Grimm Tales by John Kenyon Page B

clan, had swept her off her feet before I made an utter fool of myself. The last I’d heard, they were engaged.
    â€œYou know her, Señor Frank?” Gato asked. I had forgotten he was there.
    â€œI used to, a little.”
    â€œAnd you don’t go say hello, a beautiful woman like that?”
    I flushed and shook my head. She glanced back at the car as she pulled out the hose, so we had a close-up view of her in all her splendor, but there must have been a glare off the windshield, because she didn’t see me at all. At least, I hoped not. She too would have thought me impolite, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t go through it all again.
    â€œIt’s just Frank, Gato,” I said, in slight irritation, but mostly to dispel the dark mood that had overtaken me. “You’re not my servant.”
    â€œI am, though, Señor Frank.
A sus ordenes
.”
    At my service. Great. So now he felt beholden to me, and that was the last thing in the world I wanted or needed.
    Or so I thought.
    * * *
    Gato settled in without a lot of fuss. I felt put upon by my brothers, but not by him, and grew to like knowing he was there, though I was often absent myself. I thought it would just go on like that into some ill-defined future, but one day I came home and he said, “Señor Frank, I feel I need to make a contribution.”
    â€œYou already do, Gato. Don’t worry about it,” I said, because he did. He kept the place clean and even cooked a meal from time to time. It seemed like an arrangement I could live with.
    â€œIf you would loan me a little money, I could go out and get some good work boots, and then I could earn enough to pay rent,” he said.
    I had just gotten my paycheck and was feeling expansive. “I can buy you a pair of work boots, Gato. Don’t worry about it. It’s what my dad would have wanted.” I peeled off a bunch of twenties and handed them to him.
    â€œThank you, Señor Frank,” he said. He retreated to his room without another word and I heard no more about work or work boots or anything like it. I remember thinking that I didn’t mind giving him the money, but wished I hadn’t had to buy the song and dance along with it.
    * * *
    One evening, I sat waiting for a girl I knew in a trendy bar downtown. I already suspected the date wasn’t going anywhere and, mildly depressed, I was looking around the place to pass the time, when I noticed Gato standing at the bar. He was all dressed up and I might not have recognized him if in my boredom I hadn’t allowed my eyes to linger. I was more than a little irked to see that Gato’s “work boots” turned out to be the fanciest cowboy boots I’d ever seen. He stood there talking to several other Latino guys, their voices soft and low, and I got the feeling he was up to something and that I might not like it if I knew what it was.
    But by now I knew that the girl had ditched me, and maybe more out of a general recklessness than any kind of plan, I paid the check and walked over to the bar. I feigned surprise at seeing Gato, though he had probably made me earlier—at that point I didn’t know and didn’t care.
    â€œSeñor Frank,” he said. His drinking companions gave me the once-over and drifted away. I was in no mood for them so it was just as well.
    â€œHi there, Gato.” I glanced down at his feet. “Those the new boots?” I asked, expecting to embarrass him.
    To my surprise, though, he smiled—the first full-toothed grin I’d ever seen him give. “You like them?” he asked, turning them so that they could be seen from all angles.
    â€œWell, of course,” I said. “Not sure they’re the best
work
boots I ever saw,” I couldn’t help teasing. “What are you fixing to be, Gato? A cowboy?”
    He regarded me with an air of injury. “There are many different kinds of work, Señor Frank.”
    I