CHO-LAY'S MO-LAY

by
M. Frias-May

Cho-lay left through the back door of Felipe's with eighty dollars. She'd been extra smiley and swift with her regulars and allowed a couple old cabrons to pinch her round rump. The half-mile to the bus stop didn't aggravate any veins in her shapely legs but it weakened her will. The day wasn't over. Caring for Mama was more demanding than her whirling from table to table at Felipe's. Just this morning Mama said, "Now don't burro. You know I need you near me. I've been feeling poorly. I have that pain again and it scares me to suffer knowing you're not here. So, please, Cho-lay, be home on time."

Cho-lay looked out the window and saw how time ravaged the once clean and safe Santa Maize. Block after block revealed a city that seemed to invest in petroleum, donuts and liquor. There were bars on the windows and unemployed men scavenging for handouts and smokes. She lived off Santa Domingo in a neighbourhood of withering trees and small porches. There was always a feeling in the morning when there was a trace of blue in the sky that the circus was coming but by mid-afternoon the kids and the dogs turned on each other for fun.

When Cho-lay arrived at the plum-colored stucco with brown sea grass, she took a breath and entered the stuffy house. There was a groan from the living room. "I'm home," she said. "How was your day?" There was no answer so Cho-lay went about opening windows and listening to the laboured breathing of her Mama. Finally, Mama yelled out, "Awful. How can it be anything but awful?" Cho-lay kept moving. The dishes needed to be cleaned and put away and the dinner started.

She heard her name being pulled out of Mama's mouth. "Cho-lay, please, hurry." She left the water running, knowing she could use it as an excuse if Mama's misery was talky.

Mama was sunk down, all 250 pounds of her, in a plaid sofa chair. She was wearing a white dress with pink carnations and she was perspiring. "Oh, Cho-lay, what a miserable day to live and I know more miserable days are ahead. I can feel them coming, one by one. Oh, Cho-lay, the fan. I need to breathe. Please, would you?"

She flipped the fan switch to high and said, "The water's running, Mama."

She went back into the kitchen, knowing food would ease Mama's distress. She prepared a guacamole dip and served it on a tray with a cold beer.

"You're so sweet, Cho-lay," she said, eyeing the dip. "Are we out of onions?"

"I'll pick some up tomorrow," Cho-lay said.

"Before work I hope." Mama dug in. "So much better with onions. But this is good too. Not as good but good to a hungry woman who misses her lovely daughter."

Cho-lay turned to leave but Mama reached out and grabbed her wrist. She could feel the strength in Mama's hammy hand. "You're not leaving tonight, are you?"

"Mama."

"I know," Mama said, wincing. "Friday night is Hector's." She pushed away from the dip.

"The avocados are fresh, Mama, and I just opened the chips so please, relax, and I'll bring you another beer." Colour returned to Mama's cheeks. Her skin was like an orange tinted pinto bean and Cho-lay wondered where Mama got her flush. She wasn't one to garden or lounge in the sun. But every Friday night, Mama glowed with a special hurt and the only cure was for Cho-lay to fix Mama up with more beer and food. She prepared Chili Colorado with expensive pork and beef and she topped off the meal by turning over half her tips.

"A good day at work, child," she said. "See what white teeth and big breasts bring." Mama howled and fanned the dollar bills out on the table. Cho-lay hated giving money to her. None of her sisters or brothers did, only her. Once she tried to gyp Mama and she got the dog eyes, rabid nibs that bore into her soul. From then on, it was fifty fifty.

When she had the money smoothed and clipped, Mama went and placed the bills in the hall closet. She returned with a frown. "Will you do the dishes before you leave?"

Cho-lay nodded.

"I saw cockroaches, Cho-lay. Big ugly ones. And I know they're not from here. They belong to those dogs next door. Such filth. How can people live like dogs and show their faces?"

Cho-lay grunted and walked into the kitchen.

"Those roaches aren't even as dirty as those people. They're moving out. That's what's happening, Cho-lay. The roaches are looking for a place that a roach can live in."

###

Around 7:30, Hector called. Cho-lay had washed and waxed the kitchen floor. She ironed sheets and pillowcases, and scoured the bathroom. She was exhausted but Hector's silky voice revived her. "You tired, my sweet?" She could hear Mama struggling out of the chair. "I'm fine."

"Good. I like you fine."

"Hurry," she pleaded and hung up. Mama stood in the kitchen, scratching the mole on her right earlobe. "That Hector?"

"Yes."

"You have to work tomorrow."

"I know."

"Work is not profitable with a hangover." Mama belched. "Did he take that job with the school?"

"He hasn't decided."

"What is there to decide when you're out of work?"

"He has his music."

