Note: PLEASE READ! Even if you didn't get to nominate your favorite stories for the First Annual Year's End Daughters of the Moon Fanfiction Awards, you can still VOTE from the list now posted on the thread on the Daughters of the Moon Writers forum (voting is open until January 31st). Circus's very own Lillian has been nominated for Best Original Character - Daughter! Also, be on the DotM Writers forum on February 1st for a nice surprise, when BatsuSimisu-Chan and I unveil a new challenge just in time for Valentine's Day!
Circus
Chapter 6
Jimena stepped out of the LAX airport, feeling strangely nervous to be back in her hometown. The sun was blinding, unshadowed by walls of brick, concrete and steel.
She hailed a taxi and gave him the address of the restaurant. She tried meditative breathing in the back of the cab, but twenty years of resisting made it impossible for her to completely steady her nerves using that tactic.
The restaurant was upscale, nothing she could have afforded twenty years ago, but now she walked in with confidence she didn't feel. Certainly, she had eaten at similar restaurants in New York, but now, so close to her past, her stomach had dropped completely out of her body.
"Welcome, Ma'am, do you have a reservation?" the maître d' asked pleasantly.
"Adrian Melles is expecting me," she answered, trying not to sound intimidated.
"Ms. Castillo?" She nodded. "Follow me please."
As they approached the destination table, a middle aged Columbian man stood. "Señorita Castillo, bienvenitos a Los Angeles," he said warmly as they shook hands.
"Mucho gusto, Señor Melles, y por favor, me llamas Jimena."
"Si me llamas Adrian."
They sat and made small talk until their orders were taken and the waiter walked away.
"So, I am told you were raised in Los Angeles."
"I was, though I haven't been here in twenty years."
"Well, thank you for coming all the way out here to meet with me. Where in LA are you from?"
"Ninth Street, at Wilshire Boulevard," she said, rubbing the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, to which she had not applied concealer for the first time since leaving.
"My congratulations for your success," he tipped his glass to her. "Actually," his voice suddenly all business, he shifted in his seat, "A woman like you is exactly what I envision for the new People en Español. I don't know how familiar you are with our publication…"
"I'm as familiar as I have been able to be. I barely have time to read People, and that's part of my job."
"Of course. I took over from the editor in chief two months ago. For its entire publication, People en Español has been as glossy and saccharine as its English counterpart, but la gente do not have glossy, saccharine lives as the white middle class that make up the People readership. This is why I am expanding the human interest department. I want a variety of real stories of la gente, which sadly aren't always happy endings. I think you understand this?"
Jimena took a sip of her water through tight lips before responding, "Well." She set her glass down. "Adrian, I still don't completely understand what my part in this expansion would be. I'm an office manager, not an editor."
"From what I understand you are known for spotting stories and talent, getting cooperation from uncompromising parties; you understand a little of every part of a magazine that makes it run. You would work with the senior editor to oversee the entire department."
They discussed more details through the rest of the meal.
"I appreciate," Adrian was saying as the waiter handed back the check after he had paid, "That I am asking you to move across the country, restructure your life, but I hope you also understand that in order to over-haul an entire magazine for a debut in January, I cannot afford to wait longer than a week and a half for your answer."
"I understand completely." They stood and shook again.
"Espero que nos uniras. Tiene un viaje seguro."
"Gracias, Adrian."
Melles kindly hailed a taxi for Jimena and saw her off.
"Where to?"
Jimena glanced at her watch. She didn't have to be back at the airport for a few hours to catch her flight back to New York. She bit her lip, considering where she wanted to spend her day.
"Lady? Hablas ingles?"
"Yes, I speak English." She told him her old address on Ninth Street. He looked at her like she was crazy, but dutifully pulled away from the curb without comment.
"I work for a magazine; I'm trying to familiarize myself with LA gangs for work."
"I'm not asking questions, Lady – "
"But I am. Is El Nueve, Ninth Street, still in control of that area?"
"You said you work for a magazine?"
"That's correct."
"Yeah, they still operate there."
"And Wilshire 5?"
"Yeah, those two cause a murder an hour in that neighborhood." He regarded her through the rearview mirror. "You watch yourself; even the grannies carry guns."
"That's too bad; the grannies are the ones I was hoping to run into," she said, hoping there would still be one or two older women who could remember her grandmother, though they themselves wouldn't have been grandmothers at the time.
He scoffed and shook his head. When he pulled in front of her old apartment, she thanked him and paid with a generous tip.
The building hadn't changed much. The paint was a bit more faded. The graffiti was a bit more prevalent. But even after all these years, it was still home.
"Hey, baby," the punk was moving towards Jimena. She instantly hardened her expression and stiffened her stance. In New York, she was used to keeping her eyes staring blankly ahead, walking swiftly. But this was her neighborhood. She was in control long before these punks were born. She would not walk swiftly away. "You lost, sweetheart?"
"I know exactly where I am." If she could deal with this situation, she would move back to LA.
"I bet you do," he reached her. He was carrying; she didn't have to check for a bulge – the way he moved was enough. "You look like you're looking for something; maybe I can help you."
"Does that usually work on the girls?" she asked dryly.
"You don't know who you're messing with," he said, puffing himself up to look much more menacing.
A sudden adrenaline rush came over her, a kind she hadn't felt in years. It thrilled her. A movement came naturally to her in this state. She smiled toothily – a jaguar's smile. "You don't know who you're messing with either," she said coolly, remembering how her calmness always unsettled her enemies more than others' toughness.
An escalade pulled up to the curb, and three much older thugs jumped out. Jimena froze. Old school thugs like that could far more dangerous than punk kids.
But she was unable to stop herself from blurting out, "Marco?" It was impossible, though, she knew. The thug who resembled her old compatriot was far too young to be Marco, but he turned towards her as though he recognized the name.
"My brother was shot fifteen years ago. How the fuck do you know him?"
"Little Antonio? How did you get caught up in all this? Marco never wanted you in El Nueve." She squinted at him. He was certainly not the seven year old she remembered.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, lady?" he had a murderous look in his face, and she knew he wouldn't hesitate. Not if he'd lasted this long.
"Jimena Castillo. My name with El Nueve was Risky. I was Veto's girlfriend." She was desperate for him to remember her. Suddenly his menacing face broke into a grin.
"Ricardo! Check this out!" Antonio waved for the leader to come over. "This is Risky. You remember the stories when we were first jumped."
"You come back to the neighborhood, what, for a visit?"
"I might be moving back." She saw the punk look on dumbstruck. "Though probably not to this neighborhood. Not after the welcome I received."
The three thugs looked over to the punk. "She didn't say she was old school El Nueve," he stuttered.
"We'll take care of him for you, Jimena."
She frowned; she knew what that meant. "Nothing too harsh, Antonio. No harm done. He was just talking big."
"We have business to take care of, Antonio," the unnamed thug said.
"When you move back, you come over," Antonio said in parting. "You come see my mamá. She always liked you – you got out, made something of yourself."
She tried not to smile. "I will."
They parted, and Jimena spent the rest of the afternoon in Wilshire Park, watching the old men play chess. Some things never change. Some things, she mused as she walked along the side of the pond, would always be home.
Going out of her way to pass the beach she used to spend so many days at, she made her decision. She would write her resignation letter on the plane.