Millie and Jake Ch. 06

Jake stared at the overhang. MEXICO it said. He knew if he crossed the border, being a con, that the FBI could nail him and his life would be over. On the other hand, what did he have to live for anyway? Prison came in many forms. The prison of the mind was the worst of all. Millie was obviously distancing herself from him and giving herself to another man. He knew that a divorce would soon be forced upon him, and he just couldn't bear the thought of that. No, it was better for him to make himself scarce. I would be easier for him and for her, for his beloved Millie.

At least, he thought, he hadn't debased himself by apologizing to that wife stealing scumbag. At least he hadn't done that; he'd at least been able to save what little pride and self-respect and dignity he had left in refusing to do that. That was one thing that he would not do even for Millie. Why had she sided with him? It could only be because she loved him more than she did him, her husband.

He crossed. Nobody paid him any attention as he walked under the overhang and headed for downtown Tijuana, for a new life, for he knew not what. The day was warm. Somewhere along his path he would need to get something to drink, and maybe a taco or something.

Independencia Blvd. was busy. Shops busy, hawkers, kids everywhere, Americanos shooting pictures of everything in sight: it was a helluva scene. Two little boys came up to him trying to sell him sticks of gum. He ignored them.

Jake knew he had to find shelter and a job in a hurry. He had exactly eleven bucks after his two-hundred and fifty mile trek. The main boulevard was not the place to find what he needed, he knew. He decided to turn down one of the numerous side streets and get into a more residential area. He saw a lady carrying a large gunnysack full of groceries. For no good reason whatsoever he followed her; he'd let her blaze the trail for him.

As she neared a corner of another almost deserted side street, a punk jumped out in front of her and flashed a switchblade in her face. She turned and started to walk-run back towards Jake. The asshole followed her; her flight was futile; she couldn't really escape him even if she hadn't been carrying fifteen pounds of groceries.

The three of them met up all at once. Jake stepped between the punk and the woman; he was actually glad for the opportunity to do something positive. The punk had a knife, but had no idea who or what Jake was capable of. That singular lack of knowledge was remedied in short order. The punk lay sprawled on the street. Jake took the knife, bent it in half and pitched it into the tall grass of the nearby field.

The woman's mouth just hung open in awestruck silence.

"You okay, senora?" said Jake.

She shook herself.

"Gratias," she said.

He smiled. His Spanish was limited to what he'd picked up in the joint. He felt good taking down the punk. Her relief was made him realize that he still had value as a human being: he wasn't just so much flesh and blood adrift in the maelstrom of life. He decided to test the waters.

"Do you speak English?" he said.

"Pequeno," she said.

"Bueno," he said. "Mi trabajo?" he tried.

She understood he wanted a job. She pointed down the street to her left. "Si trabajo," she said.

Grateful for the directions, he started off in the direction she indicated.

She stopped him. "Senor follow," she said in strained English.

He shrugged and followed her. About half way down the block he offered to carry the groceries, and she let him.

Her name was Lorena Gomez. She led him to her house. It was a good half mile from where he had first seen her. Arriving at the house, she took the groceries from him and indicated that she wanted Jake to follow her inside. Hoping for a bowl of something and for anything to drink, he did so.

"Aqua?" he said, actually sounding desperate.

She laughed and got him his water. She also put on a pot of water and began making some tea.

He brought him his tea in a matter of two minutes.

As she prepared the food, something that looked kinda like beef stew, he looked her over more closely.

She was maybe forty, her hair was stringy, but longish, her skin was weathered, but the signs of once rather significant good looks could not be denied. She was about five-foot-two, and she was beginning to show signs of becoming a little bit chunky; but for that she still had a ways to go. All in all, had she taken better care of herself, she would have been a fairly handsome woman with many prospects. It was only much later that Jake discovered that she was all of forty-eight years old; it surprised him.

She finished preparing the mal and they ate. They talked, but the speech was halting and it was a struggle to communicate in any depth. Still, Jake decided that he liked the woman. He had the thought that she was acting as though she liked him as well.