"That is a pastime, not a career." Cho-lay watched Mama settle into a chair. "But it's his life, Mama."

"Yes," she said, "if he was alone but he isn't. He's seeing you and God knows what he's telling and doing to you."

"He loves me." Cho-lay's face reddened. Her mother had many moods and shapes and right now she peered at Cho-lay like an unhappy cow. "I'm sorry," Mama said. "I'm so loca when you're not around." A car rumbled into the neighbourhood and Mama rubbed her lips.

"He's early," Cho-lay said. "And I'm a mess." A horn honked.

"Why won't he come to the door?"

"You know why," Cho-lay said, dashing out of the kitchen.

"Oh, I call him a burro-headed bastard and suddenly he's afraid of a fat woman. Tell me, how can such a man survive in a world of real men?"

The horn honked again. Cho-lay found her lipstick, perfume and pumps and stuffed them in an oversized bag.

"Cho-lay, did you hear me?"

"Of course, you're shouting."

"I'm talking to a phantasm in another room."

"I'm leaving," Cho-lay said. "Bessos."

"Is there ice cream?"

"Rocky Road," Cho-lay said, then closed the door.

###

Hector drove off fast. "She's so evil," he said but Cho-lay didn't say anything. She was out of the house, away from Mama's stingy love. She inhaled the sage incense Hector had burned to cover up the smell of motah. She didn't mind him altered. He was thoughtful and affectionate when he was stoned. He put his hand on her knee.

"I hand washed the dress," he said. "The stretchy one."

"I brought the heels."

"The lipstick?" he asked.

"Of course."

"I'm happy already and I've been thinking." She pressed her finger to his lips and he sucked on it. "I need a moment." She removed her finger, smelled the peppermint he rinsed his mouth with. He rolled the windows down and warm southland air tossed her hair. The dark was spotty in the streets and those wandering around seemed to believe that nothing was knowable on a hot July night in Santa Maize.

Cho-lay didn't believe that. She had an Asian-eyed man respecting her wishes for quiet. She had a feeling welling in her, something divine wanting to bust out, scream and return to its post by her heart. She was happy. She was hot. She was in control.

###

Hector lived in an upstairs apartment that looked out over a pool. Most of the tenants were Hispanic, college-aged, and employed. They called her Cho Cho and she didn't mind the crass nickname. To them, she was a fun and unpredictable aunty.

Hector's place was clean and spare like him. The shag carpet was raked and a dishtowel was folded neatly on the stove. She stood in her bare feet while he squeezed fresh lemons through a little colander. He'd striped down to his tight underwear. He was sinewy, hairless, and had the little ears of a choirboy. Seeing him dote on her gave Cho-lay glimpses of Mama's irrationality and possessiveness. It was a different kind but it struck the heart with the same fist. They met in Felipe's six months ago. He came in with two crude cholos for lunch and she mesmerized him with short searching stares. He showed up the next day alone, wearing glasses and a collared shirt, apologizing for his friends' bad manners. He said his name was Hector Yo Mo and he would be honoured if she would have lunch with him. She did and he fed her raw fish and rice and later, with patience and an erection, he rubbed her feet for an hour.

"I made the ice with Evian," he said and placed the cubes in a glass, poured in whiskey and sloe gin and topped it with the freshly squeezed lemon juice. They were the same height. He had freckles across his nose and dimples and cool nervy skin. She wet her lips with the drink, lightly kissed the ends of his long eyelashes. She felt the tip of his green banana. "Shall I dress for you?"

"Yes," he groaned. Cho-lay led him to the bedroom where three fans were aimed at a double bed with a rubber sheet and no pillows. A potted Japanese maple lost a leaf while he put on violin music. Cho-lay stripped. Usually she showered but she was anxious. She rubbed herself with lotion. She could hear him muttering about her body. She tingled when she put on the short clingy dress. His hand was in her hair.

"We're on a bus," he said. "In New York. It's summer and you trust my smell." She could feel his banana against her thigh. His hands seemed like ten. "Cho Cho," he whispered, "I love you so damn much."

###

She couldn't focus nor did she want to. It seemed she had slept through the next two seasons and it was raining outside. Her hand smeared oil on the rubber sheet and she remembered where she was, what she did, why she was smiling. She rolled onto her side. Hector sat in the lotus position in a corner, his mischievous lips moving inaudibly.

"Yo Mo."

"Yes, my sweet."

"Are we dead?"

"I hope so," he said, opening his eyes. "We said illegal things and we said them very loud." She laughed. "You okay?"

"I'm getting rid of my cramps."

"Where?" Cho-lay asked.

"My big toes. They cramp when you're on top but they're noodley now."

