it’s as if they’ve tried to wipe out any trace of color, coconuts, they’re called, I don’t know whether I’m making myself clear, but I’m talking about a depressing threesome, my lovely Agustina, really cheap-looking bimbos. They show up in imitation leopard-print leggings, platform sneakers, and crap like that, all three of them bursting with enthusiasm at the idea of losing dozens of pounds and swearing to God that they’re mentally prepared to start lifting weights, devote themselves to spinning, strictly follow the pineapple diet, practice yoga, and do everything they’re asked, coming three times a week or more if necessary to get their figures back, because that’s how they put it, their figures, so last-generation. What about stepping classes? Oh yes, wonderful, sign me up, And aerobic dance? Oh yes, how exciting, I’ll take that, too, they were signing up for everything and once they had confessed their weights and ages to me and we were on intimate terms, when we were already practically like family, in fact, they hug me and come right out and tell me that they’re Pablo’s cousins by marriage and that it was Pablo’s wife, their first cousin, who personally recommended my gym to them, and, annoyed, I say, What Pablo are you talking about, Why the only Pablo, who else, Pablo Escobar.
Just a minute, lovely ladies, I say cunningly to mask my utter horror, I have appearances to keep up here and it’s obvious from the start that you’ve got too much money, that’s what I say so I don’t have to tell them to their faces that only narco whores like them would think of putting on false eyelashes to do spinning, that no amount of jogging will ever work off those hereditary spare tires, and that their massive thighs, flat asses, and short legs are signs of the lowest social origins.
So I got rid of them, Agustina doll, will you understand me if I say I have to keep a sharp eye out so that the level of the clientele doesn’t plummet? And of course, letting in three mob lovelies like that, relatives of Escobar on top of everything else, would spell the end of the center, which ultimately is nothing but a front for the big money that comes from the laundering, so I kicked the coconuts out, Try the competition, darlings, Spa 92 or Superfigure at Fifteenth and 103rd, you’ll lose weight faster there, I advised them, trusting that Pablo, a businessman first and foremost, would approve of my basic precautionary measures.
But apparently I was wrong. My analysis failed and I screwed myself royally, because Pablo turned out to be a man of honor first and a dealmaker second. But that’s another story, Agustina angel; just hold on to it in a corner of your crazy little head, because it’ll have a role to play later on. For now forget those three women as I forgot them at the time, watching them as they left in a huff and drove away down the street in their lime-green convertible, disappearing from my memory as soon as they turned the corner.
SOMETIMES RAGE AT BICHI stirs in Agustina and she scolds him just like her father, Don’t talk like a girl, she screams at him and immediately she’s sorry, but she simply can’t bear the idea that her father will leave home because of all the things that make him lose his temper, I hate it when my father raises his mighty hand against my little brother, says Agustina, I feel pangs in my stomach and I want to vomit when I see that each day my father is making Bichi more unhappy and withdrawn. But I also can’t stand the idea of my father leaving home.
Come on, girlie boy, don’t just stand there and take it, answer back, hit me harder, my father says mockingly to Bichi as he corners him with soft jabs, taunting him, and I say, Yes Bichito, hit him!, hit him Carlos Vicente Jr., show him you’ve got guts, if only you’d come back at him with all the fury of your manhood and testosterone and break that big nose of my father’s, smash his mouth so that he bleeds
Just a minute, lovely ladies, I say cunningly to mask my utter horror, I have appearances to keep up here and it’s obvious from the start that you’ve got too much money, that’s what I say so I don’t have to tell them to their faces that only narco whores like them would think of putting on false eyelashes to do spinning, that no amount of jogging will ever work off those hereditary spare tires, and that their massive thighs, flat asses, and short legs are signs of the lowest social origins.
So I got rid of them, Agustina doll, will you understand me if I say I have to keep a sharp eye out so that the level of the clientele doesn’t plummet? And of course, letting in three mob lovelies like that, relatives of Escobar on top of everything else, would spell the end of the center, which ultimately is nothing but a front for the big money that comes from the laundering, so I kicked the coconuts out, Try the competition, darlings, Spa 92 or Superfigure at Fifteenth and 103rd, you’ll lose weight faster there, I advised them, trusting that Pablo, a businessman first and foremost, would approve of my basic precautionary measures.
But apparently I was wrong. My analysis failed and I screwed myself royally, because Pablo turned out to be a man of honor first and a dealmaker second. But that’s another story, Agustina angel; just hold on to it in a corner of your crazy little head, because it’ll have a role to play later on. For now forget those three women as I forgot them at the time, watching them as they left in a huff and drove away down the street in their lime-green convertible, disappearing from my memory as soon as they turned the corner.
SOMETIMES RAGE AT BICHI stirs in Agustina and she scolds him just like her father, Don’t talk like a girl, she screams at him and immediately she’s sorry, but she simply can’t bear the idea that her father will leave home because of all the things that make him lose his temper, I hate it when my father raises his mighty hand against my little brother, says Agustina, I feel pangs in my stomach and I want to vomit when I see that each day my father is making Bichi more unhappy and withdrawn. But I also can’t stand the idea of my father leaving home.
Come on, girlie boy, don’t just stand there and take it, answer back, hit me harder, my father says mockingly to Bichi as he corners him with soft jabs, taunting him, and I say, Yes Bichito, hit him!, hit him Carlos Vicente Jr., show him you’ve got guts, if only you’d come back at him with all the fury of your manhood and testosterone and break that big nose of my father’s, smash his mouth so that he bleeds
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