You need a few bucks? That list is on the table. Those are private numbers. That list could turn your life around. JENNY walks slowly to the door. She hesitates. She stares at the list. She looks back at Manny. She pulls the door shut behind her.
Probably thinks she made a stand for something, today. Anyway, nice kid. OK pussy. A bookie, a TV producer, my attorney. Sounds like the start of a bad joke. Hell, the nicest I know is me. What does that tell you? The new me. That house and yard. I never liked it. Never understood why she thought I needed to do the yard work myself. I felt like a wetback every time I mowed the lawn. If I left it up to her it would never get done.
One time—this was at the old house—I just opened up the lot. Money was kinda tight. Your mom wanted the house painted. She wanted it painted blue. I bought the paint, picked up a truck full of Mexicans at 7-Eleven and told them what to do.
I had to work. Hell, I was my only salesman. That girl was all legs. Ass like a year-old boy. Back when that was a good thing. Not like I needed her to answer the phones. No one was calling. Every customer that stepped on the lot made the difference between electricity or not. Hamburger Helper or dinner with a waitress. Well, when I came home, there was a truck in the driveway blaring tejano music.
One Mexican was grilling fajitas. Two were sitting on the tailgate of the truck. One was pushing you around on your bike. Your mom sat on a lawn chair with a drink in her hand with another Mexican fanning her with a damned rolling pan. And every one of them was drinking a beer. I said, What the hell is this, a goddamned family reunion? You know what she said? That young Mex fanning her? He had his shirt off! Picture this: the frailest, palest, prettiest blonde you know being fanned by some hard dick while she holds a drink with an umbrella in it.
