The House Of Robles Ch. 14

Chapter 14

Carmela Really Gets Busted

It was all starting to feel like a bad mistake, Carmela thought, as she walked over the sand streaked cement path between the beach and the outdoor bars and clubs.

There was a party atmosphere all around her, the beautiful Latina observed, as she took in the bass-heavy beats and the steady murmur of the crowd from the establishment she was passing by. Carmela watched as revolving disco lights climbed up the side of the building, vanishing high into the semi-cloudy night sky. A moment later they were dive-bombing back through the crowd like a hail of rainbows. Everybody was having fun, from the skinny, busty blonds crowding the dance floor, to the tiny packs of men sitting around laughing and having drinks. Everybody was having fun except her, Carmela sighed, as she was on the wrong side of the high, black iron-barred fence, with two burly bouncers in extra large red shirts and crossed arms guarding the only entry gate.

Not that it mattered much, as the two men who'd invited her out weren't exactly big spenders, even though they'd both pretended they were.

Carmela had gotten all dressed up when Drake called her up earlier. She'd put on her expensive Azria dress, which was flared and haltered, the color of brown sugar. Her earrings were Nguyen and shaped like petals. Her boots were by Mallory and crafted of a pleasing shade of expensive brown leather. Carmela's accessories that night were simple and few; an Anuschka Hobo Bag, mostly brown but riddled with colorful flowers, butterflies and peacock feathers, a Saffiana leather belt, a Peugeot bracelet watch of rose gold, and a gold dipped pendant necklace, also by Nguyen. She was dressed to the nines, so how had she ended up in such despair?

Carmela had driven out to the beach, Mission Beach, the one with the roller coaster on it. She'd met up with Drake and his hoodlum friends, and they'd all been hanging out in the parking lot until a few other couples arrived. Among these were Terrell and his girlfriend, Tabitha. It hadn't bothered Carmela too much that she was the only Caucasian in the growing crowd of blacks.

Well, Terrell made the simple mistake of approaching Carmela. The unfussy act of reaching out to shake the Hispanic woman's hand was enough to set off his volatile ghetto nag. Tabitha made quite a scene, Carmela recalled, with her fists curled up against her thick waist, and her head bobbing side to side like a chicken's. And her voice, Carmela rolled her eyes, was as sharp as a knife.

"Let 'em work out their own shit." Drake shook his head and sauntered off.

Five of his Gees strolled through the Anglo crowd, pouting their lips and glaring at anyone who happened to glance in their direction. Not even five minutes later, they'd started a standoff with three bikers. These bikers weren't the usual black leather and denim type, but men that drove Asian motorcycles and wore red or blue helmets and bold, colorful jackets. Navy guys, probably, Carmela considered, and good looking ones at that.

Nothing happened, fortunately, as the tension faded away with the cold ocean breeze. Drake's pack of dogs moved on, filtering through the crowd on their way to the arcade.

Before they could even enter the place, one of the thugs bumped into a white lady. He'd almost knocked her bag of kettle popcorn and soda cup out of her hands. The woman was bold enough to spit some venom at them. As if unifying against a perceived threat, no less than three of Drake's boys started hurling profanity and insults back. That's when Carmela had become disgusted with her companions.

When several men of different ages, races and social classes stepped up to defend the poor woman, Carmela was actually siding with them. The Latina sincerely hoped that Drake's troublemakers would get their collective ass handed to them. How pathetic was that, when three thugs are harassing some random soccer mom, while her little kid is standing right next to her with a shocked and pained look on his face?

Carmela had a chance to lose herself in the crowd, and she took it. She ended up crossing through a parking lot, putting some distance between herself and the big arcade. Carmela meant to circle around and get back to her car, and leave. She shook her head in added disgust when she looked down the rows of cars. Terrell and Tabitha were still arguing like little children a short distance down the aisle, close to where her SUV was parked.

Before they noticed her, and possibly dragged her into their pointless and stupid argument, Carmela stepped away and strode back toward the beach. To one end were the bars, shops and the various diversions surrounding the rollercoaster. To the other side stood a long row of two story residences and relative peace and quiet. Even though she was cold and had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, Carmela opted for the quieter venue.

