Love y Lucha

Part 5

Rita couldn't sleep that night, so she stayed up, pouring over the closing receipts for the night. She knew she had to keep her mind busy, or at least try to. If she let it stray, it inevitably strayed to the issue of Paco León, the wrestler she had ravaged just a few hours before.

Doubt and desire held equal real estate in her head. Had she been too direct, not lady-like? Those thoughts made her want to avoid him entirely, if only to hide her embarrassment.

The other half of her Pandora's box, desire, made her want to find Paco León and let him bend her every which way from Sunday.

She had faith that by the next day, all her thoughts would have settled and she would be able to conduct business as usual. Naturally, the business should be in the forefront of her mind, it was the reason they were both here.

Rita's fingers whirred over her calculator and her interest peaked with each passing equal sign. Summer Nights had had a good opening night, in fact, it had beat last year's figure. La Alma had pulled in an impressive portion of that.

She resisted the urge to call her father and wake him to tell him the good news, opting to put the closing paperwork back into its envelope and grab her car keys. She would tell him in person, over breakfast.

Since her brother had died, Rita had moved back in to her father's house. It was a short fifteen minute drive on the highway from the grounds of Hernandez Flea Market. Despite her instinctual qualms of moving back in, it was just easier this way. How many times had she caught him dozing on the couch after a long day, only to wake him and find out he hadn't eaten? He was pre-diabetic and needed to eat a certain diet. If she didn't make him something, he would end up eating tamales and tortas from Doña Ester.

After a shower, Rita made a pot of coffee and began making a breakfast of egg whites with nopales. She set out a jar of salsa and was just heating a tortilla over the burner when she heard the creaking of floorboards in the hall. Her father was like a cartoon with his nose for food. She pictured him floating contently above the floor, a stream of smoke beckoning his nostrils. "Rita," he grunted. "Is that breakfast?"

"Yes, dad," she said, leaning against the counter.

"Bacon?"

"Yes, dad," she said, indulging his own wishful thinking.

He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, smirking with groggy eyes. "No mentiras." He sat and Rita placed a plate in front of him, setting the freshly warmed tortilla on top. She slid the salsa to him and sat on the opposite end of the table with her own tortilla and a cup of coffee.

"Guess what?" Rita said.

"You're heating me up another tortilla?"

Rita laughed. "Nice try."

"Alright, what?"

"We had a really good opening night."

"Really?"

Rita leaned forward. "Yes, really."

"Good," her father said. "Walker's putting a lot of pressure on me."

"Well we beat last year's numbers. La Alma seems to be pretty popular."

Her father nodded. "I figured they would be." He looked up at her for the first time since he had begun eating. "You been up all night?"

"Doing the numbers."

"Did you go out with that man?"

Rita had to put real effort into keeping from choking on her coffee. "What man?"