Chapter 5
Jason
The outside of the Corderos’ store reminds me of American Deli Market, a bodega in my Greenpoint, Brooklyn, neighborhood that was forced to close a few years ago.
A weathered yellow-and-red sign tells me I’ll find beer, vegetables, and an ATM behind its doors.
Faded dollar bills with the words Buena suerte and Good luck are taped to the window, a tribute to the customers who wished the Corderos well when they first opened the place.
And yeah, there’s a cat sitting by the entrance, but that cat has a purpose, like it will fuck you up if you mess with the stacks of Deer Park water bottles it naps on every afternoon.
To the people in this community, like in my own, a convenience store isn’t just the spot to grab a loose cigarette, a half gallon of milk, or a lottery ticket.
No, it’s an institution, the local watercooler, and the best spot to get a cheap and delicious sandwich.
For the folks who grew up here, it signifies home.
There’s a long line to place deli orders, so it’s easy to escape everyone’s notice.
I walk through the aisles, relieved to see enough space for two people to pass each other—that’s a luxury in Manhattan.
I can picture the necessary improvements already: better lighting, dedicated and easier-to-reach shelves for fruits and vegetables, a different style of tile flooring than the psychedelic black-and-white diamond pattern that’s making my head spin.
I assume they’re looking for easy fixes, updates that will increase the attractiveness of the property instead of eating into the profits from the sale.
The work wouldn’t take too long—a few weekends at most—and I could get it done myself with the help of one or two of my men.
But I won’t offer my time just yet. I need to get a sense of the dynamic I’d be signing up for first.
Seconds after the door chime rings, a booming voice grabs my attention. “Yo, Papito, can I get a medium coffee with cream and sugar and a bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll? Don’t skimp on the butter when you toast that roll, okay?”
The person, probably in his twenties, walks into the store like it’s his regular hangout spot and the long line of customers isn’t his concern.
Judging by the smiles and waves thrown his way, everyone seems to know him too.
Each neighborhood has at least one larger-than-life character; this guy looks to be theirs.
With his back turned, the guy at the grill raises his hand in the air, then continues flipping items.
“My shift starts soon, so make it snappy!” the new customer says, laughter in his voice.
“Snappy, my ass,” the cook replies, his spatula swinging in the air.
“Why you gotta be like that, Papito?”
“Because you’re a pain.”
“But you love me, too, right?”
The cook grunts.
The new guy’s eyes shift to Vanessa and go wide. “Ey-yo! Is that little Vanny I see?”
“Yup, it’s me, Chito,” she says, smiling.
Vanny. I like the nickname. Makes her seem more approachable.
“Look at you, mama,” Chito says. “All grown up. Your mom said you were in Chicago. Just visiting, I hope?”
My ears perk up. I’m curious to know her deal, and I don’t really have a good reason to ask her these questions myself, so I eavesdrop on their conversation.
“I’m here for a while, actually,” she tells Chito. “My firm’s opening an office in Midtown and asked me to be a part of the launch. Taking some time off until I start in August.”
“It’s a promotion,” the older guy proudly says from his spot at the grill.
“Living with your parents?” Chito asks Vanessa.
“No, I’m renting a place in the Village.”
“Nice. I always knew you would do big things. I’m glad you got out. This neighborhood was never good enough for you anyway.”
I think Chito means it as a compliment, but Vanessa’s face falls, leading me to believe she didn’t take it as one.
“What about you?” she asks, apparently shaking off whatever bothered her about his statement. “How’s your mom? Your little sister?”
“We’re all fine. Can’t complain. I work for the MTA now. Driving buses, mostly the M15 line.”
“You like it?”
“It’s all right. Pays the bills.”
“Order up, Papito,” the guy at the grill says, sarcastically mimicking the nickname Chito used for him earlier. Now that the cook’s facing the sales floor, I realize he bears a striking resemblance to Vanessa. Must be her father.
Chito grabs the bag and the to-go cup of coffee, places a few bills on the counter, and heads for the door. “Take care, Vanny. Be good, okay?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Vanessa says with a wink and a wave.
Huh. She’s a flirty one too. I’m learning a lot about Ms. Cordero this morning.
Her eyes scan the store, then she does a double take when she notices me standing among the other customers. “Oh, you’re here.”
“Wanted to grab something to drink first,” I say, raising the bottle of iced tea I grabbed for cover. “How much?”
