MARY HELEN PONCE

Arte Pblico Press Houston, Texas

The Wedding: A Novel is made possible in part from grants from the city of Houston through the Houston Arts Alliance and by the Exemplar Program, a program of Americans for the Arts in Collaboration with the LarsonAllen Public Services Group, funded by the Ford Foundation. Recovering the past, creating the future Arte Pblico Press University of Houston 452 Cullen Performance Hall Houston, Texas 77204-2004

Cover design by Emmanuel Noe Nevarez and Mora Des!gn Cover art by Elizabeth Perez, Wedding Cake, 2003 Copyright 2008 University of Houston/Arte Pblico Press and its licensors. All Rights reserved

Ponce, Mary Helen The Wedding: A Novel / by Mary Helen Ponce p. cm. ISBN 978-155885-523-6 (alk. paper) 1. Mexican AmericansFiction. 2. CaliforniaFiction. I. Title. PS3566.O586W44 2008 813.54dc22 2008016666 CIP

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.

1989 by Mary Helen Ponce New, Revised Edition 2008 Printed in the United States of America 8 9 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Contents
Part I Blanca . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Cricket . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 The Tacones . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Lucy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 The Proposal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Father Ranger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Blanca at the Turkeys . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 The Bridesmaids . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 The Ring Bearer and the Junior Bridesmaid . . . 69 Cushions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 The Wedding Dress . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 Part II The Wedding Mass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 The Wedding Breakfast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 The Pictures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 The Reception . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 Rumble . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142 The Presents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 Girl Talk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156 The Dance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 Music Makers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174 Fight!! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
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To 1950s guys and chicks who remember what it was to be "hep to the jive:" dress sharp, drive cool cars, and dance till they dropped.

Part I

Blanca
lanca Muoz had known Sammy-the-Cricket most of her life. He was just one of the local guys, a nondescript dude that hung around Main Street with his buddies, smoking Lucky Strikes while trying to look tough and waiting for something to happen. She didnt think him handsome, but he wasnt that ugly either. His thin face was dotted with pockmarks from a childhood bout with sarampin. His dark, slanted eyes, like those of a Japanese, gave him a sinister look. From Lucy, Blanca heard glowing reports about the guy called Cricketand how he could fight. Since Lucy liked to exaggerate, Blanca paid no attention. For one, Cricket was not among her circle of friends, as was Tudi (who dated Sally). He was much older than her friends, all of 22! Worse, folks said he was a pachuco who carried a knife in his socks! He was always with the Tacones, whom the cops hated with a passion. It was said half the guys had, at one time or other, been in trouble with the law. It was a fact: the police were biased toward Mexican Americansand Blacks. The only time they treated brownskinned guys with respect was during the war when a contingent of dark Puerto Ricans were housed near Taconos; it was not patriotic to round them up, so the cops steered clear
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of them. White folks who ran stoplights or made illegal turns were ignored, but the coppers preyed on gangs like the Tacones and the Planchados, whom they picked up on suspicion of one thing or another, and held for 72 hours, until a relative, roused late at night, met bail. The bailbondsmen did a thriving business. It took forever for poor folks to pay them back. Once la chota busted the vatos, they confiscated their cars, towed them off to a local garage that also fared well. Although uneducated, the girls in Taconos were leery of dating men whose chances of camping out at la county were high. Blanca vowed not to get mixed up with a zoot-suiter, a guy with a record, who could never get a steady job. Her To Ernie (a former pachuco and ex-con) drilled her: Stay clear of guys in drapes; they smoke weed and booze. Theyre nuthin but troubleand I oughtta know. So listen to the voice of experience. But drapes are the style, Blanca protested. All the guys wear em. Well, thats all I gotta say. Just remember me when you . . . The first time Blanca thought of Cricket as a potential novio was the summer she turned seventeen. She had recently dropped out of school and was working in a ceramic factory that, according to her, paid peanuts. She hated everything about it: the constant smell of wet clay and the damp floor, but as Lucy often reminded her, at least it was a job. On weekends she went dancing with her friends. Dressed in the draped dresses (with huge shoulder pads) that were the rage, and with her hair in a pompadour, eyelashes thick with Maybelline, Blanca and her friends hitched rides with whomever, to the Los Angeles dance halls. The Zenda Ballroom was a favorite. If the Tacones werent around, the girls had to settle for a local dance, which they hated.

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Tacones chicks disliked guys they considered too square. Santuchos, who went to church on Sunday and drove their mothers to the store, were seen as more than boring. According to Lucy, them vatos not only dress like squares, they drive cars with no class. Gads! In the worst category were those who either didnt know or care to know jive, or pachuco talk, a combination of Spanish and English that often made sense only to the guys. When Tudi referred to his new shoes as just that, the guys made fun of him for days. These here are calcos, dummy, screeched Cricket, as he gave Tudi a playful punch. Man, you are so lame, chortled Frankie, as he polished the brass knuckles he was never without. After that, Tudi tried speaking slang, but told Sally, It dont sound right to me. One June night Blanca had second thoughts about going out with Lucy and Sally, her best friends, both of whom lived up the street. She felt a cold coming on. But Lucy urged her to make the effort. You gotta go, man! Yeah? Simona, all the cute guys are gonna be there! Even from Horcasitas! Gosh! Do we know any of em? Neh, but they drive cool cars. Come on, start getting ready. Okie dokie! Blanca took her time getting readyshe wanted to look picture-perfect. The pompadour she took such pains with was at least four inches high; it was held in place with bobby-pins and green Wave Set from the Five & Dime. When the clerk wasnt looking, tubes of Tangee lipstick found their way into Blancas pocket.

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She first coated her face with Max Factor pancake makeup (she liked the lighter shades), then slathered Maybelline on her eyelashes. With a steady hand she penciled a curved line over her shaved eyebrows; it often melted when she perspired. She added Tangee Red to her wide mouth, and just a tiny bit on her cheeks. Last of all she dusted her face with powder to set the makeup. It would not do to have her eyebrows smear while dancing. Maybe tonight Ill meet a nice guy, she sighed, blotting her wide lips with toilet tissue. Just maybe Ill be lucky and find a guy who aint been in the can and has a steady job. Like Tudi. Sallys lucky to have him as her guy. He always buys her nice presents and never cusses in front of her. As for Lucy, she only cares if a guy dresses sharp and is hep, even if he doesnt have a pot ta piss in. She smiled at her reflection, satisfied with how she looked. The dance, celebrating a birthday, took place at Saln Parra, a freshly painted wooden building tucked in a remote part of Taconos, far from the church, yet close to Main Street. Wedding dances and private parties took place there. Its owner, Seor Parra, a mild-mannered, church-going man of medium height, with a slight paunch and thinning gray hair, was an astute businessman. He went out of his way not to anger the local zoot-suiters, most of whom he hated and, given the option, would have run out of town. During a fight he never called the cops but looked the other way. He knew the Tacones got even with stoolies, who ratted to the cops. It was said, anyone who put the finger on a Tacn had better watch out. Once, on a dare, Cricket slashed the tires on a police car while the officer was inside the hall settling an argument. Although Seor Parra witnessed the crime, he said nada. At all times he remained calm, thankful he had demanded a rental fee in advance. He replaced shattered windows and

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broken chairs (which were insured) on a yearly basis. What Seor Parra did best was mind his own businesswhich is why the dance hall was booked solid throughout the year. The night of the dance Blanca, Lucy and Sally met their friends Rosie and Josie at the corner. In their three-inch heels they sauntered down the street, across a dusty field (where dirt got on their shoes), and on to Main Street. Once inside the hall, they stopped at the bar to sip Singapore Slings, considered a sophisticated drink, and to take stock of things. As befitted her rank as the most hep, Lucy pointed out guys she liked, both single and married. Sipping her drink, she examined what the other girls wore, then gave an evaluation. See Sadie over there? Shes worn that same dress to at least three parties! Man, somebody oughta tell her to change it. And look who just came in! Thats Fish! He asked me out once, but hes not cool. Lucy flexed her fingers to better show off the purple tinge of her fingernails. Who says he isnt cool? Sally liked to challenge Lucy. I say so, thats who. Lucy glared at Sally. How dare Sally question her taste! Just then the band began to play. Blanca stepped in between her snarling friends and started to swing her hips. She could hardly wait to dance! Gato Cortez & His Cats was the most popular group in town. They knew the latest love songs, boleros, and corridos, even the mambo, a dance imported from Cuba that was difficult to dance. Few in Taconos dared to mambo. Not even Skippy, the sharp leader of the Planchados, knew its intricate steps, which called for a series of turns and twitching of the hips. At first Gato played the basics, among them Blue Moon and Prisoner of Love. Once he saw that

Mary Helen Ponce

folks were in a dance mood, he was in his element: the dance floor filled with guys and gals dressed to beat the band. Throughout the night Blanca danced with different fellows. Now and then she and Lucy danced together, but only if Lucy got to lead. They passed the time doing the boogiewoogie, sipping whiskey sours, and sizing up guys decked out in the latest tacuchis, as the Tacones called suits. Tonight, pin-stripe suits with wide shoulders and draped pants were mandatory. Shirts with French cuffs were also in style, as were black shoes with thick heels. Then, as the band took its final break, all hell broke loose. The fight began when the Planchados, undetected in the dark night, cruised by the dance hall. As they turned the corner on Main, they slung beer bottles at the Tacones standing outside the hall. One hit Sapo, who was smoking a Lucky Strike; another barely missed Tudi, talking with Sally. Sapo, who was quick, picked up a rock and hurled it at the retreating car, a low-slung blue Ford with gleaming white walls. It was a direct hit! The sound of splintered glass filled the air. The Ford came to a screeching halt, the driver slumped in the front seat. The Planchados, stuck inside the stalled car screeched obscenities. Their screams, and those of bystanders, turned into a cacophony of sound. The commotion was heard inside the hall. Within minutes the doors opened. Out poured Cricket, Topo, Frankie and Paulie, nicknamed Pan Tostado because he was as dark as burnt toast (or as Cricket put it, blacker than the Ace-ofSpades). They ran to the stalled car, yanked out Los Planchados, dragged them to the parking lot, and began to punch away. When Blanca and Lucy saw the guys run out the door, they slammed their drinks on the bar, crushed cigarettes with their shoes, and dashed to the parking lot. They elbowed

The

their way to the front of the crowd and began to egg on the Tacones. Knock em out Dale en la madre! Watch it! Here comes la chota! With one arm looped around Lucys waist, a fascinated Blanca stood mesmerized by the Tacones, now trading punches. Gosh, what a really good fight, Blanca screamed. Man alive! She was more impressed when she saw there existed a code-of-honor among the pachucos: They fought one-on-one, rarely ganging up on one guy. Ye gads! gushed Blanca, What a cool fight! When she saw Cricket in a tight clinch with Skippy, the leader of the Planchados, she could barely take her eyes off him. She was captivated by the way Cricket dodged in and out, waiting to connect with his victim! Just like Joe Louis! Gosh, thought Blanca, Cricket sure can throw a punch. Just like the champ! In the dim light, Cricket appeared graceful, his lithe body swaying to and fro with the punches. Blanca was caught up in the excitement. She saw Tudi trading punches with a short husky Planchado now against a wall. Man alive! The guys sure gots lotta guts, cried Blanca, as she squeezed against Lucy. They gotta win. Mostly she stared at Cricket, her eyes about to pop, mouth agape. Blanca Muoz liked what she saw. The guys from Taconos are so good. Just lookit that, screeched Blanca to a bored Lucy. Just lookit that! Aint that good. Ive seen better fights, said Lucy as she lit a new cigarette. Topo was an expert with chains, Frankie preferred to use brass knuckles, and Sapo who worked as a plumber, used a lead pipe. Tudi used his bare fists. Only Paulie lacked a specialty. What Paulie did best was look out for the cops, which

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is why when sirens were heard, the fight moved behind the parking lot. When Blanca spotted Cricket again, he was still sparring with Skippy, of the peroxide-yellow hair. In a sea of dark heads, he was hard to miss. Just then as two guys locked in a clinch fell at her feet, Lucy pushed Blanca to safety which is why she failed to see Cricket perform his solo dance, stomping on Skippy just like a cricket. When next she looked, a bloody Skippy struggled to rise, only to fall back again. The fight ended when everyone was punched out. The Planchados, their tailor-mades reeking of sweat and blood, took off in the splintered Ford as the cops came roaring down the street. The Tacones who could still walk shook off the parking-lot soot, broke out a bottle of Hill & Hill. After the disappointed cops left, the Tacones strutted back to the dance hall, Cricket in the lead. The dance continued as though nothing had happened, yet their rumpled clothes spoke volumes. And although Cricket didnt ask Blanca for a dance, she could hardly take her eyes off him. Gosh! Whatta he-man. Hjole! Qu vato tan suki! After that, when she heard bad things about Cricket, Blanca defended him. She felt that, regardless of what othersincluding her To Erniesaid, Sammy-the-Cricket was an okay guy, a clean fighter who never carried weapons, as did Frankie and Sapo. No one had ever seen Cricket with anything resembling a knife. So there! Forget what Lucy said of Cricket and his nickname! That night, as she lay in bed, she played with the buttons on her faded nightgown. Everything is gonna change once I get to know him, she sighed. I just know hes the guy for me. Forget Lucy! The next day, being Sunday, Blanca took the long, long way to church, one that went past the railroad tracksand Crickets house. Before leaving, she gave herself a quick sponge bath: scrubbed her neck and armpits, and then lay-

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ered on Mum deodorant. She checked her legs for the cuts made while shaving. She smeared on more Max Factor pancake #2 to hide las ojeras that now rimmed her warm brown eyes. She traced eyebrow pencil over the eyebrows she regretted shaving (on Lucys advice), which refused to grow back. In a panicit was getting lateshe rummaged through her clothes. She rejected them all, including the outfit worn the night before; it would never do. Cricket had already seen her in that! She chose the pink jersey dress in the back of the cardboard closet. The dress had wide shoulders and a draped skirt; it had not been seen by her honey, as she now thought of Cricket. The material clung to her generous hips and full bust. I wanna look so fine, Blanca sang, as she squeezed into the dress. She hummed along with The Ink Spots, a favorite trio, singing on the radio kept at full blast. I want Cricket to know Im a hep chick! She stared at her reflection in front of the dresser mirror, turned this way and that. There was no time to re-roll her pompadour. I look tired, Blanca frowned, but the dance last night was sure fun. Ummm! Last of all she hitched up her seamed stockings, then dashed out the door. As she neared Crickets house, she reached for her plastic compact. With the tip of her finger, she extracted lipstick from a tube, painted a red line on her full mouth, then slowed her pace. Gosh! Cricket was nearby! As luck, or fate would have it, Blanca later conceded, Cricket was just then getting up. He slept late most weekends, as his job at the garbage plant and partying kept him out most nights. But that warm morning, when he looked out the bedroom window and spotted Blanca coming up the street, he splashed water on his sleepy face, ran a comb through his greasy duck tail, dressed, then walked to the

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street. He was curious about the hefty girl who the night before had gushed all over him. Cricket had a high opinion of himself. Was he not the unofficial leader of the Tacones? I better give this poor girl a break, he smirked as he approached Blanca Muoz, or she wont leave me alone. Oh, hi, Sammy! How ya feelin? murmured Blanca, eyelids fluttering up and down. How ya feel after last night? De a todas. Cricket fell in step with the husky girl in the slinky dress. Behind the dark glasses, his bloodshot eyes squinted against the bright sun. Did ya watch the fight? Wachaste el fighte? Yeah! It was so cool! Did ya gets hurt? Neh. Then remembering who he was, Cricket switched to pachuco jive. Nelson dijo Wilson. Crickets eyes gleamed with pride; his hawk-like nose sniffed at the air. Here was a chick that knew a good fight when she saw it. Neh, nuthin happened ta me. I took care of Skippy real good. He aint gonna mess with me for a while. I know! Gosh, ya sure know how to fight, gushed Blanca as she smoothed her dress. Just like Joe Louis! Lips glistening with Tangee Red, she smiled at her honey. Ya fight just like the champ, she added, adjusting her limp pompadour. Como el champ.

As they crossed the street, Cricket glanced down at the chubby girl walking alongside. She aint so bad. Just a dumb broad who dont know much bout nuthin. But shes got some nice tits. Maybe Ill give her a break. As they approached the corner, Cricket spotted Tudis blue Chevy. Tudi was driving Sally to church!

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Cricket flexed his bony shoulders, adjusted the dark glasses. See ya later, esa. I mean Blanche. He had to get away from her before Tudi saw him and assumed Cricket was going to church too! A disappointed Blanca moved aside to let him pass. Once more Cricket secured his boppers, then quickly moved away from the girl in the pink dress. If the guys saw him walking with a chick on a Sunday morning (of all days), they would accuse him of being hung up on the chick, tease him for days. I gots my pride, he reasoned. No chick gonna haul me off ta church. He straightened his shoulders, sneaked a look back at a retreating Blanca, then pranced to Main Street. After that, Blanca and Cricket were seen cruising the streets of Taconos on Sunday afternoons, along with other couples, all dressed up with nowhere to go. Sometimes they took a chance and went to the movies in San Cristobal, where Cricket made sure he sat next to the aisle. In case the Planchados spotted him, he could make a fast getaway.

Cricket
ammy Lpez, known in Taconos as Cricket, lived with his widowed mother in one of several casitas owned by the E & E Railroad Company. Of two or more roomswith few windowsduring WWII, they had been used for storing machines awaiting delivery overseas. The smell of grease and oil permeated the houses. Each time a train went bywhich was oftenthey shook from side to side, then settled down with a thud. After the war ended, there was a huge surge in industry, but the shacks remained empty. Some time after this they were fixed up. Although some in Taconos would rather live in a tent than a railroad shack, once electricity and plumbing were installed, the houses became livable. Like others that migrated north from Mexico, Crickets father had worked at odd jobs, which is why he ended up clearing debris left behind by train crewmen. And then one fateful day a runaway boxcar pinned him against a stalled car; the accident cost him his life. Without acknowledging responsibility for the mishap, the railroad paid the widow a small sum and sweetened the agreement by letting her and her boys ages 12 and 10 live rent-free in a company-owned house. Advised by friends and neighbors to accept the settlement, the grieving widow did just that. She packed her few possessions and made plans to return to Mexico, but before
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she even cashed the check, her older son Sully (for Sal) was caught breaking-and-entering into a tire shop. He pleaded not guilty, although two new sets of tires were found hidden behind the shed. As the epitome of the compassionate (and nave) Mexican mother, Crickets mom used part of the insurance to pay a bail bondsman for her sons release. Later, a Jewish lawyer from Los Angeles got the charges reduced. With what was left the widow paid for her husbands modest funeral. Crickets earliest memory was of a small dark house crowded with bodies, boxes, mattresses, and warmth. The warmth came from the wood stove that sat in a corner of the kitchen, where every morning his mother made tortillas. Cricket hated school and the teachers. He felt las maestras unfairly criticized his attempts to read. The school nurse, however, complimented him on his even white teeth. From then on he made it a point to brush his teeth three times a day. He liked recess bestand baseballwhen his size and long legs carried him across the playground in record time. His team, nicknamed The Panthers, played to win, but during competition, they were beat by a team from nearby San Cristobal. This was Crickets first encounter with their ace pitcher, a guy named Skippy, with hazel eyes and light hair. Them guys cheated, he screeched to the teacher. The second Place Certificate awarded him went into the trash. Like his brother before him, Cricket quit school in eighth grade, right after he turned thirteen. By then he was close to six feet, taller than most of the teachers, all of whom he hated and, given the chance, would have punched out. He ripped up his final report card, replete with Ds and Fs, and low marks on civics and deportment. Cricket was determined to be tougher than his brother Sully, who spent half his life in and out of jail, and was currently serving time, due to breaking-and-entering a liquor

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store. Again, he denied all accusations, although he smelled of whiskey. If hed been tougherand kicked the shit out of the cops, he wouldnt be en la pinta, Cricket hissed to his teary mother. Man, what a pendejo. He vowed to at all times be alert and not get picked up by the cops. He was familiar with every alley in Taconos and, if nothing else, Cricket was cunning. Like other school dropouts who lacked work skills, Cricket had a hard time finding a job. He felt uncomfortable near machines, so he avoided the small factories and service stations on Main Street, many of which were successful. He swore he would rather steal than do fieldwork. But after months of futile search, he signed up with a work crew to pick tomatoes and onions. They traveled as far north as Bakersfield and as far south as small towns near the Mexico border, where Cricket took a liking to Mexican beerand marijuana. He hated everything about el fil: the backbreaking work and the mud that stuck to his work boots. Not only did he have to get up with the chickens, but at days end his arms and back ached. He did like getting high with his coworkers, who thought nothing of crossing the border to buy weed. He became friends with Sapo, a well-known pachuco friend of Sullys, who hung out with the Tacones. Cricket liked being around tough guys, veteranos of the judicial system, who could spot a cop miles away. He learned jive talk, smoked weed, and guzzled whiskey with the older guys. He became an errand boy of sorts. Crickets life of crime began one cloudy night. Asked by Sapo to be a lookout while he stole car batteries from an auto shop, Cricket was more than eager to please. And, why not? Sapo was a cool guy. He envied Sapos Chevy (with whitewalls), his custom-made suits with draped pants, and Sapos shoes with thick heels. More than anything, Cricket wanted to be like Sapo. He enjoyed stealing cartons of cigarettes (which

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were then sold at half price), radios and whatever he was assigned. Together with Sapo, he once rolled new tires from a Sears store to Sapos truck. He had found himself at last.

Cricket longed for work that wasnt seasonal or took him far from the guys. He wanted money in his pockets and to wear custom-made drapes. Friends his age were already going steady and driving souped-up cars. From guys who drove trucks for a living, he heard of a job opening, but a commercial drivers license required skills Cricket lacked. He lied about his age, cut off his duck tail, but nada. And then one day, he heard workers were wanted to pick up garbage. He hitched a ride to the sanitation plant to apply. Much to his surprise he and a Planchado were hired. Cricket, aware of how important it was to be employed, did not pick a fight. Working at el garbage was considered a good job. In Taconos, it was close to a prestige job; it paid well and required little brainpower. Although Cricket had to work at night or in the wee hours, the job was steady and dependent on muscle power. When he chose to, Cricket could get high on marijuana. Sapo had re-introduced him to the potent cigarettes, which were hard to get. If you smoke one before work, ese, you wont feel tired. At times Cricket overdid it; the whites of his eyes crossed with red. He then worked harder than ever. His boss, a burly Irishman with reddish hair, would pound him on the back: You Mexicans sure work hard. Confident his boss liked him and wouldnt fire him (when now and then on Mondays he reported to work late), for Cricket it was the perfect arrangement. After being on the job for three months, Cricket felt hed achieved his dreamand that of most vatosa steady job.

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He began to wonder if perhaps he might not wind up like Sully, or his friends, most of whom were in college in Folsom and San Quentin. He bought less pot and began to save money for a down payment on a car. With what was left over, he would buy a ring for his chick: Blanca Muoz. He was ready to grant his mothers wish that he settle down, marry a nice girl, and give her grandkids. In Taconos it was said only girls wanted big weddings, but Cricket had always enjoyed the fuss that went with weddings: the tuxedos and cruising up and down the streets in a gleaming car hung with flowers (and mufflers that woke up the dead and earned the drivers a ticket from the all-tooeager cops), but which nonetheless gave guys status. In fact, getting pulled over by the cops was something to brag about. In a wedding certain rituals were important. For one, it was the grooms sacred duty to have his buddies as groomsmen, decked out in tuxedos, todos entacuchados. Cricket wanted his future wedding to be the best in Taconos. As did the Planchados, they scanned the competition at weddings and vied to see who dressed the best. Even guys strapped for money charged clothes at Gatsbys, an expensive mens store in San Cristobal that charged a high interest rate. A favorite was Bunnys in East Los Angeles, where Jewish tailors made suits to order. Bunnys catered to vatos, but also carried regular clothes. What was important to Cricketand his buddieswas to at all times look sharp and hang the expense. Although Cricket didnt own a car, he had no problems getting around. He relied on the Tacones who owned wheels to take him around, which they were glad to do. Nothing like being seen with the toughest guy in town, they figured, as long as the cops werent chasing them. Even Paulie, Pan Tostado, knew that a cool car made even the homeliest man, or as in his case, the fattest man passable. Up and down

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Main Street they rode, the loud noise from their souped-up engines filling the night. Beginning on Friday night, dressed to the nines, the guys cruised the Tacones cracked streets, the twin pipes on their carruchas about to wake the dead. Around midnight, informal contests were held to see whose car could go faster. Tudi, who constantly worked on his Chevy, won hands down. At other times it was a tossup between the guys and the cops. Young girls lined Main Street to cheer on their favorites. There was a certain protocol to the races. Those who had proven themselves in earlier wins held to the middle of the street; the rest were on the sidelines. On a given signal usually a loud shoutthe cars took off. Invariably those in the middle pushed the rest aside. Thus, the same guys won time and time again. Once the races were over, and if no fights ensued, everyone headed toward Topaz Canyon to relive the race amid whiskey and cigarettesand if lucky, a willing chick.

The Tacones
hen the Tacones noticed Cricket making goo-goo eyes at Blanca Muoz, they teased him for being hung up on a chick. At first he denied he even liked Blanca, let alone thought of her as his steady chick. But when he walked her home from Sallys, the Tacones knew it could be serious, more so because Cricket now had a steady job, a thing that appealed to chicks. A guy with a good-paying job was nothing to sneer at, even if he was a zoot-suiter. While tough, the Tacones observed a double standard: rough on the street, but not around their mamacitas. Each Thursday night Tudi, an only son, walked his grandmother to church to pray the rosary. He might take a side alley to avoid being seen (and called un mamn), but he did it anyway. Paulie paid his sisters gas bill. Sapo, who delivered produce to various markets, managed to bring home fresh lettuce and tomatoes for his mom (theirs was a large family). One Easter week Sapo worked delivering canned hams to a Los Angeles diner. He forged the amount on the delivery slip, then came home with two hams, which la familia ate with beans and tortillas. Even Cricket, who spent most of his cash on clothes, tucked a few dollars (mostly ones) in his mothers cotton apron. When high, the guys liked to compare chicks. They disdained girls who liked to hang out with squares, guys who
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wore Levis and regular shoes. It was said the girls from San Cristobal would rather be caught dead than date one of the Tacones. Nice girls hated pachucos, but still went out with them. Hey, Cricket, ya hung up on Blanche Muoz? Neh, shes just a chick I wuz talking to. Watch out, ese, she wants ta boss ya, laughed Paulie as he puffed on a Camel. Thats how it starts. I oughtta know. Aint no dame gonna tell me what ta do. Cricket flexed his fingers, a habit the Tacones found irritating. Was he about to smack somebody? She a cherry, ese? Paulie often popped up with the unexpected. At this the guys stopped talking. Before Cricket could answer, Topo, who considered himself the Casanova of the group spoke up. She walks like a cherry. Oh yeah? How can ya tell? Now Tudi was curious. Ya cant, interrupted Sapo as he smoothed his Pancho Villa moustache. Ya cant. Today chicks do what they wants . . . they come and go till midnight. In da old days a guy called the chots. He knew what he was getting. Sapo stopped to light a reefer. He inhaled deeply, then passed it to Tudi, who declined. Aint no way ta tell if theys cherry, cept to bang em up. Ha, ha, ha. My chick better be a cherry when I gets hitched, snarled Frankie, sipping from a flask, . . . or else. Or else what, asked Tudi as he chewed Juicy Fruit. Or else what? Ill knock the chet outta her, then dump her, thats what. Chow her she aint gonna fool me. Frankie smoothed back his duck tail, as the vatos looked at him in admiration. Man! Whatta tough dude! Remember Sophie? Frankie liked the attention he was getting. She the one with big tits?

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Neh, dat was Jenny. She moved away before I could . . . Frankie smiled at the memory. She sure was a fine chick! Te digo! She the one with peroxide hair? Neh, that was Mabel. Man ya sure had a lotta chicks! Tudi was impressed and just a little bit disgusted with how the Tacones labeled women. How come ya aint got hitched? Why buy a cow when milk is so cheap. Frankie chortled. He took a swig of whiskey, then passed the flask to Cricket. It was good to know he was admired for something other than being good with brass knuckles. He could tell Cricket was pissed at the attention he was getting, but so what? Cricket thinks hes the leader, but I gots more experience, and not just wid da chicks, Frankie thought. Bored with all the vato talk, Tudi left in his shiny Chevy, parked his car in the garage and began to dismantle the front brakes. As he worked he listened to the radio given him by Sally. It felt good to work on his jalopy. Local folks looked down on the Tacones as ex-cons, troublemakers, low-lifes, yet most of the guys worked. Cricket hauled trash. Tudi worked in a machine shop, where in his off hours he could tinker with his coupe. When he wasnt dodging the cops (and jail), Sapo drove a delivery truck. Next to Tudi, he was the best driver; often he outraced the coppers. Topo bragged how he never had a real job till he met a chick who wanted nice things. When not running from the cops, he worked at a gas station. He gave his friends free gas when the owner was out. Few of the Tacones owned cars, which is why Tudi was indispensablenot exactly popular. Frankies Ford, inherited from a relative, had been on jacks for ages; it sat in front of his house along with an assortment of old tires and empty

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oilcans. Now and then he got it started. Man, I aint no mechanic, he grumbled. I can change a flat, but dats all. This piece of chet gots too many parts. Well, get a new one, ese, counseled Sapo as he threw an empty beer bottle into a bush, . . . fer nuthin down! My carnal bought a maroon Merc with white hub cabs from el Morey. But he wont let me touch it just cuz Ive wrecked two cars. Maybe Ill hit Moreys next week and get one nuthin down. Ill keep it till I cant make the payments, then dump it in the wash. Man, you outta yer mind? Frankie looked at Sapo in disgust. Ya did that last time, ese. Ya wanna go back to Folsom? Cricket enjoyed the bantering that went on among the Tacones. He hated having to depend on that square, Tudi, for a ride. At one time Cricket scraped together a down payment on a coupe that broke down on the way home. He complained to the car lot owner, a fat guy named Sal, who refused to give him another car. So one dark night, Cricket (aided by Sully, now on probation) sneaked into the lot and slashed the tires on three cars. Thatll teach that sonavabeesh to mess with me, he bragged to a shocked Tudi. Nobody makes a jackass outta me and gets away with it. The guys took pains to dress in the latest drapes: Frenchcuffed shirts and jackets that spelled class. Even Paulie, Pan Tostado, whose bulk was hard to miss, wore custommade suits. Because he never stopped eating, a favorite being chicharrones with chile and antojitos mexicanos, he had no choice but to buy tailor-mades. Tudi rarely looked at what he wore. Not quite a slob, he wore wrinkled pants and whatever shirt was on hand. I like nice things, he explained to Sally, but I dont wanna spend my cash on clothes. I gotta pay off my car, you know, make payments,

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Mary Helen Ponce

and give my mom money. No way Im gonna buy stuff at Bunnys. The Tacones competed with the Planchados, who had jobs that enabled them to dress better. Their leader, el Skippy, lived in a house with sidewalks, a sign of upward mobility; he always looked sharp. His peroxide hair and light skin contrasted with those of the dark-haired guys. The navy pinstripe suit he wore on special occasions was the envy of the Tacones. It fit his body to a T! When Cricket saw him in it, he asked for an advance at the garbage plant by saying that his mother needed surgery. He had Tudi drive him to Bunnys, where he demanded an identical suit. Much to his despair, that particular fabric had sold out. As a nervous Tudi prayed, Cricket cussed all the way back to Taconos. A favorite pasttime of the Tacones was to check out chicks. One night while waiting for a party to get going, the Tacones cruised the streets of Taconos in Tudis newly waxed coupe. Tudi had gotten hijacked by Cricket. But I told Sally to be ready at eight, whimpered Tudi as he put the car in gear. Shes gonna be waiting fer me. Man, ya takin orders from her already? Sapo smacked Tudi on the shoulder, then turned to Cricket. Can ya believe this guy? Chet, no chick ever gonna . . . Turn to da left, ordered Cricket, flexing his knuckles, then give a U-turn. Park over there. I wanna see what chicks are at the party. Like a peasant scolded by his master, Tudi did as told, but his hands shook as he parked. There goes Rosie, snickered Sapo as he leaned out the window. Man, she gets more skinny every time I see her. She looks like spaghetti! Ha, ha, ha, chortled Frankie, as he banged on the door. Her legs look like two sticks. Como popotes. Ha, ha.

