After a while, mom noticed that some sometimes I was coming home a little dizzy, and she began to smell me like a dog looking for a lost bone.
“Maaaaaaaa ah!"” I screamed, and ran from
her.
She was also upset that I wasn’t eating at
home a lot. One day she smelled the wine’s bouquet on me. Funny she never noticed
the tobacco. Anyway, she got upset over my drinking with the Baron’s. She didn’t
like it at all. Pop said,
“They’re Spaniards, it’s their tradition,
and it’s good for his digestion!”
“Well he no Spanish, eets not me tradition,
and let heem dreenk coke for hees dee dee deejestatatation!”
I really wanted to laugh at that, but I
knew better, she would have vented by kicking my butt. So I bit my tongue. I don’t know if she was miffed because I was having dinner over there, instead of
at home, but after that she made me quit. When I told Baron, he became very sad,
not because I couldn’t work for him anymore, but because he got to like me, know
me, and love me like the son hen ever had.
The summer before my junior year, I worked in a salsa club. The manager there was an old pal of my pop, Federico Pagan, and again through my pop’s I got a
part time job. I remember the giant disco ball glittering, turning, shinning
its sparkling magic light on the dance floor below. When bands rehearsed, it was as if the light was dancing to the music. I had to buff the floor, set the tables, and clean up behind the bar, making sure everything was in
place. That glasses, and ashtrays were clean, the ice machine was working, and in
general making sure the place was ready.
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