She walked past a small backyard where two older and nicely dressed Anglo couples sat close to a small, Earth-tone fire pit. The pit was the type that could double as a coffee table and cost almost three thousand dollars. She knew this because she'd entertained the thought of buying such a thing, if and when she ever committed to buying a house. The Latina envied both the affluence and warmth of those people, as she left their yard behind.

Carmela passed a few more houses, most of them presenting dark facades to her, but also a couple of places where human activity flourished. One home showed a man sitting back on a recliner and watching some kind of sailing program on a nice, giant screen TV. He seemed to be oblivious to the fact that his room was entirely exposed to anyone who cared to look up in that direction. Another house down the walk blared with rock music, where a large multitude of college-age partiers could be seen mingling and enjoying themselves through several floor to ceiling windows. This house had a short perimeter wall, about two feet high and one foot wide. The little wall was made of blue-colored brick, with a top layer of smooth cement that shaped it into a bench. A young man with a black sweater and smelly, dirty blond dreadlocks sat and smoked weed on its edge.

"Hey." The man said, nodding casually. He took a long hit on his joint, and spewed grayish fumes into the air. He looked very warm in his sweater.

Carmela grinned briefly, before moving on. She'd hardly gone ten feet from this last house, when she heard someone shouting behind her.

"Excuse me!"

Carmela turned around, watching as a young blonde man scurried across the patio. He put one hand on the brick perimeter, vaulting it while balancing a beer bottle in the other. He jogged over to meet her.

"Hi!" The man said enthusiastically, as he switched the bottle from his right to his left. He paused when he saw his wet palm. Quickly, he wiped his hand on his tan canvas shorts, before he again held it out in greeting. "I'm Brad."

Carmela gave him a quick appraisal as she shook his hand. He was tall and a little husky, but not in a fat sort of way. His broad shoulders reminded the Latina of a football player's, and he looked to have a broad chest under the light blue Oakley shirt he wore. The young man could have been a slightly wider version of a Ken doll, and he had a Ken doll's smile.

"I'm Carmela." She said.

"Listen, uh, you shouldn't be walking out here alone." Brad said, his eyes clearly revealing that he was flirting with her. "This can be a very dangerous neighborhood at night. You could run into some real creeps," He looked back at the man with the dreadlocks. "Like that guy."

"Fuck you, Brad." The stoner said.

"No, I'm kidding." Brad smiled wide.

His genuine, open warmth began to captivate Carmela. He seemed to be from another universe when compared to Drake and his unruly mob of gangsters.

Brad joked, "That guy's harmless, unless you try to take his joint away from him. Then he turns into the Incredible Hulk."

The stoner laughed.

"So, what are you doing out here? Just taking a walk?" He asked.

"I came out here with some friends." Carmela admitted. At once, she saw the disappointment flourish in the man's face. He really was genuine, she considered, unlike so many of the people she worked or socialized with. His emotions were clearly evident all over his face. "But I'm not going home with them."

That seemed to perk him up again. "Well, you must be cold."

"I am, believe me."

"Let me invite you into the house." Brad replied. "We've got a little shindig going on. You might get your toes stepped on because of all the people, but it's a lot warmer than standing out here." He smiled broadly again. "I can guarantee you that much."

"I don't think I've ever heard someone actually use the word 'shindig'."

"Well, let me put it another way." Brad said, bowing at the waist and motioning toward the house with grand wave. He certainly did have a sense of humor. "Would you do me the honor, my dear lady, of accompanying me to the soiree?"

"I've never heard anyone use that word, either." Carmela laughed. "But sure, consider me... interested."

"Nice and direct." Brad nodded. "I like that in a woman." He held out his arm like a gentleman. Once their limbs were entwined, he led her to the edge of the property.

After being helped over the short brick wall, Carmela and her brawny escort stepped over to the back door. It was barely the frame of a door, painted white, with a huge inset of glass taking up most of its space. Brad opened it and ushered Carmela inside.

The first thing she noticed was the crowd, ninety-nine percent white, and with only two blacks breaking up the monopoly. There was some variety present in their attire, though, from quite a few surfer types and their girls, to small pockets of Goths and a few preppy types like Brad.

"Is this your place?" Carmela asked, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music, which might have been the Chili Peppers or something like that.