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And lookit, Lupe, shrilled Sapo. Hjole, her nose is bigger than Pinocchios. Shes just as ugly as when I used to take her out. At the look in the guys faces, he quickly explained. Ya know, just ta do her a favor, give her a break. Yeah, but she gots some big knockers, hissed Frankie, as he puffed on a reefer. I like em like dat. Ya aint seen chet, ese, said Topo, late in arriving. He leaned on the front fender to get a better look. Hey, he all but shouted, is dat Lucy getting outta that red convertible? He strained to see across Tudis shoulders. It looks like her, answered Frankie as he rolled down the back window to get a better look. Man, just lookit er! She look like a movie star. Como la . . . La Hedy Lamar? With da hair in her face? Sapo prided himself on knowing all the female movie stars by heart. I mean la Veronica Lake. He quickly corrected himself. No, Joan Crawford with them big shoulders. Shes tough in dem movies. Lucys tough, added Tudi. For a dame, I mean. She even scares me! He laughed aloud. Lucy likes ta give orders, hissed Cricket, leaning back into the seat. I heard her telling off guys in her aunts joint. They was shakin in their pants! Yeah? What Lucy needs is . . . Shhh, here comes my chick, snapped Sapo as he opened the car door. I dont cuss around her. Gotta show some respect, ya know. Respect? Fer a chick? Cricket practically fell out of the car. I dont cuss in front of my ma, but a chick? He straightened his pant legs, smoothed his hair. Lets go inside, said Paulie, who joined them. Da partys already started. I can smell the food already.

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Even though the Tacones made fun of Father Ranger, calling him Padre Micky because of his big ears, and had little respect for religion, they attended church on Easter Sunday and Christmas. At St. Stephen the Martyr, old customs still prevailed: men sat on one side; women on the other. Which is why when the guys, hung-over from late-night carousing, stomped into Easter Sunday Mass, they sat in the back, in case a fast exit was necessary. People nearby quickly moved, or got up and left, oblivious to the dirty looks aimed in their direction. Now and then Tudi defied convention; he sat on the womens side, next to Sally and her mother, a prim lady who wore bright-colored dresses and thick stockings. Tudi thought of Sally as his steady. A bubbly girl with light brown eyes and a friendly disposition, she wore yellow dresses that reminded Tudi of warm sunshine. Sally was nice to everyone and was often asked to be a bridesmaid because she gave nice wedding gifts. In fact, Sally was generous to a fault. At the movies she shared candy and popcorn with friends. She worked part-time at her fathers butcher shop. When her father was out, she sneaked Tudi tender pork chops to take home. Churchgoers still remembered the time Sapo walked into church with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He knelt, blessed himself, puffed away, then squeezed in next to Don Porfirio, a church elder who almost had apoplexy. Scandalous as it was, no one moved a finger to reprimand Sapo. When the collection basket was passed, he mashed the cigarette in it. Told to leave by Don Jos, the husky president of El Santo Nombre, Sapo walked out. Before he reached the door he turned, dipped his fingers in the holy water and gave Don Jos the finger.

Lucy
ucy Matacochis was Blancas best friend. Two years older and much wiser, she often told her younger friend what to do and when to do it. Her olive complexion was a stark contrast to her hennaed hair. Her sharp, glittery eyes missed nothing; rumor said she could see in the dark. Of medium height, almost skinny, she had thin brown arms, small pointy breasts, a tiny waist, and shapely legs. From her tiny mouth spouted the most offensiveand vulgarcusswords ever heard in Taconos. Lucy intimidated everyone, including her mother, who more than once ran to a neighbor for safety; she won most arguments by default. Being that Blanca never argued back, the two got along very well. When in seventh grade at Taconos Elementary, she read at the fourth-grade level. Her report cards were all Ds and Fs. Learning was not for Lucy; she wanted to be doing. When caught giving the finger to the teacher, she was told to shape up or get out. She quit school, making sure to take the comic books and the bottles of nail polish stashed in her desk. For a while she baby sat her Aunt Chitas boy, then found work in the damp tomato fields where some of her friends worked. She hated the mud but liked flirting with the husky truck drivers who hauled tomates. When she caught
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three colds in a row and her clothes hung from her skinny frame, Lucy decided she needed a clean job. She lied about her age, lowered her skirt hemlines, and (what most bothered her) removed all traces of nail polish. Still she found nada. So as to learn a trade, she tagged along with a neighbor who cleaned houses. In Taconos, many women cleaned house for gringas in San Cristobal, but Lucy hated being in the Anglo side of town, where people looked down on Mexicans. She decided to help her mother around the house and wait for something to happen. A while later, her father then moved the family north, but Lucy could not adjust to living in the sticks, as she called the Fresno barrio. This joint is dead, she lamented, and the guys here are so square. I hate it! Each day she debated what to do: work in a packinghouse and ruin her nails or pick apricots and peaches at a nearby ranch. Her life changed when she met Tuchi, a tall wiry pachuco who worked in a seed store. At long last, a boyfriend! On weekends when her father pruned trees and her mother filled tubs with hot water in which to wash clothes, Lucy and Tuchi rode around the peach groves, listening to the radio; they sipped beer and now and then made out. Tuchi couldnt dance to save his life, but with Lucys help he danced a passable cheek-to-cheek. One night at a dance, during a fight over a spilled drink, Tuchi was knifed. He died in Lucys arms, which made her a heroine; her popularity grew. She took pains with her makeup and clothes when she paid her respects to the family, and was elated when his relatives formed a circle around her. After all, hadnt Tuchi died in her arms? It was a great funeral; everyone was there, even the cops. The church bulged with guys in draped pants and tapered jackets. Long chains hung from their waists; their thickheeled shoes scraped the floor. Lucy was the star; she

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eclipsed even Tuchi, dressed to kill, as he lay in a padded coffin. During the internment, as a priest mumbled a prayer, Lucy made as if to jump in after Tuchi, but was restrained by Lencho, a really cute guy who scooped her in his arms and carried her to his carand a peach grove. The shot of whiskey he gave her and the reefer he popped in her pretty mouth helped lessen the grief. By the time they returned to Tuchis house, Lucy was almost in love. His brothers called her names; they gave her dirty looks, too. But when Lucy gave Tuchis mother the locket given her by the deceased, the gesture saved her from further scorn. The day after she turned sixteen, Lucy informed her parents that because she was now of age, she was leaving home. Her fathers screams were heard to the peach groves; her petrified mother cowered in a corner. In a rage, her pap shoved her out the door, along with a battered suitcase containing her clothes and 78s. A nonplussed Lucy stomped to the Greyhound bus depot and took the bus home to Taconos. She moved in with her Aunt Tottie, a hard-drinking bottle blonde with a soft heart for her favorite niece. Lucy slept in a screened porch that faced the street, from where she could see the Tacones cruise by. Three doors down lived Blanca Muoz. The two became fast friends. Lucy taught Blanca how to shape her eyebrows, peroxide her hair and, best of all, how to jitterbug. At night they boogied to Tommy Dorsey. Most of the time they talked about how and where to find work. But neither she nor Blanca could find a steady job. Living in Fresno was the shits, Lucy told Blanca. Its worser than Taconos, Man alive! One thing though: all them guys gots steady jobs. Even kids work in the packinghouse, or the fields. Thats more than they got in Taconos.

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On a cool spring day, Lucy took the bus to San Cristobal to apply for work at the Five & Dime. A pimply redhead in a Peter Pan collared blouse looked her over and said, Well call you when there is an opening. I dont gots a phone. Oh! Well, then, Ill send a card. Okay? Lucy never got called to work. Aunt Tottie, who owned a beer joint named Totts Tavern, sensed Lucys desperation; she hired her to help out on weekends. When Tottie saw how well Lucy got on with the men, she hired her full-time. Along with a raise in pay, she gave Lucy solid advice: Lissen to me, nia, ya gotta be tough with customers like those that come in here. Show ya aint scared and theyll treat ya good. Just dont let em put their filthy paws on ya. Get it? The first day Lucy set some ground rules. I dont take no shit from nobody, she hissed at a startled male customer. Anybody try ta touch me in da wrong place is gonna get his teeth knocked out, get it? The guys at Totts found Lucys attitude tantalizing, challenging. Imagine: a chick who talked back to men and knew how to throw a punch! The first week Lucy dashed a mug of beer into a mans leering face. Next, she punched Gero, a beefy ex-Marine, with her clenched fist. Gero fell in love on the spot. He bought Lucy a drink and (in fear of his life) took her straight home. My honey, she hit me, Gero bragged. Man, shes somethin else! She must really love you, ese. What else she give ya? Nuthin. When it was clear to Gero and the guys who frequented Totts that Lucy could fend for herself, they treated her with feigned respect and bought her drinks. Aunt Tottie beamed.

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Lucy dressed for work as for a party, in three-inch heels with ankle straps and slinky dresses draped to hide her flat chest and show her tiny waist. While polishing glasses, she scoured Movie Secrets, to see what Hollywood stars wore. Then at home she experimented with her handy eyebrow pencil. Another favorite pastime was lifting makeup: pancake, Maybelline mascara, Ponds cream, and assorted colors of rouge. Twice a week she changed the nail polish pilfered from the Five & Dime to match an outfit. A current favorite was Plum Passion. As she progressed in her ideal job, Lucys hennaed hair changed to styles copied from her favorite movie star: Joan Crawford. She kept an array of curlers and wave set at hand, although the aluminum curlers (worn only at night) gave her a headache. For special occasions she pinned rhinestone clips taken from the Five & Dime on her dress. Blanca and Sally copied her every move. Skinny as she was, Lucy could work ten-hour shifts, and stopping only to change into a slinky dress, she hit the Zenda to dance all night long. But her life was far from perfect: she lacked a steady guy! A vato who dressed sharp, drove a snazzy car, and was hep! A guy with a well-paying job who would buy her an engagement ring and give her a wedding better than Blancas.

The Proposal
ne mild November night Blanca Muoz and Sammythe-Cricket went on a date. Cricket was feeling flush; he just got paid and the accountant at the garbage plant, a nearsighted guy called Smarts, had made a mistake in calculating Crickets overtime; he overpaid him by fifty dollars. Cricket could hardly believe his luck. He thought he was seeing things, he asked a co-worker to read the amount to him. His slanted eyes lit up and his mean mouth stretched in a wide smile. He shook his duck tail back and forth in disbelief. In fear that Smarts would find the error and call him to the office, rather than join the guys for a joint, he sped to the plant exit; his heavy work shoes echoed across the cracked asphalt. His first thought as he waited for a ride was to use the bonus as a down payment on a pin-stripe suit like the one worn by Skippy. But then he remembered he owed Bunnys for a shirt with French cuffs. He cashed his check at a local liquor store (for a small fee), then stopped at Tudis to shoot the breeze. He sprawled inside Tudis car, humming along with Frankie Laines Thats My Desire, when Blanca, on her way home from her job at the turkey farm, walked by. He sat up, brushed his

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hair, and adjusted his glasses. Feeling groovy, he poked his head out the car window Hey, there, pretty one, where ya goin? He blew smoke through his thin nostrils, trying to look sophisticated. Oh, hi, Cricket. Im goin home from the . . . from work. Yeah? And whatcha gonna do tonight? Nuthin. Ya wanna go to da chow. I guess. Who else is going? Tudi and his chick. Well pick ya up at eight. Ill honk three times. Blanca dashed home, her full breasts bouncing as she skipped across the cracks on the sidewalk. At home she flung open the bedroom closet door and pulled out her new pink blouse and a dark gabardine skirt. She locked herself in the tiny bathroom to take a sponge bath. Aint got time for a shower, she moaned; I sure hope I dont stink too much. She had second thoughts about her outfit. What if Cricket thinks I dress too square? I dont wanna wear my black dress with sequins, cuz its for next weeks dance. Oh heck! Ill just wear what I want. She rubbed Mum deodorant under her armpits, dabbed Evening in Paris cologne behind her ears and on her wrists, then sat in the cramped living room (with a bed to one side) to wait for Cricket. She peeked out the window to look for Tudis familiar car. She had just straightened her stocking seams for the tenth time, when she heard the back door open. In walked Lucy, eyes ablaze. You never told me Cricket and you was . . . Were just going to the drive-in, I think. Yeah? Shit, a movie aint nuthin. It is to me. Blanca turned away from the window. Were gonna see Gone With the Wind.

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Shit, that movies so old! Weve seen it ten times! Lucy wrung her hands in agitation. I saw it in grammar school, I think! Blanca stifled a giggle. Its my favorite! That Clark Gable is so good! When he picks up Scarlett OHara and . . . Going ta the drive-in aint a real date, mensa. Lucy flexed her fingers to show off her newly painted nails. A guy thats hep takes a girl to fine places, like the Palomar. Now thats a date. Maybe Cricket aint got money. Blanca pushed aside the window curtains in time to see Tudis Chevy pull up in front of the house. Beep. Beep, beep. I gots to go, Lucy, Blanca said as she bolted out the door. Blanca adjusted her skirt, happy to see Cricket had changed his clothes. He looked nice, minus the dark glasses and with his hair slicked back. Once in the car, she lowered the window in hopes the chicks going by would see her with Cricket. They rode around Taconos for a while. In the back seat Cricket inhaled deeply from a cigarette. He leaned back into the plastic seat and smiled at the heavy girl next to him. Tudi took little notice of Blancaor Cricket. He was anxious for Sally to get home from the butcher shop. At the corner pool hall he spotted Paulie, Pan Tostado, Sapo, and Frankie, all dressed to beat the band. It was Saturday night and the Tacones were out in full force. He waved at them, then turned toward Sallys house. Of all the chicks that lived on Honeysuckle Street, Sally had the nicest house. And the nicest furniture. And the best clothes. When Sally invited Tudi to her house to listen to 78s, he felt awkward, afraid to sit on the pretty couch in the living room where Sally served him a soda. The room was nicely furnished with a matching sofa and chair; braided rugs covered the floor; an orange lamp gave the room a nice glow.

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You must be rich, he kidded Sally. No one in Taconos has such nice furniture. My mother still has an icebox.

That Saturday night, after Tudi, Cricket, and Blanca twice drove past Sallys, he decided to park and save gas. Tudi stomped out his cigarette, stuck a piece of Juicy Fruit in his mouth, and ran the comb kept in his back pocket through his dark hair before he knocked on the door. Out popped Sally in a yellow blouse and dark skirt. She got in the car, said hi to the others, then made herself comfortable. Tudi started the car, shifted gears, and drove off. What are we gonna see? asked Sally, adjusting her skirt. The one at the Townes supposed to be real good. In San Cristobal? Cricket almost fell out of the car. I aint gonna take a chance, groaned Tudi, as he rounded a curve. The Planchados hang out there. Aint that right, Cricket? So? I aint chicken, was Crickets answer. Dey want trouble, they gots it. Lets go see a gangster movie, urged Sally, aware Cricket was looking for a fight. The one with that fat guy, Peter Lorre, is real good. I like cowboy movies. With John Wayne. Tudi chomped away. Man, you are square! Cricket broke out in a sarcastic laugh. Cowboys are square. All dey wanna do is ride horses and sing stupid songs, like ese pendejo, Gene Autry. I Iike Roy Rogers, said Blanca. Tudi needed to be rescued. Lets take the chicks to see dat movie with Humphrey Bogart. Tudi was determined to avoid a fight. Simn! That guy is tough, ese. He dont take no chet from chicks, from nobody. Ya could learn somethin from

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him, Tudi, chortled Cricket. He playfully whacked Tudi on the head. But I want to see Gone With the Wind, wailed Blanca. She looked to Sally for support. Theyre showing it at the drive-in. She gave Cricket a light pinch. Its my favorite. Oh, yeah? Cricket smiled at the chubby girl. She smelled nice. Well, okay, esa. You win. Hey, Tudi, lets give the chicks a break and take them ta see Gone Wiz da Wind, okay? Feeling generous, he flexed his long legs. They got to the drive-in just as it got dark. Throughout the short drive, Tudi kept checking traffic, on the alert for cars resembling those of the Planchados. I sure hate driving on strange streets, he sighed. He felt safe only in the Valley on familiar streets and alleys. I know the Planchados arent after me, he often told Sally, but if I keep hanging around with Cricket, theyre gonna get me, too. Tudi entered the drive-in and parked, adjusted the speaker, then leaned back to enjoy the cartoons that preceded the movie, happy to be with Sally. Just then, the headlights of a car behind them flooded Tudis car. Chet, hissed Cricket, yanking off his boppers. The Planchados are behind us! And look over there! Thems their cars. Chet man, why did ya bring us to this place? Now how we gonna get outta here? Blanca had never seen Cricket so agitated. Act like you dont see them, advised Sally. Next to her an anxious Tudi almost gagged on a wad of gum. Theyre gonna jump me when I go to the toledo, he whined. Ill go with you, suggested Sally, I want a soda. No sooner were Tudi and Sally out of earshot when Cricket let out a litany of curses. Sonavabeesh. They was probably following us, but that jerk didnt see them. Qu pendejo! Who?

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Tudi, thats who. His job is ta look out for dem vatos. Maybe they just came to see da chow? Blanca tried not to act frightened. Yeah? I dont trust them mudders. Cricket pushed back on the seat, spread out his long legs. Blanca cowered in a corner; her pale face told how scared she really was. She ran her hands through her limp hair. She could almost smell her damp armpits; her pink blouse felt tight. Is this what a date with Cricket is like, she pondered? I shoulda listened to Lucy, and told Cricket to take me somewhere else, and not the drive-in! That way them Planchados wouldnt start nuthin. She shifted in the suddenly hot seat, straining to see if Crickets mortal enemies were really parked behind them. She lit a cigarette, took a puff, and focused on the Coming Attractions that flashed on the screen. Just then Sally and Tudi, arms laden with sodas, popcorn, and Milk Duds, returned from the snack bar. While Sally passed the food around, Tudi turned to Cricket. Them guys are okay, ese. I got in line next to Skippy, and he aint said nuthin. Yeah? They know yer chicken, thats why. Cricket spit out the window. More popcorn, Blanca? Sally pushed the bag across to her friend.

On the screen a dark-haired Scarlett OHara, in a dress that showed her full breasts, danced with a tall and handsome Clark Gable; her green eyes gazed at him in wonder. In the back seat, Blanca edged away from Cricket, who kept shifting in his seat. He made her nervous. Man, this sure is a good show, sighed Sally. Lookit all them guys flirting con la Scarlett. And look at her tiny waist! Gads, what I wouldnt give to have it.

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Just then someone tapped the car window. A startled Tudi slowly rolled it down, as in the back seat Cricket braced himself. Ese, got a light? asked Mundo. I aint got no matches. Cricket pushed past Blanca to screech at Mundo, a lesser member of the Tacones. Whatcha doin here, Mundo? hissed Cricket. Dontcha know dem Planchados are . . . I aint bothering them, mumbled Mundo as he lit a Lucky Strike. I aint here to pick a fight! I just wanna see da movie, he concluded as he puffed away. Ill see ya in Taconos. Mundo left as hed come, quietly in the dark. In the coupes back seat Cricket took a deep breath. He was perplexed. Somethins happenin to da Tacones. Even Mundo is acting chicken, and Tudi was talking to that mudder, Skippy. Aint nobody give a shit bout nuthin? Before they knew it the movie was over. The cars around them began to warm up, then circle toward the exit. Tudi turned on the ignition and idled the car. His sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel. He looked with longing toward the exit. Next to him Sally ripped open some Milk Duds and popped one into Tudis mouth. So, whatcha waitin for? Cricket pounded on the back of Tudis seat. Ya gonna stay here all night? Im just waiting for traffic ta clear. Get goin, man. Aint nobody left in the joint! Tudi turned toward the exit lane; his eyes scanned the cars around. He stepped on the gas, then cut in behind a familiar-looking gray Merc. He switched on the lights; his heart skipped a beat. The car in front was full of Planchados! Man, its Skippy, cried Tudi as he slammed on the brakes. Whatcha want me to do? Ram em. Chow them whose da boss. If you aint chicken, that is.

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Just drive, counseled Sally, making sure Cricket heard her. Just take us home, then you can chase them guys to San Cristobal. Right before the Planchados turned left, the Mercs driver stuck his hand out, pointed with his middle finger and shouted, Here, Cricket, then tore off. In time, Blancas doubts about Cricket faded. She now saw him as brave, and in control, not like that chicken, Mundo. Imagine, she later squealed to Lucy, Cricket wanted ta ram them guys off the street! Yeah, well, it wasnt his car. After that night Crickets esteem for Blanca grew. Hadnt she been on his side when at the drive-in the Planchados almost jumped them? Sally, however, began to have second thoughts about the Tacones. And Tudi. Still, when her father wasnt around, she slipped him pork chops. Cricket proposed one May night while he and Blanca were in Topaz Canyon at the local lovers lane. In the front seat Tudi and Sally were snuggled tight. The foursome had just been to a dance at the Saln Parra and were beat from so much boogie-woogie. Blanca snuggled close to Cricket. Man, whatta good dance! I really had a good time, but I gotta get home or . . . Yeah? Well I aint ready ta go, snapped Cricket as he lightly punched Blanca in the ribs. It aint dat late, so dont be . . . Blanca straightened her blouse; she pushed her hair off her face. I promised my ma Id be home early. She worries about me and . . . Tell her youre my ole lady and were gonna get hitched. Really? Gosh! Did ya hear, Sally? Wait till I tell Lucy!

Father Ranger
hen told by his superiors he was being transferred from Thorpe, Texas, to Taconos, Father Francis Ignatius Ranger, O.M.I, was ecstatic; he thought hed died and gone to heaven. The dry Texas weather had so aged him that at times he forgot that at thirty-two, he was still a young man, albeit a wrinkled, disenchanted priest. He immediately began to prepare for the move. Into the battered suitcase bought when he first left home for the seminary, he packed a pair of swim trunks, piano arrangements, and his favorite Duke Ellington albums. He reflected on the blue Pacific, the miles of orange groves, and the year-round sunny weather that awaited him once he left behind the barren town of Thorpe. Father Ranger was delighted to learn Taconos was only twenty miles from Los Angeles and the Hollywood Bowl! He hadnt been to a jazz concert since his last vacation, when he saw his idol, Duke Ellington, at the Shrine Auditorium. He packed in a frenzy, planning how on his days off he would visit the small jazz clubs. Once Im settled, he vowed as he rolled up his chasuble and rammed it into the bottom of the suitcase, Ill get to hear the real stuff. For the past five years Father Ranger had suffered (or so he thought) from lack of culture. Thorpe was a small ranching town near the Texas-Mexico border, inhabited mostly by
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Mexicans who had come north to work on the cattle ranches. They were simple, hard-working people who each Sunday trekked to San Judas Tadeo Catholic Church for Mass, then went back to their homes to prepare for the coming work week. They bought groceries at Thorpes one general store, filled up a pickup truck at one of the three gas stations, bought Vicks ointment for their aches and pains at Thorpe Drugs and, if able to, had Sunday dinner at The Bucking Bronco, the towns one good restaurant, where everything was eaten with puddles of ketchup. On hot summer nights Father Ranger relaxed with a Red Bull beer and listened to his collection of 78s on the dilapidated record player left behind by his predecessor, the Dominican, Father Ambrose. Hed studied piano at the seminary; his fingers itched to play the piano, to imitate the Duke, but there was no piano attached to the church, only an old organ with missing keys. Once he verified travel arrangements to California, he said his last Mass for the congregation. He tried to keep a straight face as he told the townsfolk he would miss them but that hed remember them in his prayers. Father Ranger left Thorpe on an extremely hot day, anticipating the temperate weather and ocean breezes of California. The train ride was uneventful; he munched on beef tacos given him by a parishioner and read Forever Amber, a best-seller prohibited by the Church. Much to his dismay, when he alighted the stifling train, he realized Southern California was as hot as Texas. Union Station felt like an oven, his leather bag about to melt. The heat was almost intolerable. Not even the marble columns and tile floors of the station lobby helped cool him. After a long wait, he was approached by an elderly man sent to pick him up. He found Father Ranger at a counter, cold beer in hand. As Father Ranger waited for Mr. Sols to bring the car around, he took a lily-white handkerchief and mopped his

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brow. He felt betrayed. His ears itched; his priestly collar seemed to choke him. He put on his black jacket and adjusted his collar, aware that Mr. Sols was giving him the once-over. He helped load his belongings into an old Ford station wagon with chipped paint. When the elderly man bowed and held the open door, Father Ranger felt vindicated. Father Ranger got in, stretched out his long legs and sighed, Is it always this hot? Hot? Wait until July, Padre, thats when it really sizzles. In August we hit the 90s, and in September its never below 105. Once settled in Taconos and full of energy and goodwill toward his fellow man, Father Ranger began to reorganize the parish. He anxiously waited for his portion of the archdioceses annual budget, one he prayed would allow him to furnish and paint Father Ambroses former abode. He hated the mahogany furniture left behind by his predecessor, whom he heard described as an old fart. He threw out yellowed sheets and faded towels, and with his own money bought a new twin-size mattress. There was little to be done in the bathroom, other than to disinfect it and try to erase the smell of Vicks VapoRub. In his first report to Father Murphy, his friend from seminary days, now his immediate superior, he wrote: The people of Taconos are kind-hearted and generous. I intend to win them over. I found a lady who will clean, cook two meals a day (breakfast and dinner), and do my laundry. She came highly recommended, is not too young, and from all appearances is clean and orderly. My first Mass here was a fiasco! The altar boys forgot my instructions. I was forced to light the incense myself! There werent enough Communion wafers to go around. I was humiliated, to say the least. Worse, I suspect the boys are drinking the sacred wine. I filled the wine vessel before

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Mass (and tasted it, of course); later it was half-full. Is this my cross to bear? Once I get the rectory in order, the first thing I want to do is buy a car. Nothing impresses poor people like seeing their padrecito drive a cool heap. As in Thorpe, Father Ranger put all his efforts into working with women. In the seminary he had learned that women were more apt to join organizations; they were the backbone of many parishes. Within months, membership in the Altar Society grew. Even Seora Luz, a stumpy woman who wore fancy shawls and liked to give orders, joined on one condition: that she be in charge of the food during summer fiestas. She eliminated her competition, Doa Pepita, a kind, sweet woman said to put too much meat in the tamaleswhich hurt profits. After their first ice cream social held in the church hall, the newly formed Marian Club for girls aged 13 to 18 grew from three to fifteen. Although he had to teach them parliamentary procedure (which gave him a headache), Father Ranger enjoyed their meetings, He also tried to befriend the gangly, brown-skinned pubescent altar boys who stole the sacred wine, none of whom he knew well, all of whom looked at him with feigned suspicion. The problem was solved when Father Murphy got donations for baseball equipment and the back lot was cleared of weeds. As in Thorpe, Father Ranger had little to do with the parish men, most of whom he felt were not good examples of honest and honorable human beings. To him, they were winos and wife-beaters, men who went to confession between drinking bouts. Hypocrites, drunkards, he hissed, as he gave them Communion. He had more success with the five members of the Holy Name Society, many of them in their dotage, who each Sunday in fear of their mortality, held aloft a banner embroi-

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dered with an image of Christ and His Angels as they toddled to the Communion rail. As membership grew and younger men joined, they volunteered without complaint for the gritty jobs, such as cleaning the outdoor bathrooms. Father Ranger was most troubled by the teenage punks, school dropouts, too young to have work permits so as to find decent work. At Mass they sat in a group, then talked throughout the sermon. As he went by in his new Ford, they glared at him, gave him the middle finger. The older guys hung out in dusky pool halls, which to Father Rangers jaundiced eye seemed to sprout on every corner. They arent bad kids, he wrote in his daily log, just teenagers who need guidance, religion, and some kind of work. At times it seemed as if he was back in Thorpe; things appeared the same, from the dark, unkempt rectory with the torn screen that let in green flies, to the simple-minded people who gaped at his fancy car and embroidered chasubles. Everythingthe broken-down homes, dusty streets, and overworked peopleseem the same. But unlike the guys in Thorpe, he wrote, who wore Levis and cowboy boots, the punks I see here wear pegged pants and shoes with thick heels. To his superiors at the Los Angeles Archdiocese, anyone in pegged pants was a zoot-suiter, a pachuco, and should be dealt with accordingly. When in Thorpe, Father Ranger had warned mothers of restless sons of the dangers in the outside world; he never mentioned women, but stated that the flesh was weak, and that if they did not reform, they would not only go to jail, but end up in hell! This, of course did nothing for the mothers, but the sale of votive candles increased, as did petitions to certain saints. Now, in Taconos he had found a new breed of guys: tougher, more intelligent, better dressed, and, in a few case, religious. The California pachuco is unique, he confided to Father Murphy. Hes better nourished, lives in poor to mod-

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est homes, has an eighth-grade education or more, smokes marijuana and drinks whiskey, yet goes to Sunday Mass! There is a code of honor among the gangs here, a loyalty hard to penetrate. This camaraderie did not exist in Texas, or if it did, I never saw it. Try as I might, I cannot communicate with them. I detest all pachucos, not for what they represent, but because of the pain they cause their saintly mothers. Just last week two women asked to borrow money to post bail for their sons. And today I heard tell that two rival Valley gangs, the Planchados and the Tacones are at war (the names tell you something). They hate each others guts and are constantly fighting. They ruin wedding dances and are known to carry weapons. Not guns, thank God, just chains and pipes, which they use when crossed. They set a day and time to fight it out; its called a rumble. I pray to Saint Francis without ceasing. The Tacones hated Father Ranger with an intensity that even surprised them. They felt he was too young to be giving orders to guys near his age. His crew haircut was offensive to the Tacones, who doted on duck tails. On more than one occasion they saw him talking to the cops. They called him a stool pigeon in cahoots with the law and Mickey because of his big ears. When soon after he arrived and the coppers began to patrol the Tacones streets twice a day, their hatred intensified. Much of the accumulated dislike was rooted in an event that occurred during a church fiesta, when a fight broke out. A guy named Bugsy (with buck teeth) beat the shit out of Wimpy, his archenemy. As the terrorized fiesta-goers watched, Father Ranger was alerted. He immediately called the police, who pulled apart and arrested the bloodied vatos for causing a disturbance. Wimpy was lifted to an ambulance; Bugsy was pushed into the familiar black-and-white, then hauled off to county jail.

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Once the cops left and the commotion died down, Father Ranger consoled Wimpys parents, both devoted Catholics. Later, when he overheard the altar boys refer to him as el padre stoolie, he recoiled at the insult. His ears turned red and his neck began to itch. The sudden shift in boys he had befriended hurt. The following Sunday he explained he had called the police to keep the vatos from killing each other . . . but it was pointless. He would forever be called a stool pigeonand hated as much as the cops. Left to shift for himself among the more pliant females in the congregation, Father Ranger resigned himself to his personal cross: the intense dislike of the Tacones. At night, on bended knee, in the privacy of his bedroom, he recited his breviary. Eyes closed, hands clasped together, he prayed to St. Francis, while in the next room Ella Fitzgerald sang the blues. Within a year he became a permanent fixture in Taconos. He officiated at funerals, weddings, and what he most loved, baptisms. The brown cuddly infants served to remind him of his vocation. When he poured holy water on the infants, their lusty cries warmed the cockles of his heart. By now he was ready to tackle the traditional church bazaars. It was then he came alive! His ruddy cheeks glowed with health and vigor; his bright eyes matched the clear blue sky that hovered over Taconos. He hoped to repeat the success he had with jamaicas in Thorpe, when his parishioners, most of whom did seasonal work, took time to enjoy life and spend their hard earned money on food and games. Folks seemed to forget their animosity toward the stoolie. The entire community, old and young, would be put to work. The altar boys swept the church hall; members of the Marian Club twirled crepe paper and colored balloons around cardboard booths. In the church hall kitchen, Seora Luz worked alongside her followers; they mixed masa and cooked chile for tamales. At a nearby table Seora Pepita made sure not to

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put too much meat in the tamales. Members of El Santo Nombre stacked sodas inside chests full of chipped ice. Father Ranger found it hard to contain his exuberance at how the bazaar was coming along; it was such a change from before, when everything he did was wrong. But not all was perfect. At times he felt both anger and compassion for the pretty girls, some of them visibly pregnant, who called on him to arrange the wedding banns that by Catholic law had to be announced at least a month in advance. He counseled a girl with a black eye to think carefully of what she was doing. More than once while seated in his favorite chair inside the rectory, he had advised a girl to change her mind, while the potential groom waited in the car. Weddings are not my favorite thing, he said to Father Murphy, who never missed a jamaica. Neither are funerals, he sighed, but in many ways, marriage is a sure death for women. The double standard is entrenched in the barrio. Married men come and go at will, free to find other women, abandon wives and children, then return to claim their rights! And theres nothing I can do but advise a couple to think seriously of the step they are about to take. Often I despair! He looked on with disdain at the big and expensive Mexican weddings that in Taconos were the norm. What a waste of time and money, he would grumble as he prayed the wedding Mass through gritted teeth. In the seminary it was said marriage was an important sacrament, a rite of passage that should mark a new beginning, but in his heart of hearts Father Ranger felt for the young women for whom the gold ring he blessed sealed their fate. For the groom, little if anything would change. When the rumor that Blanche Muoz and Sammy-theCricket Lpez were getting married first reached him,

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Father Rangers first instinct was to visit Seora Muoz to offer his condolences. Heaven help me, he said to Father Murphy during his weekly phone call. I must celebrate the wedding Mass of a zoot-suiter! The groom-to-be is mean, illiterate, and arrogant. The bride is a self-supporting, nice girl, too good for that Cricket guy. Even the Tacones hate his guts. He thinks nothing of running over street dogs, then backs up and runs over them again. I wish I could talk her out of it. One Sunday after Mass, he spotted Blanca making her way out the door. Chasuble flopping around his knees, he tried to corner her, but Blanca, wise to his priestly ways, tore down the street as if chased by the very devil. Unfazed, he sought out her mother, who in a trembling voice said, Ay, padre, I dont like him myself. But Blanca is in love and wont listen. Not that she ever did. When the third and last wedding bann for Blanca and Cricket was read, Father Ranger conceded defeat. That night, in his solitary bed, he reflected on the expectations that existed for young women. In Taconos, as in Thorpe, there was very little for young girls to aspire to, other than working in the cotton fields or Five & Dime, cleaning homes for bigoted Anglos, or getting married to the first guy that asked. And yet, isnt that what I preach? he moaned. Dont I preach that women should in all things emulate the Virgin Mary? Marriage and children are womens primary role. He sighed, feeling tired, beaten. Taconos, he admitted, may be in California, but for women, the same conditions existed as in Texas. As an anointed priest he could not deny the sacraments. What made life easier was when on his day off he tore off to hear Stan Kenton at the Hollywood Bowl. As he drove he hummed the Peanut Vendor and forgot about the Tacones.

