My Fair Señor #2
“The Día de los Muertos party? ?En serio?” The Day of the Dead party in Old Town was hands down the best fiesta for the holiday in San Diego, if not the state.
Family fun, bro bashes, and cultural classes were all part of the event.
There was something about the quaint, historic neighborhood that added genuine authenticity to the holiday.
San Diego, which neighbored Mexico, was a true border beach town.
With twenty percent of San Diego’s 1.5 million population Hispanic, politicians were usually found circulating at these bicultural celebrations.
Old Town was literally the oldest settled town in California—a place that could be the set for the next Zorro adaptation.
Now it was a tourist mecca that consisted of sarsaparilla shops and tasty taquerías.
“Yes, I am. I’d go myself, but you are the face of the company, Mr. People en Espanol’s sexiest eligible bachelor.”
Ramón groaned. That title had been nothing but trouble.
All the gold diggers had placed a target on his back.
Those women didn’t like him for who he was, but instead for what he was worth.
He’d never wanted to be the face of the company; he was proud of his work but craved anonymity.
He’d gladly give that role to his youngest brother, Jaime, who was a model, influencer, and director of the company’s social media platforms.
“Not sure that matters, because if I went, I would have to wear face paint.”
Papá laughed. “Just go for a few hours, check in with some reporters and the mayor, take a few pictures, and leave. You never know—you could meet a nice young woman there. When I was your age, I always made time for the ladies.”
Ramón exhaled. Papá’s wild youth was no secret.
As a little boy, Ramón loved listening to Papá’s stories about hitchhiking through Mexico and surfing along the Baja coast. But Ramón’s favorite story was about the spring break love affair his father had had with a senorita in San Felipe.
It was there that Papá had first tried fish tacos.
Ramón had no trouble meeting women, usually through dating apps, if he ever managed to take a day off work, which was rare. He had no time to even think about starting a serious relationship with someone. And after his parents’ nasty divorce, marriage no longer held any appeal for him.
Even so, sometimes, after he closed a big deal, he wished he could celebrate his success with someone.
Toast champagne on his ocean-view rooftop deck or spend a romantic weekend in Paris.
It would be nice to meet someone who was actually interested in him and not his money.
But he doubted he could find such a woman, and he didn’t even want to try.
Women were a distraction—a fun one, but nothing more.
“Seriously, Apá. Can’t Jaime do it? He will be posting his every waking minute anyway. And they look great in their outfits—they’ll get so much press. He and Enrique just left.”
“No. You know them. They will both be drunk and spend the night hitting on women. Definitely in no state to schmooze. There is nothing left to do on the Barrio deal. Take the night off. Please, do it for me.”
Ramón had no choice but to agree. “Okay, I’ll go. But only for a few hours.”
“That’s my boy. Do you have something to wear?”
Ramón exhaled. He did, but nothing like his brothers’ new threads. “Yeah. I think my old charro suit still fits.”
“Wonderful. Have fun. I love you. I’ll see you in Barrio, manana.”
“See you tomorrow. Love you, too, Apá.”
Ramón hung up, saved all his work, and shut off his computer. Papá was right; the best thing he could do for the Barrio deal was to go schmooze.
Ramón walked out of his office, through the long hallway covered with family photos and framed magazine articles, and strode over to his fully stocked rustic bar in the game room, where he took a shot of his stash of Clase Azul Reposado Tequila.
Hits the spot. It was smooth, and it took the edge off the day perfectly.
He filled a flask with some more and placed it by his keys and wallet.
Then he went to his bedroom closet. He searched in the back and found his charro suit from when he’d played guitarrón with the Mariachi Cardenal de Stanford.
The ingrained scents of dried tequila and stale smoke from the fabric brought back memories of his college years performing, which were the happiest times of his life.
The suit fit, surprisingly, even though Ramón had bulked up. His daily workouts running on the beach and flipping tires in his custom gym were his one outlet for stress.
Ramón went to Jaime’s bathroom in their beachfront bachelor pad, which, sure enough, had face paint strewn all over the white marble countertop.
Their maid, Lupe, would not be pleased. She worked hard and fast, with a smile on her face, and Ramón always made sure to clean up after any parties he and his brothers threw so she wouldn’t have to do any extra work.
Ramón had played at plenty Day of the Dead parties in college, so he knew how to do the face paint.
He shaved his face with a fresh razor blade, used a white eye pencil to outline his eyes and nose, and then spread white paint over his face.
Black eye makeup and a spiderweb on his forehead came next.
The perfect combination of beauty and the macabre—life and death.
To complete the look, he drew black stitches over his lips to indicate that he was dead.
Papá was right—appearing at the event would be good for business. Ramón might even have a good time.
He quickly put the makeup away and wiped down the countertop.
Ramón secured his sombrero on his head. A final glance in the mirror, and he was satisfied with what he saw—a man who would do anything to close the deal.
He removed his guitarrón from the stand on the wall.
One strum of the brittle strings and the music beat through his heart and awakened his soul.
When the notes sprang back to Ramón’s head, he was relieved that he hadn’t forgotten how to play.
He’d sung to crowds of women when he performed.
Ramón loved being onstage, playing music, and singing love songs.
He’d been a hopeless romantic, just like Papá.
But there was no time for women or music now.
He had a company to run.