Latin Moon in Manhattan: A Novel by Manrique Jaime

Author:Manrique, Jaime [Manrique, Jaime]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780299187538
Publisher: University of Wisconsin Press
Published: 2003-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

It was noon by the time I arrived home. During the day, when the front door was open because of the employment agency, I’d go in and out quickly to avoid running into my landlady. But there were several items in the mailbox and I had to stop briefly to get them before the crack heads broke into the mailbox as they did almost on a daily basis.

One of the envelopes was from Unlimited Languages and it contained a check for $350. This was a lucky break. I had been hounding the agency to pay me for several jobs I had done for them back in June. For a second or two I stood there wondering whether I should run to the bank to deposit it and make a withdrawal. This interval of indecision was long enough for Mrs. O’Donnell to open the door leading to the bar. She grabbed me by the arm, as if I were a thief caught in flagrante delicto.

“Santiago, why haven’t you answered my calls? Come in.”

“Hi, Mrs. O’Donnell,” I said, trying to fake a smile.

With her free hand, Mrs. O’Donnell indicated that I should go into the bar. Many alkies sat at the counter, and several of the booths were already taken up by the lunch crowd. We marched toward an empty booth in the back, near the kitchen. I said hi to Pete, Mrs. O’Donnell’s oldest son, who was the head bartender; and to Sean, Pete’s son. Both nodded, acknowledging me. I smiled to a couple of waitresses—they were Mrs. O’Donnell’s relatives too. Need I add that the entire operation was run by Mrs. O’Donnell’s many retainers? I wanted to become invisible. I knew they were all familiar with my situation, and although each and every one of them was always nice to me, I was under the impression they regarded me as the guy who ripped off the matriarch of the clan.

We sat at a booth. With her mass of auburn hair, and a map-lined face, Mrs. O’Donnell was the exact replica of Lillian Hellman. She also had the writer’s whiskey-honed voice. “Well, Santiago, where’s the rent?”

“I’m so sorry I haven’t answered your phone calls, Mrs. O’Donnell,” I said, trying to distract her from her one-track mind. “But I was planning to come to see you today.”

“You’re here now, so where’s the rent?”

After eight years of being perpetually behind in my rent, I was hard up for excuses. “Mrs. O’Donnell, I was hoping I could give you one thousand dollars like you want, but I don’t have that much in the bank. I haven’t been working much lately. If it keeps going like this, I’m going to have to get a full-time job.”

She had heard this argument so many times before that my words seemed to have no effect whatsoever on her. “I give you twenty-four hours to pack your things and move out. And don’t make me evict you by force. That’s final.”

“Mrs. O’Donnell,” I remonstrated, “you don’t really mean that.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.