Blanca at the Turkeys

fter debating whether she wanted to take in ironing, clean house for others, work at a dirty job in the tomato fields like Tencha, Blanca applied for work at los turkeys, where a neighbor worked. It wasnt the ideal job, but nothing else was coming through. She had tried to find work in so many places! At times she was so depressed she could barely get out of bed. Worse, she ate too many of her mothers tortillas. The poultry farm, while not a last resort, just might hire her. The poultry farm was in Razgo, a small town known for the Verdi Winery, a barn-like store owned by friendly Italians. Across from the winery was a motel that housed the itinerant workers that came and went at will. At one time the motel had been part of the building boom that followed the war, but now it attracted few permanent renters. From afar on summer nights, folks could be seen guzzling Dago Red, as they lounged on old mattresses. Other than a tire shop, three gas stations, and a Goodwill store that catered to both poor whites and Mexicans, there was little industry in the area. In fact, there was little to see or do in Razgo, other than drink wine and nibble on black olives and Italian salami.
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Dago Red, the most popular wine (sold by the halfgallon), was the favorite of the winos, who each payday trekked to the winery, then stumbled home to Taconos. The Brown Egg poultry farm sat behind the railroad tracks. The factory, as it was referred to by the owners, was quite old. Built in the 1900s, when the town was first founded and the railroad established, its white paint had yellowed and peeled. The front windows were covered with torn screens; the rear windows were boarded up. Picnic tables and benches rested against a chain-link fence that surrounded the building. In the weed-covered lot grew lemon trees. The sweet lemons were free to the workers, as were the scrawny turkeys during Thanksgiving and Christmas. Mr. Brown, the owner, ran the enterprise along with his wife, Selma, a portly woman with flaming red hair. A childless couple, they raised turkeys, Boston Red hens and sold their eggs. And once a yearusually during Christmas closed shop, packed a crate with premium eggs, and took the train home to Oklahoma. A nervous Blanca was interviewed by Selma, who kept an eye on her husbands roving one. Blanca claimed to have quit school in tenth grade to help her widowed mother, declared herself free of disease, with good eyesight, and was never late for work. As a reference she named Sally, whom she identified as the owner of a store where she had worked for the past six months. One lie followed another. Selma was impressed with the plain-looking girl. Much to her surprise, Blanca was hired. Mr. Brown, who throughout the year wore denim overalls, flannel shirts, and size 13 rubber boots imported from Australia, prided himself on his Mexican crew, a hard-working bunch, as he put it. Experience told him that with her stout build and husky arms, Blanca would make a good worker. She was given the key to a locker, a net for her hair, and a canvas apron that

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came to her ankles. She was sent to Sadie, the lead lady, to learn to de-feather chickens and turkeys to Mr. Browns standards. Sadie guided Blanca to the work area, a huge barn-like room. Most of the crew was made up of Mexican Americans, but here and there Blanca spotted an Okie or two. The women introduced themselves, but did not take time to chat. Selma was strict about workers meeting their quota. Few men worked at the Brown Egg; those who did could be found in an adjacent room, the butcher shop where the turkeys drew their last breath. Once de-gutted, the birds were immersed in hot water to loosen their feathers, then hung by the neck from a pulley that circled above the workers; it continuously dripped warm pinkish blood. The women plucked feathers at a fast clip. Once the carcasses were free of feathers, and their anuses thoroughly cleaned, they were put into large carts and rolled to the wash tubs where they were cleaned. Then they were loaded into a storage room lined with blocks of ice. The birds were trucked to restaurants and markets by loud, burly men, who like their boss wore rubber boots. Each day they lined up for their designated load near the storage room. When loaded, the trucks exited a side gate and tore down the street. As instructed on her first day, Blanca tucked her hair into a hairnet, wrapped an apron around her belly, and took her place in line. The first time she bumped against a cold turkey, she thought she would faint. She bent over, a hankie pressed to her mouth. Sadie came to her rescue. Youll get used to it, she whispered, as she offered Blanca water. Just take a deep breath and try not to look at them. Just then Bones, the skinny foreman, walked over to her. He stopped the pulley and put a turkey in front of Blanca.

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See here, miss, he began, first pull the feathers off the neck down to the legs and to their uhhh. He pointed to the birds anus. Go over the entire bird until the critter aint got a single feather. Blanca felt a chill climb up her arms as she placed her hands on the turkey carcass. She pulled and pulled; wet feathers stuck to her hands. Like this? Yep. When yar done, sling them critters into the tubs behind you, see? Bones pointed to a row of cement tubs. Dont go fall in, now, he added. Them tubs are full of boiling water. He paused to make sure Blanca understood. Make sure you keep count, now. Hear? I hear. From the first day she hated the job. The hours were long. From eight in the morning to five in the afternoon, Blanca stood on her feet, yanking wet feathers that stuck to her hands and legs from the naked birds. She hated being stuck in the barn-like room; the bare light bulbs that hung from the ceiling gave it a shadowy look, as in scary movies. The smell of blood and guts and the run-off that stained her shoes made her want to throw up. Had I known it was gonna be like this, I woulda taken in ironing, she hissed to no one in particular. I could clean houses, but I hate to even clean my room! Besides, that kinda work aint steady and dont pay shit. I just gotta put up with it, like them other women. And so it went. Each morning Blanca rose with the sun. She donned the denim pants borrowed from her To Ernie, then topped these with the pretty blouse she would later replace with a smock. On her feet were the white tennis shoes bought for $2.99 at Karls Shoes in San Cristobal; by the end of the first week they were light pink. To Blanca, the dead birds, with their sharp peaks and dull eyes, looked alive. She hated the touch of their cold,

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clammy flesh, especially the turkeys butt, the orifice that at times still held shit. It was hard not to recoil from their smell. Every few minutes she wiped her hands on a rag. It was clear that if she wanted to keep the job, she would have to get over her disgust. In Taconos, working at los turkeys was much better than fieldwork. Which is why Blanca rarely complained at work. But once at home she let loose with a barrage of curses. Dammit! What a lousy job! Well, go back to the tomatoes. Neh, I aint that stupid. The only thing that made work enjoyable was the camaraderie found among the single, married, and widowed women; many were close to middle-age. From the beginning the women made Blanca feel at home, especially Sadie. Hi! Im Stella and over theres Trini and Lupe. Hey, you guys, this here is Blanche, uhhh Blanca. Hallo. Welcome to the slave factory, Blanche. You married? No. Not yet but . . . Blanca blushed and stammered. Not yet. Shes not stupid! interjected Sadie as she smacked at a turkeys behind. So whos asking you, Sadie? You already put three husbands in the grave. Ay, cmo eres! You are so mean! You know my husband died in the war. The rest were just . . . Just what? . . . . friends. Good friends to my kids and . . . You mean sugar-daddies? Well, what about you, Lupe? You aint no saint. You gots three kids and none have the same last name! This

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from Tillie, a stout woman who refused to wear a net and instead folded her long hair in bright scarves. So what? I support them, dont I? Lupe was livid. Cut it out! Blanche is gonna think were all bad, said Sadie. I was only kidding! Cant you take a joke? Watch it. Here comes Selma. During lunch the ladies sat outdoors to share tacos de papas, chiles geritos, and coffee warmed on a hotplate. Most had children, some of whom were known to Blanca. All worked for a good reason, to help pay the rent, buy food, and now and then to pay a bail bondsman to spring a boyfriend, husband, or son from county jail. They were a merry lot. To make light of their tediousand smellyjob, the women told off-color jokes. Anoche te vi con tu honey! Oh really? He says he loves me and were going to . . . Ha, ha. He only wants one thing! He wants your paycheck, stupid! He aint got a job! I do. No way Im gonna support some wino. So, whos asking you to? Pass the chili. Daily they reminded Blanca of how lucky she was to still live at home, come and go as she liked, and not have a drunkard waiting each Friday for her paycheck. Blanca smiled shyly at her co-workers jokes; she rejoiced in her good luck and attacked the turkeys with enthusiasm. If others can tolerate touching dead meat, then so can I. Blanca liked being single, independent, able to do as she wished. She particularly looked forward to each payday when she stopped at the corner grocery store to cash her

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check. Once at home she gave her mother $10.00 for room and board. The rest was for her to spend as she pleased. Once in a while she tucked a ten-dollar bill inside a shoebox kept under the bed. As did most people in Taconos, Blanca distrusted banks and preferred to hide her money in a shoebox or tin can hid under a floorboard or stuck behind a crack in the wall, where during an emergency she could get her hands on it. One priority was to buy new underclothes: bras, panties, and slips to replace those worn for years. In the past she cared not a whit if under a pretty blouse was a torn bra. But she was now a working girl who could afford nice things. With her second paycheck she bought a taffeta bedspread of yellow and blue flowers. A set of plastic dishes displayed at a Thrifty Drug Store window was put on lay-away; these were a surprise for her mother. Blanca splurged on a silverchromed vanity set: mirror, brush, and comb at the Five & Dime. She arranged them with care on a starched doily, where she looked at them with pride. It was difficult to steer clear of the clothing stores that displayed the latest fashions on skinny mannequins. Worse were the salesclerks who urged her to buy, buy, buy. Blancas friends lived for shopping! On Saturdays they drove or took the bus to San Cristobal to scout their favorite stores. Department stores like Mode O Day, JCPenney, and Sears were considered too square, old-fashioned, and not at all trendy. They sold the same old clothes, plus work pants and shirts. The most popular store was Stotts, which catered mostly to Anglos. Gosh! Lookit that coat! I gotta try it on! Go with me, come on! You look too dark in purple! Lucy never minced words. Besides, I dont like how them cashiers look at Mexicans, as if we were gonna steal stuff.

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Well then lets go to Wards. Its in the next block. Neh, their stuffs okay for my mother, but not me. But it aint as expensive . . . I gotta buy me a bedroom set, Blanca confided to Sally. Just like Lucys, outta maple. She got hers at Torys Furniture Store for nothing down! Shes gonna pay it off in three years. Imagine! Her payments are only fifteen dollars a month. But I need new shoes for work. Last week my paycheck was too small cause I missed work on Monday. And I aint saving nuthin. Maybe next time I wont havta pay for them shitty aprons and glovesand Ill have more money. After Blanca had met Cricket and things became serious, Blanca attacked the turkeys with renewed energy. She plucked away, humming softly to herself, assured this job would enable her to have a nice wedding. Ill be the first in my family to get married in church, she gloated. To go out the front door. I gotta make my am proud! And Lucy jealous! I never went to high school and am no good at math, but Im gonna have me a big wedding. Ill show em. Ill make Cricket buy me a white satin dress and veil, and shoes with three-inch heels to make me look really tall. Ill have lots of madrinas and padrinos so we can rent a good hall and the most hep band. Well serve mole at the reception, plus cake from that Mexican bakery in L.A. Gosh! I can hardly wait. The dance will be the best in the Valley. Un baile a todo dar. Ill get Gato Cortez to play. When everything is over, Cricket and I can just maybe drive somewhere for the honeymoon. Gads! Blancas face paled at the idea of so much happiness! She plucked away, smiling to herself as around her the older ladies, wise in the ways of women, sadly smiled, and shook their heads.

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Now that Cricket was her fianc, Blanca told him that the Mexican custom was for the groom pay for the brides dress and accessories. She had been primed by Lucy. When alone in her room, she stood in front of the cracked bathroom mirror to practice what she would say. But she could never catch Cricket alone, and to mention it in front of the guys would be embarrassing. One thing the Tacones hated was chicks who acted like they wore the pants. She decided to wait till Cricket was in a good mood. Then one night, while Tudis car was parked in the alley behind her house, Blanca, dressed to the nines and slathered with Tabu, snuggled up to Cricket. Honey, I saw the prettiest dress . . . . Well buy it, esa. I mean a wedding dress! You know, for our wed . . . Pos, cmpralo. Do you really think I should? . . . Blanca gasped for air. Simn. Its your money. It angered Blanca when Cricket acted so damn stupid. He continuously made excuses for not wanting to talk about the upcoming wedding. He would walk off in the middle of a conversation, leaving behind his fiance with her mouth open. But then thats how most of the Tacones treated their girlfriends. Having eavesdropped on the guys, Blanca and Lucy compared notes. Remember the time Cricket said . . . Yeah! Lucy rose to the bait. She liked nothing more than to mimic the Tacones. He told Tudi hes too nice to Sally. Says you gotta treat women tough, show em whos boss. Im telling ya, Blanche, youre gonna be sorry. But hes gonna change. Just wait. Once he sees how much I love him, hell change. I just knows it. That said, Blanca changed the subject. It wouldnt do to have her future maid of honor talk badly about her honey.

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She could do one of two things, she decided. Keep hounding Cricket for money or stay on his good side and pay for everything herself. If she worked Saturdays, she could do it. Ill buy the bouquets from the guys at the nursery where I once worked, and ask my am to make the mole. Maybe Lucy can loan me money for the cake, cause they cost too much in L.A. . . . or should I buy it at the bakery in San Cristobal? And If I gotta, Ill make some payments on my dress.

In Taconos, it was not uncommon for couples married over three years, even after the first baby was born, to still make payments on wedding photos and rings. Others borrowed money from their parentsor relatives. I wont be the first one, reckoned Blanca. But my am has no money; To Ernie dont either. And weddings are so expensive. Gads! What am I gonna do? Oftentimes, working girls helped out at home. Other girls spent their salary on their hope chestsusually lined in cedarsold at furniture stores. Each month, once bills were paid, they added sheets, towels, and homemade doilies to the trunk. In this way, the chicks felt they were securing their future. Unfortunately for Blanca, there would be no hope chest, only the hope that her fianc would come around and help with expenses. But dammit! Once that cheapskate and I are hitched, hed better let me have his check so I can gets the stuff I want, like a toaster and vacuum. Ill let him know he aint gonna buy no more custom-mades, or else!

It was easy to buy stuff on credit, even for folks who could barely read and write but knew where to sign their name. Many stores had easy-payment plans, such as the Easy

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Credit Jewelry Store. Often a new bride, not knowing the groom owed money, was later forced to pay his bill. But for the Tacones and their custom-made drapes, nothing beat Bunnys, an exclusive shop on Broadway, where for Mexican Americans, credit was theirs for the asking. Cricket goes to Bunnys all the time, Blanca cried to Lucy. He aint happy unless he buys their latest stuff. So? Aint that what you like about him? That he dresses sharp? Lucy buffed her nails as she listened to the same old song. At times she surprised Blanca with her candor and cutting remarks. Well, he dont have to buy out the whole store! Them Jews let him charge all he wants. Last month he bought three shirts! And then hes cheap with me! Blanca stopped to wipe her nose. Sometimes he gets dragged along with the other guysthen he comes back with another jacket. Man alive, Lucy! If this keeps up, Im not gonna have money for nuthin. Anything I say he gets mad and . . . He ever hit ya? Lucy gave Blanca a hard stare. The Tacones had the reputation of smacking their ol ladies around. He hit ya, Blanche? No! Did I say he did? Honestly, Lucy, the things you say. Blanca tried to look offended, but her face turned a bright red. Later that night, armed with false courage, she cornered Cricket. She gave him one of her best and biggest smiles. Gosh, honey! You look so fine! Are them new pants? Yeah. Got them at Bunnys. Huh? But I saw the same thing at Penneys. Lots cheaper, of course. Crickets face contorted both with anger and laughter. I aint ever bought threads at that joint. Shit, I aint square. I gotta look sharp.

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But what of the wedding? Blanca asked, her face gaunt in the dim streetlight. What of my dress and . . . What about it? Crickets eyes shone like black coals; he glared at the husky girl who clung to his jacket sleeve. Then, as if to flip dust from a lapel, he pushed her away. Im tired of you and your wedding, sabes?

The Bridesmaids
hen the young women who lived on Honeysuckle Street first heard Blanca Muoz was getting married in the fall, they became even more friendly toward her. Blanca, you wanna go to the show on Sunday? gushed Rosie. Hey man, lets go play records. You too, Blanche, smiled Josie. You dance so fine!! Havent I told you? Are you losing weight, Blanca? Gosh, your waist looks small, offered Lucy. Lucy, Sally, Rosie, and Josie, each of whom yearned to share in the excitement of Blancas big day, made sure to include her in small gatherings: baptisms, birthday parties, and funerals, and to take her to the Zenda Ballroom in L.A. On Saturday nights, bands from all over the country, plus Mexico and Latin America, played latin jazz and the mambo, a new dance craze. Blanca lived to jitterbug; she hated not knowing the latest dance, so she tagged along with the chicks who hoped to be in her wedding. Has she asked you yet? An anxious Rosie twitched her purse strings. No, but were good friends, so she better. Josie lied through her teeth.

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Sallys gonna be in it. Man, shes in more weddings than a priest, giggled Josie, as she adjusted her bra. So what? Just cause you aint . . . began Rosie, then cut off her response. What? You mean Im not gonna be asked? An offended Josie tried not to cry. The following Sunday at church she lit three votive candles. According to custom, the more bridesmaids and ushers, the better the wedding. In that way the bride could expect more bridal showers, which meant more gifts. And the groom could collect from more ushers to pay for the dance hall and band. It was not unusual to have up to ten bridesmaids in a wedding. Blancas cousin, Suki, had seven sets of attendants. Jessie, who lived across the street, had been accompanied by nine couples (most of them her relatives), and more recently, Becky, Lucys cousin from Fresno, had all of thirteen couples in her wedding. Man alive! That was no wedding, laughed Lucy, as she buffed her nails. It was a circus! Un circo. The wedding cars were lined up for blocks; the ushers all got parking tickets. The bridesmaids dresses were so ugly! They looked like shit. Lucy grimaced at the thought. The worst part was how nobody fit at the altar; they had to stand in rows. They ran out of food and cake, too. The band was lousy, she continued, only played old stuff. The only good part was the fight! Man alive, whatta fight. Lucy licked her lips. But I want a big wedding, pouted Blanca. All my life I wanted one. I aint saying you cant have one, esa. Just dont make it a circus, get it? Yeah, I get it.

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Against her better judgment, Blanca chose Lucy as maid of honor. Lucy had experience and knew how to do things right. Blanca was unaware that Lucy had quietly eliminated Sally and other contenders. Lucy, can you be my maid of honor? Blanca was hesitant. I mean, do you want to? Lucy feigned surpriseand relief. What about Sally? I thought . . . Sally said you told her you were . . . Lucy had the grace to blush. She was found out! Would Blanca now change her mind? I was just kiddin! Lucy pleaded ignorance, but it was true: she had almost threatened Sally. Well, I aint. You can help me choose bridesmaid dresses, what styles and colors are hep. But no purple, okay? Well, yeah, if you say so. A delighted Lucy hugged Blanca. Not until it was time to assign Lucy a partner did Blanca regret her decision. Right before the first meeting, supposedly held to introduce the guys and chicks to each other, Blanca told Cricket that Lucy was angry at not being allowed to choose the guy who would partner with her during Mass and at the dance. Am I the maid of honor, or not? she had screeched. Cricket, high on weed, cussed up a storm. He blasted his bride-to-be with some choice words never before heard by a shaky Blanca, who could only stare at this new, different man. No way. I pick the best man. Who does she think she is giving orders to me? But, honey, shes helping me choose . . . Aint her wedding. But shes my best friend! Shes not gonna like . . . Dont cut no ice with me, baby. Tough shit. If she wants to give orders, tell her to join the Army. He stalked off, leaving behind his startled girl.

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Days later, once she drummed up the courage, Blanca treated Lucy to a soda at Thrifty Drugs in San Cristobal. This, she thought, is a good place to tell her. Lucy wont make a fuss if people are around. In a calm voice she began, Lucy, I talked with Cricket, and he says you gotta march with Tudi. He is the best man! You gotta! Huh? Me go with that square? Ni que me paguen. Lucy gagged on her soda. Not even if they pay me will I ride with that Jack OLantern. Lucy, Lucy, Tudis such a nice guy! Hes getting his teeth fixed before the wedding, pleaded Blanca. Ill even let you choose a purple dress. Come on! In the end Lucy agreed to be Tudis partner under certain conditions: she would march into church and the dance, and pose for pictures next to him, as long as, I am not gonna go cruisin with him. Lucy shivered at the very thought. Lola, Blancas older sister and the only family member to be in her wedding chose Topo, a skinny, gruff guy who wore suspenders. He was a good friend of Chuy, her husband; they had served time together in Folsom. Only Paulie was left to shift for himself. Blanca assigned him to Tencha, a heavy-set girl with hennaed hair.

When it was time to order the invitations, Blanca took the bus to the stationery store in San Cristobal. Lucy asked to accompany her, but Blanca managed to dissuade her. It felt good to be alone, away from a nosy sister, a subservient mother, and more so, her domineering maid of honor. As she sauntered along Main Street, she ran into her friends from the turkeys who were out to spend their hard-earned money. In the San Cristobal Stationery Store, the clerk who took her order was confusedamused evenas Blanca spelled out her attendants names.

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Are you sure the name is Tudi? Not Theodore or Thomas? Im sure. Its Tudi, just like I said. And the grooms name is Cricket? Yeah, but you better make it Sammy. I mean Samuel. It sounds better. The bridesmaids had given her specific instructions. I want to be Celia Louise, charged Sally. Lucille Marie is my real name, lied Lucy, as she flexed her fingers. Even shy Rosie insisted on being Rose Marie. Gads, hissed Blanca as the harried clerk wrote, erased, and re-wrote. Aint no way theyre all gonna fit! Feeling faint, she pressed her hands to her forehead. Whats wrong with plain Sally? And everyone knows Lucys name is Luz Mara! All this gives me a headache. Getting all the names on one page was a challenge. Mexican names are too damn long, explained Blanca to the harried clerk. Everybodys got two or three names which I never knew about. As for me, I just wanna be Blanca. She walked around the store, looking for an invitation card that could include all the names. Tired and exasperated, she chose a sample, then asked for small print. My wedding invitations are gonna look like Valentines, she groaned as she paid. People are gonna make fun! She walked to the bus depot in a dither. And yet, the invitations made her wedding official. Gosh! Pretty soon Ill march down the aisle. But till then, I hope the guys and girls are satisfied with what I chose.

Not wanting to be thought cheap, the ushers agreed to pay for the bridesmaids bouquets. Topo reneged, saying he had payments due to a bail bondsman. I gotta pay the guys that sprung me, he pleaded. I aint got ficha for no flowers. Why cant they carry fake ones. They last longer.

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Its the custom, man, replied Tudi, in a steady voice. Its a sign of respect. Besides, we owe it to the chicks. I dont owe nobody nuthin, snarled Topo. Against his dark skin, his teeth shone pearly white. But, to show I aint a cheapskate, Ill pay, but ya gotta catch me later. This week I gotta pay parking tickets, or end up in the joint. Again? Tudi was incredulous. Topo had never learned to read parking signs. I keep the coppers in shoes, he often bragged. Ha, ha. ha. No big deal. They gotta find me first! Beside, the chow in la county is good. Last time I was in, some Jew guy gave me his pork chops. Man, they was good. Topo walked off smacking his lips. Relieved to know they would not have to put out for flowers, the bridesmaids rushed to splurge on makeup, henna packs, and, for some, girdles. Sally vowed to lose ten pounds; hoping to put weight on her skinny frame, Rosie gorged on french fries. Lucy sneaked to L.A. to buy a pair of falsies. After the initial preparations were made, the group met to discuss minute details to ensure a perfect wedding. For once, everyone was on time, even Lucy who liked to make an entrance. The bridesmaids looked good! Lucy wore a black jersey dress with a peplum and a rhinestone pin at the waist; her fingernails shone a bright magenta. Sally was decked out in blue pedal pushers, then the rage, and a yellow blouse that tied in front; when she moved her belly button was visible. Not to be outdone, Rosie wore a chartreuse dress with black polka dots and a wide belt that emphasized her tiny, tiny waist. All night long Rosie pouted to show her dimples. The always-practical Blanca wore the same dress worn at her cousins wedding in Fresno. It had not been seen in Taconos, thank goodness, which made it okay. The guys too looked sharp. Crickets pin-striped drapes and shirt with French cuffs set the tone. Tudis pants had a

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frayed hem, while Paulies had been adjusted to his expanding waist; they had a shiny bottom. Topo sported fancy suspenders. Once everyone sat down, cold sodas were passed around as Blanca, with Lucys coaching, began, The invitations are gonna be ready in three weeks. Gatsbys Store will give the ushers a deal, so get your tuxedos there, okay? We havent got a band yet, but the dance is gonna be at the Elks in Burbank. Okay, you guys? How suki, gushed Lucy, as though she had not helped make the choice. I like the Elks. Ive seen at least three good fights there. But them Burbank cops are bad. They arrested the ushers and knocked the shit outta the groom. Man! Whatta night! Behind her mascara-coated lashes, Lucys eyes glittered; she seemed to salivate at the remembrance. When all business was done, records were stacked on the record player, the lights dimmed, and everyone except Cricket danced until late. The meetings turned into fullblown partiesand close fights. Not everyone agreed on the details. Paulie who was the first to arrive, dark hair coated with brilliantine, headed straight for the baloney sandwiches stacked on a plastic platter from the Five & Dime. Before anyone could object, he grabbed a handful of olives and three sandwiches and gobbled them down in record time. By the time the others arrived, half the Fritos were gone. In the kitchen, Lucy fumed. Man, Pan Tostados eating all the food. Its a good thing he hasnt started on the cheese and crackers. Or has he? How was I to know hes such a pig? Sally, too, was outraged. Earlier she had sneaked three pounds of cheese from her fathers butcher shop for the party. God, Sally, youre more blind than I thought. Didnt you see him at Jessies baptism? He ate all the tacos! All we got was cold beans. That guys a pig! Here, hide the cookies in the washing machine. I gotta go buy more baloney.

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When assured of her privileged position as maid of honor, Lucy took charge. She told the madrinas how to fix their hair, what shade of makeup looked best, and what style of shoes went best with their formals. Lucy often tried on every shade of pancake makeup, most of them lighter than her olive skin. When in San Cristobal, she scoured the stores for new shades of lipstick and eyeshadow, and if the clerk wasnt looking sampled nail polish. Lucy was resolved to outclass the chicks from San Cristobal. As promised, Lucy was allowed to choose her dress color, but the style, Blanca insisted, had to compliment her own dress: not too low cut in front and no rhinestones, please! Had Sally not put up a fight, Blancas bridesmaids would have resembled cocktail waitresses or, as Rosie put it, putas who hang out in low-class joints. Rather than risk another trip to La Ms Popular, Blanca agreed to let Sallys aunt, a seamstress of renown, make the bridesmaids outfits. As expected, Lucy chose purple chiffon. Sally stuck to her favorite bright yellow. Rosie selected chartreuse, and Josie and Tencha agreed to wear gowns in pale peach. In keeping with Blancas request, they asked the seamstress to attach flowers at the shoulders to resemble Scarlett OHaras dress. All was in harmony until Lucy announced that, as maid of honor, she would wear a rhinestone tiara from the Five & Dime in San Cristobal. Blanca was aghast. A tiara? Lucy, you aint a queen! Dont forget its my wedding. Im the one whos gonna be Queen for a Day. So there. With a dark look, Blanca stared down her maid of honor. Satisfied with their wedding attire, the bridesmaids next turned to the wedding shower they were expected to give.

The Ring Bearer and the Junior Bridesmaid

verythings goin okay, Blanca assured Lucy. All I gots to do is find me a ring bearer. A nice kid who wont drop the ring, ya know. Here Blanca laughed recalling how sometime back, during a wedding Mass, the ring bearer, a tiny boy who looked younger than his five years, dropped the ring. Everything stopped while the groom and best man got on their knees to find the errant ring. Por pendejo. Lucy was never at a loss for words. He was stupid, thats what. No, responded Blanca, as she adjusted her pompadour. Just a little kid. Among those Blanca was pressured to consider was her nephew, Petey, whom she could not stand. Petey talked back to everyone: parents, elders, and teachers. Her first choice had been Joey, a sweet boy who wore thick glasses, was an altar boy, and, unlike Petey, rarely threw rocks at dogs. Joeys parents, however, were hesitant to let their son be in a pachuco wedding. What if a fight broke out between the Planchados and the Tacones and their son got hurt? They politely declined Blancas request.
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I really wanted Joey, lamented Blanca to her mother. Now I have to find another kidand there arent any as nice. She paced the kitchen, agitated at the many details that went into a wedding. Man alive! I gotta do everything: pick da flowers, get the invitations, and look for a band! Now I needs to find me a ring bearer before I order them invitations, so his name can be on them. All this is making me sick. Her mother, thinking it proper that all attendants be family, continued to pressure her to choose Petey. I cant stand that little snot, retorted Blanca in such a loud voice that her mother cringed. I dont care if hes family. Blanquita, but hes your sisters boy! Shell be so hurt. How can I tell her you dont want him in your wedding? Blancas mother pulled at her apron ties. Petey admires Cricket so much, so very much, she concluded with a smile. Yeah? Well I wonder how come. Blanca, por favor. Listen to your mother. Its just for one day and . . . She then went into her guilt act. She began to breathe heavily, then slumped onto a chair as an alarmed Blanca ran for water. This was not the first time her mother won an argument by acting sick. But what if she really was ill? Blanca dared not take a chance. Blanca threw up her arms in defeat. Well, okay, Ill do it. Just make sure somebody wipes his nose. She stomped out of the kitchen, furious at everyone, then locked herself in her bedroom. No sooner had Blanca left than, hair askew, apron flying, her mother dashed out the back door and across the street to Lolas, determined not to give the bride-to-be a chance to change her mind. She charged into Lolas kitchen. Ay, Lola, you wont believe who Blanca wants for ring bearer.

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Well, why dont you tell me? Lola puffed on a cigarette; next to her sat an ashtray full of butts. She hated that her mother never knocked, but merely walked in. More so, she hated to be interrupted while listening to Amor Ajeno, her favorite soap opera. She took a puff, then reluctantly shut off the radio. Dont pretend you dont know, Blancas mother gushed. She pulled out a chair and removed her apron. Blanca wants Petey! Your Petey! My baby? Lolas eyes popped open. She stood up, put out her cigarette, laughed out loud. My cutie pie? Gosh, Ill have ta get him a tuxedo and . . . Lola was as pleased as punch. This will be his first wedding. Well, he is family. Her mission accomplished, Blancas mother accepted a cup of coffee, then left, a satisfied look on her face. Petey was a thin, wiry boy with a runny nose that never quit. Although only seven, he swore like a grown-up, shocking his elders as much as his school chums. Daily, his mother warned, Petey, youre beginning to sound just like your father. Petey-the-snot ran around in a torn T-shirt and faded pants held up by suspenders from the Five & Dime. When he smiled, his crooked teeth shone brightly. He hated baths. Over his cowlick sat a beanie studded with soda caps; it was his pride and joy. The caps were from the bottles he and his friends pilfered from the corner store. A champion at marbles, Petey played day and night. On summer nights, long after his parents were in bed, he sneaked out to shoot marbles on the kitchen floor. When told by his mother he was to carry the rings at Blancas wedding, Petey began to whine. The thought of a tuxedo made his nose run more. And those shiny shoes he

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would have to wear? He ran to his room, screaming at full voice, Mam, I dont wanna be in no pinche wedding! Why, you little shit! Just who do ya think you are? You dont boss yerself, ya hear! Lola smacked Petey on his head, knocking the beanie to the floor. She chased the screeching boy out the door. Petey stayed out past dinner. Later that night, his forgiving mother re-adjusted his beanie, wiped his nose clean, and dressed him in a clean T-shirt. As instructed, Petey hopped the fence and went to tell Blanca he would be her ring bearer. So okay, Petey. You know what you gotta do? Blanca looked at her nephew with feigned approval. First of all, you gotta wear a tuxedo and nice shoes. Ahhhhh. Petey let out such a loud cry that it startled Blanca. My friends will laugh at me, he screeched as he wiped his nose on his shirt. All you havta do is carry a cushion with a ring on it. Thats all, menso. Blanca restrained herself from pinching him in the arm. And then you give the ring to the priest, okay? Just dont go drop it, hear? After Petey left, her mother smiled with satisfaction. In gratitude, she cooked Blancas favorite dish: chile verde smothered in onions. Now, that wasnt so bad, her mother said, as Blanca filled another tortilla with beans. Blanca, however, was still angry. Damn, she grumbled, all my relatives wanna be in da wedding. Its supposed to be my day, but everybodys putting in their two cents, especially you, am. I sure wish it were over with. Once in her room, she locked the door, then, still fuming, tried to sleep to prepare for the long work day. Work was getting to Blanca. The walk to and from the bus stop in the hot sun sucked her energy. It wasnt as bad in early morning, but toward mid-afternoon, the heat was unbearable, especially in the barn-like building; she felt she

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would pass out. After eight hours of plucking feathers, the birds seemed to be more feathered and there was shit in every hole. The California sun on her back, bones aching, she dragged herself home. She decided to stop at Sallys for a soda. Man alive! A wedding is allota work. I shoulda eloped to Tijuana. Blanca! Sally was shocked to the core. What about us? The dance and . . . What about it? Blanca snapped. She turned to Sally, an angry look on her face. What about it? You wanted a big wedding, remember? Yeah. But all my moola is going for the dress, the cake, and other stuff. Blanca put the empty soda bottle down. She looked pensive. I still gotta find a junior bridesmaid. My ams comadre has a granddaughter named Jenny; shes thirteen. But I dont even know her. Worse, Cricket still gots to see the priest, and God knows what he charges! Hes not supposed to charge. Priests are supposed to say masses and stuff for free, I think. But Blanca knew that el padre wanted money to marry people; it was supposed to be in the form of a donation. What if Cricket didnt want to pay? Would she have to? She was in a sweat when she left Sallys. Blanca could not recall where the idea of a junior bridesmaid came to her, but thought it was from a magazine featuring a high-society wedding. Or was it at La Ms Popular while trying on bridal gowns that she overheard a customer ask Goldie for a junior bridesmaid dress? In any case, she decided that, if her wedding was going to be the best in town, she couldnt copy others. The idea grew. Nobody I know ever had a junior bridesmaid. I can be the first!