"Come here," she said. Nothing was clouding her head. Not Mama or the thousands in ones stacked in the closet. She mounted him this time but it was only for a few pushes when he rolled her over and started shifting his body like sand.

"I've been thinking about the money," he said. "Your money. Our money." His eyes were fish dead but they spoke to what she'd been thinking for years, running off, starting over, being trashy, relocating, finding a restaurateur in his late sixties to fuck into extinction. Mama owned her and Cho-lay allowed it. The fat backhand of guilt protected Mama and Hector Yo Mo told her the first night they screwed how to block it. "Sometimes," he said, "the hand has to die."

###

Cho-lay opened the door at four a.m. It was still warm and her hands were shaking. She used a mini-Mag light to locate Mama in the house. Mama liked to scare her sometimes, hide in her closet or behind the shower curtain. But this dim morning she was in bed, barely breathing. Her face was coppery and twitching like a cute baby chimp. Cho-lay crossed herself, made her way to the hall closet. The money was paper clipped in stacks of twenty-five and rubber banded in bundles of a hundred. There were ten, three-foot stacks.

Cho-lay earned it all, using up years of charm on suits and quivering oldies. Mama hoarded it without a specific dream or want. It was merely there, like the hot water heater, another thing in the house. Hector wanted Cho-lay to pack the money in a suitcase and leave, no note, no nothing. He'd drive her to the train station in Los Angeles and meet her later in San Luis Obispo. He doubted Mama's hoary side, speculating she'd move in with one of the other siblings after the police labelled the crime domestic crap.

Try it and we'll see how long you stay missing.

Cho-lay shut the closet door and went into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, removed two packages of chicken legs and thighs. She washed them, peppered them, placed them in a skillet on low. In another pan, she sautéed rice in olive oil and garlic and added chopped onions and tomatoes. The smells would wake Mama. They'd have a nice meal and negotiate their separation.

Cho-lay dropped the dry red peppers into boiling water. She put in garlic, cumin, and cloves in with the pacias. The smell was pungent and in a few minutes she could hear Mama rising from her bed. She had brewed coffee and set out Kailua and tequila. Mama entered, wearing her ratty silk robe. She was stiff, squinty-eyed and suspicious.

"What's going on, Cho-lay?"

"Everything and nothing," she said, bringing the alcohol-laced coffee to Mama. "Sit." Mama liked her tequila on Saturday mornings. It gave her the extra heart to lounge a few hours on the patio before the intolerable sun scorched the backyard.

"Cho-lay making mo-lay?" She hadn't heard Mama's sweet teasing voice in years and it pained her but she continued prepping, blending, straining, adding dry chocolate and a white powder. "What is that?" Mama asked.

"Little salt, little sugar." Cho-lay fluffed the rice, avoiding eye contact with the woman who didn't like change or surprises. "You're going to be tired for work," Mama said.

"Rita is covering for me. I saw her last night and she owes me." Mama held out her cup and Cho-lay took it and mixed another strong drink. She could feel Mama's warm distrust. "Where did you see Rita at?"

"We ran into her at Lola's. "

"Dancing, drinking, and now a day off, I don't know, Cho-lay, if your Friday nights are such a good thing."

She placed the coffee in front of Mama. "It's going to be hot today. I thought we could watch the sunrise, and talk."

"I don't like the sound of this, mi'ja."

"That's because you're hungry." Cho-lay returned to the stove, poured the sauce over the softened chicken and let it simmer. She set the table, careful to give Mama smiles and reassurances she wasn't getting lazy. "I'm having a little fun and being sensible about it. I understand your suspicion. But you didn't raise a dumb daughter. I'm in complete control."

Mama's mixing bowl could serve five and Cho-lay filled it with rice, sauce, three legs and two thighs. She warmed half a dozen flour tortillas and placed them in a dishtowel. Cho-lay knew the tortillas would be used for the second helping and she also knew why Mama liked to eat alone. Sauce was dripping from her chin and hands and there was even a smear on her forehead.

"I think I'm ready for a beer," Mama said. Cho-lay brought over a cold Modelo and a damp towel. "This is nice. You staying home, making mo-lay. Nice and spicy, the way I like it." Mama drained the beer. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm getting fat."

"Good," Mama laughed. "Fat looks good on a sensible woman in control."

###

Mama drank two more beers and had another bowl of mo-lay. Cho-lay turned on the radio because Mama was getting loud and crude. "I'm going to have a caca the size of Guadalajara and then I'm going next door and tell that cockroach." Mama stopped and twisted toward the music: Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass. "Oh, Cho-lay, help me up. I love this song."

Cho-lay was surprised Mama had life in her legs. She was wobbly but able to polka and Cho-lay let her lead and belch. Even the biggest beasts get weary, Cho-lay told herself and eventually, Mama did tire. Cho-lay coaxed her outside and helped her into a recliner. Her toes had swelled and she looked puffy.

