1. el diablito: el encuentro

by jennifer

another story from the muchacha volada archive...

i wore a red dress. a summer dress, with spaghetti straps, it hit at the knee and had one slit up the side. i wore it with glittered black chanclas for the small party we'd be attending that evening.

i had just moved back to austin after some time away and was looking forward to reconnecting with old friends. one of our friends and his wife were hosting a gathering at their house. an end of the summer celebration with food and wine, music, gossip, etc.

the night had potential.

they had cleared furniture out of the front room and turned on the stereo; an assortment of foods and drinks were arranged on the dining room table; the kitchen was loitered by guys hovering around the refrigerator--the source of their cold beer.

upon entering, i gave the room a once over. the usual crowd, mostly familiar faces. i walked over to my friend, art, the host, to say hello and to ask where to put the biscochitos my girlfriend and i had brought. art and i talked for just a few minutes, and then i noticed him. standing just behind art, askance of the kitchen, nursing a beer. i could see part of the tatoos on his arms beneath the short sleeved, loose-fitting button down shirt he wore. his black hair was cut short and his skin a pretty brown. his eyes looked yellow, like a cat peering beneath a dark brow.

he was watching us talk. i felt my stomach flip.

art noticed him, turned and said, "MV, do you know alejandro?"

"no..."

"mucho gusto," he said, shaking my hand. we engaged in about sixty seconds of small talk before the conversation dissolved into thin air. though i desperately wanted to extend our contact, i had to let it go. i didn't get the sense that he was interested.

i made my rounds at the party, talking and laughing with friends. i noticed alejandro in my peripheral vision, talking to my friends, drinking beer and laughing loudly with the guys. after some time, i could hear him, calling for someone to put on some salsa! what is this prince chingadera? mildly insulted because my friend and i had chosen to play the musicology album, i rolled my eyes and continued to pretend that i didn't care.

soon there was salsa, there was merengue being played, being danced in the front room. i was talking to a friend and one of the guys she had just met when i felt him approach. he grabbed my hand firmly, pulled me toward the makeshift dance floor.

"let's dance."

though i shot an exasperated look at my friend, i felt goosebumps emerge on my arms. and we danced. salsa and merengue, cumbias. we small talked through dances. him in quick spanish. me mostly in english. i couldn't place his accent.

"where are you from?" i asked.

"california," he responded.

i kicked off my chanclas, felt everything spinning. i was giddy with the music and movement and touch. and alejandro was laughing.

"your red dress is making me laugh!" he said.

we danced until there was not more music to be danced. thanked each other and returned to the party.

my friend and i decided to make our exit. i went over to say good-bye to art. and as we hugged good-bye, he said, very firmly, in my ear, "MV, no."

"what?" i asked, feigning ignorance.

"no," he repeated.

as my girlfriends and i walked out, we noticed alejandro and some other guys outside, smoking, drinking their beers.

said good-bye.

once we were out of earshot, all of my girlfriends regaled me. nonononono. not him. he dated so and so. he gets around. not him, mv.

they convinced me. probably he wouldn't be the best guy for me.

but i knew that it wasn't over yet.