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My wedding wont be fancy like them rich people in magazines, she rationalized, but nuthin says I cant do como las americanas and have me a junior bridesmaid. In the following weeks she checked the neighborhood for a nice little girl who knew how to act in Church. And more importantly, with parents who would volunteer to outfit her: dress and shoes. My weddings gonna have class, cuz I gots me a junior bridesmaid, she boasted to Lucy. Nobody in Taconos ever had one. It might look funny, you know. So? They gots them in New York! I saw it in a magazine. Yeah? Lucy was impressed. She stopped filing her nails and assumed a pensive look. At times Blanca was not so dense. But I dont know any kids. Do you? Of course I do, Lucy began, pleased at being consulted. Terry Gmez has a daughter, but I think shes too young. And Mercy has twins, but theyre in high school. But I know just the girl. Lucys eyes gleamed. Shes sorta fat, you know, una gordita, but . . . So am I! Blanca was offended. Since childhood she had struggled with her weight; she cut down on carnitas and tortillas, but nothing helped. It rankled to be reminded of how undesirable it was to be fat. I dont care if shes fat, but Cricket might. Who cares what Cricket likes? Lucy was disgusted at how Blanca deferred to Cricket. I care. Blanca fought the urge to slap Lucy. By weeks end she settled on Mariana, the spoiled daughter of Gloria, an old family friend. Porky, as the girl was nicknamed, was short and fat, with thick arms and legs. Her round face was a light olive; her red cheeks (from eat-

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ing too many oranges, her mother said) gave her a healthy glow; her squinty eyes gleamed wickedly above a small snout. Her short curly hair, parted in the middle, was held down with gold-colored barrettes. Although only ten, she wore size 14 (Chubby) dresses sold at JCPenney in San Cristobal. For once, Lucy was pleased with Blanca for such a wise choice. At wedding showers or birthday parties, Gloria gifted friends with irons, mixers, and cookware, bought at discount. Instinct told Blanca that Porky, known to sass everyone, could create problems, but the thought of a gleaming toaster won out. Porky was born fat, her mother, a slight woman with soft brown eyes, told people. She cant help herself. She weighed twelve pounds when born, and at six months was mistaken for a one-year old! Imagine! I nursed her at all hours. I let her eat all she wants. And why not? Shes healthy, fat but healthy. At Easter, I bake pound cakes, just for her! If she gets sick from eating too much, I give her Milk of Magnesia. Fat and sassy, thats my little girl. At ten, Porky weighed more than her mother. Her arms looked like the ten-pound hams sold at the butcher store; they literally burst from her dress sleeves. Her clothes had elastic waistbands to accommodate the belly that each year grew more prominent. Her thighs burst from the summer shorts she wore, even in winter her thighs burst form her pants. On school days, benched during ball games because she could not run fast, she dashed home to make the triple sandwiches she loved. She would cut a loaf of French bread in half, saturate it with mayonnaise and mustard, then add baloney, cheese, pickles, and whatever else was to be found in the familys icebox, until the sandwich was almost a foot high. With a half-gallon of milk at her side, she would lounge on the back porch to indulge her expanding girth.

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As one of the many rowdies that hung around the corner store, Porky liked to play leader; she flaunted the spending money given her by her grandmother. Her parents established an account in her name at the store to allow her to charge candy and ice cream at will. At months end, Porkys robust father, who tipped the scales at 300 pounds, settled the bill. Porky hated that the kids at school taunted her: Porky Pig, Porky Pig. Oink, Oink. When it came time to choose teams, Porky was never selected, unless a teacher stepped in and assigned her to a team. When playing tetherball they hit the ball at her thick waist. Fed up with their meanness and not about to admit her own, Porky got even. As if in error, she aimed balls at unsuspecting girls, pushed those in her way, and tripped others. Using her hammy arms as a weapon, she elbowed boys in the ribs. By games end, as her victims limped home, Porky trailed behind, tossing rocks at their feet.

When told she was to be a junior bridesmaid in Blancas wedding and would wear a pretty dress, Porky got excited. Everyone in school heard her good news: teachers, nurse, janitor. In the playground, kids looked at her with admiration, even envy! Porky Pig was to be in a wedding! Clearly there was hope for everyone. Her mother drove her to a seamstress to be fitted. When measured for the pink dress she would wear, Porky was shocked to learn her waist and hips were those of a grown woman! The seamstress assured her that a peplum, or overskirt, could be added; it would cover part of her belly. Little could be done about her thick arms, other than to sew wide seams on the sleeves, in case an adjustment had to be made.

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Poor Mariana! She tried to cut down on her eating, but it was terribly hard. If she turned down her grandmas tortillas, her abuela accused her of not liking her cooking. For an entire week, the ice cream sandwiches she favored were put on hold; cherry Popsicles were a sour substitute. In anticipation of a slimmer self, she made an extra hole in her dress belt. However, when her mother baked a pound cake with lemon curd, Porkys resolve flew out the door. She went back to eating with a vengeance. Milk Duds, ice cream, and a newly discovered treat: frosted chocolate cupcakes. Weeks before the wedding, Mariana assessed her appearance in front of a mirror. She turned left, then right, pulled in her stomach, let out her stomach. She still looked fat. During the last dress fitting she cried when the peplum made her look as if expecting! More than anything, Porky wanted her friendsand enemiesto see her as almost a bridesmaid and no longer tease her. She felt better once her mother took her to a beauty shop for what was most in demand: a Toni permanent. Abuela volunteered to pay for the white patent-leather shoes with a tiny heel that Porky demanded. Still, Porky found old habits hard to break. Two days before the wedding, the seamstress came to adjust the waist of the junior bridesmaids pink dress.

Cushions

nce the most important wedding decisions had been made and the squabbling bridesmaids had agreed who looked best in what color, it was up to the bride-to-be to take care of the minor details. Father Ranger had yet to announce the banns, but Blancas wedding dress was almost paid for. Lucy suggested white orchids for her bouquet, Blanca really wanted gardenias, which were in vogue. Petey, the ring bearer, was too smarty for her liking, but had already been fitted with a tuxedo. The junior bridesmaid, Porky, promised her mother she would behave. Still, Blanca worried: the two young attendants had not met each other. Would they get along for one day? Some forms had already been filled; the marriage certificate would be signed after she and Cricket were married; the wedding banns could not be announced until the priest interviewed both Cricket and her, a thing that made her nervous. Twice, she had lugged her tired feet to the church rectory in search of Father Ranger, but he was out. Last of all, the wedding cushions, soft pillows of satin and lace on which the bride and groom knelt during Mass, had to be ordered. All this is too much, cried Blanca to her mother, who ignored her daughters daily lament.

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Blanca hitched a ride to the Japanese nursery where, if her old boss remembered her, she would get a good discount. She did and ordered bouquets: velvet-like gardenias with Lily-of-the Valley and fern for herself, orchids only for Lucy, and pink baby-roses with crespn, a dark green fern, for las madrinas. All I gotta see about now are the cushions, she told Lucy. And then thats it. I think . . . Yeah? Well, good luck. In Taconos, the Mexican tradition was still alive and well; it called for certain things, such as bridal cushions: a small one to hold the wedding rings and two others for the betrothed. It was important the pillows be pretty and, if possible, match her dress. She wanted something simple, with class. Like most teenagers in Taconos, Blanca and her friends looked down on things they thought were low-class Mexican: embroidered pillowcases, crocheted doilies, and velvet paintings purchased in Tijuana. The pillowcases and doilies could be hidden from public view, but the wedding cushions would be on display. Generally, wedding cushions were not to be found in stores like JCPenney, only in some bridal shops. At times they were made to order from a local seamstress. Almost always of satin or taffeta, and trimmed with lace, some had satin rosettes and the bride and grooms initials embroidered with tiny seed-pearls. After the wedding, they were kept as mementos. Blanca stalked her maid of honor. Lucy, what about them cushions? Did you forget? Blanca was embarrassedand tiredat having to remind Lucy it was her responsibility, as maid of honor, to provide the cushions and to host the wedding breakfast. Also, like a lady-in-waiting, she was expected to help dress the bride on the wedding day.

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No, no. I aint had no time. I gotta get to the beauty shop, then Josies gonna do my nails in Purple Passion. But dont worry, Blanquita, Ill get to them soon. Have I ever let you down? Lucy seemed so sincere! Yeah. And by the way, peroxide your eyebrows. They look like shit. At times Blanca could be nasty herself. Ta Consuelo, or Chonita, the only sister of her dead father, was Blancas favorite aunt. Elderly but independent, Ta Chonita, whose hair often turned blue, visited sporadically. At age sixty, she worked as a lead-woman in the same packinghouse where at sixteen, she had begun her lifes work. She rose with the sun and went to bed after The Rosary Hour. Each evening, promptly at six, she walked to the store and back. On payday, she cashed her check at the local bank and made a deposit to her savings. She hid $10 in a can under a floorboard; this was for emergencies or to donate at church. When she heard from To Ernie of Blancas wedding, Ta Chonita was in a dither. She knew she would be invited and already knew what dress she would wear. Although she knew nothing of the wedding details, she wanted to contribute something to the festivities. After a week of sleepless nights, she decided she would surprise her niece with an unexpected gift: wedding cushions. She never thought to ask Blancas permission. Im her only living relative on her fathers side, she rationalized. Its my right, my sacred duty to sew los cojines for my dead brothers daughter. That Saturday morning, Ta Chonita took the bus to a Fresno Five & Dime. She headed straight to the Fabric department, her favorite place in the store. She bought three yards of white cotton, cotton backing, a swatch of creamy satin, five yards of lace, crocheting thread, and last of all, an

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assortment of embroidery thread. The thread, she explained to the harassed clerk, must be of pure silk. De pura seda. Last of all she bought needles in different sizes and a box of straight pins. Blue hair flying in the breeze, she dashed home to begin to designand then sewwhat she instinctively knew would be the most spectacular wedding cushions this side of Fresno, or Los Angeles, for that matter. Before the fabric was cut, rather than make a freehand drawing for a cover, Ta Chonita decided to use a readymade transfer pattern, similar to that used for pillowcases. Back she went to the Five & Dime with the flowered apron she forgot to remove clinging to her skinny frame. After some deliberation she picked a pattern of birds, butterflies, and flowers, one she felt was the prettiest in the entire store. She especially liked the tiny birds perched on the flowers and how the butterflies looked down on them. Once at home, after she twice washed her hands in warm Palmolive soapsuds, she cut the fabric. First came the backing, which would give los cojines body, then the lining, and last, the most important component: the satin cover. Careful not to scorch it, she transferred the pattern to the satin cloth with a hot iron, then laid each piece on her bed in the order it would be sewn. She oiled her Singer sewing machine and dusted the pedal. When done with the major assembly, she took the wicker basket and embroidery hoop given her by her mother (to keep her from playing with boys in the street) and began to work. What most bothered Blancas aunt was the choice of color for the birds. Must they be blue? Yes, she decided, but with a hint of purple. The flowers, she felt, should be red: bright red with green leaves. The cushions will be so pretty, she gushed. My dead brother would be so proud. I just hope Blanca likes them. Nowadays girls are so choosy. Ay Dios! All they want are store-bought things.

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In the following weeks, Aunt Chonita worked on the cushions from dawn to dusk. When done with the embroidery, she prepared to crochet. As before, she washed her hands before touching the almost-finished wedding pillows. Pink thread would be pretty, she sighed, but purple is so much brighter! Next to the crocheted edge she attached strips of lace and tiny pink ribbons. When finished, she sat back, exhausted but happy at the sight of the two fat satin cushions that from afar glowed like beacons. Covered entirely in birds, butterflies, and flowers, they were a masterpiece. Her masterpiece. She heated the iron and pressed the edging that refused to stay down. She then wrapped los cojines in crisp tissue paper and placed them inside a cardboard box. She thought of adding Blanca and Crickets initials but decided they would detract from the perfection of the birds. She sat in her rocking chair, smiling at the world. In anticipation of her nieces big day, Ta Chonita bought a ticket to San Cristobal (the nearest stop) at the Greyhound depot. She entrusted To Ernie, who had been to visit, with a note to Blanca to say she had a surprise for her. Three days before the wedding, Ta Chonita arrived at the bus stop, lugging an old valise and the cardboard box in which she nestled the cushions. Blanca and To Ernie were there to meet her. It had been a while since her aunts last visit; Blanca barely recognized the viejita with the blue-gray hair. Not until her uncle poked her in the ribs did she walk up to the smiling viejita. To Ernie helped Ta to the car; he threw the battered suitcase in the trunk and was about to do the same with the box, when Ta Chonita grabbed his arm. Not that one. Why not? It fits in the trunk I want it in front, hear? Once at Blancas, her aunt greeted everyone, drank a cup of coffee, then removed her stockings and elastic garters.

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She and Blancas mother visited; Blanca showed her the wedding dress that hung in the closet and was about to regale her aunt with wedding details, when Ta Chonita cut short all conversation. She went into the kitchen, took a knife from the kitchen counter, sat the cardboard box on her lap, pulled at the twine used to secure it, yanked off layers of tissue paper, and, with much care, plucked out the satin cushions. Mira noms! she cried, her wrinkled face beaming with pleasure. Just look at these lovely things. Blanca stared and stared at what appeared to be two fat pillows. It took her a minute to realize that what had emerged from her aunts calloused hands was a set of wedding cushions. Her wedding cushions!! She put her hand to her head and softly moaned to herself. Shit! They look like dish towels, like the junk sold in Tijuana. Dammit! All I need now is for Jorge Negrete to sing a love song at my wedding, and Im back in Mexico! My friends will die laughing. Face flushed a bright pink, Blanca twiddled her thumbs, not knowing what to say. Just then Ta Chonita pushed her aside and marched into the living room, where Lucy sat polishing her nails. Look, she gushed, holding aloft the vivid pillows. Mira noms! A stunned Lucy contemplated the wedding cushions. Her brown eyes, encrusted with Maybelline, shifted to the monstrosity in the aunts hands. Ahhhh. Lucy seemed to choke. She picked up a cushion to see if it was real, then looked into Ta Chonitas expectant face. Ahhhh, was all Lucy could muster. Blanca, thank your ta for such lovely things, urged her mother as they went back to the kitchen. Ive never seen anything like them in stores. You likee? Ta Chonita asked the bride-to-be. Her wrinkled face was all smiles. You likee?

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Of course, she likes them, interjected her mother as she wiped the kitchen counter and re-filled the coffee pot. Of course, she does. Blanca looked across the kitchen table at her dear aunt holding high the two things. She was blinded by the bright colors; the ribbons that hung to the floor resembled tiny snakes. She took a deep breath, walked across the room, and then put her arms around her aunt. She could feel Ta Chonitas shoulder blades through the thin cotton. Theyre perfect, she cooed to the woman now re-wrapping her masterpiece. Aint nobody in town ever seen anything like them, right, Lucy? In the next room, Lucy contemplated her purple nails. They were the exact color as the thread on the wedding cushions!

The Wedding Dress

onths before her September wedding, with Lucy in tow, Blanca walked to the corner to wait for the bus to Los Angeles. The day was stifling hot. Clad in a fuchsia blouse and dark skirt, her feet encased in sling-back pumps, Blanca was in high spirits. Lucy, too, was dressed to kill, aware chicks from L.A. looked down on girls from the San Cristobal Valley as backward hicks. She was bent on proving them wrong. Blanca was tired, sleepy; her shoes were killing her. The night before she and Lucy had attended a surprise birthday party for Sally and danced their feet off. They were hung over, too, but as Lucy put it, Damned if Im gonna show it. Uppermost in Blancas mind was the dress she was about to buy. It dared not be too expensive, or she would have to borrow from To Ernie, or work more overtime. Lucy reminded her of how important it was to buy a dress with class, not the usual Tijuana junk, as Lucy called fussy dresses with layers and layers of lace that in Taconos were the norm. Everyone in town expects me to buy something simple, just cuz I dont have a fancy job. Ill show them I aint stupid. Ill find something so pretty, and well see what them stuck-up girls from San Cristobal havta say. She paused to straighten her stocking seams, slid another bobby-pin under
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her lopsided pompadour, then climbed aboard the dank, smelly bus and settled down for the long bus ride. Next to her a bored Lucy flipped through a comic book. Gee, Lucy, thanks a lot for coming with me. Im so nervous! Blanca smiled timidly at Lucy. Yeah? Well Ive been in lots of weddings. Lucy flipped through the comic. You gotta do things right, otherwise why get hitched? That means you gotta buy the dress in L.A., not in them dumb stores like JCPenney or Sears. All they gots is ugly, old lady stuff. Just you wait. Well find the most hep dressor my name aint Lucille Marie. Its just that Cricket wont . . . Cricket, Cricket, everythings Cricket. Gads! That guy is so damn cheap. If it was me Id . . . Lucy began the daily litany. Were here! The bus stops so much, I thought wed never get here. The two girls stepped off the crowded bus. Around them traffic moved at a slow pace; shiny Fords, Chevys, and dusty pickups filled the streets. Shoppers lugging packages jostled each other, while others stopped to stare at the merchandise displayed. Lets look in all the windows first, okay? suggested Blanca. Feeling mellow, Blanca and Lucy sauntered down Broadway, peeking in windows. In the clothing stores harried clerks affixed the latest fashions on pale, skinny mannequins; with nimble fingers they stacked merchandise on the counters: bras, panties, garter belts, shoes, belts everything for the well-dressed woman. Near a drugstore a man in overalls wiped windows; his hands moved up and down in a perfect rhythm. Blanca stared at the buildings that towered over her and at the shoppers that rushed past. Gee, Id forgotten L.A. is so big, she gushed as she adjusted her bra. Its bigger than I thought. Just look at all the stores!

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God, Blanca, anyone would think youve never been to L.A. You act like you was born in the sticks. Lucy glared at Blanca in open disgust. Well, I was, laughed Blanca as she gave Lucy a friendly pinch. Well, dont act like it. You gotta look sophisticated. Hep! How can I look sophisticated if my feet are killing me? Blanca stopped for a red light, her purse swung to and fro. My patas hurt.

Las Ms Popular was housed in a store with peeling pink paint. A sign with a bride and groom hung over the front door. Inside the tiny lobby, wall-papered in pink cabbage roses, hung ornate mirrors set at strategic points. A green carpet, worn thin from womens high heels, covered the floor. Along one wall sat pseudo-Louis XVI chairs, upholstered in pink satin. Near a counter sat an old cash register. In the middle of the store were small cubicles separated by flowered curtains; these were the dressing rooms. A fitting room to the rear was where Rufina, the fitter, measured, pinned, and adjusted gowns on blushing girls. It was her private lair. As Blanca and Lucy entered, dark-eyed females swished in and out of the dressing rooms. Some were half-clad; others wore gowns sewn in a back room by Mexican seamstresses brought over from Tijuana, who willingly worked overtime. Blanca stood next to Lucy, as if for protection; she felt fat and awkward. Mouth agape, eyes open wide, she remained sphinx-like until Lucy yanked her to the front counter, where a plump and gregarious Goldie Solomon, the shops owner, waited. Goldies ring-laden fingers squeezed

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Blancas husky arm. September, my dear? Youll want something lacy, delicate. Or a heavy satin? Uhhh, I aint sure. Blancas heart beat hard against her chest. She was so nervous. She could almost smell her damp armpits. The dress of your dreams! Of a lifetime! Goldie was on a roll; her eyes sparkled with goodwill. It was her practice to personally greet each customer, to make them feel special. Her success rested in making these backward and timid girls feel important, beautiful! She and Rufina escorted a nervous Blanca to the fitting room, where she was told to undress and wait to be measured. Goldie felt it her duty to encourage timid Mexican girls from the barrio to think big and keep in mind that the most important day in a girls life was her wedding day. She advertised in La Opinin and on Spanish radio, kept her own books, and was meticulous about each entry. Each prospective bride who asked for credit had to produce a current check stub before signing on the dotted line. In a back room were stacked sodas and day-old cookies. She played the latest and most romantic music on a record player hidden behind a curtain. A big favorite was A Sunday Kind of Love. And if on occasion she sold the shy, gullible seoritas a used veil, so what? From past experience, Goldie saw how small courtesies paid off. On Friday her staff was treated to pastrami and deviled ham sandwiches with a side of Kosher pickles from a local deli. Rufina asked for tacos, but was dissuaded by Goldie, who argued that they might stain the dresses, and then what? Once the shop closed, and if business was good, she and Rufina gorged on pastrami sandwiches washed down by shots of scotch and water. In a glass case, Goldie kept the bridal accessories displayed for the blushing, chattering horde of girls, some of

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whom drove all the way from Fresno to frequent her shop! Visible through the glass were an array of garter belts, lace encrusted slips with matching bras and panties, peignoirs edged in black, and satin mules in all sizes. Much of the merchandise was obtained in the Los Angeles garment district on Seventh Street, where she bought rejects: dresses with torn sleeves and uneven hems, frayed petticoats, which Rufina and the seamstresses reconstructed or disguised with pink rosettes. Lucy studied the dresses on the mannequins in the window. While most were blond, here and there a dark-haired girl appeared. All had tiny breasts and flat hips. Gosh, she gasped, them chicks have no tits! Or nalgas! I sure wouldnt wanna look like that. Their chi chis look like mosquito bites. You ask me, they oughta eat beans and tortillas. She tucked in her stomach, stuck out her chest and glanced at her reflection in a mirror. Lucy touched up her lips with Tangee Red Hot, ran a comb through her hair, then waved Goldie over. My friend and I wanna look at the latest . . . But of course, my dear. No matter how much . . . Why, of course! Money should be no object. Goldie glared at the girl with magenta lips. She recognized the type. Lucy will try out every dress in the store and buy nothing. Goldie took a deep breath and put on her sunniest smile as Lucy checked her nails. Ill tell you what we want, emphasized Lucy. Inside dressing room number five, Blanca stared at her mirror image. Lucys giving me a headache, she moaned. Her face was drained of all color; she felt tired, hungry, and angry. Shes asking to see the most expensive stuff! Darn, Lucys taking over, just like Cricket said she would. First she chose the flowers and now shes ordering me around. Honestly!! Am I the bride, or what?

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Blanca shivered; the dressing room seemed terribly cold. From afar came the strains of Stardust, a popular song. Wrapped in the faded robe given her, she closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, waiting for Rufina to begin the measurements while in a nearby booth, arms piled high with dresses, Goldie Solomon made a sale. In the musty lobby, a bored Lucy dallied. She tried on a pair of rhinestone earrings and matching necklace. Blancas constant complaints about money were getting to her. Why did I offer to help her with her dress, she pondered, when all she wants is something cheap. She put down the jewelry, then walked over to Blancas cubicle. Ay, Blanca, dont worry so much about . . . Its just that I dont wanna make payments. Why not? Shit, everybody makes payments. How else you gonna do it? Rob a bank? Lucy giggled; she accepted an orange soda from a nervous Goldie. You can pay it off in a year, she counseled the pale-looking bride-to-be. A year? Blanca was appalled. A whole year? She slumped onto a chair. Maybe two. Ay, Blanca, dont worry so much. Lucy oozed concern. She handed a hankie to Blanca to help her staunch her tears. Just you wait. Youre gonna look so fine on your wedding day! Here, have a sip of my soda. ndale, youll feel so much better. Blanca looked white as a ghost; she took a gulp of soda, then put a hand to her mouth. In bare feet, robe hanging to the floor, she ran to the bathroom. While an impatient Lucy waited, an unfazed Goldie, familiar with the fainting spells that accompanied bridal fittings, ran to fetch a glass of water and her old standby, a packet of Alka Seltzer. Her concern was that nothing stain a dress. Once Blanca felt better, she asked to try on bridal gowns. She liked a dress of white satin with a sweetheart neckline

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and sleeves edged in Chantilly lace that tapered to the wrist. Its pleated shoulder seams opened up like an accordion. The skirt, cut low to the waist, gathered in wide ruffles that swept the floor. It slid easily over Blancas head and down to her generous breasts, where it clung. Regardless of which way Blanca turned, or twisted, the dress refused to slide down past her chest. This dress is so pretty, gushed Blanca, her brown eyes aglow, but its too darn small. Afraid of tearing the fabric and having to pay for it, she called, Goldie, uhhh, Mrs. Solomon. Goldie to you, my dear! This dress is too tight, cuz my uhhh, bust is too big. Its gonna tear. Dont move! Dont move! Goldie ran for Rufina. We dont want to tear it, do we? She and the fitter pulled the dress over Blancas head. Once Goldie examined it for tears and found none, she then plucked another dress from a hanger. This here is a current favorite; its perfect for September, I should think. Forgotten was the nearly ruined dress; Goldie needed a sale. Gosh, thats so pretty, gushed Blanca. She fondled the airy fabric, brought it to her face. Ummm, it even smells good. My dear, began an exasperated Goldie, this gown is the ultimate in style. We sold a similar one to a Mexican movie star, whose name I cant reveal. Yeah? Blanca was impressed. Imagine that! A Mexican movie star! After trying on an array of taffeta and lace gowns, Blanca chose a colonial-style dress, as Goldie called it, similar to one worn by Scarlett OHara in Gone With the Wind. Of creamy satin, the low-cut dress had a tapered waist. On each shoulder was a cluster of fake flowers. The back was cut into a low V, with fifty-two satin-covered buttons. From the

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waist, a cascade of white satin ballooned to the floor. It was the most beautiful dress Blanca had ever seen. This is one of our most elegant gowns, said Goldie. Its a dream come true. God Almighty! This is so beautiful, purred Blanca. I just gotta have it. She ran her hands over the fabric, brought it to her face. Ummm, its so soft. Goldie smiled with satisfaction when she saw Blancas radiant face. Bosom heaving and delighted at having almost sold the most expensive dress in the store, she quickly moved in to focus on the costly accessories that would make for an even better sale. My dear, here are some petticoats. Youll need one, you know. Oh, you didnt? Goldie stared at Blanca in surprise! Dont these girls know a wedding dress is not complete without the correct undergarments, she groaned. My stars! Why, my mother wore a girdle until she was eighty. She handed Blanca a petticoat. Lets begin with this, shall we? Its to make your dress stand out, you know like Cinderella. No, she corrected herself, like Scarlett OHara. The underskirt of layers and layers of white nylon net edged with lace resembled a huge lampshade. The top fit snug at the hips; it was of taffeta with a wide elastic waistband. Tiny silk rosebuds, like those on the frosting of a cake, decorated the hem. With a smile and a wink from her babyblue eyes, Goldie held it up for Blanca, who carefully slipped it over her pompadour. My dear girls, just see how pretty it is. Just what you need. Its one of best-sellers. See the wide waistband? It can be let out if you gain or lose weight! Ummm. Blanca sounded very interested. Goldie took a deep breath, then, her voice an octave lower, as if in confidence, whispered, Now we must find foundation garments. You know, the right brassiere and gir-

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dle. Oh, and a garter to throw at the groomsmen. She dashed out of dressing room number five and headed straight to the glass case. Inside the cramped dressing room, a befuddled Blanca gazed after Goldie. The room was hot, stifling, her armpits were starting to smell, her mouth felt dry. Gads! Do I really need all of that stuff? She stared at the array of petticoats strewn on the velvet chair, none of which she could afford. Darn, she groaned to Lucy, I gotta have the colonial-style dress, but what of the petticoat? Everything costs so much in L.A. Gads! A panicked Blanca discarded bra after strapless bra. Trying to hold up her heavy breasts with light cotton and flimsy lace was futile. Im just too busty, she sighed. Some of them bras squash my tits; others make them look like torpedos. The room was hot, stifling; her armpits were starting to smell; her mouth felt even drier. I can tack safety pins to a regular bra, and wear that. Seguros work just fine with my low-cut dresses, and theyre lots cheaper. Just then her eye fell on a mannequin wearing a one-piece contraption. That, said Goldie, is a Merry Widow. It was worn in a movie by Jane Russell, or Hedy Lamarr, I forget who. With Goldies help, Blanca squeezed into an extra-large, harness-like strapless bra of white taffeta; it cinched the waist and came to below the hips. It literally took Blancas breath away. Lucy, look, my tits are way up to my chin, screeched Blanca once she was able to stop laughing. But my waist is smaller! And my panza is flat! The garment festooned with tiny silk ribbons did slim her down; her stomach all but disappeared. Blanca was thrilled with her new, thinner self until she checked the price tag. Just when Blanca thought she was finished, Goldie pounced on Blanca with the latest in girdles. One in partic-

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ular stood out: a Playtex rubber girdle guaranteed to squash all bulges. In a tizzy, Blanca removed her panties, then attempted to squeeze into the rubbery restraint. Lucy, Lucy, come here, Blanca cried, as tears of laughter ran down her face. Ay, ay, ay, she screeched, my nalgas dont fit in this thing. Unable to stop, she shrieked with laughter as she pulled the restraint up her legs, but could not get it past her knees. Finally, she gave up and handed Goldie the rubber girdle, laughing all the while. Not to be outdone, Rufina handed Blanca another of the pink boxes that seemed to fill the store. In this were garters, panties, peignoirs, and the current rage: a pink baby-doll nightgown like that worn by a movie star in a movie banned by the Catholic Church. Even Father Ranger had spoken out against it. As her calloused fingers caressed the feather-light lace, Blanca felt her face grow hot. Gosh, these sure are suggestive, she whispered to Lucy, now sipping a cherry soda. Blanca held aloft a seethrough gown. Man, this dont cover nothing. Nada, nada. It goes around your neck, laughed Lucy. She grinned as she held the peach-colored peignoir to Blancas throat. Like this, see? Why on my neck? Blanca looked puzzled. Its a joke, sonsa. Lucy was incredulous! Was Blanca really so dense? First you put it on . . . but it later winds up around your neck. Gosh! Youre so filthy! And youre so lame. Miss, have you picked something for the First Night? Goldie was back. She bustled about, a twinkle in her blue eyes. Ah, how time flies. A wedding night is to be remembered. Why, I remember how . . . Goldie blushed as she folded up the underthings strewn about.

