Pushing Up Daisies

succeeding.

'It is me . . . Felix.' He playfully shone a flashlight under his chin, the way we did when we were kids and wanted to scare someone. 'I was driving by and saw your car was still here.'

'Thank goodness,' I said, relieved. 'I got locked in.' I slid off the table and dusted myself off. 'What time is it?'

'About eleven. Have you been here all this time?'

'Well, I did some work, then I couldn't get out. I didn't want to break any of the glass—probably cost a mint to replace.' I tried to sound as if it was perfectly reasonable for me to be sleeping in the green house.

'Why didn't you call someone?'

'Phone's dead.' I closed my eyes and rotated my head, working out the kinks that had set in from sleeping on the damp wooden table. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms to warm myself while I gave Felix a long look.

'I should go home,' I said.

'I'll escort you.'

'You'll escort me? You're not exactly who you appear to be, are you?' I said.

'Who do I appear to be?'

'Don't be cute. I'm a little cranky right now.'

'You're probably hungry. I would suggest that we get something to eat, but you may want to freshen up first,' he said tactfully.

A glimpse of my reflection in the green house glass told me I had what Lucy heartlessly referred to as stroke face. I fluffed out my flattened hair and tried to inconspicuously rub out the sleep wrinkles on my face. Felix reached over and plucked something out of my hair.

'What was that?'

'Nothing. A small passenger,' he said.

Felix followed me home, where I'd clean up and we could have a bite and talk. Once there, I pointed him toward the bar and told him to help himself. After a quick shower, I joined him in the living room.

'I never realized your hair was so long. You look quite different.'

'I usually wear it up in the garden or under a hat,' I said awkwardly, feeling suddenly female. 'It's just easier that way.'

Felix showed me the bottle of wine he'd chosen. 'I wasn't sure if I should open this one. I didn't know if you were saving it for a special occasion.'

'Go ahead. I'm clueless when it comes to wine. After the first glass, they all taste the same to me. If that's a good one, someone must have brought it over.'

Felix uncorked the bottle and explained in great detail what the wine was and how it was made, while I put water on for pasta. Ordinarily, I find oenophiles obnoxious, but Felix wasn't trying to impress me with his worldliness; he was simply giving information. I got out some bread and olive oil to munch on while we waited for the water to boil.

'So you're a famous Mexican restaurant critic, just up here reviewing dining options in Fairfield County?'

'Not exactly.'

'I'm listening.'

'Well, I am from Cuernavaca, near Temixco, Hugo's hometown. I did know him there, and our fathers did know each other.'

'You're going to have to do better than that,' I said, ripping off a hunk of bread and swishing it in the olive oil.

Felix and Hugo did meet when they were kids, that much had been true. Then he told me the rest. Hugo's father, Ruben, was, and still is, the driver and mechanic on the Ontivares estate.

Felix's dad, Oswaldo, sold sodas from a wagon as a kid. He grew up to become a successful soft-drink distributor; then he branched out into beer, wine, and groceries. Several years ago Oswaldo Ontivares died of a heart attack in the arms of his underage mistress, who had just shown him the 00, 00 she'd had tattooed on each of her butt cheeks in his honor. Mexico's president attended the funeral.

Grief-stricken, Felix's sister Maria Angela vowed to abandon her jet-set lifestyle to take over the family business, and, to everyone's surprise, she revealed not just a talent for food and beverage distribution but a broader business sense as well. She even managed to parlay her close personal friendship with a famous telenovela star into a controlling stake in one of Mexico's fast-growing media companies, nearly doubling the family fortune.

'And you kept busy and fit, not by mowing lawns and weeding, as I'd assumed, but by playing tennis and polo and swimming in your indoor Olympic-sized pool?'

'I wasn't a complete ne'er-do-well. I was pre-med at Rice for a year,' he justified. 'When Maria started to do so well, my competitive side took over. I returned to school as a business major at the University of Texas at Austin. Got my MBA there,' he added.

'I was visiting business associates in Greenwich. After a party that went pretty late or, I should say, early, I dropped some friends off at the train station in downtown Springfield. I stopped for coffee and saw a huge crowd of men milling about on the corner. Someone asked me if I wanted to work. I graciously declined, but the next morning I went back and looked up Hugo.'

I wasn't sure I believed him. 'Of course,' I said, 'it makes perfect sense for a handsome, wealthy Mexican MBA to be mowing lawns in Connecticut. I don't know why I didn't see it.'

'Don't be too hard on yourself. You saw more than most. We are invisible to most people north of the border. We mow your lawns, clean your pools, wipe your kids' runny noses, and half the time you are mispronouncing our names or don't even know them. You don't know if we are from Mexico, Guatemala, or the Dominican Republic. We could disappear like a puff of smoke and never be missed because the next crop of workers would be there to replace us.' He blew through his lips as if extinguishing a candle.

'Most people don't even bother to learn the most basic phrases in Spanish,' he said, holding his glass carefully by the stem and taking a sip of wine. 'That's why I find it so charming to hear you mangle the language of my ancestors.'

I took a big swallow of my wine. I was prepared for some revelation but not a sociology lesson from a trustfund liberal with a string of polo ponies. 'Look, we can have a nice long chat someday about the class system in both our countries. You're right, it sucks, but it doesn't seem to have hurt you any, and, uh, you haven't exactly answered my question. What am I missing here?'

'Do you know how many Mexicans come north for work every year?' he asked, not waiting for an answer. 'There are six million in the States right now, and almost all of them left family members back home. It's an integral part of the Mexican experience. Everyone knows someone who's made the trip to el Norte. Since I accidentally got the opportunity, I thought I'd see it firsthand.'

'You sound like you're running for office,' I said, taking another swig. 'Wait a minute—that's it, isn't it? You're planning to run for office in Mexico, so you wanted to see how the little people live? Who's in Upstairs, Downstairs territory now?'

'Would you prefer that I remain the poor but proud laborer?' he teased. 'The noble savage?'

'I'd prefer you not be the spoiled playboy who's slumming. And to be totally selfish, I'd prefer you be someone I can count on. I have a job to do. I have commitments.'

'Don't be angry with me. I never intended to deceive anyone. This whole thing was an accident. I came here for a bachelor party. But it's been a valuable learning experience for me; I'm glad I stayed,' he said. 'I give you my word I will stay to finish the garden. And I will get some of the other men to give us hours—I'll pay them from my campaign war chest,' he joked. 'Future constituents.'

'Let's not get crazy.' The water was bubbling over onto the stove, so I jumped up to turn down the heat.

'Can I help?' he asked.

'Sure.'

Felix found dishes, napkins, and place mats while I finished cooking. When it was ready, he encrusted his pasta with red pepper.

'Sure that's hot enough?'