As Billy attended a dinner meeting, savoring the food and the taste of the wine, Raimon was in a meeting about economics with people who worked behind the scenes. They were so brilliant that Raimon could almost smell it, sensing who might cause trouble in his comings and goings. He had a knack for reading people who appeared intelligent—nothing old-fashioned about his methods. One could say that the way each of them had learned to recognize others came from a life of hard work and attentive listening.
—Well, there's still a lot left unsaid —replied Raimon.
—That all depends on our bosses —argued James Cadwell, an economist by profession with a focus on statistics and administration. Over time, he had become nearly an expert in administrative procedures, complaints, and the intricate workings of bureaucracy and appeals, often dealing with matters less poetic than they were procedural.
—I'm afraid Billy will be the one to decide everything in the end —responded Raimon.
—It's the same with Mr. Don. He's in charge, though his character is a bit more closed off and unfamiliar to me. But from the way you talk about Billy, he sounds like quite the man —answered James.
—Indeed, he is. But the real boss is Anne, our CEO. Billy, on the other hand, seems to live on another plane entirely. Dating beautiful women is his daily bread—it's almost as if he manages to live the dream of any man with his way of being —remarked Raimon.
—That must be tough —
—On the contrary, it's fantastic. At least you get to see those beautiful models up close. It's worth every penny in the world —said the burly Raimon, making James laugh.
—Now I want to do it too. Honestly, just seeing them would be worth it —replied James.
—That's what I've been saying for years —
Both of them settled into a long session of work. For some time now, it had been well known that they shared drinks and laughed together, a habit Raimon had picked up when he got involved in the world of stocks and brokers. It was in those circles that he joined others in their ventures, always backed by his bold approach.
...
Thomas was tending the grill as he did every Saturday, while his wife prepared several bowls of guacamole, one of tartar sauce, and accordion-like rows of sliced sweet potatoes on skewers with sauce, alongside a bowl of potato salad. Thomas handled the meat, marinating it with care.
—Billy's not coming, darling —sighed Ivanova, weary in her third pregnancy. She was now bringing another little girl into their already lively household of four children. If one thing was certain, it was that every child in the Carson family seemed to arrive three years apart. No,w little Jr. was about to turn seven, the twins were three, and the newest addition was a newborn.
—He's with the governor of Tennessee —answered Ivana Carson, taking a long breath as she ordered a large Coca-Cola over the phone. She craved the sweet flavor, the kind that brings anyone delight, one that lingered on the palate as she tried to bear the California heat. This would be her last pregnancy—she was quite sure five children were more than enough—especially now that her eldest daughter was already twenty-one, and her adopted son, who seemed freer than anyone else, was also twenty-one.
—Well then, we've got Dad, Mom, and our dear friends coming to enjoy your delicious cooking. Put on some soft music, darling—something from the '90s —said Thomas as he set generous cuts of beef and strips of chicken wrapped in bacon on foil.
—How do you know he's with the governor of Tennessee? —asked Thomas.
—He sent a letter, very old-school —remarked Anne, setting down a package filled with all kinds of spices, neatly arranged in jars with a manual on how to use them—for soups, meats, juices, desserts, cocktails, and anything else one could imagine.
—There's red pepper —murmured Thomas, eyeing the collection of sauces. Among them was even a jar of sun-dried, ground chili. Ivana read the label; it looked handmade—and expensive, very expensive.
—He'll be back in three days when he's done with his business in Tennessee, and then who knows when he'll return —said Ivanova with a long sigh, noticing Thomas's sour mood as he fell into complete silence, the only sound coming from the clinking of his tools.
—Put some music on —
The doorbell rang, though it was only a signal, nothing urgent or particularly noteworthy. At the door stood a young woman, a little fuller than before, but strikingly similar to her mother—a mirror image of Ivanova, with skin so pale it almost glowed. Her demeanor was that of a true adult. Around her neck hung a long chain that reached almost to her chest, and she carried a bag full of her work tools. She was enrolled in a four-year film program, focusing on photography and lighting.
—Mother —said Claudia.
—Happy birthday, little Richard Jr. That's why she flew all the way from New York to San José, California—to celebrate the little boy who had just turned six, still a baby at heart, constantly talking about his older brother, now a film producer —said Claudia, lifting him into her arms and spinning him around as the boy laughed. Today was his special day.
—Well, everyone seems so cheerful —she said sarcastically, noticing Billy's absence. She had many words on the tip of her tongue.
Ivanova widened her eyes, unsettled by the silence. The tension was palpable, well-known to all—Thomas's longing to return things to how they used to be, back when life seemed simpler. The distance between them had grown as both immersed themselves in their work, but one truth remained: a good barbecue always brought everyone together.
—I want double meat —sighed Ivanova. —And Claudia, bring a large Coca-Cola —
...