days.â
âHow could you afford it? You never have any money.â
âThatâs right, but you forget Iâm a gaucho at heart. So at times price is no object.â
âWell, what happened?â
âNothing. I ate a lot of barbecued meat and was constipated for three days.â
âI mean with Cathy Escudero.â
âShe was rude. She acted like a prima donna, not a waitress. With her nose stuck up in the air. Sheâs got an Anna Magnani complex. And she never cracked a smile.â
âMaybe she hates her job,â I said.
âEverybody hates their job, kid. Thatâs no reason to be a sourpuss.â
âDonât you think sheâs beautiful?â I asked.
âOf course, but so what?â
Alfonso stuck an index finger into his hot chocolate mug, scooping out a sugary brown film near the bottom. He licked it off carefully. All the destitute boys who visited the empanada stand were like that. Food was precious and they devoured every last bit of it.
âSheâs also a good dancer,â I said.
âIn Buenos Aires? Maybe.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âIn Spain theyâd throw tomatoes.â
That put a damper on our conversation.
Alfonso draped a conciliatory arm around my shoulders. âNo te preocupés,â he said. âWomen are like cats. Either you cotton to them or you donât. My Renata is worse than that ersatz flamenco dancer. She loves to argue for argumentâs sake, and nothing is worse than a female sophist enamored of specious altercation. Itâs exhausting. She throws away money like a millionaire even if she only has twenty pesos. My other girlfriend, SofÃa, is frugal and never confrontational. Sheâs pregnant with common sense and compassionate spirituality, a regular Teresa of Ãvila. She also wants children, as I do. Renata thinks kids are a filthy mucus that should be flushed down the toilet. Sheâs more like Hedda Gabler.â
He paused, reflecting on his two women.
âBut itâs Renata Iâm crazy about even though she drives me crazy.â
28. Tiny Brains
I entered the Mexican Village restaurant on Thompson Street chased by a gust of frigid wind. I had extra cash from running errands for the messenger service on Sixth Avenue near Charlton. I sat down next to La Petisa and Popeye who were halfway through a meal of enchiladas, refried beans, and red wine. They were in high spirits. The waiter brought me a wineglass.
Popeye filled it as he said, âWe are celebrating our noviada. Iâve inherited the five languages from Luigi.â
âI told Luigi good-bye,â La Petisa said. âOne more day of the festering place he calls his pad and I would have gone bonkers. El Coco walked in on me when I was taking a shower and didnât even apologize. Of course, I have exchanged Luigi for a man who rolls his underwear into tiny bundles. I press them with an iron to make them pretty, but he immediately scrunches them up into balls. He claims he learned this from the navy and it keeps his clothing neat. Neat? Caramba! I also make him wear a shirt in bed because those tattoos are disgusting. And when is he going to buy some
teeth
?â
I said, âHey, donât be so mean. It isnât poââ
âDonât worry, kid,â Popeye interrupted. âSheâs not even firing BBs. These teeth were knocked out by a Singapore hooker. An Italian puta once stole my wallet, my bell-bottoms,
and
my seamanâs card. An Egyptian slut stabbed me in the buttocks with a hat pin. I am used to the abuse of women. In fact, I like it as long as they give me the Little Clamshell in return.â
I summoned the courage to address La Petisa: âWell, you go with a lot of guys. Donât you ever want to stay with one person?â
âI do the same thing with countries,â she said. âThatâs how I like it. Every nation I visit has the most