“It’s on us. Lisa mentioned that you’d be stopping by to make some recommendations for the store. That was…nice of you.”
I tilt my head and grin at her. “Was that hard? Speaking about me in positive terms?”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “Considering how you acted when we met, I made all kinds of assumptions. I can admit some of them may have been too harsh.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“Oh, I wasn’t apologizing.”
“Of course not. Let me guess, you operate without a filter.”
“Ha, this is the filtered version. If you knew my real thoughts, you’d probably cry.”
“Too late. I’m already crying on the inside.”
Her smile fades. “Yes, well, I seem to have that effect on people.”
“That’s not what I…” I cut myself off and rake a hand through my freshly cut hair. We don’t know each other well enough for me to dig into whatever that was. “Is Lisa around?”
“She’s running a little late, but she’ll be here soon. Let me check these folks out, and then I’ll introduce you to my dad.”
“Sounds good,” I say, opening the bottle.
After she sorts out the customers, and there’s no one else in line, she rounds the counter and motions for me to follow her. She raps on the top of the deli display case. “Papi, let me introduce you to someone.”
“Coming, nena,” he says as he removes his plastic gloves. When he sees me, he smiles.
Vanessa points to me as if she’s Vanna White presenting a prize package. “Papi, this is Jason. He’s Camila’s older brother. Jason, this is my father, Cándido.”
“Mucho gusto,” her father says. “Your sister’s an angel.”
“El gusto es mío. And yeah, that’s what we call her sometimes.”
“Jason works in construction,” Vanessa says.
“I’m a home builder.”
“He owns his own business too,” Vanessa adds.
“I do commercial and residential remodeling as well.”
Cándido looks between Vanessa and me. “You two should take this show on the road.”
The wisecrack breaks the ice, and we all laugh.
“Lisa told me you could give us some pointers,” he continues. “But I want to be clear: I don’t have a lot of money to make all kinds of changes. This one”—he points at Vanessa—“wants to make this a place for the gringos.”
My gaze darts to Vanessa, and her chin dips. I’m interested in knowing why it does, but I’m also unsure why it matters.
“All I want is for La Flor to stay the same,” Cándido says, his hands gesturing wildly. “We’re in Harlem. This is El Ba-rri-o. Spanish Harlem. Not SpaHa or whatever the hell the kids are calling it now. I want someone to take over the lease and make bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches all day.”
“Understood,” I say. “I have only one question.”
“Dímelo,” he says, stepping forward and crossing his arms.
“Does the cat come with the store?”
Cándido’s stance relaxes, and he wags a finger at me. “You’re a good kid. I can tell.” Then he slaps me on the back. “Come by anytime.”
Behind him, Vanessa rolls her eyes. And because I know she’ll hate it, I wink at her. She flicks her gaze at the ceiling and walks away. Yeah, this is going to be fun.
“So that’s it,” I say after walking through the suggested improvements with Cándido and Vanessa. “Not a complete overhaul. Just small fixes here and there.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Cándido says. “I can picture everything. Would look real nice. I can even see myself hanging on to the store a few more years with those kinds of changes.”
Vanessa grumbles. “That’s definitely not the point, Papi.”
He grimaces in embarrassment. “I know, I know.” To me, he says, “Do you have someone you could recommend for this kind of job?”
This is clearly in my wheelhouse, and he’s already mentioned that money’s tight. Plus, I like that he’s trying to preserve the neighborhood’s vibe. It’s an easy decision. “I can do it. Not by myself. But I have a couple of work friends who owe me a favor anyway.”
“How much would it cost?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as though he expects me to hoodwink him.
“Free of charge,” I say easily.
“What?” he replies, placing his hands on his chest. “That’s too much.”
“I can pay you,” Vanessa adds. “Assuming your fees are reasonable.”
“No, you can’t, mija,” her father says. “I won’t allow it. This is our business, your mother’s and mine. We’re responsible for the expenses.”
“But Papi—”
“I’m not charging anything, so there’s no need for you two to get into it,” I interject.
“Please. Lisa’s like family to me, so that makes you family too.
And it would be my pleasure to help keep a Latinx business in the community.
I’ll get the materials from the leftovers of past jobs.
All in top condition, so I won’t be cutting corners.
The only thing I ask is that you give us some of those amazing sandwiches when we’re hungry. ”
“That’s no problem at all. We’ll take good care of you.” Cándido’s eyes grow wide, then he scurries away, shouting over his shoulder, “Hold on a minute. I might have something you’d like.” He returns with two tickets in his hand. “You’re a fan of the Mets?”