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What is she talking about? Blanca whispered. She could barely hear the music being piped in, but it sounded like Till the End of Time. Your wedding night, mensa. The first time you and Cricket . . . Lucy poked at a tiny crack in the wall with her nail. Could Blanca be so thick? Tan tapada? Once more Blanca turned beet red. She gave Lucy a dirty look, then stepped back to adjust the pompadour she had earlier combed with such care. I dont care about no first night, nor the second, she grunted as she jammed the nightie into the box. I just want a dress. She handed the packet to Goldie, who realized she had just lost a sale. Goldie Solomon had been in business a long time; she had perfected her sales pitch. She handed the still blushing bride-to-be a pair of satin-covered slippers Just feel the silk on these mules, Goldie gushed. Arent they pretty? Mules? Slippers for the boudoir. When Blanca showed no interest, Goldie slowly rewrapped the shoes in tissue paper and closed the shoebox. Man, that Goldie dont give up fer nuthin, hissed an irritated Blanca. She wants to sell me the whole store. With a forced smile she turned to Goldie. All I really want is a veil. Ever since she could remember, Blanca had envisioned her wedding veil. As kids, she and her friends played brideand-groom; they broke fresh blossoms off an orange tree and twisted them into a crown, then placed it on their heads and chanted: Ta, ta, ta t. She promised her mother she would wear orange blossoms on her wedding veil. Even if I have to make it myself. Her mother and friends gossiped daily about weddings: the brides dress, the presents, and so forth. At times the dis-

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cussions centered on the bridal veiland the question of purity. Imagine! The bride wore rhinestones on her veil! Ay, Dios mo! What a disgrace to her mother. Well, they say . . . In the hot dressing room, Blanca tried to recall where she had seen white sandals for $2.99. Was it JCPenney? Karls Shoes? I just gotta get some cheap shoes. Its time for wedding veils, chortled a revived Goldie, and have I got the thing for you! She handed Blanca a flimsy veil and held her breath. Selecting the right veil presented a problem, as they came in various designs and fabric: chiffon, lace, taffeta. They were difficult to match. I know what I want, said Blanca to Lucy, but I aint seen it yet. The arrays of headpieces were enthralling! Sweetheart crowns, pearl-seeded Juliet caps, and a limp Spanish mantilla. But none of them had azares, the orange blossoms Blanca coveted. This girl claims its the Mexican tradition that brides wear orange blossoms as a sign of purity, Goldie grumbled to Rufina, who due to the pins in her mouth, could only nod. Goldie was close to the breaking point. All morning long she had extended herself to the chunky girl now trying on bridal veils. She took down a dusty box. This veil is marked down to . . . To what? Blancas mouth felt suddenly dry. Why, its $29.95. And it does have orange blossoms. Yeah? But why is it wrinkled? Blanca plucked at the crown like an inverted V. The wax flowers still looked fresh, virginal. Thats why its on special, explained a flustered Goldie. Because it got wrinkled. But if you iron it . . .

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Yeah, I can do that. Blanca set the waxy crown on her head. It was perfectand cheap. Ill take it, she told Goldie, with a satisfied look. Outside the store, the lunch crowd filled the street. In La Ms Popular Bridal Shop, a heady Blanca Muoz, hair a bit disheveled, was not quite ready to leave. Can I see my dress again? Why, of course, my dear. Ill bring the petticoat, too. Goldies smile was wide. In her forty years of business, she could not recall as difficult a customer. She returned with Blancas dress. Blanca stood in front of the mirror outside the dressing room. She now agreed with Goldie: the petticoat did make the dress stand out! Unable to see from all sides, she pranced to the main lobbys large mirror, twirled round and round, smiling all the while as Goldie beamed her approval. Already I look like a bride, she sang. She swished from one side to the other, struggling to see the fifty-two buttons, and smiled at the girls who complimented her choice of a wedding gown. Lucy, look at me. I look like a bride! Crickets gonna like this dress. Blancas eyes sparkled; beads of moisture clung to her upper lip. She took a closer look and frowned. Except I look more like a tub of lard than Scarlett OHara. She pushed down on the fabric, as Goldie Solomon, alert to sudden shifts in taste, moved in close. She pressed Blancas warm, sweaty hand and smiled into the warm brown eyes. Its perfect on you. Wait till the chicks see me, gushed Blanca. This dress is so hep! Nobody in Taconos or San Cristobal ever wore one like it. Wow! When Goldie handed her a purchase contract, Blanca reached into her purse and counted out the down payment:

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five ten-dollar bills. The mornings nausea gone; she felt much better. This wedding is important to my am. I gotta show people our family is just as good as the Sotos and Sierras. Even though my sister married an ex-con and I got a dumb job, no way Im gonna let my family down. Who knows, maybe Cricket will help after all. She stopped to calculate. Ill buy the dress and veil, and forget about the Merry Widow. No way Im gonna work six more months to pay for stuff. She buttoned her blouse and smoothed her hair. As they exited La Ms Popular, Blanca munched on a Hershey bar. She heaved the pink box with the veil onto her sturdy hip. She walked alongside Lucy, content with her purchases, content with herself.

Part II

The Wedding Mass

t exactly seven-thirty, a transformed and excited Blanca Muoz alighted from the gaily decorated car in front of St. Stephen the Martyr Catholic Church. She gazed around, as if in a trance. While Lucy adjusted her train and fluffed her veil, Blanca scanned the church entrance looking for Tudi. If Tudis here, then so is Cricket, she reasoned with a nervous twitch. Around her the wedding party stepped out from the shiny, decorated cars. She smiled at her friends decked out in tuxedos and formal dresses, getting more excited by the minute. Gosh! Its happening, she gushed, squeezing Lucys arm. Im really getting hitched! Blanca stood surrounded by squealing bridesmaids and tuxedo-clad ushers, who looked like black crows, more so Pan Tostado, whose pleasant face shone blue-black in the bright sunlight. The flower-festooned cars, Chevys, Fords, and Mercs, were lined up next to the chain-link fence that separated the church from the street. While everyone watched, Lucy pulled and puffed at Blancas billowing dress train, wanting everyone to see how considerate she was. Not only had she advised the bride on her dress, but early that morning had dragged herself out of bed to dress la novia! Aint I the maid of honor, or what? Lucy hissed to herself.
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Lucy wore a purple taffeta and chiffon dress with a sweetheart neckline and small cap sleeves. Elbow-length gloves of purple net clung to her skinny arms. From her slender neck hung a delicate gold cross. On top of her pompadour sat a heart-shaped hat with a ruffle that partly hid her small, dark eyes. Purple ankle-strap shoes peeked from under the dress; on her ears dangled long, rhinestone earrings. In her mind, she looked hot! Next to Lucy stood a smiling Sally, decked out in a chartreuse dress similar to Lucys but three sizes larger. Unlike Lucy, Sallys hat did not have a ruffle nor a veil. The bridesmaids and Lucy had bickered over this, but Lucy won out. After all, she snarled, Im the maid of honor. I gotta look different! Get it? Her hair a mass of brown curls, Rosie pirouetted around in a hot pink dress, smiling to show her dimples. Unlike Lucys dress that nipped in at the waist, Rosies dress hung from her slender frame. The seamstress had not measured correctly which upset Rosie to no end. Now I cant show off my 21-inch waist, Rosie sighed, but at least my chooz look better than Sallys. The bridesmaids had agreed to wear baby-doll pumps dyed to match their dresses, until Sally spotted Lucy at a local shoe store, trying out purple shoes with gold trim. She then alerted the other chicks. Josie said she didnt care, but Rosie, fit-to-be-tied, took time off from her job at the pottery factory to buy pink satin sandals with rhinestone clips, which no one in Taconos had ever seen. There, she told herself, lets see what Lucys gonna do when she sees my pretty chooz. Now, as they crowded in front of the church, Rosie glared at that show-off. The street began to fill up with cars and people; old, middle-aged, and young were all dressed to the nines! Little kids elbowed each other as they crowded around the

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church entrance trying to get a look at la novia. Inside the church the altar boys dashed around to light candles and fill the incense holder, making sure to lay out the right vestments for a grouchy Father Ranger. Father Ranger stood in the sacristy waiting for the wedding Mass that would unite Blanca Muoz and Sammy-theCricket Lpez in holy matrimony. He adjusted his stole and chasuble for the third time and tried to focus on the ceremony he was about to perform. The church altars look pretty, he thought, as he gazed at the white gladiolas on the main altar. He could not stop yawning. The concert at the Hollywood Bowl the previous night had exhausted him; the crowds screaming for Oscar Peterson still buzzed in his ears. He had left his priestly collar behind and felt free to blend in. Forced to sit between two loud blonds, one of whom wore very little on top, had made him nervous, more so when during intermission she turned to him and said, Buy you a drink, honey? No, thank you. Whatsa matter? Think youre too good? Well, no, its just that Im a priest and . . . Yeah? My uncle Tims a priest, and man, does he booze! On the way home, just past Highland Avenue, he got stuck in traffic. He got home late, then slept fitfully, the intricate arrangements perfected by Peterson flooding his weary mind. Rather than count sheep, he counted musical notes and remembered the perfect fingering of the artist. He hummed softly and willed himself to sleep. He had just dozed off when the sound of screeching tires woke him. He jumped out of bed, ran to the window, threw aside the threadworn drapes in time to see a car belonging to the Tacones slow down. A rock hit the rectory, then the car sped off. Cabrones, he hissed, certain the pachucos were at it again. Cabrones. He ran out, picked up a stick and stood

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waiting for them to return; then still fuming, he returned to his solitary bed. In the church, people shuffled in and took their seats. On the main altar, tapered candles flickered. Father Ranger snapped at the altar boys. He had caught Marcos swigging consecrated wine. He thought hed hid the wine, but this morning Marcos breath told him he would have to find a new hiding place and snitch to his grandmotherwhich meant he might lose the most efficient altar boy, one who lit candles, flipped on lights, rang the bell, and sipped wine all at the same time. Father Ranger was angry for another, more serious reason. The cleaners had not returned his favorite outfit, one made by Belgian nuns and given to him by the people of Thorpe. The chasuble, of chartreuse silk with red embroidery, was worn on special occasions. He had planned to show the pachucos he, too, had cool threads. More than anything he wanted to put on a good show. Simple-minded people appreciate that which conveys power, the seminarians were told. They respect the power of the Church and all its pageantry. Keep this in mind as you prepare. At his full height of six feet and in full regalia, Father Ranger did indeed exude power. He fiddled with the gold ropes around his waist, angry at the numerous delays that accompanied Mexican weddings. As he paced back and forth across the marble floor, he caught sight of Cricket and Tudi as they approached the altar. He felt a shiver up his spine as he remembered his last encounter with the groom. Sometime back, he had entertained his good friend and superior, Father Michael Murphy. They had gone to the beach, Olvera Street, and to the Natural History Museum. Happy to be with his buddy, they sipped cold beer and listened to Father Rangers latest acquisition: a rare Duke Ellington record. Father Ranger prided himself on not being

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racist as were many of his Texan friends. He particularly liked music by Negroes and often said, One thing about them, they sure make good music. That day, as he sipped beer with his visitor, Father Ranger felt relaxed, content. Just then the doorbell rang. He left the comfortable sofa. Before he opened the door, he hid the beer bottle behind a Bible. There stood Cricket, dark glasses riding on his hawklike nose. He wore a pin-stripe jacket with the widest shoulder pads Father Ranger had ever seen; his draped pants seemed to balloon. To the startled priest they resembled a skirt. Behind him stood Blanca. Cricket looked up at his archenemy. Uhhh, Blanca . . . Me and my chick, uhhh, my girl, we want to . . . It pleased Father Ranger to see Cricket so nervous. Yes? The priest fought to control his growing anger. He clearly remembered telling Blanca to make an appointment; he was now fit-to-be-tied. He held his hand to his mouth, afraid the zoot-suiter might smell the beer on his breath. Uhhh. Blanca and me are getting hitched and wanna see about them bands. Bands? Father Ranger stumbled on the words. You must mean banns. Yeah, them bands for the wedding. Did you have an appointment? Father Ranger was about to burst a blood vessel. Uhhh, we was just riding around and thought if you wasnt doing nuthin, we could fix it about them bands. Cricket squinted up at the priest; in the porch light, his dark glasses shone bright. Just then Father Murphy opened the door and extended his hand. Hello, there. Im Father Murphy. Well, well, getting married, did you say? Yeah. My chick and me wants to get going with da bands.

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Well, come right in! Come right in. Father Murphy oozed Irish charm. He ushered the startled couple into the soft-lit room, lowered the sound on the record player, and turned to Father Ranger, who stood speechless with fury. How wonderful to know young people today still seek to marry in the Holy Mother Church. Saints be praised! How fortunate for you, Francis. Ever since the war too many couples elope to Las Vegas and are denied the sacraments. You are indeed to be congratulated. He settled back in a chair. Come, Francis, the forms. Father Ranger, Germanic blood flooding his face, knew he would burst a vessel. Outraged as he was at Father Murphys impertinence, he dared not suggest to Blanca and Cricket they return. As secretary to the bishop, Father Murphy was expected to report all he saw and heard to His Eminence. He quickly recovered his composure, slid behind his desk, pulled opened the middle drawer, selected a gold pen, then began to fill out forms. Cabrones. His shaking fingers fought to control the pen. Cabrones. From the vestibule, Blanca stifled a yawn. What was taking so long? Gads, she groaned, why aint the church ready? Man, I coulda slept some more. Like most brides-to-be in Taconos, Blanca resented getting married at such an early mass. Gads! Eight oclock is too darn early, Blanca had groaned to Lucy. We gotta get up with the chickens! That Father Ranger and his rules. Just on accounta the choir only sings at this Mass. If you ask me, who cares about a stupid choir? Id rather sleep. Blanca took a deep breath. Already she felt hot and sticky, and the mass hadnt even started. The stench from the gardenias clutched in her sweaty hands was suffocating. The

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bobby-pins that secured the orange blossoms were beginning to slip. The pimple on her chin itched, and her dress pinched at the waist. I shoulda got orchids instead of gardenias, she moaned. At least they dont stink so much. Just before leaving for church, Blanca and her aunt had reinforced five of the 52 buttons near the waistline with safety pins, los seguros that now pressed into her tender flesh. She now stood poised at the church door, the warm September sun on her round, pale face, her armpits damp with sweat, beads of perspiration on her upper lip. I never thought September would be hot. Qu pinche calor! In front, Lucy and the bridesmaids began to line up; they adjusted their long gloves, ran a hand through hair raised high in elaborate pompadours and secured the rat, (the piece of black wool that raised a pompadour). At one side of the church, now bathed in sunlight, the flower girls giggled as they tossed rose petals at each other, making sure to save those inside their wicker baskets for the recessional. Petey, the snot-nosed ring bearer, stood still as his mother cleaned his nose, hopefully for the last time. Porky munched on candy she hid inside her dress pocket. At the Communion rail stood Cricket with Tudi, his best man, as in the church sacristy, the altar boys nudged each other. In the choir loft, the organist waited for a sign from Father Ranger. When finally she saw him walk to the middle of the main altar, she released her foot from the organ pedal. When she heard the Wedding March, Blancas eyes filled with tears of happiness! She quickly dabbed at her eyes in fear of smearing the dark mascara and having Lucy tease her for being so silly. But for once, Lucy understood. Just before taking her place in line, she turned and gave Blanca a swift hug.

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In front, the bridesmaids and ushers began to line up as Lucy barked orders in a low, hoarse voice. Blanca tried not to laugh, or cry, but the sight of Lucy in control irked her. Damn that Lucy, she sighed, shes taking over again. But this is my wedding day, and nobodys gonna ruin it. At the front, a solemn Tudi stood next to Cricket as Lucy slowly came up the aisle toward them. And then all of a sudden the music became louder, the tempo picked up. The congregation stood. At the back of the church stood the bride, dressed in her Scarlett OHaracolonial-style dress. On her dark head sat a crown of wax orange blossoms; in her hands, the fragrant bouquet. The music filled the church as sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows. Here I go, Blanca whispered to herself. Here I go. She put her husky arm through To Ernies, wet her dry lips, brought the bouquet to her waistline (just as Lucy had instructed), and began the walk toward her novio. Her future. Cricket.

The Wedding Breakfast

n Taconos, the Mexican tradition was for the maid of honor to host the wedding breakfastor buy the pan dulce and chocolate. Blanca hinted to Lucy that Father Ranger might allow use of the church hall for the breakfast. Gads, thats so square, squealed Lucy. Have it in my house, she told a relieved Blanca. Gosh, Lucy, you really are my best friend. Long used to having her way with her easily intimidated mother, Lucy never bothered to ask for permission to have the breakfast at home. She announced it as fact. Lucys dying wish was to impress the bridesmaids, to prove her family wasnt so bad off. So what if the house roof leaked in winter and the toilet got clogged every other month. Never mind the cars on jacks in what was supposed to be a lawn. She worked extra hard and saved the tips earned at Totts Tavern, which were significant, especially when Gero, who considered himself Lucys protector, felt generous. At the San Cristobal Furniture Mart, she had given what she thought was a good down payment on the furniture now sitting in the cramped living room: a blue velvet sofa and matching chairs. She enlisted the help of two burly men with a pickup who offered to deliver the ensemble in return for free drinks (given when Aunt Tottie was out of sight).
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The furniture that smelled of newly sawed wood had barely made it through the door. It was Lucys pride and joy. The payments are gonna kill me, Lucy whined to her mother. I wont have nuthin left for clothes! Or makeup! But, I gotta show people I got class! Who knows, maybe guys from outta town will stop by. When they see my new sofa, theyll know I got taste. Days before the wedding, Lucy directed her mother to clean the house. Wash the curtains! Mop the floor! Hide anything that looks bad under the bed! Put clean towels in the bathroom. Okay, am? S, mijita. And hide them ugly chairs. They dont match the new furniture. But where will people sit? Let em stand! Lucy put starched doilies on the arms and backrest of the sofa, then she sat back to check things out. Everything appeared in order. The windows shone squeaky clean; the curtains, or drapes, as Lucy preferred to call them, of maroon and beige flowers looked clean enough; not even the worn seams showed. The pocked linoleum (from Lucys high heels) was covered with a throw rug bought at the Goodwill. In Lucys eyes, the pristine sofa and matching chairs needed nothing else. Next Ill buy a coffee table, like those I saw in a magazine with room for ashtrays and knickknacks. A plastic one would be nice, or a wood one that my am can polish. When I pay off the sofa, Ill charge two lamps, and some other stuff. Gads! Last of all Ill get me a hope chest, of that wood that smells so good, and start putting stuff in it. When I get hitched, Ill take all my stuff wiz me. If my am dont like it, tough. The wedding breakfast, el almuerzo, as it was popularly called, was the first round of feasts. Meant only for the wed-

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ding party, there were numerous hangers-on, friends and relatives who, immediately after the ceremony, followed the crowd to Lucys house and made themselves at home, knowing full well Mexican courtesy dictated they could remain to eat sweet bread and hot chocolate. Paper flowers blowing in the early morning breeze, the Tacones cruised the streets. Up and down Main Street they went, loudly honking; they turned corners slowly, alert for kids and dogs. Inside the lead car, the bride smiled at the world, her face radiant beneath the creamy azares and misty veil. Inside the trailing cars, the bridesmaids and ushers stretched out, adjusted outfits, lit cigarettes, and tried to appear bored with the whole thing. This wasnt the first wedding of a Tacn, but it was Crickets, the Big Cheese, for whom little, or nothing would change. He might cut out the cruising and weed, but no one expected miracles. He would not leave the pack. For the Tacones, the day was just beginning. The wedding ceremony with Father Ranger presiding (and scowling at the tuxedo-clad zoot-suiters) was a real drag. The guys disliked the steely eyed priest who drove a new car, was never out of work, and wore nice clothes, or skirts, as Paulie liked to say. They suspected Father Ranger liked nothing better than to talk chicks out of marrying guys like them. He should stick to praying, Paulie once said, his dark face serious, instead of tellin girls what to do . . . . Yeah, agreed Sapo as he tucked a chain into his draped pants. Anytime he wants to get outta them skirts and throw some punches, he can do it wiz me. You can go to hell for hitting a priest, said a shocked Tudi. Jesus! For some in Taconos, Father Ranger was their friendly banker. It was said he loaned one hundred smackers to

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Tobys grandma, a lady who helped clean the church, for a bail bondsman and lawyer, and even wrote the judge to say Toby was a Christian who never missed Sunday Mass. It was no surprise that Toby was sprung in record time. Six months later, he stole a car and drove to Tijuana with his new girlfriend. When he came home, the cops were waiting for him. Father Ranger refused to send a second letter. Blanca stared at traffic. Next to her sat the bored-looking groom; his hair reeked of pomade, his breath of marijuana. In the front seat, the best man lit a cigarette. Beside him huddled Petey, the ring bearer; against the car door sprawled Porky, munching on pastelitos, the fruit-filled pies slipped to her by her mother outside the church. The entourage rode up Main Street, on to Third, and then turned unto Honeysuckle Street. Tudi smiled at people he recognized, at guys who neither liked nor disliked pachucos. They were called squares, said to be jealous of the Tacones because of their souped-up cars and custom-mades. Theyre jealous, smiled Tudi as he chewed Juicy Fruit. Jealous cause we aint chicken, nor scared of the coppersor the Planchados! The guys agreed on one thing: Crickets wedding was gonna be a good time, what with good-looking dames, food, and later on, a dance to outclass any other in the San Cristobal Valley. It would be un baile a todo dar, to show the Planchados just who had class. Real class. The parade of cars, now covered with a fine film of dirt screeched to a stop in front of Lucys house as neighbors stared. The wedding party had arrived! In the house, Lucys mother and neighboring women scrambled to re-light the old stove, their voices rising with excitement. Los novios were right outside! The chocolate needs some sugar. Turn up the oven. ndale, its getting late.

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The wedding party, including the young attendants, squeezed into the small living room, where the new sofa and chairs awaited them. They stood around, trying to look stylish as cigarettes were passed around. Man, whatta long Mass. I almost passed out. Sally pulled at her dress, which had stuck to the warm plastic. Its not even noon, but its so hot, lamented Rosie as she fanned herself with her hat. Gimme the Maybelline, said Josie to Sally. My mascaras smeared. I wanna look good in the pictures. I need a comb, cuz my rats falling out, giggled Rosie. Man, I hate them things! Aware of how impressed everyone was with her sofa and chairs, Lucy held court. She especially wanted to hear what Sally had to say. Lucy often accused Sally of putting on airs because her father had a business and her pretty house had a big front porch. This is a nice couch, commented Sally, but it would look better without the plastic covers. Oh, yeah? Lucy was offended. Whats wrong with plastic? It keeps it clean. As if to demonstrate the use of plstico, she smoothed the cover with her hand. See? Rosie and Josie looked away from the squabbling bridesmaids. Still, they were impressed with Lucys new furnishings. Where did she buy it? Josie was curious. In San Cristobal, I think. She got it for nuthin down . . . and payments. Man! How suki. Lucy re-entered the room, determined to forget what Sally had said. She sat astride the sofa arms, not sure of how to sit on plastic, afraid of sliding to the floor.

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In the tiny kitchen, women encased in brightly colored aprons stirred the blue enamel pots used for hot chocolate. They arranged pan dulce still warm from the oven in large, colorful platters. They folded napkins and laid out cups and saucers, spoons, knives, and forks. On a side table was Blancas bouquet, still as fresh as the morning. The ushers, being men, were served first. Pan Tostado grabbed two pieces of sweet bread and a mug of hot chocolate. He popped pan dulce in his mouth, sipped chocolate, belched aloud, then sneaked back into the kitchen. He returned with a plate of cochinitos, ginger-flavored cookies shaped like pigs. Across the room Sally nudged Rosie. Look at whos eating the piggies. Who else? Aint he a pig! My uncle worked with Paulie and said he packs two lunch boxes. Not one, but two. Figrate noms! No? Yeah. Sandwiches and tacos in one, pastelitos and cookies in the other. Jeez, I sure wouldnt want him for my husband. Dont worry. I hear he likes Benita. Bubbles? Yeah. Bubbles the whale. On Sundays they cruise Taconos, stop at that Mexican food place on Main, then stuff themselves with carnitas. Tudi leaned against a window; he nibbled on a semita, bread seasoned with anise. He turned down his favorite pumpkin empanadas as he was having trouble chewing with his new front teeth. He leaned toward the open window. If my teeth fall out, no one will see. Lucys so mean. She called me a Jack-O-lantern and didnt want to be my partner. It aint fair that I gots to make payments to the dentist, but at least I can smile for the pictures. Cricket should help

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pay for them. It was his fault they got knocked out, he had told Sally. Cricket slouched against the porch, sipping hot chocolate laced with whiskey from Topos bottle. Disgusted with Paulie, who was now on his third serving, Cricket puffed on a Camel, his eyes half-closed behind the dark frames. He was anxious to get going to L.A. Rumor was the Planchados were gonna jump the Tacones and he wanted to be on home turf. Right before Mass, Topo had approached him. The Planchados are getting things ready. Yeah? What things? Chains and brass knucles. And Skippys been talking . . . Whats he saying? He wants to dance at yer wedding. Oh, yeah? Well let him. Ill show him how ta dance! Cricket took a long drag, amused by the news. He sauntered to the alley to check things out. Although it was still early, it paid to be alert. I gotta be trucha, he told Topo, Ready for trouble. Aint nobody ever caught me sleeping. Once more he looked to the alley behind Lucys house. As he turned back, he slipped, and stepped on a fresh pile of dog feces. Sonavabeesh! he growled. I got dog shit on my shoes! Well, clean it off, advised To Ernie as he went by. Aint like you never been full of it! Cricket stared at To Ernies retreating back. He was itching to give him a Cricket special, but he caught sight Blancas mother at the window. After gorging on sweet bread, the ushers joined Cricket. They puffed on fresh cigarettes, combed messy duck tails, buffed dusty shoes. Tudi checked his car for scratches. Dur-

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ing the mornings ride through the rock-strewn Taconos streets, he had heard a ping, but nothing was amiss in his Chevy. As the morning grew long, the Tacones grew testy; they were anxious to leave for L.A., where things were always jumping! The bridesmaids ate quickly and daintily, afraid of spilling chocolate on their gowns. Soon they would take off to be photographed. There was no time to change a hairstyle nor add more pancake makeup, only a pat of rouge. The brightly clad madrinas assembled inside Lucys tiny bathroom, hemmed in by an old-fashioned tub with claw feet. When she saw they were alone, Rosie whispered to Sally and Josie. Get a look at Lucys big tits! Man, they sure grew overnight. She bought them. Josie tugged at a dress sleeve. Theyre falsies. She bought them somewhere in L.A. Dont say I told you, or shell get me. Jeez, whos she trying to fool? Yesterday she had two fried eggs, and today . . . Hearing movement near the door, Sally covered her mouth, straightened her hat. At least I dont need falsies, Sally snickered as she threw out her chest. I got too much already! Take dat, Lucy!

The Pictures
he cortege of decorated cars headed down San Cristobal Road, past Razgo and Burbank, toward Los Angeles. The lead car shone from three coats of wax. It was draped with pretty white flowers. Behind them followed six other cars festooned with paper flowers in different colors. Driven by a guy named Jimmy, Lucy and Topo rode in Topos maroon and white Mercury convertible with the top down; they smoked their favorite Camels and sipped Jim Beam whiskey. Lucy was happy. Already she had caught guys staring at her newly formed chest; their eyes narrowing at the apparition. Let them stare, she thought. Then when Topo wasnt looking, she pushed down on the falsies that now and then shifted. She was pleased with herself and with the wedding breakfast, although they had almost run out of sweet bread, due to Paulies voracious appetite. Down the highway went the parade of cars. They passed every car on the road. Each time the lead car reached an intersection, the others lined up behind it and honked loudly. Those who heard knew it was a wedding procession; bystanders waved. Everyone, it seemed, loved weddings, and all the brouhaha entailed. As the cars wove in and out of traffic in perfect rhythm, they made a pretty picture.
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Traffic was heavy. Brown eyes squinting against the California sun, Tudi tried hard to concentrate on his driving. Next to him, Porky and Petey jostled each other against the door. Watch what youre doing, cried Tudi in alarm. You wanna fall out the door? Get over here. He motioned to Petey. And sit still. Damn, I wish somebody else was leading, lamented Tudi as he leaned over to change the radio station. I forget where to turn. Any minute now Cricket will cuss up a storm and tell me to find some cool jazz. I gotta keep calm, Tudi grumbled to himself as he went past a funeral hearse, or Ill find myself in one of them. Hey, man, do we gotta listen to that chet? snarled Cricket. That stuffs giving me a headache, ese. Change it, why dontcha. Gimme a minute, I cant drive and be changing . . . Watchet, screeched Blanca as a truck cut in front of them. That guy almost hit us. Did you see that, honey? Intent on switching stations, Tudi missed the Hill Street on-ramp that led to downtown Los Angeles. His heart skipped a beat when he looked through the rear window and saw his friends fly past on their way to the photo studio. Blanca smiled at Cricket. She felt happy, relaxed. As she left the church that morning she looked up to see her mother wiping the tears of happiness at seeing her daughter in bridal white. Blanca had fulfilled her ams wish: to leave by the front door wearing orange blossoms. It was all worth the trouble. Now my ams got something to brag about, and pretty soon shell have pictures to show. Suddenly she sat up and looked out the back window as a parade of familiarlooking cars zoomed past, horns blaring. Damn, Tudi missed the road, and now Crickets gonna be pissed, groaned Blanca. How could Tudi be so dumb? He depends too much on Sally for directions, and now weve been left behind and

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well be late for the pictures. She slumped back in the seat, trying not to look at Cricket, who had dozed off. Tudi chewed on a wad of Juicy Fruit. He felt hot under the collar. Was it the heat, or was it Cricket? He kept his eyes on the road ahead, certain it led somewhere. Just then he spotted what he thought was a familiar landmark, made a swift left turn, and careened down a street to end up in a railroad yard; across from it was a Shell gas station. What the hell ya doin? screeched a fully awake Cricket. Ya gonna take the train, or somethin? I thought this was Main. Tudis throat felt dry, his hands sweaty on the steering wheel. It used to be around here, I swear. Well, find it, man. We gotta make it to them pictures. Okay. Tudi put the car in gear and started to back up. Just then Petey, hand pressed against his crotch, began to whine. Tudi, Tudi, I want to make chi. You what? Tudi mopped his sweaty brow. You what? I gotta pee. Petey cried out. Sonavabeesh, cried Cricket. His duck tail flayed to and fro; behind the dark boppers, his slanted eyes looked angry. So, whatcha gonna do, Tudi? Take the kid to the pisser, or get us to the pictures? Man! groaned Cricket as he slumped back against the seat, what allot of jive chet this is. In a sudden change of heart, he leaned close to Tudi. Give a U-turn so the kid can go to the toledo. Relieved at Crickets tone of voice, Tudi turned off the main road. He parked next to the tin-roofed shack with gas pumps and a water fountain that had seen better days. As the flower-trimmed Chevy came to an abrupt stop, Petey jumped out and fled to the bathroom. Inside the stuffy car Blanca sat quietly. Tudis nerves were shot, Porky felt sick, and Cricket was pissed. Blanca could feel her damp armpits; the dress sleeves were too tight. Her dress was tangled in the

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baby-doll shoes. Mostly she stared out the window at cars going by. Gosh, I hope them guys arent mad cause were late. Now I wont have time to fix my makeup nor comb my pompadour. Damn that Petey. Everyones gonna look good. Everyone but the bride! thought Blanca. Just then Petey returned. He pushed Porky aside and made himself comfortable. Ready? Tudi turned the ignition key. No! Porky scampered out of the seat. I gotta go too, she squealed as she opened the door. She stuck out her tongue at Petey. Jesus, grumbled the groom. How come everybodys gotta piss? If we stop again, we aint gonna make it to dem pichers. Minutes later Porky, chocolate crumbs on her mouth, exited the bathroom. She elbowed Petey as she sat. Tudi lit a cigarette and turned on the radio in time to hear I Want a Sunday Kind of Love, Sallys favorite song. Turn it up, cried Blanca. Thats my favorite tune! I only hope Gato plays it tonight, dontcha, honey? Cricket responded with a snort. Eyes on the gas indicator, Tudi was in a sweat. He waited till a dusty brown car came alongside the Chevy, then turned to Blanca. Im gonna ask this guy which way ta go, okay? Ill ask him, volunteered Blanca, afraid Tudi would forget the directions. Let me, okay? She rolled down the car window, stuck her veiled head out, and shouted, Hey, mister. Which way to Main? Go back to the gas station and turn left at the light. Thanksalot. Blanca closed the car window, smoothed down her dress, and smiled sweetly at Cricket. Gosh, what-

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ta mess, huh, honey? She moved close and carefully pulled at Crickets lapel. Honey, honey, did you hear what I . . . Cricket only grunted. His eyes behind the dark glasses were half-closed, his thin mouth half-open. Blanca stared down at her bridegroom, a tender smile on her face. My honeys hungover, she realized, and dont even know were lost. Thanks, God! She pulled at her veil, secured the orange blossom crown, took a deep breath, and smiled. By the time the car bearing the bride and groom arrived at the Los Angeles Photo Studio, most of the parking places were taken. Los novios were forced to park in an alley across Main, where sleepy winos smiled at Blancas clumsy attempt to cross the street in her long, flowing gown. Although tired, Blanca waved back at the moving cars. Cricket lagged alongside the perspiring bride; behind the boppers his red-veined eyes tried to focus. Duck tail askew and bow tie coming undone, he was not a pretty sight. Behind them trudged an embarrassed Tudi, with Petey and Porky at his side. They fielded their way past cars and trucks, then walked the short block to the studio. Blanca walked briskly. She could smell her wet armpits, and the velvet-like gardenias that had held up. I sure hope I dont stain my Scarlett OHara dress. I dont want spots showing in the photographs. Ay, pinche! hissed Blanca, my shoes are killing me. She flipped her veil back, wet her dry lips, and tried to appear calm, in control. Smiling at the world, they walked into the studio as though nothing had happened, not the least bit apologetic for the delay, but as the leading actors in a play. After all, Blanca whispered to Cricket, somos los novios, the important ones. Cant be any pictures without us. Ha, ha, ha.