"Kind of." Brad answered, as he led the Latina through the throng. "I share the rent here with my brother and a couple of friends."

They were passing through a living room now, so packed with dancing bodies that hands were held high in the air or close to the torso.

"You dance?" Brad asked.

Carmela nodded.

"Then let's dance." He found a spot wide enough to squeeze the two of them into. "Hope the music's okay."

She shrugged.

Brad started swaying back and forth, but like most of the others, he couldn't get his arms out too far. After watching him for a few seconds, Carmela decided to follow suit. She felt someone's back brushing against her side on occasion, and an elbow poked at her arm twice, but otherwise it was a pleasant scene. She could get into it.

Brad kept dancing, sometimes looking directly at her, but usually glancing around. He even waved at somebody once or twice.

"Hey, Brad," Someone called out. "You got yourself another model?"

Brad blushed and started having trouble making eye contact with his dance partner.

"Your girlfriend's a model?" Carmela asked.

"Ex-girlfriend." Brad corrected. "We broke up when she was flown out to New York by an agency. She's probably on some runway right now, prancing around in some ridiculous outfit with a huge hat or a birdcage skirt or something."

Carmela was starting to feel a little coquettish herself. "You must be a real stud to have a model for a girlfriend."

"Oh, no." Brad denied this with a shake of his head. "It's not like that. She was my high school sweetheart. She just happened to be really, really pretty. My brother, he's the one that attracts all the women. You feeling any warmer now that we're indoors?"

"Yeah." Carmela admitted. She motioned for Brad to come closer, and she whispered into his ear. "I'm feeling a little naughty, too."

Carmela thought she might have misjudged him, as the look that crossed Brad's face looked more squeamish than studly. It was gone a moment later, though. The blonde took that half a step closer that placed them both on more intimate terms. He lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth fully on hers and confident. Afterward he drew back to gauge her reaction. He wasn't being shy, she realized, just courteous.

So, she went after him.

Carmela placed her hands around Brad's neck, and pressed her body tight against his. She kissed him, intimately and lovingly. The warmth of Brad's hands rewarded her efforts as they traversed her waist from the side to the back. Being the gentleman that he was, he didn't go any lower than that, although the excited young woman was already wishing he did.

Carmela drew her mouth up next to Brad's ear. "I think I'd be a lot warmer up in your room."

She heard his breath catch as she whispered this.

After taking her by the hand, Brad wedged his way through the thick crowd in a determined mission to get to the second floor. At the foot of the stairs, two white girls holding beers watched his approach. Both made clear and distasteful glances at the Latina he was escorting.

They were skinny white girls, Carmela observed. While she noticed that both girls were passably pretty, neither one had capitalized on her looks by bothering with make-up. Their fashion sense wasn't anywhere near as sophisticated as hers, as they both wore hoodie sweaters and faded jeans with obvious scuffs.

"Who's this?" One of the two girls asked Brad.

"Oh, a friend." Brad replied, as he slipped past them both and onto the stairs.

The girl who'd spoken made another face, directly at Carmela and once Brad had his back turned. While Carmela certainly hadn't gotten into a fight in many years, she did feel her Hispanic temper starting to flare up. Here she was, being looked down upon by two beach rats who obviously weren't up to her degree physically, economically, socially, or any other way she could readily think of. In a rare display of vulgarity, Carmela gave both girls the middle finger.

She could take them both on, Carmela knew, right there on the stairs. Luckily for them, neither of the girls said a word to her. They just made the same faces they'd made previously, but to each other instead of her.

Halfway up the stairs, Brad had to clamber over a young man who'd had too much to drink. The intoxicated guy was half-awake and half-asleep, with his shoulder and head leaning against the wall and his mouth hanging wide open.

"He's gonna toss salad, I just know he is." Brad gazed at the man anxiously.

Carmela chuckled at the misuse of the term.

At the top of the stairs, Brad made an immediate right. He turned a knob and opened a door, only to see a couple already engaged in amorous activities. Carmela assumed this was his bedroom.

"Let's try my brother's room." Brad stated, as he shut the door. He turned to the next door, directly in front of them. After observing that no intercourse was going on, he led Carmela inside.