"Un senor," said Jake wondering if she was married. He'd half decided she was not since the house showed no evidence of anyone of the male persuasion.

"No husband," she said in English. Things were looking up for him, he decided.

"Uh—sleep the night?" he said, pantomiming the act of sleeping.

"Si," she said. She pointed to the bed along the far wall. The little house had only the one room.

Jake made a show of saying no and pointed to a corner of the room where he intended to sleep. He was tired, but not tired enough to take the woman's bed.

She laughed. "No, no," she said. "We." She pointed first to herself and then at him and then at the bed. She wanted him to sleep with her!

He shrugged his shoulders in mock surrender and smiled his most benign smile at her.

"Los Banos?" he said.

She smiled again. She opened the back door and pointed to a small structure abut fifty yards to the rear of the little house.

"An outhouse," he said, looking at her with a degree of surprise if not outright disbelief.

She laughed hugely, "Si," she said. "Outhouse."

"When in Rome," he muttered, as he made the trek to relieve himself.

He returned from doing his business in minutes and was no sooner in the house than she pointed to the soap on the sink and pantomimed washing her hands.

He got the idea and washed up.

******

It was maybe three or four hours later, she had no clock that she motioned him to strip for bed. He was slow to start, and she started unbuttoning his pants herself; she jumped back when she saw his cock cage.

"Madre Dios!" she intoned.

"My wife," he said.

"Wife?"

"Si," he said. "She made me."

Lorena slowly shook her head in disbelief. She took his imprisoned cock in her hands and looked at the device critically. She dropped his penis and went to the bevy of shelves on the far wall where everything she owned was stored. She came back with a pair of heavyweight scissors. She cut the nylon straps encircling his scrotum and slid the tube off of his manhood.

Naked and free of his cock cage, she massaged him for a moment and led him to her sleeping couch.

The night was cold, and they cuddled for warmth. Soon she was massaging his cock more vigorously and inevitably it became hard as steel. He fucked her. He treated her gently at first not knowing her limits, but soon he was hammering her vagina like a riveter.

Lorena choked back sobs as the two of them shuddered to a climax. Jake, for his part was thrilled to be with the woman. She wasn't his wife, but his wife had decided to dump him. Lorena couldn't replace Millie, no one could, but for the time being he would play house with Lorena if she'd let him. Things could be worse he thought but didn't say.

Over the next two weeks several things came to light. First, he was immediately hired by Hanson Shoes, a factory close to the house, that produced low cost sneakers for the world market. His skills at mechanics and being a gringo willing to work for three dollars an hour, made him invaluable. This was the factory that Lorena had been pointing to on that first afternoon when they'd met. He was also employed to do liaison with Norte Americanos who had questions or wanted to make large purchases.

Second, he discovered why a relatively sweet woman like Lorena was single. It turned out to be a couple of reasons. First she was barren. Her live-in partner, they had never married, had brutalized her and eventually had hurt her so badly that her female plumbing was ruined forever. Jake felt a quiet rage come over him when he heard that. And, secondly, she had at one time been a prostitute and was therefore damaged goods. She had no children, no money of any significance, and only a life of quiet desperation to look forward to, as George Santayana had phrased it.

Finally, the question he'd asked himself for some days before he'd finally been satisfied with an answer was: why had she taken him in? It seems that after he had slaughtered the impotent punk on that first day; she had hoped that she could convince him to stray and be her protector. She had been raped twice in the past three years: the length of time since her quitting the streets. Plus, there was the threat that when her ex-live-in finally got out of prison, where he'd been since the last time he'd beaten her into insensibility, he might return to reclaim her and she did not have any intention of being reclaimed.

It was quite a smorgasbord of needs and problems this woman had. But, he was just the guy to help her out while at the same time achieving a roof over his head and fodder for his belly. It was win-win for the two of them. Add to all of the above the more than adequate sex, and Jake was ready to settle in for the long haul.

******

The Job at the shoe factory was a busy one, but not all that hard overall. The learning curve was only moderately steep, and by the end of the first year Jake was a promoted. The promotion was a name only thing in terms of responsibilities, but it carried with it a decent raise, that is for Mexico. At any rate he was able to finally put away some savings in the Banco National de Mexico.