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Inside the unventilated studio, the photographers assistant, a tall, skinny lady, was busy lining up the wedding party. She yanked at Sally, then at Paulie, trying to fit everyone against a backdrop of climbing vines and tropical flowers. Were gonna look like Tarzan and Jane, snickered Lucy, tugging at her headpiece. Yeah, hissed Sally, bending her head close to Rosie, and Lucy can be the monkey! Whatcha saying, Sally? You gots somethin ta say? Come on, esa, you and me are gonna . . . She didnt saying anything, cried Rosie, alarmed at the start of yet another fight between Lucy and Sally. Just that the vines do look creepy. I can change them, volunteered the assistant, looking more nervous every minute. Stay still and Ill change the screen. Well do it, man, snarled Lucy. Aint that what you gets paid fer? Look! Here come Blanca and Cricket, cried a relieved Sally. Now we can really start. Everyone began to talk at the same time: Where were you? Did you get lost? We were getting ready to call the cops. Hey, Tudi, chortled Frankie, we thought the Planchados got you. Topo and me was gonna come and look for you. Shut up, Frankie, whispered Rosie leaning back into the vines. Dont start, or well be here all day. In front, the photographer pleaded for everyone to be quiet so he could start. All talk stopped. Everyone tried to look serious, even Josie, who giggled at everything. The assistant pushed a button, and instantly a screen showing a wide meadow, blue skies, and small white clouds descended in front of the vines. From below, Blanca sighed in relief. Rosie elbowed a nervous Sally. Lucy smiled her approval, and Cricket frowned.

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Earlier, while waiting for los novios to show up, the photographer and his assistant had lined up the wedding party, leaving a wide gap in the middle for Blanca and Cricket. Beginning with the best man, the ushers were first to line up, then the bridesmaids were positioned, each girl in front of her partner, and told to stand up straight, look up, smile, look to the left, look to the right. While the photographer, a balding man with thick bifocals, adjusted lights, rechecked the camera, then crawled underneath the hood attached to it, his assistant offered the perspiring group Kleenex tissues. Right before the camera clicked, the harried assistant, sensing a problem, signaled the photographer. All movement ceased. From the top row, Topo rolled his eyes, a sign that he was bored stiff. Next to him Paulie fidgeted with his bow tie, and Frankie checked the small flask hidden inside his jacket. Now what? asked Lucy, as she stepped down one level. What the hell . . . You dont fit, wailed the assistant. Youre just too many. I have to rearrange you. It wont take but a minute, so please everyone remain calm. Calm? Lucy was in a tizzy. Aint this a studio, or what? The helper lifted a latch underneath the last row of steps, removed several small stools, then stood back to see how she could arrange the group. Youll have to step down, she told them. All of you step down, please. From behind a dark curtain the helper hauled out more steps. Then the entire process of lining up the wedding party was repeated. The sweaty ushers were shown to their places; the disheveled bridesmaids followed. Last of all the ring bearer and flower girl were positioned in front of the bridal couple, Peteys nose wiped clean by the alert assistant. Once more the photographer crept under the camera. Smile, please, urged the assistant.

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Look this way, called the photographer; he held a card in his left hand. Look straight at this . . . He never finished, for just then, hand to crotch, Petey began to wail, Blanca, Blanca, I gotta make chi. What? Blanca was appalled. She lowered her bouquet and took Petey to the bathroom. Sonavabeesh, groaned the cranky groom. All that kid does is piss. Well take a short break, shouted the assistant, holding a tissue to her forehead. Okie dokie? While the photographer and his assistant looked on helplessly, the Tacones were in agreement; they needed a break, not only from the lame photographer, but from the bridesmaids. They strutted out the door, leaving behind a bewildered photographer. In the bathroom reeking of Pine Sol, Blanca tried not to retch. She felt sick; the dark, stuffy studio made her sleepy; the stench from her bouquet was almost unbearable. She tried to quiet her grumbling stomach; she held a wet paper towel to her sweaty neck. Feeling betterand with a slight tilt to her headBlanca made her way back. She was startled to find the darkened studio half empty. Only Sally remained near the water fountain. Wheres everybody? cried Blanca tightly gripping her bouquet. Wheres Cricket? The guys? They took off. Sally looked contrite. Lucy suggested we . . . Lucy what? The photographer was taking too long . . . and were tired . . . Sally averted Blancas angry eyes. They had to change the lights and add more steps, and then Porky thought she was gonna throw up, so Lucy said we should

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take a break, she finished. Im sorry, Blanca, but we were so hot and tired. Blanca tried not to scream. She swung her bouquet to and fro, counted to ten, then burst into tears.

A fully awake Cricket checked traffic, then took off on a trot toward Main Street. He felt energized. From past experience, he knew bars were plentiful in the area. He kicked at empty beer bottles and headed for a joint he had seen on the way over. Paulie, Frankie, Sapo, and Topo followed their leader to Ernies Bar. Cricket checked the door leading to the alley, then slid into a rear booth and ordered a Tom Collins. Sapo wanted a Singapore Sling; the others asked for whiskey sours. Cigarettes were passed around. Cricket stretched his long legs, sipped his drink. He felt good, in control of the situation and of the vatos. Looking sharp and sitting in a bar to drink cocktails made him feel sophisticated, suave. The Big Cheese. The groom raised his glass to his buddies and in a gruff voice said, Heres to the dance. rale. Simn. The real reason for being in Los Angeles was soon forgotten; the padrinos were feeling no pain. A break from the whole mess was what they needed. When Tudi finally drifted in and squeezed into the dim-lit booth, everyone smiled. the Tacones were together at last! Toasts were made to Cricket and Blanca, to love, to whatever. Cricket could barely focus on his glass, which was kept full by the ushers. More drinks were ordered, then downed in one big gulp. The party was just getting good when the bar door opened, and in walked Blancas maid of honor.

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When Lucy realized the guys were heading for a bar, she said nothing to Sally or Rosie. Why look for competition? Once outside the photo studio, she scoured the street, zeroed in on several bars. This was L.A.; there were bound to be tons of guys around. The very idea of walking into a bar full of men made her heart thump. She chose to begin at Ernies. Just before entering the bar she assumed a pose (like Joan Crawford), wet her lips, puffed out her new chest. She stood silhouetted against the bar (like Veronica Lake) until sure the guys saw her, then sidled up to Cricket. Without asking, she took a sip of his drink. Her purple nails dusted an imaginary speck off Topos lapel. In a brassy voice (like Ava Gardners), she said, You guys, were gonna be late. Its almost noon. Them old ladies like to serve the mole hot. And how do you like it? snickered Topo, smoothing his moustache. Like this, answered Lucy as she smacked Topo across the mouth. Like this, baboso. Man, I was only kidding, screeched Topo. Cant ya take a joke? Keep your jokes to yourself. I aint anxious to hear them, okay? Okay, okay, just dont hit me no more, mamacita. Scared of who Lucy might hit next, the guys drank up, stomped out cigarettes, then scrambled across the alley. Cricket walked in the middle and scanned the street. Behind him Topo fingered his brass knuckles. They were about to line up on the bleachers, when they realized las madrinas werent around. Damn, groaned Paulie, as he pulled at his bow tie, we left Ernies for nothing! Them chicks are still in the toledo! What do we do? asked Tudi of the photographer. Line up or what?

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I know what to do, interjected Cricket. Hey, you, he called to the assistant, tell the bride, I mean my wife, she dont come out, we headin back to Ernies. Crickets voice was like ice. This aint Hollywood and they aint movie stars. With a patient smile on her face, Blanca waited for the bridesmaids to finish primping. She leaned into a brocade settee and adjusted the petticoat that pulled at the waist. The once creamy flowers had begun to brown around the edges; the wax blossoms on her head, however, looked the same. With feigned energy, she called out to the bridesmaids in front of the mirror. You guys, lets finish with the pictures and go eat. In the cramped bathroom that had only one faucet that worked, Lucy tucked in the falsies. Rosie hitched up her garter belt and added Tangee Pink to her pouty mouth. Sally ran a comb through her hair, then straightened her hat. Once as good as new, the chicks dashed out the door. When everyone was in position, the photographer went through the same routine. At center stage Cricket adjusted his dark glasses, then remembering where he was, took them off. He fought to keep his bleary eyes open, as on the stool below him, Porky smiled shyly at the camera. Next to her Petey grinned through a film of snot. When they finally exited the studio, Blanca took Lucy aside and whispered, Tell Topo to stay in front. I dont trust Tudi to get us home. Es muy pendejo. Blanca held a hand to her mouth. The nausea she had controlled all day was gaining on her. She closed her eyes. Smarting from Blancas orders, Tudi stepped on the gas and left Topo behind. Tudi felt groovy, the mornings escapade now forgotten. He switched on the radio and lit a cigarette. As he drove past Chinatown, he heard a familiar

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noise: Beep, beep, beep. Topo, grinning broadly, a beaming Lucy at his side, flew past and onto San Cristobal Road, as Crickets bride of one day held her hand to her tummy. Bright streamers flying, the Tacones raced down the highway. They arrived at Blancas just in time for the food.

The Reception
arly on the wedding morning, To Ernie and his two boys walked to Blancas house to ready the backyard for that afternoons reception. In one hand To Ernie carried a large rake and on his shoulder was a patched garden hose. Over his graying duck tail sat a tattered baseball cap. He walked in short, brisk steps with his kids lagging behind him. He was in a hurry to get the job done, return home, and dress in a shiny tuxedo. As a former pachuco who was to give the bride away, To Ernie had a reputation to maintain. The previous day, he had hauled to Blancas yard benches and tables borrowed from friends and neighbors, then driven his pickup to rescue an old redwood table given him by his boss. He struggled with the table, then decided he needed help. Back to Taconos he went to look for Cricket. It was his wedding! But when Cricket saw him coming, he jumped the back fence to the alley and took off. It was now mid-afternoon and everything was in place. The yard was now swept, hosed down, and decorated with paper flowers made by the diligent madrinas. Two pepper trees towered over the odd-shaped tables scattered throughout. In the alley kids dressed in church clothes ran about; they shouted and hit each other. Between clumps of nopales, they strove to see into Blancas backyard.
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Lookit them flowers. I didnt see them yesterday, did you? Stupid! Theyre nuthin but paper. Here, stick your hand through here for one. I want the purple one. No, I saw it first. In the kitchen Blancas mother saw the brood trying to snatch flowers. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron, ran down the porch steps, and in a gentle voice shooed them home. She recognized the kids who would later return with their parents. She re-arranged the paper flora, then went indoors to prepare the wedding feast. Earlier that week, dressed in the dark dress that came to her ankles, and with her worn purse crammed with dollars clutched to her chest, she took the bus to San Cristobal to buy the food for her daughters wedding reception. Her first stop was the Five & Dime, where she bought the long, black hairpins used in her hair bun. From there it was a short walk to the butcher shop, where meat was sold at half-price. Although rumor said it was not fresh, and at times it did smell, she needed to cut corners. She bought several chickens. Once rubbed with lemon juice, then smothered with chili and onions, they were edibleand very tasty. With the meat wrapped in white butcher paper and stuffed in a brown shopping bag, she hurried to the bus stop and home, content with her purchases and the money saved. In order not to offend the owner of La Flor de Michoacn, a Mexican store in Taconos, she bought other items there. Don Macario, the owner, was the rare grocer who extended credit to needy families. She loaded up on beans, rice, lard, chile, and garlic. Next came green onions, so fresh they came with dirt clods, and succulent radishes. She fondled the ripe avocados, then checked to see how much money she had left, and reluctantly put them back.

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She sorted through dented cans of olives (at half-price) for the salad, paid up, and left. On the Friday before the wedding, Blancas mother and a few neighbor women got together to cook. They cut up the chickens, setting aside the wings for the children. The chicken liver and giblets, disliked by everyone, were put away for another time. Once skinned, the chickens were washed, then thrown into pots of water, seasoned with garlic and Spanish onions. The chicken-filled pot was put on the stove to cook. Once done, they were cooled, cut into smaller pieces, and put aside. The broth was saved for the mole. When it came time to make the mole, las seoras could not agree on how to proceed. Each lady had a favorite recipe; each wanted to cook her way. By mid-morning they began. They agreed on a traditional recipe that called for pumpkin seeds, peanut butter, and bits of dark chocolate. Satisfied with how the matter had been solved, Blancas mother adjusted her apron, brought out a thick skillet, and fired up the stove. In the small kitchen, the women peeled garlic cloves, then threw them in the cast-iron skillet simmering with lard, stirred them until brown, then removed the clumps. Next, they toasted the flour in the lard, added powdered mole and slowly stirred in the tasty broth, being careful not to spill any on the kitchen floor. The aroma of garlic and mole filled Blancas house. Once the mole was seasoned with cumin, oregano, and salt they added crushed peanuts, pumpkin seeds, and bits of dark chocolate. Then a pack of ground chile was added to the cast-iron skillet and the mixture was stirred being careful to mash all clumps until it was the correct consistency. After each woman tasted it, the mole was declared ready. The chicken was finally placed in the sauce and put back on the stove. When cooled, it was parceled out

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to be stored in other kitchens until Sunday, at which time it would return to Blancas kitchen. Once the most difficult part (el mole) was over, the ladies removed their aprons, warmed stale coffee, then wandered to the back porch. From her apron pocket, Doa Remedios removed a small tobacco pouch and cigarette paper. She licked the thin brown paper, spread it on her hand, poured a line of tobacco onto it, rolled it tight, and once more licked it. She took a wooden match, lit the cigarette, and inhaled. Ummmm. Qu rico. Me gustan los Camels. I like Philip Morris. Im saving their coupons for a new radio. Since they took longer to cook, pinto beans were left for the end; they would be divided and cooked in individual homes. Like the mole, they would be carried to Blancas kitchen on Sunday, for the wedding. A cupful of melted lard would be added to each pot, and then the beans would be mashed, smothered with yellow longhorn cheese, and served. The rice was made the night before the wedding by Blancas mother, then garnished with cooked eggs and green peas right before it was served. The green salad that would compliment the heavy food would be made on the wedding day; it was important it be fresh. Lettuce, tomatoes, and green onions were washed, shaken free of water; tomatoes sliced, onions trimmed, then put into large bowls. Black Italian olives and crispy radishes were placed at strategic spots. When done, the salad would make a pretty picture. Los novios arrived long past noon. From afar, the honking of the once-shiny cars, now grimy, but with the paper decorations still intact, was heard all over Taconos. Beep, beep,

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beep. In the lead car sat Blanca and her new husband, Cricket, slumped against the seat, his duck tail in disarray. In the drivers seat Tudi was relieved to be back home without further incident. A pesky Petey gave Porky one last shove. Porky stuck her chocolate-covered tongue at the kids in the street. Blanca and Cricket dismounted the Chevy. Tired from the long day, they stretched, then stood around talking with the wedding party. In the back of Topos car Lucy waited for the others to leave, then adjusted her shifting falsies. From behind the kitchen window, Blancas mother wiped her hands, then waved at her daughter, who from afar looked dewy fresh and very, very pretty. My Blanquita is now a married woman! Blanca was irritated at Cricket, but she was not about to show it. She picked her way between scampering kids and bounced up the porch steps. I gotta look happy, she vowed, after all, Im the bride. She pushed back her veil and the wax flowers, and handed the gardenias to her mother, who held the flowers to her nose and inhaled. Qu aroma tan bonito, she gushed. Muy nice. S, am. Im really glad I got them gardenias. Blanca peeked out the kitchen window at the crowd. Everythins going to be so good, am. Just wait. Y Cricket? Her mother appeared to frown. How did Cricket . . . Ay, am. Of course he was fine. Even Porky was good. Gosh, everything smells so good. Im so hungry, am. Tengo tanta hambre! Blanca hitched up her Scarlett OHara dress and squeezed past friends and relatives to the bathroom, hoping to reach it in time. I dont feel so good, she groaned, leaning over the toilet bowl. But I cant let anyone know. I gotta make this a day to remember, and nobodys gonna spoil it.

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Not Cricket, nor Lucy. I owe it to myselfand to my am to look happy.

The smell of food filled the backyard, as did shouts and laughter from the guests now sitting on the benches, as rambunctious kids ran to and fro. Near the alley a black dog waited for a bone. At a table set beneath the taller of the two trees would sit the newlyweds; they would smile into handheld Brownie cameras. No longer obligated to be with a partner, the bridesmaids and ushers sat at random. By mistake, Tudi set his foodladen dish next to Lucy, saw her scowl, and moved away. He looked for Sally, who welcomed him with a smile, a steaming dish of chicken mole, and hot tortillas. Beneath a tree heavy with red peppers sat Lucy. Her tiny teeth nibbled at a chicken thigh. Now and then she looked to see what guys had come by. She wiped her purple fingernails on a napkin, careful not to tear them, for the day was only half-done; she wanted to look picture-perfect for that nights dance. Across from her sat Rosie, cutting up a tortilla, which she then dipped in mole. The bride smiled at the throng squeezed into the small yard. She leaned against the porch rail, squinting against the setting sun. It felt good to know that although crowded, the wedding reception was a success. It must be my ams mole, she laughed as she picked her way across the yard, the points of her baby-doll shoes skimming the dirt. She lifted her dress, laid the tiny satin purse given her by Sally on the table, then sat on one of the decorated chairs. Gone was her concern with weight. She ate heartily of the chicken mole, taking small bites, aware that as la novia she should not eat like a pig. She rolled a hot tortilla, stuck it

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in the mole then licked it. Ummmm. She ignored the salad, but helped herself to another serving of beans and rice. This sure is good, am, said Blanca, wiping mole from her generous mouth. Yeah, echoed Cricket, remembering his manners. He raised his head, alert for any sudden moves, then glanced down at his new wife busy munching on a tortilla. From beneath the dark glasses that rode across his nose, Cricket made out the two small forms across from him: Petey and Porky, eating as though starved. What brats, hissed Cricket, flexing his legs, them little shits. What, honey? asked Blanca as she blushed a bright pink. This was the first time she had called Cricket honey in front of her family; it felt so intimate. But now that she and her honey were hitched for life, it was perfectly acceptable to call him sweet names in front of others. Still, it felt funny. Blanca smiled across the way at her mother, who stood next to a scowling To Ernie. When finished eating, Blanca mingled with her guests. She regretted eating the last tortilla, which seemed stuck in her throat. She adjusted her voluminous skirt, smiled at well-wishers, then edged toward the kitchen and on to the bathroom. Once inside the room littered with wet towels, bobby-pins, and assorted combs, she wiped at her melting mascara, then loosened the safety pins on her dress. She felt a great relief. Paulie was feeling no pain; food made him happy. He patted his full stomach and sipped water. He had gorged on three servings of mole, four of rice, and five tortillas, but was not completely satisfied. He waved over a woman to refill his plate until it overflowed with beans, then took a hot tortilla and dug in. Lookit, Paulie the pig! Rosie poked Sally in the ribs.

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Somebody oughtta tell him it aint polite to eat so much or there wont be anything left for the rest. Sally looked disgusted. Hes so happy when hes eating, snickered Rosie. So is a pig. From the porch To Ernie glared at the groom. He could tell Cricket was high on marijuana. That guy cant even act right on his wedding day. He moved close to the bride, just in case Cricket started something. Just that morning he had told Blancas mother, I aint afraid of him. Cricket aint nuthin but a piece of chet. But hes gonna be Blancas husband . . . Dont cut no ice. Hes just a punk who thinks hes tough. Pero, Ernesto, what if he takes it out on my daughter? Entonces? Hell havta tangle asses with me first. During the reception Petey spotted the black dog near the alley, the very same one that often chased him home from school. He now wanted revenge. He quickly ate the food doled out by his fawning mother, chewed furiously on a radish, then spit out. He kicked at the dirt, hoping to dislodge some rocks. Im gonna knock the shit outta that dog just as soon as I finish eatin, he vowed When everyone, including kids and dogs, had been served, the women cleared the tables, gathered up the leftover food and went indoors to wash and dry dishes. They returned with small plates, knives, and forks; it was time for the cake. Later, the presents would be opened, admired, and put away. The day grew long. The Tacones, satiated with Mexican food, moved away from the wedding guests to huddle by the fence and smoke, swap jokes, and guzzle beer. They worried about their current low-paying jobs and wondered who was

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hiring at the labor hall. They continued to taunt Tudi for getting lost on the highway, but much of the discussion centered on the upcoming danceand the Planchados. Think well get jumped? Topo smoothed his moustache. Neh, the Planchados aint that chickenshit. Sapo appeared bored. You guys worry too much about them guys. Man, its a wedding dance, not a rumble. Ha! I seen them beat up guys at funerals! Topo was insistent. Most gangs had a code of honor that held them back from fighting at baptisms, funerals, and weddings. However, they felt free to beat up guys leaving a mortuary. In fact, sometime back the Planchados got wind of an L.A. gang, White Fence, that planned to fight after a Valley funeral. While the priest mumbled Latin prayers, the invaders bided their time. They parked their cars along San Cristobal Road, where the funeral cortege would pass on the way to the cemetery. When the black hearse went by, the White Fence vatos movedbut not in time. The Planchados not only chased the intruders away, but also the funeral party. Man! Them guys got no respect, Trudi said after the incident. They aint got respect for the dead. Tough as the Tacones claimed to be, the dance was a different matter, and not the place to settle scores. It was their chance to let the entire Valley see that they had class. They werent about to ruin their leaders dance, but if their rivals wanted to tangle, they were ready. Still, a dance wasnt a dance unless some punches were thrown. Cricket leaned on the rickety fence and watched and waited. He could barely focus, his head ached, his blood-shot eyes would not stay open. He felt and looked terrible. Yet, as

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the Tacones leader, it was his sacred duty to be tough, show he could party half the night, and not gripe about sleep. The night before, as the moon had moved across a starry sky, Cricket and the ushers had boozed and smoked weed in front of Tudis house. That afternoon they had helped the bridesmaids decorate the wedding carsstringing flowers across hoods and trunks, then tying them to the front and rear license plates. After that, they celebrated Crickets last night as a single guy. When the chicks split, the guys stayed on Tudis porch to listen to the radio. They killed a fifth of Hill & Hill, their favorite, some cheap whiskey, and beer. They also smoked the marijuana bought as a wedding present for Cricket. The guys took pride in how well they could imitate popular crooners like Frank Sinatra and Frankie Laine, and Blancas favorite, Billy Eckstine, who sang: My destiny is to be in love with you Makes no difference what you say or do I am so in love with you. . . . Man, screeched Paulie as he cleared his throat. I sing better than that guy! And you just as black, laughed Cricket. He punched Paulie on his back. I oughtta make a record, chimed in Topo. When I was a kid I liked to sing Good Ship, Lollipop, con la Shirley Temple. All it takes is just one record, then bam! Ya gets famous and rich. Man, Id get me a Cadillac! Well, get going, snickered Cricket. Ill buy yer first record. The night wore on. Past midnight, feeling hungry, Paulie left, followed by Mundo, who could out-drink and out-talk everyone. Topo took off in his maroon Merc to buy more cigarettes and beer. Cricket lounged on the porch alongside

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his cousins Sonny and Wimpy who came from Fresno for the wedding, and the ever-faithful Tudi, who looked more rumpled than usual. Cricket closed his bleary eyes and hummed along with Sinatra, determined to act stylish, like the singer whom everyone liked because he was Italian. If a wop can make it, they figured, so can a Mexican. Sapo snapped his fingers to the beat of the music, just like Sinatra. He puffed on a marijuana cigarette and blew smoke out the window. Tired and wanting to go home, the guys lingered nevertheless. Real men dont chicken out, which meant staying till somebody passed out. Tudi chewed on Juicy Fruit; he looked up at the sky. Man, its gonna rain tomorrow! It dont rain on Sunday, pendejo. Cricket was fast with insults. Oh yeah? How come? Tudi looked puzzled and just a little bit drunk. Cause its Sunday, sun-day, get it? Sapo slapped his knees and laughed. If it rains, the flowers are gonna get wet! Who gives a shit about flowers, growled Cricket. I gots other stuff to worry about, not flowers. That fucker Skippy dont know whats coming. Crickets cousins were scared; they had come out for a good time, not to get in a fight. Cricket, however, did not let up. Them vatos operate even when its raining. Right, Sapo? Right. Sapo cracked his fingers, a habit that irritated the groom-to-be, now higher than a kite. The last time the Planchados tangled with Maravilla, they jumped em when . . . Pass the bottle . . . and turn up the radio. Thats the Ink Spots, interrupted Cricket.

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Twice that night Cricket had forked out money for booze, aware his cousin might call him cheap if he didnt keep the liquor flowing. Them guys guzzle like they was in the desert, he grumbled under his breath, especially Paulie. Man, that guys got a wooden leg. He almost killed a fifth by hisself. And Topos the same. Drinks till its comin outta his ears. And I still gotta come up wiz da money for the band. That Gato dont give no breaks. Toward dawn, supported by Tudi, Cricket staggered home. He vaguely remembered being half-carried up the steps, past the quiet kitchen to his room, then dropped on the bed, pin-stripes and all. As the reception peaked, Petey planned his move. Once he had enough rocks in his pocket, he edged his way to where the black dog lay. He moved close and let loose a handful of rocks but missed hitting the dog. Here, ya damn dog, Petey called. He chased the dog down the alley, slipped, and fell. The dog turned back. With a wag of his tail, he began to lick Peteys muddy face. Mam, cried Petey. The dogs gonna eat me up! He scrambled to his feet and screaming at the top of his lungs, lurched across the yard to the street, followed by the dog. When the dog ran to him, Cricket thought he was having a bad dream. Most dogs ran from him! He had no time to move. Sonavabeesh, he shrieked. Get dat fuckin dog off my tuxedo. Shhh, here, doggie. Lucy ran to the rescue. Distracted by the soft voice, the dog turned away from Cricket. As he neared Lucy, she kicked out with her purple and gold heel, and sent the pooch flying. Take that, bitch.

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With Blancas mother in the lead, the women cleared the tables in preparation for the tiered cake, they discussed how well the wedding had gone. Blancas mother seemed to relax. The worst was over; all that was left was to serve the cake and open gifts. All the guests had been served, yet there was food left over: a sign of her diligence. As the noon sun waned and a cool breeze stirred the trees, there was a noticeable lull among the wedding guests. There was little left for the bridal party but to wait until evening for the dance. The ushers had already fulfilled their most important roles. Like true gentlemen, they had gifted the giggly bridesmaids with pretty bouquets, partnered them at a boring Mass, taken them to L.A. for photos, and more importantly, not complained about it. Not too much, that is. Now was a good time to cruise the Tacones streets until early evening, at which time they would once more pick up the chicks for the dance.

Rumble
hen Cricket ordered him to get the car, Tudi slicked back his duck tail, put on his wrinkled jacket, and shook the dirt off his shoes. It was important to look good when he chauffeured the guys around; and for that he was no slouch. Once they left, there would be no stopping, which is why he ran back to Blancas bathroom to check his new front teeth. When he saw they were holding, he grabbed a tortilla on his way back to the Tacones. Hey, Tudi, get with it. I gotta pay my respects to Skippy. Cricket hopped into the blue Chevy, the ubiquous dark glasses on his nose. From an inner pocket he took out a crumpled brown reefer and lit it. As a precaution he blew smoke out the window, more so because Sally had complained to Tudi about that awful smell. And Tudi had cautioned Cricket. Tell her da Indians use it to make good things happen, Cricket responded, not in the least offended. Dats why nuthin bads happened ta us, get it? No sooner did Tudi turn the ignition key, when Cricket tapped him on the head. Ya heard me, dale por San Cristobal Road, and to Main. You kiddin me? Tudi was incredulous. He had barely recovered from the mornings disastrous ride to L.A., which
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was still fresh on his mind; he feared more adventures. Tudi felt his stomach grumble and it wasnt the mole that was doing it. Did I say I was kiddin? Cricket leaned back in the seat. He knew full well Tudi would do as he said. Hadnt he always? Come on, give it some gas, he hissed. What if the Planchados see us and . . . Tudis hands shook. What if . . . Man, ese, anybody would think ya aint one of us. Ya gonna be shicken? Just then Cricket looked up to see Lucy waving them to stop. He frowned and slapped the seat. Hurry, before them chicks wanna go with us. With Topo as lookout, Tudi eased forward, taking care not to scrape the cars parked on Honeysuckle Street. In the back seat Cricket stretched out. Frankie sipped from his flask, but first offered it to the irritable groom, then passed it to Topo, and last of all to Tudi, who gagged on the strong whiskey. As they turned the corner Tudi saw Sapo with his new girlfriend. He was about to pull over, when Cricket hurriedly spoke: Keep goin. Sapo aint goin with us till he learns not ta pick his nose. He oughtta get a handkerchief, one of them red ones that catch everything. He laughed at what he thought was a joke. What gits me is when he spits, added Topo as he smoothed his moustache. He ever get mocos on my suit, Ill knock him on his ass. Where did Paulie go? Last I seen he was in da kitchen. Qu nuevas! Topos laugh calmed Tudi. That guys where da food is. As he drove, Tudi chewed furiously on a wad of gum. He wasnt keen about invading a rival gangs territory. I wanna live to be an old man, he had told Sally, but if this shit

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between the Planchados and the Tacones dont stop, I aint gonna live to see twenty-five. Dont mean Im gonna kiss their butt, but where is all this fighting gonna get us? Days before, when in San Cristobal, Tudi had pulled into Tonys Brake Shop; his car needed new brake shoes. The job took longer than expected; it was late when he settled the bill. As he was about to leave, a car chock-full of Planchados cruised by, Skippy at the wheel. Tudis inclination was to sprint across the alley, but he instead picked up a lug wrench and waited. Skippy merely glanced at him, then went off at a leisurely pace. The Planchados, it was clear, had no fight with Tudi. It was Cricket they wanted. Now, as he approached San Cristobals main street, Tudi popped another stick of Juicy Fruit into his dry mouth; he wiped his steamy brow. Which way do I go? Make a U-turn. Ill get a ticket! There aint no cops around, ese. Just do it, or are ya gonna shicken-out? Tudi turned the flower-laden car in a neat U, then slowly drove back through the main drag. His armpits were sweaty, his bow tie about to choke him. Rather than take more of Crickets insults, he kept quiet. If them guys see us on their turf, were gonna get jumped. Of that Tudi was certain. He flipped the rearview mirror to get Frankies attention, but Frankie was busy checking out his brass knuckles. Tudi looked to the right, then the left. He guided the car through the unfamiliar streets, half-empty on this Sunday afternoon, except for a few shoppers. They cruised up Fifth, turned right on Independence, then, feeling just a little bit recklessand so far, safeTudi cut in front of slow-moving cars. Feeling more and more relaxed, he drove toward the main drag. He lit a cigarette, undid his belt buckle. So far so good. Just then across the way came a classy Ford car, it was

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the Planchados with Skippy, who wore boppers identical to Crickets. Jeezus Christ, groaned Tudi, a lump in his throat. I almost rammed them! If I let them pass, theyll think Im chicken. Nos van a chingar! Once we get in the open, thats it. Hey, Cricket, Skippy and the Planchados are across the street. Whatcha want me to do? Shit your pants. Cricket spit out the window, a habit that infuriated Tudi. Im serious, man, whatcha want me to do? Theyre in front of us! Suddenly the traffic light changed from yellow to red; Tudi brought the car to a screeching halt and slumped back against the seat as the Planchados moved on. He took a deep breath, relieved their enemies were nowhere to be seen. Were okay for now, thought Tudi. Just then a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Step on the gas, commanded Frankie as he slipped on the brass knuckles. This carrucha gots power, right? All the time you put into it, man! Give it some power, so we can outrun em. Tudi put the Chevy in second gear; beneath the floorboard, the engine throbbed. He was about to zoom across, when Cricket leaned into the front seat and pulled at his earlobe. Turn the goddam car around and follow them guys. Follow them where? whimpered Tudi, whod just as soon go home. Cricket blew out smoke, passed the roach to Frankie, who then passed it to Topo. Feeling groovy, the guys urged Tudi to relax. Aint nuthin gonna happen, said Topo, his voice as smooth as silk. Not when Im around. You in charge? Cricket resented Topo acting like he was the leader. Before Topo could respond the navy Ford pulled up alongside the Tacones.

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Cricket took off the dark glasses, the better to out-stare Skippy, whose blondish hair gleamed like gold. Skippy nodded in recognition and smiled; he blew smoke out the car window. At that instant, the light turned green. As the Tacones shot ahead, Cricket stuck his middle finger at Skippy: Here, ya mother fucker. Cricket was in his element. Fighting to control the steering wheel, Tudi slammed on the gas pedal. Jeezus, you almost hit that kid, screeched Frankie as he looked back. Ya driving, or sleeping? Ya hit them, ya could go to the can for life! Tudi was so frightened, he swallowed the wad of gum. He asked Frankie for a shot of whiskey. His courage fortified, he drove to where the Planchados were last seen. Ha, ha,ha, chortled Cricket. That fucker knows I aint scared of him. The screech of tires drowned out any further comments. The Planchados were back! Tudis heart thumped; blood suffused his face. His eyes bulging with fright, he steered the car down a dark alley, praying the Planchados would drive past. Aint no way were gonna get outta this one, he sighed. He scanned the back and side mirrors. Them guys are gonna come at us from all directions, just like in the movies! And all on accounta Cricket. I gotta lose them. Tudi groped with the steering wheel. He was about to accelerate when he saw the one-way sign. The Chevy buckled as he slammed on the brakes. Shit, its oneway. He hissed. Was that a car heading this way? Tudi felt his stomach lurch. Scared shitless, Tudi put the car in reverse. The blue Chevy, its paper flowers flying, roared backwards through the alley. A triumphant Tudi grinned; he turned around and headed toward the boulevard that led home. Well be back in no time, he assured himself as Topo voiced encouragement in the back seat.

