“Who the f**k do you think you are?” I snarled, angry at his sudden bout of self-righteousness. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
I stood up and left, reminding myself to call Mamita for tonight’s appointment.
. . .
“Tonight’s not a good night,” Mamita said over the crackle of the Sun cellular line. It was a week later, and I was calling for my now usual fix. “Rita isn’t feeling well. You can have someone else.”
My first thought was that Mamita was lying, that she had another man lined up for Rita. But a more rational part of me said that Mamita was probably telling the truth. It seemed that Rita grew thinner and paler every time I saw her. She sometimes trembled when she stood, and there were times when she tired before I did.
“I just want to see her,” I said. “I’ll pay full price, we
