Ernesto was intoxicated in more ways than one.
That much was evident from the way he dipped and grinned, face reddening and smile gleaming. He'd always been reserved and so nervous about talking to anyone beyond his little circle of friends. Héctor was the true talent out of the two of them, even if he was younger by a handful of years. Ernesto had the level head, the experience, but Héctor was the one who could smarm and charm a crowd like he'd been born with a guitar in one hand and the other hand held open for tips.
It took a lot of time and attention from Héctor convince Ernesto to play. But when he did? It was transformative. The difference was stark. Before, Ernesto had never gotten past his stage fright to experience the thrill of an audience's attention. Now, when he played, he acted like an addict, drunk on the electricity of a crowd. Héctor felt like he should pull him away. Friends don't let friends make asses of themselves. It was a rule he made, then and there: You don't give an alcoholic a shot of tequila and you don't let Ernesto play a solo.
But now that Ernesto knew what he wanted, it was impossible to pull him away. It had always been like that. Héctor felt helpless to watch from the crowd as Ernesto sang flirtily to a chica in the front row, who responded in kind, tugging at Ernesto's pink hand-me-down moño and pulling him in for a kiss. She was probably drunk, too, though only on booze.
Ernesto saw Héctor's prying eyes and laughed, still halfway through his song. He strummed, bouncing and belting out lyrics, getting closer to Héctor with every note. Héctor sunk down in his seat, but it was too late-Ernesto was making him part of the performance.
The same sweet nonsense of a chorus that he'd sung to the drunk girl was coming out of Ernesto's mouth now. Héctor sighed, but heaved himself up from the table with a flourish, his chair clattering to the ground behind him. All elbows and knees, Héctor threw himself atop the table and bowed, giving a hand to Ernesto, who took it. They sang together, though Héctor wasn't nearly as loud.
When the song was over and the audience was clapping, Héctor grabbed Ernesto's moño and planted a kiss on his lips.
The crowd laughed, jeering and clapping. They thought it was part of the act. It was. Ernesto beamed anyway and Héctor laughed, complaining that he'd be blinded by the man's white teeth.
"It was good," Héctor said later that night. The bed they were in was cramped, but the night air was cold, so he appreciated the heat of the bodies beside him. "The money flowed almost as freely as the liquor."
"It was a small venue," Ernesto said despairingly.
"Ay, they're always too small for you," Imelda said. It sounded critical but Héctor saw the teasing gleam in her eye.
"He's an addict already," Héctor agreed. "Some linger long over wine. He lingers long over music. What kind of adult would have let their kid try it?"
"We're failures as parents," Imelda responded, voice muffled as she threw an arm over her face.
Ernesto scoffed. "I'm older than the both of you ."
"I've failed you, mijo." Héctor turned toward Ernesto. "I've driven you to a life of debauchery and guitar-playing. Can you ever forgive me?"
"Tonight's performance paid for our room," Ernesto retorted.
Héctor was silent before exclaiming, "Oh! Our son, the musical sensation! Imelda, have you ever been so proud?"
"He'll be a millionaire," Imelda said, playing along. "Taking care of us in our old age!"
Ernesto ran a hand through his hair, messy curls hanging in his face. "The two of you, I swear. God have mercy if you ever have a real child."
"Ah-ah-ah," Imelda cut in, sitting up. "Don't jinx us! I couldn't take care of a miniature Héctor, dancing around in the streets, running about without shoes, leeching off his betters for a wage!"
"You never know," Héctor said, smug. "You could get a tiny Ernesto instead. Can't you hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet, scrambling around and-"
"And begging for my attention, day in and day out?" Imelda gave a tch . "I have enough babies to take care of as it is."
"Ah, but-" Héctor started, and Ernesto said it at the same time he did: "You love us!"
"That I do," she said, rolling her eyes. She leaned over Héctor's body, smoothing down Ernesto's shoulders. "My silly boys." And she kissed Ernesto deeply. Héctor laughed as she did, watching Imelda's body over his, reverently putting a hand on her waist. Then giving a squeeze with his other hand on a spot even lower.
She squeaked into the kiss. Both men laughed at her.
They fooled around like that for a time, enjoying each other's closeness. The evening was late, though, and Héctor found himself pulling away from Ernesto at one point. Ernesto didn't notice at first, hands grasping and body warming against his friend's. Héctor had to push the man's face away, coughing, before Ernesto finally seemed to notice.
"What is it?" he said, voice husky, though his voice stayed pressed against Héctor's.
"My mouth is dry," Héctor mumbled. Ernesto offered to fix that for him, but he shook his head. "I think I'm done for the night. I'll leave you two alone."
Imelda was on the other side of the bed now, but she made a noise of agreement. She rubbed at Ernesto's chest and whispered in his ear. The same hungry kiss that Ernesto had offered Héctor was now hers, and Héctor could hear the two of them from outside when he went to the well pump. By the time he returned, Imelda was nestled against Ernesto snugly. Héctor slid beside the two of them.
"Sorry," he said quietly, not wanting to stir Imelda if she was dozing already.
Ernesto ignored the apology. "Why didn't you play with me tonight, amigo?"
"I did," Héctor said. He was tired, and he turned his back to Ernesto, though his friend's arm slung over his side comfortingly.
"You know what I mean. We were supposed to perform together."
Héctor bit his lip. Ernesto was a force of nature when he played. And as much as Héctor was good at playing, at joking with the audience and summoning beauty from his guitar, the stage felt lonesome to him. He didn't like playing alone. And playing with Ernesto? He might as well have been doing it solo. The man lost himself to the crowd as soon as the music started. "Let's not tonight, Ernesto," he murmured sleepily. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. ¿Claro?"
Ernesto said something in response, but Héctor didn't hear it. He was already asleep.
In the night, he was roused by something, a deep rumbling tune. Héctor turned. Ernesto was still awake, staring at the ceiling. He was humming.
Héctor sighed, then leaned up to peck the man's cheek. Ernesto fell silent. "Sleep," Héctor said. Ernesto reluctantly nodded. Héctor drifted off again.