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Tudi was about to take a toke of Topos weed, when he saw not one, but two cars full of Planchados gaining on them. When they were parallel with the Chevyone on each sideSkippy stuck his head out the window. Hey, Cricket, ya wanna throw some punches? Simn! Just say where. Cricket stared at Skippy, who stared back. Tell ya what. Being its yer wedding, well give ya a break. Oh yeah? rale. Well race ya to them railroad tracks. If ya win, we call it quits, but if we win, we gonna tangle asses. What ya say to that? Skippy flashed his pearly whites. We aint gonna make it to them railroad tracks, Tudi silently prayed. Hit the gas, Tudi, growled Frankie. This car gots eight cylinders, right? No way they gonna catch us. So get the shit outta yer pants and drive! Off they flew, the Planchados in the outside lane. Tudi ran two lights, missed a garbage can, and jumped the curb. Laughing and heckling, the Planchados came on. When once more they were next to the Tacones, Skippy screeched, Were gonna get ya, mudder fuckers. Sprawled next to Frankie, Cricket was not the least bit upset. Skippy aint gonna get me, cuz his car aint worth a chet, he told Topo, then turned to Tudi. Give it some gas and pass them fuckers up. ndale! Up ahead loomed the railroad tracks. The navy Ford, pipes roaring, came closer and closer. Tudi could make out the mocking faces. As if part of the wedding cortege, the Planchados honked at cars going by. As they approached the tracks, Tudi looked back; what he saw gave him a thrill. A black-and-white was behind the Planchados. Full of elation,

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he drove recklessly. He scraped the sidewalk, pulled right, and screeched to a stop in front of a furniture store. Cricket, Cricket, look, the cops just pulled over the Planchados. Think theyll get us, too? Jesus Christ! I dont wanna end up in the can! Nelson, dijo Wilson, Topos mellow voice had a calming effect. They got the pendejos. Them cops wont let them go till they strip the car. Ha, ha, ha. Turn around, Tudi. Crickets voice cut like a knife. Turn the goddam car around. Tudi looked to Frankie for help; finding none, he gave a U-turn and drove to where the stalled Planchados were being frisked. As they came alongside, a big grin on his homely face, Cricket yelled, Hey, Skippy, next time we gonna tangle asses. He then rolled up the window and sat back. Once more the Tacones had aced their rivals. They reached Blancas house in record time. Behind the dark glasses, Cricket was half-asleep. Frankie jammed the empty flask into a pocket, adjusted his tuxedo jacket, and slipped the brass knuckles under the car seat. Tudi parked the car, then ran to Blancas houseand to the bathroom.

The Presents
he wedding presents, all six of them, sat on the table in the backyard, where minutes before the cake had been cut. Four were wrapped in paper with silver ribbons and bells, they sat waiting to be opened and admired. The rest of the gifts were enfolded in red and green tissue paper, leftovers perhaps from Christmas. The guests tried not to comment or stare at the lack of gifts, but stare they did. It was unbelievable that, of the more than forty guests now devouring wedding cake, so few had brought regalos. Worn and hot from a day spent on the run, and stuffed in the creamy-silk dress that literally took her breath away, Blanca announced she was about to open the gifts. The bridal crown balanced on her head felt heavier. Regardless of how many aspirin she took, the headache shed nursed throughout the day remained. Seated next to her mother, Blanca waited for Lucy to return with scissors to cut open gifts. Blanca could sense her mothers hurt and embarrassment because of the few wedding gifts; she squeezed her arm to reassure her. Im not worried about it, said Blanca. Were not rich and neither are my friends. I already had two showers, so stop frowning. What Blanca said rang true. Few folks in Taconos had the means to give more than one wedding gift. Blanca was
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grateful for the nice things given her at the showers thrown by her bridesmaids: a coffeepot, toaster, sheets, towels, and a lace tablecloth. Even the underthings received from her coworkers (flimsy and suggestive), while embarrassing, counted. She felt content with that. Nobodys gotta put on the dog for me. People give what they can, and thats okay with me. She put her hand through her mothers thin arm, smiled at the guests drinking Kool Aid and beer, then waved at Cricket, now in a huddle with the ushers. Dont go too far, honey, she called out. We gotta open the presents.

When Cricket heard Blanca call him, he slinked closer to the fence where he held court with his buddies. Man! We only been hitched a little while and she already wants to boss me around, he mumbled. He lit another cigarette as once more Blanca called out: Honey, its time for the presents. Crickets insolent gaze shifted from Blanca to To Ernie, and settled on Tudi. Im not about to help with no presents, he muttered. I aint no woman. He tried to catch Tudis eye. Maybe they could go riding again? But Tudi, wise to Cricket, looked away. Blancas mother sized up Cricket. Her eyes narrowed as she saw how he ignored Blanca. In agitation she twisted her apron into a tight knot. My daughters husband is drunk. And a marihuano, she sighed, recalling Crickets blood-shot eyes. Theres no telling what hell do at the danceor to my little girl. Next to her, Tudi whispered to Sally, Crickets higher than a kite. I can smell the weed from here. That guy cant even act right on his wedding day. I aint looking forward to tonight.

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Say youre sick and dont go, counseled Sally. Your stomach hurts, right? I aint dat sick. Sides, I gotta drive. He leaned over and kissed Sally on her cheek. If something starts, Ill hide in the toledo. If the Planchados show up, were gonna go for it, said Topo as he sat down. As for me, Im ready. How bout you Tudi, ya ready ta fight? Tudi pulled at his tuxedo; the jacket felt tight. Either that or he had gained ten pounds from the mole. The sun was slowly disappearing and a light breeze gave him a sudden chill. He put his arm around Sally, then along with the bridesmaids, watched as Blanca pulled Cricket to the table with the gifts. Suddenly the screeching of tires filled the air. Everyone froze. Behind his boppers, Crickets eyes glowed; he flexed his fingers. He pushed Blanca aside, then stomped to the alley. Topo jumped after him, nearly pushing Tencha to the ground as he ran. In the bathroom, about to take a piss, Frankie zipped up and ran out the door, as Paulie, stomach heaving under his black tux, walked away from the alley where hed been checking his car. Aint nuthin, he stammered, just some guys chasing each other. The bride and groom began to open wedding gifts. First, a box wrapped in two shades of tissue paper held a glass pitcher and matching glasses. Ummm, how nice, smiled Blanca. Thanks a lot. She handed the box to Lucy, who as maid of honor was in charge of keeping track of gifts and giver. Another set from Thriftys. That makes three, hissed Lola, Blancas sister. Shhh, whispered Sally. Blanca dont mind.

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Gosh, giggled Rosie, pouting to show her dimples, some people are so cheap. Next to her Josie snickered in agreement. People like Blanca, Rosie whispered, but they hate Cricket. They aint gonna give nuthin to a guy whose kicked the shit outta every guy in Taconos. The next gift, a plastic tablecloth with yellow flowers was followed by a set of sheets. Everyone clapped loudly as the sheets were passed around. Sighs of Ooooh, how pretty and Ummm, how nice were heard. A bright blue blanket wrapped in silver wedding paper and topped with a white bow was next. This was from the maid of honor, who smiled modestly from the sidelines. So she can keep warm, laughed Rosie, munching on Fritos. She aint gonna need nothing, scoffed Pan Tostado to Tudi, his whiskey breath about to knock Tudi over. Dont be dirty, scolded Sally as she passed the blanket. Its not polite. But it sure is funny, said Tencha, sitting on a bench. Blanca tried not to mind the jokes; they too, were part of a wedding. The sly and suggestive remarks about the first night were expected. At least they arent as bad as them at the turkeys! Three weeks earlier, Sadie and Petra, Blancas co-workers at los turkeys, had given Blanca a wedding shower. Right before lunch they swept the work area, cleaned the table of turkey feathers, threw on a plastic tablecloth, then set stools and benches around the table. Out came Fritos, baloney sandwiches, tacos, and a tasty cake baked by Petra. Cold sodas kept next to the frozen turkeys were passed around. Once everyone had eaten, including two of the drivers, the

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women brought out brightly wrapped gifts that had been hidden in a locker and plunked them next to the bride-to-be. In the first box was a set of black lace panties with a matching top. Called baby-dolls, the lingerie was like that worn by a movie star. Man, these dont hide nuthin, said a blushing Blanca. I cant wear em! Gads, what will Cricket say? Hes gonna like em, said Sadie. My honey does. She offered Blanca a piece of cake. Guys like stuff like that. Wait till you see the rest, laughed Petra, a skinny woman with curly hair. Yeah, added Anna, a lady with white hair. Although Polish, she loved the tacos and hot chile made by her Mexican friends. More gifts were opened to jokes and squeals of laughter. One box held a bottle of Tabu; another, oblong in shape, contained a blue ceramic vase edged with pink roses. Kitchen towels emerged from a brown box; a jar of bath crystals was the last to be opened. Blanca smiled; hugs and kisses were exchanged. She was about to begin her thank-you speech when Sadie handed her a small package. Heres something youll need, she chortled. At least I hope so. Inside was a jar of Vaseline. Whats this for? Blanca turned the jar over in her hand. What in the world is this for? Its for the first night, mocked Sadie, so Cricket wont have to push hard. God, you guys are so filthy! Blanca hid the Vaseline under the other gifts. She tried not to giggle, but did. I never heard so much dirty talk, she protested as she gathered up the gifts. That aint dirty, snickered Terry, a bleached blond who dated a Mexican trucker and was trying to learn Spanish. Its just fun!

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Well you oughtta know, snickered Sadie. Youz had more men than anybody I know. Irish, Mexican, Polish, you name it. Oh, yeah? Shit, you aint no saint. What about . . . Blanca banged on the table. Once she had their attention, in a sugary-sweet voice, she thanked her workmates for the partyand the Vaseline. Now, on the afternoon of her wedding day, as she opened the last box, Blanca sighed with relief. At last! A set of dishes. The white plastic dishes with orange flowers were just what she needed. She had seen them at JCPenney the week before. The dish set was passed around, everyone clapped, and yelled: Speech, speech. Just then Blancas mother whispered, Blanca, theres one more present. Where, asked Blanca, looking around. There. Blancas mother pointed to a zinc tub near the fence. Thats not a present, am, hissed Blanca. Its a tub. Es una tina. Its a tub and a present, said her mother in a firm voice. She lugged the tub to where an embarrassed Blanca stood. Man, all she needs is a washboard, chortled Rosie as she held her hand to her mouth. And a bottle of Purex. Shame on you, chided Sally. Think were all rich? Man, what a pretty tub, cried Tencha as she doubled over in laughter. Just right for the diapers. Well, say something, Blanca, ordered her mother. Go and give Doa Panchita the thanks. She shoved Blanca toward an elderly lady in a faded dress who sat next to To Ernie. Ahhh, muchas gracias, grumbled the embarrassed bride. She put her arms around Doa Panchita, and hugged her tight. Thanks for the tub.

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Behind her Cricket hissed: Now I gotta lug da tub, too? Chet! Shhh, scolded Blanca. Shes the lady next door. Tudi saved the day. He picked up the tub and, with Sallys help, set it on the table alongside the other presents. Suddenly from the alley came the sound of shots. Bang, bang, bang. Tudi dashed to the gate, his heart in his throat. He was about to return to the party, when Paulie, still munching wedding cake, nearly knocked him down. Cricket dashed toward Tudis car; Topo crouched behind a tire; Sapo hit the ground. Getting shot was serious. After a minute, Paulie returned. It was a firecracker, he announced. Petey was popping firecrackers. A relieved Tudi hugged Sally, who looked faint. Thank God thats all it was, groaned Rosie. I almost had a heart attack. What a lota fuss for nuthin, said Lucy, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. She turned to Blanca. Come on, Blanche, its time to restand talk. Yeah, I need a break before the dance. Blanca smiled at her new hubby; her brown eyes shining in the afternoon light. You okay, honey? As if given a signal, las madrinas gathered their things: bouquets, gloves, and hats. They made ready to leave. Tencha dashed inside Blancas house for her purse, while Josie searched for a lost earring. Rosie slid her gloves into her purse, then went off to find her bouquet. Cries of pick me up at seven, filled the night, as the wedding group ran to waiting cars and sped off. In the darkened yard, Porky licked cake frosting stuck to a plate. To Ernie walked Doa Panchita to her house. Behind the alley, Petey wiped snot off his pants. Blanca and her bosom pals, Lucy, Sally, and Rosie, took refuge in Blancas room; they kicked off shoes and squeezed together onto the lumpy bed.

Girl Talk
or Blanca, and the bridesmaids, the interval between the reception and the dance was to relax, loosen tight dresses and girdles, and iron out wrinkles. The worst was over, and for las madrinas in Blancas bedroom, this was the time to gossip: who had worn what to the wedding, who had not showed up. The afternoon dragged on. Lets see what the guys are doing, suggested Sally as she stepped over to check the window. Come on! They aint around, said a disappointed Lucy. They went crusing. Oh, man! I wanted to go too, wailed Sally as she kicked off her shoes and laid back against a pillow. I wanted to go crusing, too. Well, beat it. Lucy pushed Sally to the side. I would if I knew where they went. Sally laughs was strained. She shifted her weight, aware of whom she was sparring with. She and Lucy seemed to argue over petty things that should have been resolved ages ago. Suddenly Sally moved off the bed. A fight with Lucy would ruin the day. Blanca swung her swollen feet onto the bed. All I want, she thought, is to lay down and rest, and for the girls to go home. It was difficult to ignore the fight brewing between her
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maid of honor and Sally. More than once she had taken sides with Sally only to have Lucy retaliate. Blanca got off the rumpled bed, reached for the dusty baby-dolls worn all day, dusted them off with her hand, then turned the shoes over to examine the damage. Darn, she moaned. My shoes are shot. See? She held them up for las madrinas to see. Bought on sale at Karls Shoes, there were scratch marks and mole stains on the heels; they looked dirty, worn, and not what a bride should wear to a dance or her honeymoon. A week earlier, Blanca had cuddled up to Cricket. Honey, are we gonna have a honeymoon? Whatcha talkin about? Our honeymoon! You know . . . I aint got time to worry bout a honeymoon. I gotta get money fer the dance. At least to Gorman, honey. Theres a motel there and . . . The conversation ended like so many others: with Cricket stomping off and Blanca in tears. Irritated by the squabbling bridesmaids, Blanca tried to ignore the tension in the room. She stuck her shoes under her bed, pulled a bobby-pin from her hair, and removed the orange blossoms, smiling all the while. Whats so funny? asked Sally as she plopped onto a nearby chair. How come youre laughing? Shes thinking of tonight, snickered Lucy as she chewed a wad of Dentyne gum. Shes thinking of tonight when Cricket gets her and . . . Aha! laughed Sally, stretching her arms. I bet she can hardly wait. Well, thats what she got married fer, added Rosie matter-of-factly as she gazed out the dusty window. And to have kids.

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Shit, Im not gonna have no ten kids when I get hitched, snapped Lucy, her beady eyes shining bright. I wanna have fun. Well, dont get married, advised Rosie, squatting on the floor; her legs crossed beneath the pink ruffles of her petticoat. No te cases. Im only gonna have four, announced Sally. Two boys and two girls. Gosh, how perfect, snapped Rosie, fanning out her petticoat, How perfect. Ha, youll probably have ten kids, like your mom, snickered Lucy as she adjusted her bra strap. Youre gonna end up like her, just wait and see. Oh yeah? And what about your mother? Rosie asked, her face a bright pink. How many she had? Uhhhh, six, I think. But not me. Lucy ran her hands along her slender hips. Im only gonna have two. Just two, she repeated adamantly. Two? Sallys screech startled Blanca. Two in two years, you mean. Ha, ha ha. Brown eyes dancing, she kicked her legs up and down in perfect rhythm. Like most girls her age, Blanca was curious about how to keep from having babies and still have fun. Father Ranger, steely eyes ablaze, preached against the evils of birth control. Catholics should do nothing to avoid becoming parents. The Holy Mother Church forbids . . . One can always abstain . . . In Taconos, few women openly discussed abortions, yet everyone knew something about them. Abortions were hard to get, and terribly expensive, but those desperate enough found ways to get around the many obstacles. Girls spoke of getting rid of it, in whispers, aware that just to think of it

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was in itself a sin. In San Cristobal, a certain Epifemia used herbs to help seoritas abort, but it was said she never washed her hands. When two of her clients were infected and almost died, the lady lost customers. Just to be seen at Doa Epifemias was a topic for gossip. It was hard to keep secrets in Taconos, especially when they pertained to unmarried girls. One story was about Tina, who confessed her sin of abortion to a priest. Minutes later, as she left the church, el padre followed her home and snitched to her shocked parents. They locked her in her room and forbade her from seeing her boyfriend. Tired of waiting for her, her boyfriend eloped with someone else. Tina never married. What man would marry a girl who had had an abortion? Lack of money was one reason why women aborted themselves. Apart from herbs, a clothes hanger often did the trick. Las americanas drove to Tijuana, where for seventyfive dollars they were fixed by a doctor who asked no questions. Lucy confided in Blanca of a trip taken by her Aunt Tottie for a friends abortion. The doctors office was the shits: dirty towels on the floor and instruments inside a bucket. The doctor said Jessie was too far alongfour monthsand wanted one hundred dollars cash. My poor aunt had to pawn her watch and gold earrings. Gads! Did Jessie die? She got knocked up again! This time her dad made her have a big church wedding . . . so people wouldnt talk. Blanca stared out the window at birds flying overhead. Of the four girls in this room, we will probably have twelve kids, starting with me. She shivered at the very thought. Theres no way to keep from getting pregnant, none that I know about other than for the guy to use something, or pull

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out. It never entered her mind to do the same as las americanas: consult a doctor about contraception before the wedding. In Taconos, it just was not done. For women, trying to limit a family was a dilemma. Even Lucys Aunt Tottie, who had an answer for everything, had birthed five kids, although none had the same father. Women waited till they had two or three kids, then saw a doctor. By then they were used to large families At the turkeys, Blanca heard her friends say, After I have three Ill . . . Or, Once I have a boy, Im gonna get fixed. In Taconos, if a bride-to-be was seen at the doctors, people inferred she was not a virgin, and was there for one reason only.

No way in hell Im gonna have ten kids, Lucy announced to the speechless madrinas. Ill get myself fixed, first. Yeah? Blanca sat up. Where? Uhhhh. I dunno know . . . Lucy wallowed in the attention. She was certain they all knew something, information passed down from mothers, sisters, aunts, such as: cough a lot, especially after you-know-what. If your period is late, take a hot bath. Drink Castor oil, take ten aspirin with a glass of whiskey. Go horseback riding; jump up and down. Pray a lot. Determined not to tell all she knew, Lucy twirled her purple hat. She assessed the group, now suddenly silent. Nuthin works, Lucy sighed. The thing is to watch out fer yerself, cause no guy will. She inspected her nails, pretending to be bored. Rosie, however, refused to let the conversation die. Come on, tell us. Tell me at least. I want to know, too. Sally leaned in close, her eyes about to pop.

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Well, I heard theres some herbs Indians use. Mexicans, too. My cousin bought some stuff from a curandera in T.J. She only had two kids. I think they sell stuff like that in them Mexican stores in San Cristobal, said Rosie, as she stretched her toes. And how would you know that, miss never-breaks-adish? Lucy was quick. What about yer cuzin? She ever say what . . . She died a while ago. They said it was cuz of them damn herbs. The room went suddenly quiet. What bad luck, lamented Sally. She looked as if about to cry. There goes Rosie with ten kids, screeched Lucy with a smirk. Ha, ha. And here come the guys, called Rosie. The conversation died down; the bridesmaids saw that Blanca was tired. Ill see ya guys at seven, Blanca told Lucy, Rosie, and Sally as they trooped out the door. Once alone, she pulled down the shade, closed the door, then lay on the edge of the bed, next to a chair strewn with tissue paper, clothes, and bent bobby-pins. She was exhausted. This aint no way to feel on my wedding day, she whined, as she plumped a pillow. I wish this was a work day so I could go to sleep and think of nuthin. Blanca was content with her life as a single, working girl, especially on days when, because of a co-workers absence, she plucked more than her share of turkeys. Once home, she ate dinner in the warm kitchen, then went directly to bed. Often she was too tired to eat. Lying on her bed, Blanca reflected on how it would be nice if Lucy and Rosie met someone special tonight, got

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engaged, then married. I could be in their weddings, just like they was in mine. Our kids could know each other, and as couples, we could go out and have fun, just like when we were single. Well, almost like when we were single. She glanced at the clock. In a frenzy, she ran water in the bathroom, undressed, then furiously scrubbed and dried her neck, shoulders, and armpits. She dusted herself with April Showers talc. Ummm, she grinned, I want to smell good for my honey! When she heard Tudis car, Blanca opened the window wide. Ya merito, she shouted. She called out to Aunt Chonita who was pressing her dress, then re-touched her limp pompadour. The day was still hers to shine.

The Dance
nce settled in the car, Blanca glanced shyly at Cricket. Its almost over now, honey, she whispered as she moved across the seat to make room for her wedding train. All we gotta do is make it to the dance. Yeah, grumbled Cricket. His eyes narrowed behind the dark glasses; he blew out smoke, then stretched, tired of Blancas endless chatter. Blanca reached into her purse for her Evening in Paris perfume, dabbed it on her neck and inside her wrists. Brown eyes sparkling, she snuggled up to Cricket, then put her arm through his wiry frame. In the dim light of the dashboard she could barely make out the brooding face of the man who was now her husband for life. Gee, honey, I sure hope the dance is good, she whispered as Tudi drove with care. I wanna dance a lot. She hiked up her dress, then put her leg over Crickets and coyly rubbed his knee. Were gonna have fun, huh, honey? Yeah, answered Cricket, adjusting his tuxedo jacket. With a quick jerk, he spread his legs across the seat, pushing Blanca against the car door. Watch it wiz my drapes, he hissed as he smoothed his pant leg. I dont wanna look like them sloppy guys.
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A stunned Blanca huddled against the car door, her eyes suddenly bleak. She thought back to a recent conversation with her maid of honor. Ay, Lucy! Cricket has changed! He is mean, mean. When we were first goin out he was so different. Yeah? Well, now that hes got you where he wants, he aint gonna be like before. Thats how guys are: they treat ya good, then throw ya to the dogs. I thought if I was good to him, he would change and . . . Change? Only his calzones! Guys like him are only good for a cuppa coffee and a cigarette. Lucy echoed what hep chicks said about guys going nowhere. Lucy was right, sighed Blanca, as she opened the car window. Overhead a full moon illuminated the sky; she could count a hundred stars. It sure is a pretty night for a honeymoon, she reflected, as she crossed her ankles. It sure is. The newlyweds sped down San Cristobal Road to the Elks Hall in Burbank, where the classiest Valley dances took place. Now and then Tudi looked back to ensure they were not being followed. The afternoons near-rumble had unnerved him, as did Crickets challenge to Skippy. Tudi was fed up with the Tacones and the incessant fights between guys who during the day worked together, and if left alone, could be good friends. I got nothing against them, he whined to Sally. I just dont wanna get beat up. This aint the war! Just the same, he was careful not to antagonize his leader. He ran his hands through his duck tail, wiped them on his pants. So far, so good. At a stoplight, Tudi glanced in the front mirror; he met Crickets scowl with a forced smile. Unlike that morning, there was no special formation; the guys were told to get to the dance hall by eight oclockor

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else. Grateful for Lucys detailed instructions, Tudi relaxed. Hed been to dances at the Elks before, but none of the streets looked familiar. As the Chevy eased into the parking lot, others fell in behindFrankies 44 Ford, the low-slung maroon Merc that was Topos pride and joy, and a snazzy convertible Tudi did not recognize. He smiled, anticipating the night and dancing with Sally. Beep, beep, beep, bleated the cars, announcing their arrival. Beep, beep, beep. Blanca brushed cigarette ash off her dress, rewound the white ribbon on her bouquet, and took a deep breath. The September night was cool, pleasant. The morning nausea had all but disappeared. Still, she felt feverish, anxious. Once more she acknowledged the flattery from the bridesmaids; soon she would no longer be the center of attention, la novia, on whom the morning sun had so brilliantly shone. From now on she would be Crickets old lady, his ball and chain. Mrs. Sammy-the-Cricket Lpez. The members of the wedding party gushed over each other as if they hadnt been together all day. The girls fussed over their dresses; the guys secured bow ties, dusted their shoes, then passed a flask around. Meanwhile, inside Topos Merc, Lucy turned the radio on full blast; the dance had not even started, and she was bored. Suddenly a Woody Herman tune blasted from the radio. Lucy jumped out of the car, then while the others watched, she began to dance right on the asphalt! Unable to help herself, Sally jumped in and twirled around Paulie, whose bulk seemed to have increased. Tudi grabbed Rosie, while Sapo, not to be outdone, picked up Josie and turned her upside down. The impromptu dance outraged Cricket. Qu babosa, snarled Cricket; he pointed at Lucy. Shes making an ass of herself! Come on, you guys, yelled Sally, lets warm up.

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Not yet, said Blanca, as she pushed back her hair. She tapped her feet to the music, avoiding Crickets eyes. Once the dancing stopped, the wedding party trooped across the parking lot. As he went by, Cricket gave Lucy his meanest look, one that sent shivers down her spine. At times Lucy hated Cricket with a passion. He thinks his shit dont stink, she would say to Blanca. You coulda done better. That guy aint gonna make it no how. But hes my honey! Thats your tough luck!

When she looked into Blancas kind face, Lucy fought her loathing for Cricket. For all her toughness she was loyal to her friends. We chicks gotta stick together, was her mantra. Now, as she adjusted her purple hat, she thought back to a previous meeting, where everyone swigged beer and munched on baloney sandwiches. The wedding party got higher than a kite; even Rosie, who rarely drank, sipped from Frankies flask. Feeling no pain, Rosie grabbed Tudi, who was trying to learn a new step from Sally, and danced away. They jitterbugged past midnight. Once the partying ended, Cricket volunteered to drive the bridesmaids home in Tudis car. Sally and Rosie scrambled into the front seat; Lucy slid in the back. See ya later, alligator. After while, crocodile. Sally was let out first, followed by Rosie. She settled back, lit a cigarette. Suddenly Lucy saw Cricket make a Uturn toward Topaz Canyon, the local lovers lane. She felt her skin crawl. This jerks about to marry my best friend, but wants to get me alone. She smashed the cigarette, leaned across the seat: Where ya think youre going, asshole?

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An amused Cricket turned around. Ya scared of me, Lucy? His eyes glistened in anticipation. Ya scared of me? I aint afraid of no man, not even a jerk like you. Dont act innocent wiz me. Cricket was enjoying himself. Wanna git high? I dont want shit, ese. Lucy stuck her middle finger in front of Crickets nose. Turn this car around, or Ill . . . Okay, okay. Aware he had found his match, Cricket backed up and headed to the main road, as on the radio Billy Eckstine crooned: Fools rush in . . . . Where wise men never go . . . But wise men never fall in love So how are they to know . . . Now, as she waited for Topo to partner with her during the march, Lucy scanned the throng going by: guys in tailormades and giggling girls who reeked of Tabu. She wet her lips, anticipating the night . . . and all it might bring. What are we waiting for? fumed Blanca. She was fitto-be-tied. More than once the wedding party had rehearsed the correct lineup. Yet on the very night when they should know the march by heart, nothing was going right. The tipsy ushers forgot their place; twice they ended up facing each other. Barricaded in the bathroom, Lucy readjusted the round forms that kept shifting. Just so they dont fall out when I dance! She added a layer of Purple Passion lipstick. Humm, Crickets cuzin Sonny cant take his eyes off my chi chis, she giggled. And that friend of Tudis who drives a red convertible is so cute! I seen him once with a chick. Well, he aint with no chick tonightand alls fair in love and war!

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Furious at yet another delay, Blanca sent Rosie to fetch Lucy. Youre holdin up the march, said Rosie, in a tremulous voice. Blanca says to . . . I aint coming out till Im good and ready. Lucy gave a last pull to her bra straps, then stomped out the door and took her place in line. Once more Blanca arranged the gardenias and plucked off a piece of dead fern. She was ready, but where was el novio? He was here a minute ago, Blanca groaned. So where is he? Dammit, doesnt he know hes the groom? He cant just take off like that! She scanned the hall, but no Cricket. She zeroed in on Lucys Aunt Tottie sipping from a flask; she swayed on three-inch heels. Lucys aunt is drunk, and the dance aint even started. She better not start somethin tonight! When to her relief Cricket exited the bathroom, his eyes were a dull red. She greeted him with a forced smile, put her arm through his. They had moved but a few steps when the sound of screeching tires filled the air. Its the Planchados, someone shouted. Instantly, the line split as Cricket in the lead, the Tacones right behind him, darted out the door. Always fast on her feet, lungs about to burst, Lucy sprinted after the guys. In a rush to the doorway, Blanca almost tripped on the steps; Paulies bulk checked the fall. Left behind, Rosie pouted. Not knowing what to do, as Sally stood her ground. In minutes, Cricket re-appeared, grinning like the very devil. Aint nuthin. Ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, echoed Paulie, we thought it was the Planchados! Ahhhh, sighed Tudi, relieved to know he would live another day. He then offered his sweetheart his arm.

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At the bandstand, Gato Cortez flipped through the simplified arrangements of the tunes written for his group. With the exception of Jimmy and Cat, few read music. Gato twitched his moustache, a habit he was trying to change. Tonight he would play mambos. If the crowd liked it, that meant more jobs in the San Cristobal Valleyand L.A. If not, he would return to Mexican standards, like the danzn Jurez, which appealed to old folks who could barely move. With los novios once more in position, Gato signaled los msicos. The wedding dance officially began. As the shortest bridesmaid, Rosie prepared to lead the march. Can we start now? Sallys not here. Shes in the toledo, Josie announced as she adjusted her hat. Dios mo, sighed Blanca. Will we ever start? Thats a chick fer you, lamented Pan Tostado. Always in da can. All of a sudden, Sally pushed through the crowed. We can begin now, Blanca. About time, snickered Lucy as Sally went by. Oh shut up, retorted Sally. Her mouth shiny with layers of Tangee Bright Red, opened to display her even white teeth. Shut up. Make me, you big fat . . . Fist at the ready, Lucy ran after Sally, but just then Gato Cortez raised the baton; the blare of trumpets filled the night. The tipsy padrinos and sweaty madrinas moved in time to the music. Right foot, then left foot, they advanced. With Rosie and her partner in the lead, they danced to the middle of the floor, then they split; the men to the left, the girls to the right. Like a coiling serpent, they moved around the polished floor. The bridesmaids dresses rustled; the ushers

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stumbled on their thick shoes. When Rosie and her partner met, they clasped hands, then formed a circle the width of the hall. Blanca tucked her arm through her husbands, then Mr. and Mrs. Sammy-the-Cricket walked to the middle of the salon and began to dance as the crowd clapped and stomped their feet. After many false starts, the dance had begun. Following the wedding march, Gato Cortez played Blue Moon, followed by favorites of Cricket and the Tacones. Satisfied that this indeed was a dancing crowd, he raised the baton for the evenings surprise. Mambo, qu rico el mambo Mambo, qu rico es, es, es Mambo, mambo jambo Mambo, qu rico es!

Like a herd of cattle following a cowbell, jerking back and forth, the dancers stomped to the Cuban beat. On the bandstand, Foxie rang a cowbell and in a loud falsetto sang, Mambo, mambo jambo. As if injected with a sudden spurt of energy, Pan Tostado twisted and bent his portly figure. Next to him, Sally, eyes aglow, began to gyrate as a timid Tudi attempted to follow. On her three-inch heels, Lucy twitched to the Conga drum, aware her falsies also, were doing the mambo. Mambo, mambo jambo, sang Gato, qu rico es. Cricket was fit to spit. He hated the mambo. And the cowbell. And Prez Prado. That mambo shit aint for me, he often said. This aint Africa. He saw where his Fresno cousins (thought to be hicks) dipped left and right to the mambo with a polish not seen in Taconos. Chet, Cricket snorted. I gots ta try it.

