certain little Afro-Latina had been there with him. He wondered what Maritza was doing and what she would say when he called her today.
Sunday brunch with her second-oldest brother, Victor, always made Maritza’s weekend when they could squeeze it in. The rest of their family was on the East Coast, so she and Victor were the only two from the clan living in Los Angeles.
At first she had been slightly irritated when her brother the cop moved to Los Angeles. She thought he was just being his overprotective self, which of course he was. But now she was glad to have some family in the vicinity.
Victor was tall, with a dark-olive complexion and jet-black wavy hair that curled when he let it grow out. People around Los Angeles often mistook him for former L.A. Laker Rick Fox. She guessed it couldn’t hurt her brother in his job as a detective for the LAPD to have movie star good looks. Even though she knew she shouldn’t have favorites, out of all of her brothers, Victor was her favorite.
They were at a small diner-style restaurant near her downtown loft. They always had their Sunday brunch there, because it reminded them of the kinds of diners they could go to at home. It was even in one of those retro rehabilitated diner buildings. And it served big portions, one of the main reasons Victor always suggested they go there.
“So what’s been going on with you, baby sis? How’s business?” Victor took a sip of his coffee and focused in on her.
“I just signed two new high-profile clients all by myself. With Penny out of town for her grandmother’s funeral and all, we couldn’t use our usual routine of having her sweet-talk folks into signing with us.” Maritza laughed and sipped her green tea. She was still reeling from the fact that she had actually signed those clients and hadn’t had to be fake or hold her tongue too much.
“High-profile, huh? Who’d you sign?” Victor started to dig into his massive Denver omelet. The onions, peppers, mushrooms, ham and cheese made Maritza wish she had gotten that instead of her usual strawberry crepes.
“Andrew ‘Speed-Lo’ MacGregor and Lace Monroe,” Maritza proclaimed proudly.
The frown on her big brother’s face said it all. Maritza shook her head as she wondered how the child of two sixties radicals ended up being so judgmental.
“It’s times like these when I’m glad I decided to move to Los Angeles.” He shook his head in disgust. “After everything that happened, do you really want to take on these kinds of clients? Surround yourself with those kinds of people?”
His criticism smarted. Maritza pushed her crepes around on the plate and steamed for about a half a second before deciding to just go off.
“And it’s times like these when I actually regret you moving here, Victor. You’re overprotective to the point of being overbearing. Even Papi and Mom aren’t as overprotective as you. The past is the past. I have moved on and I won’t let the past dictate the rest of my life. I refuse to allow that. And I don’t want to talk about it. So please don’t bring it up again. Working with Andrew and Lace won’t be a problem for me.” She took a deep breath and wondered for half a minute exactly whom she was trying to convince. “Lace’s story is not mine. And Andrew is not the violent man he portrays in his songs. He really is a nice person.”
“But his songs are vile and the things he talks about doing to his women, to his wife—”
“They are songs, Victor!” She had to cut him off. If anyone knew how wrong it was to misjudge people, she did. “I know I don’t have to tell my detective brother that there is a difference between rapping about something and doing something, do I? Andrew MacGregor has never been arrested or convicted of any kind of violence against women.” She took a bite of her crepe, closed her eyes for a second and hummed. They were so good. They were light and fluffy and the strawberries added the right amount
Sunday brunch with her second-oldest brother, Victor, always made Maritza’s weekend when they could squeeze it in. The rest of their family was on the East Coast, so she and Victor were the only two from the clan living in Los Angeles.
At first she had been slightly irritated when her brother the cop moved to Los Angeles. She thought he was just being his overprotective self, which of course he was. But now she was glad to have some family in the vicinity.
Victor was tall, with a dark-olive complexion and jet-black wavy hair that curled when he let it grow out. People around Los Angeles often mistook him for former L.A. Laker Rick Fox. She guessed it couldn’t hurt her brother in his job as a detective for the LAPD to have movie star good looks. Even though she knew she shouldn’t have favorites, out of all of her brothers, Victor was her favorite.
They were at a small diner-style restaurant near her downtown loft. They always had their Sunday brunch there, because it reminded them of the kinds of diners they could go to at home. It was even in one of those retro rehabilitated diner buildings. And it served big portions, one of the main reasons Victor always suggested they go there.
“So what’s been going on with you, baby sis? How’s business?” Victor took a sip of his coffee and focused in on her.
“I just signed two new high-profile clients all by myself. With Penny out of town for her grandmother’s funeral and all, we couldn’t use our usual routine of having her sweet-talk folks into signing with us.” Maritza laughed and sipped her green tea. She was still reeling from the fact that she had actually signed those clients and hadn’t had to be fake or hold her tongue too much.
“High-profile, huh? Who’d you sign?” Victor started to dig into his massive Denver omelet. The onions, peppers, mushrooms, ham and cheese made Maritza wish she had gotten that instead of her usual strawberry crepes.
“Andrew ‘Speed-Lo’ MacGregor and Lace Monroe,” Maritza proclaimed proudly.
The frown on her big brother’s face said it all. Maritza shook her head as she wondered how the child of two sixties radicals ended up being so judgmental.
“It’s times like these when I’m glad I decided to move to Los Angeles.” He shook his head in disgust. “After everything that happened, do you really want to take on these kinds of clients? Surround yourself with those kinds of people?”
His criticism smarted. Maritza pushed her crepes around on the plate and steamed for about a half a second before deciding to just go off.
“And it’s times like these when I actually regret you moving here, Victor. You’re overprotective to the point of being overbearing. Even Papi and Mom aren’t as overprotective as you. The past is the past. I have moved on and I won’t let the past dictate the rest of my life. I refuse to allow that. And I don’t want to talk about it. So please don’t bring it up again. Working with Andrew and Lace won’t be a problem for me.” She took a deep breath and wondered for half a minute exactly whom she was trying to convince. “Lace’s story is not mine. And Andrew is not the violent man he portrays in his songs. He really is a nice person.”
“But his songs are vile and the things he talks about doing to his women, to his wife—”
“They are songs, Victor!” She had to cut him off. If anyone knew how wrong it was to misjudge people, she did. “I know I don’t have to tell my detective brother that there is a difference between rapping about something and doing something, do I? Andrew MacGregor has never been arrested or convicted of any kind of violence against women.” She took a bite of her crepe, closed her eyes for a second and hummed. They were so good. They were light and fluffy and the strawberries added the right amount
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