Fifteen--It Sneaks Up on You

Posted on Wed 8th Apr, 2020 @ 5:47am by 2nd Lieutenant Carlos Vasquez & Carlo Rienzi

955 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Resolution
Location: Pub 10-42
Timeline: MD 13, 1745

Carlos Vasquez sat in a secluded corner booth in Pub 10-42 with four friends--well, okay, Reon Velasquez was more of a passing acquaintance, but he liked the guy and thought Reon needed to get out more. Besides, he was Hispanic, too, and Carlos desperately wanted the presence of someone who would understand the gravity of his problem without as much explanation as everyone else would need.

Carlos drank a swig of Corona through the lime wedge that had been stuffed into his longneck bottle and set it down on their table. Various bowls of Italian snacks had been shoved into the middle, so everyone could pick and choose what they liked as they sipped their Screaming O's or whatever. Carlos had had to order the Corona replicated, but at the moment, he was too distracted to care. He felt as if he could down an entire case of the stuff.

"Thank all of you for coming. I need serious help, y'all. I need to make a lot of money fast. 1500 credits."

Reon whistled. "That's some need. Are you being blackmailed?"

"Nah, that can't be it," Darrell drawled. "Everybody knows every rule Vasquez has ever broken!"

Nordstrom pulled the bowl of cashews closer and munched reflectively. "Yeah, but look at that baby face. It's really worried. This is serious. What could stir up your compadre so much?" Leaning forward and making a come here motion with her hands, she said, "Fess up. What did you get into that's going to cost you 1500 big ones to get out of again?"

Carlos sighed. "I have three young cousins--Consuelo, Ilena, and Margarita. They're triplets. They turn 15 in two months." He glanced at Reon. "You know what that means."

"Babies?" Velasquez asked, with a raised eyebrow and a grin that said he knew where Carlos was going, but he wasn't going to help him get there.

Carlos snickered and rolled his eyes. "My Tia would have a fit!"

"Wait a minute here," Helena said. "I'm still stuck on the idea that you could have three female cousins! Do you have pictures? Some kind of proof? There can't really be three young women running around with your face! Can there?"

"No, that's totally impossible. Their mother would have drowned them at birth, all three of them, bing, bing, bing!" Brandt shook his head.

"It would've been cheaper if she had," Carlos groused under his breath. "I haven't seen them since they were 11, which was when I went home on leave after graduating from the Academy. My mental image of them is as three cute little 11 year-old girls. So this morning I got a letter from my Tia, reminding me that their quinceañera happens in two months, and I agreed to sponsor their mariachi band and contribute toward their college fund--which I did agree to. And I do have some money saved up--but not 1500 credits." He glanced at everyone who wasn't Reon. "Do you all know what a quinceañera is?"

"Carlos, my man, it sounds like a party," Darrell said, frowning. "I have to ask ... why do you need so much? What kind of party costs 1500 credits? Even for three girls, that's pretty steep!"

Reon chuckled, "It's an expensive party, but I'm guessing only about 300 credits will go toward that. They'll be sharing the band, for one thing, and the food will be prepared, mostly, by the female relatives. There's probably a fee to rent the hall." He glanced at Carlos. "Why don't these girls have scholarships or pre-paid education funds? They must be smart enough."

"They have an education trust; our whole family pools our resources to make sure the children's education can be paid for," Carlos said. "The problem is, they live in the very expensive part of Ciudad de Mexico, an area called Polanco. Everything there is much more expensive than it is just about anywhere else in Mexico. So the mariachi band that might cost a reasonable 300 CR in Jalisco costs more like 750 CR or more in Polanco."

Carlos glanced at Darrell. "A quinceañera is more than just a large party. It's a religious celebration of a girl's entry into womanhood as well as a family celebration. They are horrendously elaborate. You have a court of 15 couples, all in matching formal wear. The girl honored at the party wears an even more elaborate dress. When you are the parents of a daughter in my culture, you start saving for the quince once the baby is born, and you still need help. One reason I'm so glad Emily is not Hispanic is that maybe she and I can escape this. Because, you know, after the quince, there's the eventual wedding." He gave the others a wry look. "I'm praying to have only sons. Even boys, though, get caught up in this thing. I must have been a chabelan--part of that court of 15 couples--twenty times as a teenager. So were all my siblings, cousins, and friends."

Helena snickered, "So you were a prince in your family, and you've never shared this before?

Raising her voice, she called out, "Hey, Carlo, we have a prince here. What do we need to celebrate that in Italian?"

Carlo left the bar and came to their booth. "I have some spumante wine, but going by your conversation, I don't think he can pony up for it right now."

"Chamberlain, not prince," Carlos insisted.

"You say tomāto, I say tomâto, Prince Carlos," Helena said. Grinning at the bar owner, she added, "Spumante for everyone. I'll pay for the first round, which we will drink while we put our heads together and come up with ways for the prince to become wealthy."

 

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