The white guy looked worried. “What difference does it make? What do you care what's on them?” Lamberto laughed at him and threw the tapes down with a pile of others on the table. “Just kidding you,” he said, because the guy still looked anxious. Then Lamberto turned to Ramon. “Now what can I do for you?” Ramon looked around, afraid to start. Outside, we could hear the basketball bang against the hoop. Lamberto nodded to the blond woman, who’s name turned out to be Gloria. She said to'us sweetly, and in English, “Why don’t you two come help me in the kitchen?” We followed her out of the room not too eagerly because it was obvious we were being cut out of the conversation. She was making cookies and she had us measure out and add the ingredients while she mixed them up. I could hear Lamberto and Ramon talking rapidly in Spanish. That white dude must be really confused, I thought. Then I hear Lamberto say, “jEsta encinta por til” Gloria heard it too, and she gave Amy this “You poor thing,” look. But it all went by Amy; she didn’t know Spanish. When the cookie dough was all “You want to marry Ramon?” I said it sharply, cause all I could think o fwas how it would be trying to keep afinger on someone like that. mixed, we went back into the living room, bringing the spoon and beaters with us. Gloria handed Lamberto one of the beaters, and gave the other to Ramon. She offered the spoon to the white dude, who got all flustered because he was trying to tuck this bag of dope he got from Lamberto into his coat pocket. He nodded, “No thank you,” and headed for the door. Gloria sucked on the spoon instead. “Just because I’m your brother, I should give you my money?” Lamberto said, licking the cookie dough off the metal blade. Ramon shrugged, afraid to answer. “Tell you what. I’ll give you the . same deal as everyone else. Five tape decks gets you two fifty.” Ramon said “Okay,” under his breath. He sucked on the end of the beater, looking at the floor. Lamberto set down his beater and picked up his drink. He looked at Amy and said, “How come trash like you got to mess up a nice kid like my brother?” He smiled at her, and there was something real awful about seeing that same smile oil Ramon’s on Lamberto’s face. Ramon said quickly, “Let’s go,” and we followed him out in a hurry. Within the next week, Ramon got four of the tape decks, I don’t know how, because both me and Amy were afraid to ask. But it was that fifth one that hung over us. Didn’t really talk about it, but we knew he’d have to get it real soon. Then one night we’re walking past this parking garage downtown. Ramon ducks in the drive and we follow. He’s checking out all the cars as we’re walking up the ramp. On the third floor he spots this Cutlass, powder blue and laid out so the chrome shines like it’s sitting in the noonday sun. There's no one around, so Ramon ambles up to it, running his hand along that shine, across the trunk and up to the door. He looks inside, then looks around. Out of his pocket he takes a screwdriver and a wire coat hanger, bent straight with a little hook on the end. He sticks the screwdriver between the door window and the rubber insulation, pries the glass forward, then reaches in with the coat hanger hook, and pulls up the door lock. All quicker than you could open the door with a key. He checks around again, then very quietly opens the door. He kneels down half in the car, half out and begins unfastening wires under the dash. He’s about halfway through when we hear someone coming up the stairs. We all freeze even though we know we should get the hell out. We hear the door to the garage open and bang shut. Then we hear footsteps coming towards us. Still we don’t move, afraid now that we’ll get caught if we run. The woman walked all the way around the front of the car before she saw us. Then she stopped dead still, staring at us, me and Amy staring right back. She was wearing this expensive leather coat, and had on a diamond ring as shiny as her car. Over her shoulder, she was carrying a sleeping baby. Ramon got up slowly, slowly from behind the car door. He stood there, holding a cassette, afraid to move, his eyes all full of wonder and horror as he stared at the baby in the woman’s arms. Finally, he raised one hand in a sign of submission. He bent over and set the cassette on the car seat. Then, very cautiously, he began backing towards us, still holding up his hand. When he got to where we were, we all turned and ran like crazy outta that place. Amy did get her abortion. Ramon worked some kind of deal with his brother to borrow the rest of the money. He went with Amy to get it done, but things kind of fell apart between them afterwards. And she had to go back home anyway. Her folks never did find out about how they almost had a grandchild. I lost track of Ramon, too, after that. But I did see him once, when I was waiting for a bus. He was walking down the opposite side of the street with some other dude, the both of them looking double cool. When they got to the bus stop on the other side, the one guy pauses to flirt with this woman waiting there. She looks real special, wearing a purple suit, just off of work on a Friday night. The dude leans one arm against the building so he can corner her attention, and it works, cause she looks back at him all candy-eyed. Ramon, in the meantime, keeps right on going, down to the next block. When he knows she can’t see him, he stops, leans against the building, and waits. He looks sorta cute, standing there, all alone, tapping his foot, waiting for his friend. Then all of a sudden, from somewhere deep inside me, I feel like I might start to cry. I’m real glad when my bus comes, that I don’t have to stay and watch Ramon, all alone like that, waiting. Cathryn A. Camper is a Twin Cities fiction writer. Twin Cities sculptor Oscar Arredondo did the illustration. Gail Swanlund is a free-lance designer in the Twin Cities. 38 Clinton St. Quarterly—Summer, 1988
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