He was paying all of the bills at the house: rent, food, clothes. Lorena was grateful and showed him how much virtually every night unless he was too gassed after a long day to get it up.

Things were going well, for Jake, but there was hardly an hour that he didn't think of his wife—probably his ex-wife—and how she might be doing.

Lorena had caught him crying more than once. Being a perceptive woman she knew the signs. Her new man was hurting and longing for his woman. She would comfort him at the right time, but he was a man; he had to be a man and act like one.

Jake couldn't spend his entire life in the factory or in the little house on Diablo Street. He had discovered a tacky little bar cum whorehouse called the Blue Fox. When he was feeling exceptionally mellow he hung out there. The first few times the whores propositioned him mercilessly: he was a gringo, and gringos paid—usually too much. But, after a while they had come to know he was there to hang out and drink a little and then go home, probably to a woman. More than one of the whores considered applying for the job themselves: he was handsome and apparently employed. What else did a girl need?

*******

For months Lorena and Jack kept up their housekeeping relationship. But more and more Jake was thinking of Millie and the last time he'd seen her in the garage. He hadn't been able to handle the humiliation of her demand to apologize to Sam. But after two years, the shock of her demands and the pain of his hurt had dulled. He was thinking of going back.

He wasn't sure about what he would do if he went back. He knew he would likely end up in prison for jumping the border and leaving the confines of his home. If Millie didn't want him, and he was all but certain that she didn't, he would walk away and never come back. His life would be over regardless. It was likely over already, but because the words between them had never actually been said, he felt he needed the closure. As illogical as it seemed, he needed the closure; all this he had decided. But, there was one other concern: Lorena. She had helped him in his hour of need. He could not just walk away and leave her.

True, he had been the bread winner for her for the past two years. But, if he left her now, she might be in trouble. She'd been in trouble two years before. Finding him had been the solution of the moment then. But now, at age fifty, she faced the increasingly unlikely probability that she would find a suitable man to take care of her. Jake, just couldn't up and leave her high and dry.

One good thing that he had managed to do for himself in the time he'd been in Tijuana, was to build a good work record on the job. He had become close friends with Homer Lazlow, another gringo, and a lawyer, who handled the legal niceties of NAFTA for the firm. He was looking for a reliable bilingual secretary to assist him.

Homer, who was nearing sixty, had recently been the victim of a devastating divorce. His wife had been cheating on him—the reality of which he had been completely in the dark about— and between her and her lover had robbed him of almost everything he had and had then had the temerity to try and hurt him even worse in the divorce proceedings.

Jake and Homer had shared many evenings at the Blue Fox commiserating with each other over their respective betrayals by their wives.

"Homer," said Jake, "I think I have someone I would like you to meet."

"Not tonight, Jake, I'm feeling kinda low," said Homer.

"I know. Trust me I am in exactly the same place as are you," said Jake.

"Who?"

"It's a lady. Homer, hear me out. You need someone; shit, both of us do. But I might have the perfect fit for you if you're willing to give it a shot," said Jake.

"Again, who?" said Homer.

"Her name's Lorena," said Jake.

"Lorena! Are you talking about your squeeze? The seniorita you've been shacking up with," said Homer.

"Yes, but she's not my squeeze in the way you mean it. But she is a wonderful woman. And, she is not the betraying kind. You're a good man, Homer. You didn't deserve what your ex did to you. Lorena could do it for you: make you happy," he said.

"You've bedded her?" said Homer. "Right?"

"Yes, regularly. It's very good too. But, we do it because we need it. Both of us knew from the beginning that sooner or later it would end."

"I've never met her, what does she look like?" said Homer.

"She's pretty of course. Prettier than you by a damn sight," laughed Jake.

"Set up the meet," said Homer.

"Okay, but treat her right, Homer. She's had some hard times same as you; she doesn't need anymore."

******

Jake and Lorena talked long into the night and then slept.