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When first dating Blanca, whom he thought of as una simple, Cricket rarely danced with her; he was content with shooting the breeze with his friends. Not until they got serious and Blanca danced every piece with other guys while Cricket supported a wall, did he feel threatened. He was not at his best on the dance floor. He resembled a giraffe with weak knees when he jitterbugged; his legs crossed each other like scissors. Behind his back, the guys called him flyboy, because he looked like a fly trying to take off. For the leader of the Tacones, to be known as a poor dancer was humiliating. It was a different challenge, one Cricket couldnt fix with his fists. Nor did it help knowing the blond leader of the Planchados was a renowned dancer. Skippy jitterbugged like a pro, excelled at the mambo and danced a danzn with ease. Girls fought to dance with him. At one time Cricket thought of asking Lucy to teach him the moves learned at the Zenda Ballroom, but the look on her face was not encouraging; he was not about to beg. Now, as he cased the joint, Cricket recalled asking Gato to play slow tunes to allow him to look suave, handsome . . . The Big Cheese. Blanca stared with dismay at the crowd doing the mambo. I oughta be dancing! Aint it my wedding? Just then, as if by magic, Cricket said, Ya wanna try it? Blanca could hardly believe her ears. Afraid he would change his mind, she flung her bouquet to a chair. Sure, honey, I wanna do the mambo. Los novios shoved their way through the crowd and began to dance. Legs bent at the knee, Cricket jerked left, right. He moved his feet back and forth, but try as he might, he could not find the beat. From behind his dark boppers he spotted Paulie. To his right, Tudi, coached by a giggling Sally, hopped back and forth, just like a puppet. Near the bandstand, Rosie twirled to ensure everyone appreciated her toe work.

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Gato spotted Cricket and Blanca dancing. Could the mellow look on Crickets face mean he would pay the balance owed for tonights work without an argument? Or would he raise a stink? Gato took all threats seriously. He hated dealing with hung-over grooms; he preferred a happy and tipsy novio. One time he had to follow the groom home to collect. The elusive groom woke his parents to borrow money, which embarrassed both Gato and the guys parents. Actually, Gato often told his son, I prefer them drunk. That way they dont get obnoxious. When you have your own band, get as large a deposit as you can, then collect the rest at intermission, or theyll ditch you. The dancing crowd made room for the swinging bride, high on happiness, who never stopped moving. It was obvious Blanca loved to dance. Although not as tall as Josie, or as lithe as Lucy, she was fast on her feet. Her sturdy build gave her an advantage; she rarely tired and could out-dance most of the Tacones. Just before she and Cricket began to go steady, Blanca lived only for Saturday night, when she, Lucy, and whoever had a car, dressed to the nines and drove to the Avadon or Zenda Ballrooms, where they literally danced the night away. Later, they traded names and addresses with vatos from L.A. who came to check out the action. During those carefree days, Blanca felt free to stay out late and dance with whomever she pleased. There was safety in numbers, and if a girl disappeared for a time, she reappeared disheveled, but happy. As the girls drove home along San Cristobal Road, they traded jokes, compared vatos, and looked forward to the next dance. In the morning, half-dead from lack of sleep, they trooped to Sunday Mass. Even when not formally invited, Blanca and her crowd rarely missed a wedding dance. When they crashed Valley

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dances, they brazenly congratulated the bride and groom, then hung around to dance, like any other guest. At fifteen Blanca had a crush on Augie Garca, known as Gero, because of his light skin. He lived on Honeysuckle Street; they spoke across the fence. Gero, too, was a good dancer. At parties, he and Blanca danced together the whole night. They turned, swayed and dipped to the music of Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, and Benny Goodman. Blanca ached for Gero to be her boyfriend, but she was still a kid, and at nineteen he was a grown man. Gero joined the Army and disappeared somewhere in Corregidor, his grieving parents were told. All Blanca had to remember him by was a faded picture kept in a drawer. In it, she and Gero stood close together . . . as if dancing. But Blanca met Cricket and before they had gotten serious, Blanca would spend Sunday afternoons at Lucys house. They would push a bed aside and pile odd pieces of furniture in the corner, then play 78s on Lucys record-player. Of light oak, with a wide turntable, it was Lucys pride and joy. Records in dust covers were quickly found, then stacked on the turntable to be played in order. They danced holes into the linoleum floor. Dont turn so fast. Put your arm higher! I dont fit under it. Ouch, you stepped on me! Whos leading? You or me?

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he medium-sized man with premature gray hair paced nervously across the bandstand. He did not look forward to playing for the pachuco wedding and had in fact almost cancelled. To play for gang members was like taking your life in your hands. Things could go right, or very, very wrong. Gato Cortez, whose real name was George, kept up with current music trends. At home he kept both the radio and record-player going at the same time. He recorded Mexican tunes from borrowed albums, then rearranged the music to fit his taste and his musicians capabilities. On free weekends he revised tunes, as in an adjacent garage his son George, Jr., known as Cat, played the old piano to his hearts content As a trained musician, Gato had played in the San Cristobal Valley for the past ten years. He was booked solid through summer and fall, when most weddings took place. He was as dependable as he was astute; if booked three months in advance, he gave a discount. He was a favorite at Bar Mitzvahs, and was amused to see that Jews loved corridos. They love Juan Charrasqueado, he told his son. Mr. Gold thought it was the Hale Halva . . . a Jewish tune. We played it all night. Cat had laughed aloud.
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And then they had a collection to extend the dance. That was gravy, son!

Tired of playing the usual boleros, corridos, and danzones, that comprised his repertoire, every three months or so, he drove to the Los Angeles Music Store on Third and Main. Last time he had checked out the music of Prez Prado, a diminutive Cuban who wore white boots; while playing, hed kick out, to the delight of his audience. He used a real cowbell, a rustic instrument never seen in Taconos, or Los Angeles for that matter. That day, Gato parked the station wagon, buttoned his collar, dusted off his jacket, and walked inside the music store. Can I help you, sir? Yep. Got any Prez Prado music? Sorry, sold the last one this morning. All the bands are buying . . . Valley bands? Nah, theyre behind the times . . . .

Without fail, Gatos band rehearsed weekly in his garage; from afar one could hear him yelling at his musicians: From the top! To the bridge! No, no, Hctor, youre drowning out Foxie. Try the second ending. Jimmy, try reading the music! No, no, the drums are too . . . Try the timbales right here. Okay, okay, but pick up the tempo. Dont drag it . . . By evenings end, Gato Cortez was either frustrated or pleased with the guys. As in any group, the music makers were competitive; each had a favorite song and style. They argued over which was better.

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Not that shit again, Max! Aint shit. Its a . . . The band included young, good-looking musicians. Hctors brown eyes crinkled when he played; his curly hair bounced to and fro. Max the drummer had a chin dimple. The main attraction was Foxie, the lead singer, a tall guy with green eyes and a thin moustache who crooned just like Billy Eckstine, the popular Negro singer. In fact, it was difficult to tell Foxie from the real thing. Like Eckstine, Foxies low and throaty voice lent itself to romantic songs. He religiously practiced the vocal arrangements of what he considered his fort: romantic love songs. He disliked Mexican music like that sung by Jorge Negrete, a pseudo cowboy. Just before he sang, Foxie unfurled the scarf he wore to keep his throat warm, then gargled with warm water. He never touched cold drinks, but sipped apple juice from a thermos. I gotta preserve my voice, he explained. His most recent challenge was to sound like Frankie Laine, the new singing sensation, who looked like a truck driver and sang like a real man. Foxie had a huge following. Even married women worshipped at the Foxie altar, the wide stage on where he sang. Much to the delight of the crowd, he caressed the microphone as if it were a womans face, a move picked up from a gangster movie. If a tune was upbeat, he shook his skinny behind; it made the chicks scream in ecstasy. At the church dances Gato played at, old folks liked to show off. In between trips to the bathroom, they dipped, twirled, and fell into each others arms. It was never clear if it was from exhaustion, weak knees, or old age. Their flushed faces and gasps for air amused los msicos. Although still a young man, Father Ranger, who supervised all church activities, never dared dance. He preferred to listen. One couple in particular, Seor and Seora Patalarga, now in their sixties, dominated el danzn, which had origi-

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nated in their native Cuba. When they executed a fancy turn, the crowd applauded. Rumor was that after each dance session Seor Patalargas took to his bed for two weeks!

Gato was fond of saying, Everyone likes corridos; the faster, the betterand were happy to accommodate. Anyone with two legs could dance to a corrido. Couples linked arms and swung around the large hall, then broke up into small groups, laughing and grunting. A crowd-pleaser was Juan Charrasqueado; it brought out the herd mentality in people. Like most band leaders, Gato was quick to spot a fight and quick to switch to a Mexican corrido before the battle picked up steam. He found it funny that a tune could evoke feelings of nationalism in a half-sloshed crowd and could snuff out disputes. But when they played the Beer Barrel Polka, called El Barrillito in Spanish, the crowd went wild and would not quit. Often they played an old Mexican waltz called Cuando escuches este vals for the old-timers confined to the sidelines. Graying heads close, teary eyed, they shuffled across the dance floor, holding on for dear life.

When Cricket staked Gato to discuss what he wanted played at his wedding dance, he was not surprised. Few couples agreed on anything, other than to marry. Gato strove to please both the bride and groom, although it was a given that the one who paid was the one to please. Brides liked slow, romantic tunes like Stardust, Fools Rush In, and Blue Moon. At times, arguments between newlyweds got worse as the night progressed. Once, la novia got loaded to the gills at her wedding dance. She requested Gato play Little Brown Jug over and over. By

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the third set, the groom, weaving from side to side, knocked down the mike, yanked the bride to the door, and off they went on their honeymoon! A good wedding dance, Gato told his son Cat, depends not so much on the music, but on the crowd. When done with the wedding march, play something groovy, to get the place jumping, then switch to a romantic song. Now and then throw in a Mexican oldie. During the last set, play as many slow ones as you can . . . without falling asleep that is; the last tune should be your theme.

Fight!!
ear the close of the third set, the musicians on the rickety bandstand fiddled with their instruments. It was close to midnight; they were tired and wanted to go home. Half the crowd was tipsy. There was tension in the air; the Tacones were in a fighting mood. Any altercation, even a friendly shove, could result in a fight . . . and loss of instruments. Gato checked his watch; it was time for a break. Once the last set was over, it was gravy time: relief at a job well done and money earned. Neto rolled the vibraphone closer to the piano as if for protection. He still owed three payments on the instrument. He adjusted the mike, while Slick, the saxophonist searched for an extra reed. Foxie sipped water from his thermos. He slipped out the tiny mirror kept in his pocket, smoothed his moustache, then scanned the ballroom for Nina, his newest girlfriend, whom he hoped to impress with a special dedication of My Destiny. The first part had been the longest; it exhausted even the younger players, but set the tone for the rest of the evening as a success! The second set, replete with slow tunes, was almost as tiring. Now, as the third set ended and Gato called for a break, the music makers laid down instruments, wiped their sweaty brows, and left the bandstand to mingle with
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the crowd. Foxie searched for his girl. Slick ran to the mens room and Gato to the bar for a stiff drink. Left on the bandstand were Cat, Jimmy, and Neto. The minute his father left, Cat grabbed a drumstick and tapped on the piano bench until he had Jimmy and Netos attention. He waited until the two placed the sheet music on a stand, then asked, Ready? Jimmy nodded; Neto smiled and tapped the vibes. In a firm voice Cat counted one two, one two. Jimmy beat on the drums, while Netos bony fingers raced across the vibraphone. The crowd below began to clap. Stan Kentons Perdido, filled the night. Perdido, Perdido, Perdido I lost my heart in Perdido When he heard the first beat to Perdido, Cricket almost choked on the cigarette that dangled from his mouth. Chet, he hissed as he took off his boppers, I told Gato not ta play that, ta stick to mellow stuff! First he plays that mambo shit, and now this? He glared at his bride of one day and grumbled, I aint about to dance to this chet, so dont be askin me, hear? Blanca took one hurried glance at Crickets red eyes, then moved away. She tapped her foot to the music. Gosh, I want to dance so bad, she sighed, pushing back the orange blossoms. I wanna . . . Just then she felt a hand on her shoulder; it was Sonny, of the chipmunk cheeks, Crickets cousin from Fresno. Wanna try this, cuz. I mean Blanca, he gushed. Gosh, I dunno. Blanca looked at Cricket. Think I should, honey? Aint nuthin to me, snapped Cricket. He dusted cigarette ash off his pants, then stomped off to where the Tacones were holding down the fort.

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Gato stood at the bar, his loose tie flapping back and forth. It was proving to be a long night. Im getting too old for this, he groaned as he looked for an empty barstool. So far no fights, but there was still an hour to go. By now the half-sloshed crowd would dance to anything, even the Mexican Hat Dance. He had twice signaled the guys to end the last set, but the insatiable crowd had yelled for more and more. My mistake, he admitted, was to play a popular tune. It brought out everyone. Even the old timers, who shuffled back and forth, would not sit down. When he could no longer control the momentum, he decided to be firm. He laid down the baton, wiped his brow, and stepped to the microphone. Thats all for now folks. The bar was crowded; everyone needed a cold drink. Good sounds tonight, Gato, said the bartender as he wiped the glass top. Ya playin some Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey? Uhhh, dont know yet. This is a young crowd and that stuffs old. Gato sipped his drink. I sound like my son, he reflected as removed his jacket. So are we, man. The bartender snickered. And gettin older every day. Gato smiled. I was just thinking that too! Playing takes too much outta me. He ordered another beer, then cocked his ear. Was he hearing things? A familiar sound filled his ears. Could it be? Sure enough! His son Catand his cohortshad stayed behind to play some jazz. Gato Cortez felt his blood boil. He stood up, grabbed for his jacket, and was about to walk off, when he felt his anger dissipate. Cats just feeling his oats, he grinned; he sipped his drink. A chip off the old block. I dont mind giving him a break, but does he have to play that stuff?

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Gato swapped jokes with the bartender. Suddenly, the wail of Hctors trumpet cut through the noise. Damn! Hctor had joined the act! Next, they switched to Peanut Vendor, and Gato about choked on his drink. He finished it, then slunk back to the bandstand, miffed at his son and that sneak, Hctor. Lucy tapped her feet to the music. Man, this dance sure is boring. Nothing but the same old faces, she lamented. Guys I wouldnt be caught dead with. Everything bothered her: the gloves that gave her an itch but hid her skinny elbows, and the falsies that shifted each time she moved. She puffed on a Kool, enjoying the taste of menthol. She saw where Blanca was dancing away. Damn, she aint sat down the whole night, Lucy grumbled. Its not fair! She looked around for a partner to swing with; even fat Paulie would do. Just then Rosie poked her in the ribs Look over there, at those guys that just came in. I dont recognize em, do you? Lucy stole a look, then shrugged her shoulders. That one looks like Poncho . . . he drives a truck at the turkeys. Blanca mustve invited him, cuz Cricket sure didnt. He doesnt look too bad. Maybe Ill ask him ta dance, said Lucy as she pulled at her gloves. Ya know, give the guy a break. Heels clicking, she stomped off. Blanca twirled around Sonny, her face damp with perspiration. Im sure in a dancing mood! She grinned with delight as she executed a fancy turn, then fighting to stay on her feet, hung onto Sonnys belt and found her footing. All the while Cricket frowned. Now and then Blanca felt a sharp ache in her stomach, one she attributed to the mole. Or the Singapore Slings she, Lucy, and Sally had imbibed. When the pain came with

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more frequency, she cut out the fancy turns. Then, she was no longer able to stand the painful jabs and waited till the music ended. She bunched together her dress train and staggered to the bathroom. Unmindful of the parade of women waiting for an empty stall, the bride pushed through, bolted the door, and sat on the toilet seat, beads of perspiration on her pale face.

In the middle of the dance floor, where everyone could admire her tiny waist, Rosie danced with the round-cheeked Sonny. Shed guzzled three drinks and felt as if flying. What Lucy says is true, she conceded, as she kicked up her heels, people dance better when highand I am so high! Brown curls bobbing, she threw back her head, then smiled at Sonny, whom she had to admit looked better after each drink. Cant be my eyes, she giggled, so it must be the booze. That chipmunk is startin to look good. Real good. In the smelly stall, Blanca was flopped on the toilet seat; her veil was caught on the door. She pulled up her Scarlett OHara dress to keep it from getting dirty, then breathed in and out to ease the pain. She rubbed her stomach in a circular motion (as did her mom when as a child she ate too much), but nothing helped. Just then, she felt a sticky wetness run down her leg. She froze, her heart about to burst through her white dress. She took a deep breath, trying to control the panic. Dear God, please send Lucy, or Sally, to look for me! She began to cry. Huge sobs filled the stall. With a sweep of her hand she yanked at the veil and brought down the orange blossoms and slung them on the floor.

Blanca was nowhere to be seen, which seemed odd to Lucy. Where could she be? Neither Sally nor Josie knew. Strains

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of Starlight Serenade filled the room. Rosie danced cheekto-cheek with Sonny; a rumpled Tudi held his sweetheart close. In a far corner, Paulie and Tencha danced as close as Paulies bulk allowed. But where was Blanca? As Lucy started toward the bathroom, she saw her inebriated Aunt Tottie, tottering on three-inch heels, sling her purse. A loud scream followed. Lucy stomped out her cigarette, pushed through the crowd, and confronted her aunt, trying to break loose from Topo. Whats going on, Ta? Same old shit, answered Topo, as he massaged his head. Yer Ta hit Chita while she was dancing wiz some vato. Next thing I know, they was trading punches, and I gots hit. He rubbed his head, a look of disgust on his pockmarked face. Man, that Tottie sure packs a punch. Wouldnt surprise me if she packs a rod. Aunt Tottie, eyes blazing, railed against her sister Chita, a petite woman wearing a blue dress. Ya fuckin bitch. She lunged at the girl with peroxide hair. Ya come near my man, Ill knock the shit outta you. Totties red face matched her dress. God, Ta! Youre beating up your own sister! Aint ya family? Lucy was thoroughly disgusted. More than once she had run interference when Tottie and Chita fought. I aint fighting, protested her aunt as she regained her breath. Im teaching her a lesson. She dont keep her hands off . . . She never finished, for just then Chita gave a twist to Aunt Totties hennaed mane. The fight continued as the band played on! As if on cue, the band struck up El Rancho Grande, a corrido. Couples rushed toward the dance floor; at the bar, men took a last gulp and then headed back. The fight contin-

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ued with the sisters screaming obscenities at each other. Aunt Tottie chased after Chita, now running for her life down a hallway. Lucy sauntered to the bar. She leaned against the top (just like Joan Crawford in the movies) and waited for someone to buy her a drink. I cant believe Ive only danced three times, she wailed. Well, four, if bumping against that semitruck Paulie counts. Tudi and Sally waved as they headed for the exit. Lucy figured they were going to the parking lot to neck. And here I stand, she hissed. The most hep chick in Taconos and not dancing! Will I ever live it down?

In the Chevy, Tudi and Sally cuddled tight as they sat out the last intermission. Sally slipped off the cumbersome gloves, moved close to her steady beau. She kissed Tudi on a mouth that smelled of Juicy Fruit and smoothed his hair. Im glad the dance is almost over arent you, honey? Ive never been so tired! Once I get outta this tight dress, Im gonna breath better. How about you, honey? Feeling okay? Yeah. But Id feel better if the dance was over. How come? I thought you liked dances . . . Its just that Crickets high and looking fer a fight. Is that something new? Sally disentangled herself from Tudis arms. Crickets always looking for somebody to hit. I just hope it aint Blanca. They sat awhile longer, until Sally looked at her watch. They left the parking lot and were almost at the door, when Tudi turned to see a low-slung Ford turn into the parking lot. Instinctively, he hurried Sally inside and squeezed past her.

Lucy was feeling no pain. She had twice danced with Poncho, a seedy-looking guy who smelled of Three Flowers hair

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pomadeand onions. Although not wearing tailor-mades, nor shoes with thick heels, he was passable, or as was said in Taconos, okay in the dark. As they danced, she realized the poor guy had two left feet. Still, she rationalized, hes better than nuthin. Least I wont havta stand around como una mensa while Rosie and Sally strut their stuff. Determined to show up Sally, Lucy attempted a turn, only to stumble on Ponchos size 13s. Just then Tudi ran to Cricket. Cricket, I just saw Skippy, uhhhh, the Planchados in the parking lot, croaked Tudi. I think theyre comin this way. He stopped to catch his breath. Simn! Its them, Paulie collided with Tudi, who appeared to shake. Theyre gonna crash the dance. Whatcha wanna do, Cricket? Let em come. Cricket flicked ashes to the floor. Let em come and get it. His eyes shifted back and forth to the door. He loosened his tie as Frankie gripped the brass knuckles. Without being told, Paulie bolted out the back door to check the parking lot, just in case. When people saw the Tacones in a huddle, a few couples stopped dancing and waited to see what was going on. Were the Planchados really at the door? Was a fight brewing? Others, more circumspect, found their coats and left through the back door. The minutes passed; the dance continued. The Tacones traded cigarettes, sipped from Frankies flask, and flexed their hands in preparation. To most Valley gangs, it was a matter of honor to let the invaders hit first, or as Cricket put it, Let them mudders make the first move. That way nobody could accuse us of being shickenchet. And so they waited, hands at the ready. At the bandstand, a pale and

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nervous Foxie ad-libbed the words to a love song. Fights made him uneasy; he tended to forget the words. Lucy could hardly contain her excitement! At long last something was about to happen. Twice she ran to the door to check for action; twice she was disappointed to see nothing going on. She scurried to a dark corner, adjusted her bra straps, added spit to a limp pompadour; last of all, she touched up her makeup. God, I hope something happens. This dance is so boring. So nothing. Nada, nada. And to think of all the trouble I went to . . . it makes me sick. The musicians played without inspiration. Foxie seemed out of breath; Hctors trumpet sounded off-key. Los msicos were beat, Gato was marking time; the band played A Cottage for Sale, a romantic tune that allowed a revived Foxie to do what he did best.

When Skippy and two of his henchmen sauntered into the Elks, everyone was taken by surprise. What guts that guy had! Qu huevos. Skippy, his yellow hair a tangle of curls, was higher than a kite. He waltzed up to Cricket and held out a flask. Heres ta ya and yer chick, Cricket. He swayed as if about to fall. Cricket stared at his archenemy, the handsome guy whose nose he vowed to break. He blew smoke into Skippys face. Whatcha want, ese? Pos, I came to dance at yer wedding. Skippys sly grin made Crickets blood boil. Dont tell me ya forget ya invited me? Skippy flashed his pearly whites. Before Cricket could muster a smart retort, Sapo pushed him aside, strode up to Skippy, and growled, You Planchados think yer shit dont stink. Well, we aint afraid of ya, get it?

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Youre da one who wants ta fight. Skippy appeared outraged. Me and the guys just wanna dance. Nuthin wrong with dat, is it? Around them everyone moved away. Suddenly, a furious Cricket grabbed Skippy by his pin-stripes. Ya wanna dance? Just ta show ya I got class, Ill let ya. He dragged a reluctant Skippy to the middle of the floor.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, with Sallys help, Blanca arranged her dress so that the soiled hem did not show. Cricket, she knew, was somewhere around, but where? I need my husband, she quietly sobbed, but he aint here. At the moment her concern was over the pain in her belly. She took a deep breath and tried to relax as Sally held her hand. When she saw Cricket drag Skippy across the dance floor, Blanca let out a blood-curdling moan that went unheard. She clutched her stomach. With Sally holding her by the elbow, Blanca staggered back to the bathroom as people stared. Cricket should be here, Blanca whimpered as Sally helped her to a stall. He should be here with me and not fighting with Skippy. She sipped from a glass of water. Sally, Sally, whats happening to me? I dont know, but let me get Lucy. Sally ran off.

When they reached the middle of the dance floor, Cricket yelled to Gato, Hey, man, lets hear one of dem danzones. Gato was incredulous. Ay! Just when the dance was about to end on a peaceful note, the grooms starting a fight. As Foxie, eyes shut in ecstasy ended A Cottage for Sale, Cricket knocked down the mike. Shut up, ya asshole, he screeched at Foxie. Shut up with yer dam singing.

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Poor Foxie. Never had he been told to shut up in public. Humiliated, he crouched behind Hctor, trying not to be seen. Cricket leaned close to Skippy. Ya gots the floor, man. So do yer stuff. Ya think I cant? Skippy, laughed and laughed Chet, I can dance anything. Just watch. He turned to the amused crowd, bowed low. As he waited for the music to begin, his draped pants opened up like balloons. At the piano, Cat stared, as Neto, in fear of being hit, rolled back the vibraphone. As Hctor fiddled with the trumpet and awaited his cue, Foxie left through a side door. When the music began, Skippy zeroed in on Lucy, who was standing with the bridesmaids. He grabbed her by the waist and in a slurred voice said, I hear ya always wanted ta dance with me, Lucy! So, come on, esa, heres your chance. He thrust his face into Lucys; from afar they looked to be kissing, except Lucys eyes were wide open. He dragged her to the middle of the floor as if she were a puppet and turned her around. The wedding guests laughed and laughed. Skippy almost fell as he swayed to Jurez. In her purple highheels, Lucy tried to cut loose from Skippy. Her struggle had dislocated the falsies; they were in danger of falling out. When finally free of Skippy, she hit him with her shoe. As he dodged Lucys ankle straps, Skippy never stopped laughing. Suddenly a purse flew through the crowd. Whammm! Aunt Totties purse caught Skippy by surprise; it landed right on his kisser. He appeared to freeze, then put his hand to his blondish hair to check for blood. Whammm. More blows followed. Totties eyes blazed; she was in her element. By now Skippys nose was bleeding, his

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pretty mouth cut. He staggered backwards, unable to keep his balance as the band played on. Without warning, Chita now recovered, jumped her sister, grabbed her by the hair, and with a left to the jaw, split Totties lip in two The Planchados who had stayed in the parking lot now joined the fray; fists flew as did brass knuckles and thicksoled shoes. The first one to get hit was the best man, who was slow in dodging a right hook; but his two front teeth remained intact. Poor Frankie, he aimed the brass knuckles at a Planchado, but connected with To Ernie, a veterano who knew a few moves and let Frankie have it with a right hook. With his belly as a shield, Paulie fought a Planchado, who then retaliated by crushing his knee. The sound of Paulies fall reverberated throughout the dance hall. Cricket and Skippy fell on top of each other; they struggled to break free. Round and round they went, slamming each other in the mouth, eyes, and nose as people stared. At times Skippys feet tangled with Crickets long legs. Unable to break the hold, they slammed against Porky, the junior bridesmaid, who watched the fight up front. As she pulled her bulk off the floor, Porky looked up to see bright red blood sprout from Skippys nose. She leaned over and vomited on the ground. Chet, hissed Cricket. Skippy was tougher than he looked; hed have to try harder. He struggled to his feet and lunged at Skippy, only to skid on Porkys barf. Sonavabeech, he muttered. As he stopped to wipe his shoes, Porkys mother screamed, You almost hit my baby, you jerk. She yanked a screaming Porky toward the door. Throughout the fight, the band never stopped playing Juan Charrasqueado. The fight was like a movie with background music and the gangs moving in slow motion. By now there were three fights: Tottie and Chita whacking each

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other, Cricket and Skippy somewhere in the dance floor, and the rival gangs going at it. No one called the police. It was later said someone had called in a false alarm that sent the cops scurrying to a wrong address. Something was wrong with Blanca. She couldnt stop crying; the pain in her stomach was worse. A faithful Sally stayed by her side; at short intervals, she wiped Blancas face with wet paper towels. Lucy seemed to know exactly what was wrong with Blanca. She left Sally in charge of the distressed bride, then returned with a shot glass of whiskey. Blanche, Blanche, this will help you to . . . Before Blanca could take one little sip, a horrified Sally knocked the glass to the floor. Leave her alone, or by golly, Ill knock the . . . I was only trying to help her, sobbed Lucy. I was trying to . . . She dont need that kind of help. She needs an ambulance. Inside the hall, people tried not to stare as the bride, held up by the maid of honor and Sally left the bathroom. Something was wrong with la novia: Hair in disarray, veil and orange blossoms at half-mast, the Scarlett OHara dress dragging at the hem. Folks blamed the fight between the Tacones and Planchados for her distress. In a frenzy, Lucy pushed people left and right as Blanca hung onto Sally. The trio cut to the parking lot and Tudis Chevy. Then her two friends helped Blanca into the back seat. Blanca handed Sally her bouquet, now brown around the edges. Go call an ambulance, Sally ordered. We gotta get Blanca to a hospital right away.

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The first ambulance roared into the parking lot as Cricket, bleeding from the nose, stomped on Skippy. Take dat, ya sonavabeesh, he slurred, as blood seeped from his nose and down his mouth. Now, whos da better fighter? Me, groaned Skippy, whose pretty blond hair was now matted with blood and dirt. He turned on his stomach to evade Crickets thick soles, which left him open for more abuse. By now the two gang leaders were half-dead. Cricket looked the worse; his left eye was swollen, as was his mouth. Skippy, no novice, had scored a few points there. Skippy tried to sit up, but his legs could barely hold him up; he had lost one shoe, and his pin-stripe suit was smeared with dirt. His shirt with French cuffs had lost its buttons. He looked a mess. The medics assessed the situation, unable to decided if Skippy, the bloodiest, was dead or alive. Not sure whom to take, they picked up the blond-haired guy. As they were about to lift Skippy, a tottering Cricket gave his archenemy one last kick, then his giraffe legs bent in half, and he crumbled to the ground. The rattled attendants shoved Skippy into the ambulance, turned him on his back, then turned around and picked up Cricket; they squeezed him alongside his nemesis. The taller of the two medics got into the drivers seat and radioed the hospital. The other, a short, husky guy, crawled into the back. He dabbed Skippys hair with alcohol and wiped Crickets nose, then pulled a pink blanket over themand off they went. And so it was that at long last the two toughest guys in the Valley came together in peaceful harmony. The first ambulance had just left the parking lot when around the corner, its siren at full blast, roared another ambulance. The astute driver heard Sallys frantic yell; he pulled alongside the Chevy and jumped out. They never asked what

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the problem was. One look at Blancas pale face told them this was a serious situation. Sally tried to explain what had happened, but Lucy, full of anger, kept interrupting. The nervous attendants lifted the white-clad girl onto a gurney and used the soiled dress to cover her exposed knees, then covered Blanca with a khaki blanket. They were about to close the door when Lucy pushed her way into the ambulance. Blanche, Blanche, lissen ta me. Now ya dont havta stay with him, Blanche, she panted as the startled medics stared. As if hit by a bolt of lightning, Blanca jerked up. She grabbed at Lucy and cried out, But hes my honey! Hes gonna change, youll see. Lucy ran after the retreating vehicle, her ankle straps scraping the pavement. He aint worth a chet, she yelled, eyes blazing. He aint ever gonna change. She was almost at the gate when she tripped on Blancas veil and fell. A spent Lucy lay on the pavement; she turned onto her back and took a deep breath. The September moon illuminated her pale face, the soiled dress. The ambulance now gone, Lucy would not stop crying. She banged her fist on the dirt, mashing at the putrid orange blossoms scattered on the pavement. Why didnt Blanca lissen to me, she moaned. I was only tryin ta help her. Why didnt she lissen? Tudi, still smarting from a blow, ran to where the maid of honor lay. He offered his handkerchief to a sobbing Lucy. Its over, she sighed. Its all over for Blanca, now. Thinking Lucy could use a shot, Tudi and Sally went in search of Topo and whiskey, but returned empty-handed. Back in his car, Tudi lit a Lucky Strike as Sally switched on the radio. Things had turned out worse than he had anticipated. Would he be dragged into a gang war? Cricket had it comin ta him, sighed Tudi, but did he have to ruin everything for Blanca? Man, what a night!

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As in a dream, Lucy opened her eyes wide; she sat up and brushed dirt off her dress. The parking lot was halfempty. Billy Eckstines My Destiny blared from the Chevys radio. The ambulance had run over her purple hat; it was now in ruins. In a fit of anger, she flung it away, then walked back to the hall. A man was coming her way. By the time he was close, Lucy had completely revived. She recognized Flip, a mechanic friend of Tudis. Arent you Lucy? He asked as he came close. He seemed friendly enough. Yeah? Lucy sized him up. The guy was short and husky, with curly black hair. This guys too damn short, Lucy grumbled to herself as she adjusted her pompadour, but he just might do for tonight. Ya goin back in? Flip looked hopeful. Id like ta dance with ya. He tried not to stare at the most hep chick in Taconos, who literally looked like shit! Yeah, in a minute. First, I gotta fix my shoe. With Lucy in the lead, the two walked back to the dance hall and to the remnants of the wedding dance At the hospital, a sedated Blanca, her face bloated from crying, was wheeled to the emergency room. She thrashed her head from side to side and kept calling Cricket, Cricket, where are you, honey? The startled nurse thought she was hearing things; the pale girl in the hospital gown wanted a cricket? Thinking Blanca delirious, she called an orderly aside. He ran to get Sally, who rushed to Blancas side. In her hand was the crumpled colonial-style dress. She assured the nurse what Blanca said was true. There had been a wedding; Blanca was the bride and Cricket was her husbands name. At that moment Blanca opened her eyes. Man, she said to the nurse, you shoulda seen my wedding! I had five bridesmaids and a dance at the Elks.

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The nurse smiled and patted Blanca on the arm. Ill bet it was a beautiful wedding. Yeah, answered Blanca. The best wedding in Taconos. Then she passed out.

ary Helen Ponce is the author of a collection of short stories, Taking Control (Arte Pblico Press, 1987), and her memoir of growing up as a Chicana in Southern California, Hoyt Street (Anchor Books, 1995; University of New Mexico Press, 2006). The latter was cited as one of the MOST important books about Los Angeles by the LA Times. Currently, she is working a love story set within a historical novel of an eighteenth century expedition to Alta California. Mary Helen lives in Sunland, CA.