The room was cozy, painted a cool blue with white accents on the window frame and door edging. Carmela saw a desk with a few notebooks on it, a bed with rumpled up sheets, a polished guitar hanging from a strap on the wall, and a big yellow surfboard standing up in the corner.

Brad halted Carmela in the center of the room, before leaning over to snatch up a wastebasket from beside his brother's desk.

"Who were those two girls by the stairs?" Carmela asked. "Your ex-girlfriends?"

"Pfft!" Brad answered. "No. Those girls are the type that, when they do have a boyfriend, they prance him up and down the block like a show pony. I have absolutely nothing to do with them, no matter what they have to say to the contrary. Hey, uh, I'm going to set this basket next to that guy on the stairs, in case he starts to heave anytime soon. Then I'm going to try and find whoever brought him over, so they can take him home before I end up cleaning his mess up later. Do you mind waiting for me for a couple of minutes? This room beats standing outside in the cold, right?"

"As long as you don't forget I'm up here." Carmela answered.

Brad smiled. "Don't worry, I won't."

He vanished a moment later.

Carmela took a seat on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room, not exactly feeling uncomfortable, but not completely at home there, either. It was more like a kid's room than a man's, as there was a hula girl doll on the window ledge, and some surf magazines and flying discs in a short bookshelf with only a few shelves. A pair of socks stuffed into some sneakers made her glance around the room for a dirty clothes hamper, as she felt compelled to toss them into one.

Some five minutes later, the Latina had grown a tad impatient. She was wondering if she should take a chance and try to boot up the computer on the desk. It was a recent Alienware model, Carmela had just discovered, when the bedroom door slid open and a new man stepped inside.

This new guy was tall, as tall as Brad, but nowhere near as husky. All at once, Carmela was overwhelmed by how handsome he was. He had sandy blond hair, with a neat and matching mustache that Carmela thought looked out of place on his delicious surfer-guy looks. This new stud wore a casual button shirt draped over his shoulders, colored a strong yellow with infrequent lines of blue. The shirt was wide open, despite the cold air outside the house, and exposed perfect, taut and tanned pecs and abs. His shorts were a light shade of gray, and his legs were also tanned and showed a light blond fuzziness on them. Full of presence, the man seemed to fill up the room with explosive energy and vibrancy. Carmela instantly gave him five stars out of five.

The surfer took Carmela in with his eyes, in a quick second just as she'd done to him. "Brad was right. You do look like a supermodel."

Carmela stood up, mostly to get a closer look at his tanned chest. "Who are you?"

"I'm Brad's brother, Derek." The man extended his hand in salutation. Once they'd shaken hands and traded names, he added, "Brad asked me to tell you something. He had to take a buddy home, because the guy was pretty drunk and nobody else was willing to do it. He should be back in, I don't know, maybe ten minutes."

Carmela was liking Derek even better than his brother. She said, "That was nice of him to do that, to make sure his friend got home safely."

"Yeah, Brad's an A-Okay guy." Derek nodded. "Can I get you anything to drink, or do you want to come downstairs with me and hang out until Brad gets back?"

Derek was as chivalrous as his brother, Carmela thought. And so much hotter. Her mind was already spinning over all the things she wanted to do to this man. The Latina stepped forward, daring to place her hand on Derek's scrumptious chest. "What you could do is to keep me company right here. I need somebody to play with."

Surprisingly, Derek took a step back. "I couldn't do that."

Carmela pouted. "Why not? Do you have a girl waiting for you downstairs?"

"More than one." Derek grinned. "I just haven't decided which one I want to spend the night with."

"Maybe this will help you make up your mind." Carmela flirted. In a smooth, practiced motion, she reached up behind her head and undid the simple clasp of her halter dress. She loosened her belt, and lowered the top of her dress to her midriff, exposing her gorgeous and bare C cups. "You should close that door now."

"What about my brother?"

"What if I tell you that I'll have something waiting for him when he gets back?" Carmela asked, as she pushed her dress down and stepped out of it. She took a couple of seconds to set it atop the chair next to the desk, so it wouldn't get all wrinkled up.

"He wouldn't go for that." Derek said.

"Do you really think he'd turn me down?" Carmela asked, turning her back and showing off her root beer brown thong. She slid it down, past her hips, and allowed it do drop to her ankles. As she bent down to pick it up, she heard Derek finally closing the door.