In the morning a timid Lorena followed her man to the fancy hotel in the center of town where Homer had indicated he wanted to meet with them. Jake had arranged to get the hell outta the way in due course, and let Homer take it from there. If, that was, the proposed match seemed to have some legs.

The breakfast done, Jake excused himself. He had gotten the high sign from Homer.

Lorena looked at his retreating form. "He leaving isn't he?" she said. "I mean for good."

Homer felt a small pang of jealousy about Jake. If he could only find a woman who would feel that sad about him leaving, life would begin to have some meaning for him.

"Yes, I think so," said Homer.

"Lorena, you and I are in the same place," said Homer. "In the hour we've shared here, I will admit to being taken with you: the way you think and talk and look and smell. Lorena, neither of us are spring chickens, but this old rooster is by no means through, and if I am any judge; and I like to think that I am; we could make a go of this."

"Maybe," she said. Her English in her two years with Jake had vastly improved.

"Lorena, here's the deal. I need an assistant. The pay isn't bad, and has some benefits. You get the job if you want it; Jake has told me a lot about you and at least to that degree, you and I are a good fit.

"Then, and I don't want to waste time mincing words here, as I said you have captivated me. I'd like to think that we might have some hope of making a go of it relationship-wise. I have my stateside social security and another retirement package when I leave this job in another eight years. I used to have more, but my ex-wife fucked me over pretty good. Anyway, if a relationship does not work for us, you still have the job and a good boss in the bargain," he said, smiling.

"Senor Lazlow..."

"Homer."

"Homer, I accept your deal as you call it. All parts of it. If you are as nice as Jake has told me, we will be fine," she said.

******

Jake never looked back. He was heading back to California, on foot, with exactly what he had left with, with the exception that he had three hundred dollars in his hand-tooled leather wallet. The almost three thousand dollars that he had saved in the bank he had handed over to Lorena. She'd resisted, but he had been adamant. She wouldn't be penniless with him gone. That, and with job that he knew Homer was going to offer her, she would be fine. Her only possible problem might come if her ex-boyfriend ever showed up to harass her, but Homer had been made aware of the possibility and would have taken measures before the day was out.

******

Jake took his time as he walked. He would begin hitch-hiking once he got across the border. That was going to be a problem. He had no passport and he had no California ID. If he were stopped, he could expect to be arrested and sent back to Chico without so much as a by your leave. That must not happen he told himself. He had to see Millie one last time before his world came crashing down around him.

He was wearing the same bomber jacket that he'd had on that day two years before when he'd left. At the border gate he planned to make like a day tourist and bullshit his way across; it was a gamble, but at the busiest part of the day a clean shaven gringo with cash in his pocket and very honest looking face would not be likely to get to close a scrutiny.

He got lucky; the woman at the booth just waived him through with what could only have been described as a "fuck me" smile. He gave her his sexiest grin in return. He padded along to the shops on the west side of the street and came to a small eatery and decided to get something to drink. As he was coming out of the eatery, a limo pulled up alongside of him, and a short well dressed man holding a teddybear approached him.

"Hello, Jake," said the youthful looking man with the teddybear."

Jake almost panicked. "Do I know you?" He'd first thought FBI, but no, the FBI didn't drive limos to pick up guys like him, and they didn't usually come armed with teddybears.

"No, but I know your wife," he said.

Jake paled. Speech was not immediately accessible to him. Fortunately he had no need to speak.

"We've been following you all morning. I'm here to talk some sense into you," said the man.

Jake sized him up. The little guy had zero chance against him if it came to blows. But, just as he thought that, a huge Asian exited the limo; the guy had to be six-five and no less than a two-hundred and eighty pounds. Add to that the bulge over his heart, and this was a guy not to be foolin' with on purpose.

"Following me? Sense? What?" stammered Jake.

"I see you've bought a drink. Can we go inside and sit. I'd like a drink too," said the little man.

Jake nodded.

They talked about a number of things; it was almost like the guy was interviewing him for something: deciding if he was worth his time. Jake decided that he liked the guy. He was strange as hell, but he liked him; and it was clear to Jake that teddybear or not, he was nobody's fool. In the middle of their conversation the guy handed him a set of keys.