“Damn right I am. They’re my team.”
“Eh, we can’t all be perfect. A customer gave them to me, but if they’re your team, I want you to have them. Consider it a small gift for agreeing to help with the store.”
I glance at the tickets as he hands them to me. “The Mets versus the Cincinnati Reds. That’s very generous. Why don’t you want them?”
Cándido rolls up his sleeve and points to his forearm. “Do you see that?”
“Um, what I am looking for? Your veins?”
“Exactly,” he says. “That’s Yankees blood running through them. I will never step foot in Citi Field. Not as long as it’s where the Mets play.”
“The theater called; it wants the drama back,” Vanessa says. “And if I’m recalling correctly, you promised those tickets to me. So I could finally get to experience Citi Field in person.”
“I did?”
“You did, Papi,” Lisa says, appearing at the end of an aisle like a jack-in-the-box. “And sorry I’m late, but I did hear you say you’d give them to Vanny.”
Cándido frowns. “Maybe I did.” He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
“She can have them,” I say to Cándido. “I don’t want you to have to go back on your promise.”
Lisa looks between Vanessa and me, her eyes brightening as if an idea has just popped into her head. “Why don’t you two go together? That way, Papi gets to keep his promise and Jason gets his gift.” She claps once. “Done.”
“Great idea,” Cándido says.
“Why do you two assume I don’t already have plans to take someone?” Vanessa asks.
“Do you?” her father and Lisa ask in unison.
“No,” she mutters.
“See?” her father says. “And it doesn’t have to be a date or anything. But you’re never going to find someone if you stay in your apartment all day.”
Vanessa snaps her eyes shut. “Oh my God.”
“I feel your pain,” I offer.
She opens her eyes. “Do you? Is your pain named Cándido too?”
We all laugh, and then Vanessa lets out a sigh of defeat.
“I’m game,” she says, her head tilted as she studies me. “How about you?”
“I’m game too.”
“It’s settled,” Lisa says, rushing over to the register to help a customer who’s starting to look annoyed by the wait.
“I’m going to get out of here, then,” Vanessa tells us. “I need to hit the GreenFlea Market”—she narrows her eyes at her father—“so the apartment I stay in all day doesn’t look so empty.”
“It’s called the Grand Bazaar NYC now,” I say.
“Thanks, Wikipedia, but it’ll always be GreenFlea to me.”
“What are you looking for?” Lisa asks.
“A dresser.”
Lisa’s brows snap together. “How are you going to fit it into your tiny-ass car?”
Vanessa waves away her sister’s question. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
This, too, is an easy decision. I want to be around this woman—if only to get a better sense of who she is—so I’m going to offer her a ride. “I have my truck. Want me to take you?”
Her eyes round in surprise. “The better question is, do you want to take me?”
“I do.”
“You’d wait around as I shop?”
“I, uh, I wouldn’t mind picking up a few things for myself. Flea market shopping is kind of my thing.”
She blinks at me. “Come again?”
“I said flea market shopping is kind of my thing,” I repeat with a chuckle.
“Let’s do it, then,” Vanessa says, giving me a wink.
She’s so damn beautiful I can’t think straight.
Makeup-free and glowing, she’s a sight to behold.
The bronze curls that dance across her shoulders and appear soft to the touch only add to her allure.
Tanned skin. Golden-brown eyes. A dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks.
Looking at her is like facing the sun and letting its warmth settle into your skin.
I stare at her—for too long, apparently.
“Jason.”
“What?”
“Your offer. I’m taking you up on it…unless you’ve changed your mind?”
I step back, shaking my head. “Right. The flea market. Yeah, let’s do it.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Not enough sugar today. Probably hypoglycemic.”
“The iced tea in your hand might help.”
“Right,” I say, then guzzle said tea like the thirsty man I am.
Damn, why do I feel like a kid around her?
Awkward and shy. No game to be found anywhere.
Maybe it’s because, for the first time in a long while, I’m not looking for red flags.
Vanessa isn’t concerned about impressing me.
She’s comfortable in her own skin, and if you don’t like the skin she’s in, she doesn’t care.
I admire that about her. A lot. For once, I’m open to going with the flow and seeing where this goes.
Hopefully my instincts won’t steer me wrong.