"I'm dizzy, mi'ja."

"Fun can hurt, Mama. I know. A little here, a little there, is fine."

"I feel like I'm floating. I feel."

"You're fine," Cho-lay said. "Relax. Look. It's getting light." Mama struggled to keep her eyes open. "I don't feel good."

"Should I call 911?"

"No, God, no, I don't want that cockroach to see me hauled away."

"What do you want?"

"I don't know," Mama said, faintly.

"I'll tell you what I want." Cho-lay whispered into Mama's ear. She said she wanted the money and Hector's pizzle every hour of the day. Mama could only gasp. The alcohol, the morphine in the mo-lay, and the dancing sapped Mama. She lay sweaty and helpless.

Cho-lay went inside, disposed of the mo-lay, cleaned the kitchen, and mopped the floor. She took a cold shower, dressed for work, then packed the money in a suitcase. She left the house and found Hector asleep in the back seat of the Impala. She didn't wake him. The keys were in the ignition and her heart was losing its stoniness. What had she done?

###

Hector woke while she was driving. "How'd it go?"

She glanced in the rear view mirror. He was rubbing his eyes. He didn't look like an accomplice or a lover or even a man. "I didn't hear any screaming," he said. "So I figured, well, I can leave and come back next Friday and tell you again why that fat bitch is ruining your life or I can wait and drive you to work and hear what pathetic excuse you're going to give." He leaned forward and saw the suitcase on the front seat. Cho-lay felt his nose in her hair.

"I couldn't do it," she said.

"You're funny."

"I couldn't take it."

"Then what's in the suitcase?"

"My clothes. I'm moving in."

"You're what?" Cho-lay came to a stoplight. "We can make that much in a year if we work together and then we can go to San Luis or wherever you want."

"That wasn't the plan."

"Yours was stupid and unforgiving and I couldn't live with it."

He sat back, freshened his mouth with a stick of gum. There was a donut shop on the corner and Cho-lay could see a cop car out front and the dark-haired officers inside, unaware of how close they were to a troubled woman.

Hector Yo Mo was done with her. She could tell by his silence and yawns. Her hurt felt like a cramp and a cut. But she refused to show this addictive chico any weakness. She drove to his apartment, watching the streets perk up with joggers and the homeless. She stopped in front of the palm tree and got out with her suitcase.

The air was hot and thick and the sky was brown. Hector had the car keys and Cho-lay noticed his relief. She realized then that Hector's silence and mud hard face were not reactions to her moving in but worry that she would do something desperate like crash his precious car.

"I'll call you a taxi," he said. "I want my dress."

Hector hatched a smile that disgusted her because it was the smile she found irresistible last night, a smile that told her that she was never in control.

"Why don't you come up and get it," he said, removing his shirt.

"I'll stay here." He left and Cho-lay knew she could save Mama with a call right now. She could use Hector's phone, and his body one last time, and return to what she had. It wasn't like living on the street or living fat and ugly and alone. She had spikes of self-worth, especially from her customers, and Mama, on rare days, could make her laugh. She was sure Hector could adapt to sex and nothing else, and if he couldn't, she'd find another. These thoughts felt dirty in her head and she rinsed them, aired them out, and realized they were stained. Yes, she could accept Mama's heart failure.

Hector returned with the dress in his fist. He'd taken a shower and his hair was slicked back. He'd shaved and his cologne smelled like the sea. He said, "I'll miss this. We were good when you were in it."

Cho-lay took the dress from him, expecting him to leave but he lingered like he knew he was a drug to her. "San Luis is a university town," he said. "They have a farmer's market every Thursday night and there's barbecues going and music and a lot of people having a lot of fun. It's a fiesta and no one gets hurt, Cho-lay, it's safe and clean in San Luis and when you go north, there's the ocean and whales and a castle up on a hill."

She gritted her teeth and didn't doubt San Luis was friendly but what about jobs and rent?

A yellow cab drove up and the driver didn't get out. Cho-lay fixed on Hector and she could see confidence in his face, the look of a tour guide who'd shared a wonder with someone. She popped the latches on the suitcase, opened the lid and put in the dress. She stood up and Hector was standing close to her. He'd seen the money and his trembling hand was touching her wrist.

"Cho-lay, please."

His sputtering panic was adorable and she couldn't help it. She kissed him and swung the suitcase into his crotch. He collapsed and cried and Cho-lay got into the taxi.

"Where to, Senora?" The driver was smiling, pleased by her violence. "I don' t know," she said. "Just drive."

© M. Frias-May
Reproduced with permission

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