile.
“Okay, Lucía Vega, Let’s make this movie,” I say and I bring her hand, that delicate, beautiful, powerful hand to my mouth and press a kiss to the back of it. “And let’s be friends.” I want so much more from her, but right now, it’s all I know I can honestly take.
“Fuck, yeah.”
I laugh out loud and say, “Fuck, yeah, Fifty-five.”
“Don’t call me that,” she says with a frown and I just laugh again.