dinner, he took her to a concert in Tempe at La Isla del Encanto, a hot new Latin music club. They downed slushy margaritas
and danced for hours to Reggae Sol, a Spanish-language reggae band from Puerto Rico. Star loved each note and lyric of every
song. The lead singer—a tall, handsome, dreadlocked man with tamarind candy-colored skin and huge green eyes—smiled at her
and Theo, as if he were dedicating each song to them. Theo wrapped his arms around Star’s waist from behind and they swayed
to the heavy bass beat.
Star felt as though the enchantment of Reggae Sol’s music followed them out the door, and not just because she bought their
CD. One long light-rail ride home later, and the excitement of the day’s adventure caught up with them. They went back to
Theo’s, played the CD on repeat, danced, kissed, and ultimately consummated their admiration in a drunken, passionate romp,
even though they both were involved with other people. Their romance never physically continued past that night because of
their then–significant others, but the newfound relationship did evolve into a soul-to-soul friendship.
She admired his quiet and sweet nature, and his intuitive viewpoints on world issues impressed her, as did his charm. He had
that effect on folks. His parents and siblings may have moved to Sacramento, California, five years ago, but he sure didn’t
lack a surrogate family. Without even asking, the nana across the street tended to the plants on his front porch, the office
secretary brought him home-cooked meals at least once a week, and his gangbanger neighbors washed his prized ’48 Chevy regularly.
Even the pigeons that overtook his roof respected his living space. Everyone loved Theo.
But Star jolted his life as well. Soon after they met, she discovered a filled sketch pad in his bedroom, and challenged him
to translate it on canvas.
“I’m only doing this to prove you wrong,” he joked that afternoon.
He finished his first piece, a Keith Harring–esque portrait of a woman resembling Queen Latifah. Star hung it in the foyer
of La Pachanga, and by lunchtime it had sold for five hundred dollars, which he split with her. Star convinced him to hatch
a plan to ditch his day job and become a full-time artist. One year later, with Star and La Pachanga’s help, he did it. But
he didn’t stick with paintings. He surfed smoothly through different art genres—punched-tin wall hangings, stained-glass vignettes,
jumbo bronzed sculptures, and welded gates. Theo became Theodoro Duarte, one of Arizona’s brightest new mixed-media artists.
Within a year of Star and Theo’s friendship, they blossomed as respective professionals: he a painter, and she a kamikaze
marketer for his work and La Pachanga. He took his job seriously; she took hers for granted. Their lives remained intertwined,
just as their feet did at the thrift shop that day. Star took comfort in the unspoken commitment between them; after getting
out of their previous relationships, neither had dated anyone else, yet they didn’t officially date each other. They knew
if they did become an exclusive couple, the relationship would automatically fit into the serious zone thanks to their already
hefty friendship. Neither of them were ready for that. They masked the topic by agreeing romance would be a distraction to
their careers. However, they both craved a repeat of that first night. And it was Theo who acted on it last Thursday.
That day, he slipped a copy of
El Solitario: Jinete Sin Fronteras
, a racy Mexican romance comic, in Star’s purse. The comics had always been a running joke between the two. He loved the illustrations
and she giggled at the wacky melodramatic storylines. He had bookmarked the page of a rancher couple making love on a grassy
hill under the moon. He claimed it was a silly gag to make her blush, but they both knew it was a clear indication of what
was on his mind. Star expected