A Short Story By Camilo Marquez

I received this new work from Camilo a few days ago with this message.

"This is a story I wrote for the NPR three minute fiction contest inspired by the words "trick," 'button," "plant," and "fly." It just came to me in a couple flashes. I hope you enjoy it." - Camilo

Off Line
By Camilo Marquez

We worked side by side at the GM plant; he was real fly and knew how to touch all the right buttons, but I wasn’t about to let him trick me out. Roland Dupre was his real name: café-au-lait, honey-tongue, high-yella, pencil-mustache and natural waves. “Whooowee.” A woman didn’t need no moisturizer standing next to him. One evening after four hours of OT, he flashed his gold tooth smile and I made the mistake of taking a ride in “Dinah-Flo,” his Buick Roadmaster. The deep rumble sound you feel down in your stomach gripped me when we drove off.
- Where we goin’?
- Have a drink at Trey Deuces.
- Awright, Ro, just one, I am tired.
- Drink will pick you up, then lay you down easy.
- Yeah, I know you, Ro, an’ I like you, but…
- But nothin’, you deserve some relaxation after 12 hours on the line. Shoo, you deserve to relax all day long, at home, fine as you are!
I was screening him out the corner of my eye, watchin’ his hand with the diamond pinky ring glide around the steering wheel, the top half of his face, flat-staring at the road, while his mouth turned to me and folded a smile ‘roun his words. I sank down in the seat, closed my eyes and listened to Sam Cooke. Sweet. I felt myself about to float away, but sat bolt-upright as we pulled up to the Deuces. It was gonna be a fight – with myself.
“‘Mon baby,” Ro opening the door and taking my hand in his. Soft hands for a man who worked hard. I could feel them – on me. I gripped his tight, so he wouldn’t notice me trembling. Roland greeted the cats who called his name, avoiding the glances of the chicks as he danced me into a booth to the side of the bar, his hand, gentle, in the small of my back.
- Ease it down, Delia. Want some champagne?
- You gonna have whiskey and a bullet? Well, just have the whiskey and I’ll take a bullet for you.
Roland, smiled, not showing his gold, but with his eyes and reached for my hand, closing on it a milli-second before I could pull it away. The waitress came over, giving me a second chance. She wasn’t smiling.
- Three Feathers and a Champale for the lady.
Ro turned back and slid his hand across the table. I looked at him and steadied my voice.
- Ro, can I have a cigarette?
- Delia, you smoke?
- No, sometimes, just to ah…relax.
Now, we both had something to do with our hands and I did relax. The waitress arrived with our drinks. “You runnin’ a tab?”
Roland was about to reply and I touched his hand. “No, Ro just one round, I gotta get home and go to bed.” The waitress’ face softened, quickly returning to business as I caught her eye. I let my hand stay on top of Roland’s. He was looking at our hands when I turned my eyes back to his. We both were about to speak at the same time when we realized we still had an audience. As she turned away I understood she was watching this player make his moves. I decided, hearing myself almost say, “Okay, just one more,” that I was not going to be played upon.
- Ro, let’s go, now.