Fugitive

Prologue

Lullaby

They were barely two weeks into the ground, two cold, wet mounds in the middle of a summer rainstorm. He walked away once the lily had fell between them. There was nothing for him here now. Everything he loved was dead, and now he was in danger. And so was she. He walked the filthy streets back home and came into the door. This was so wrong, so unfair. He was barely 17. She wasn't even two. The woman was there to take her and so he went over to the straw mattress on the floor.

It was so hot in here, her little mocha cheeks were perspiring lightly as she slept peacefully, always such a sound sleeper. He bent and scooped her carefully, slowly so as not to stir her and sat gazing at her face for a moment. Such a beautiful little face, so much like Mami's. He kissed one damp, soft cheek and turned to the woman, murmured quietly to her to take the baby to Rio de Janeiro and live in secrecy. She was quiet and gave only a nod of understanding. He watched them until they were well over the hill beyond his sight.

The next morning he waited quietly for a boat to start loading cargo and scurried into the hull to hide in between some wooden crates. He listened to the working men talk, but could only catch bits and pieces of their conversation as they heaved. No part of it had to do with where this boat was heading. He could only hope . . .

The night had been sleepless with anxiety and now that night was catching up with him. He leant onto one of the crates that he was sandwiched between and fell asleep. His eyes slid open when he felt someone slapping at his shoulder and he jumped up, hurried back from him.

"Por favor! Lo siento, lo siento!"

"Silencio!" The man muttered, obviously a crewman. He thrust a bowel of rice into the younger man's grasp and requested him to eat. The younger obliged and returned the dish. He was visited after another nap with more rice, and then three times a day the next day. The next morning after that he was not visited with food, and just as his stomach was starting to growl, the cargo hatch shot open and the man who had fed him helped him out and pointed him in the right direction away from the pier.

"Comprende amigo??"

"Si, gracias." The young man said, hurrying off the pier, and just as he was skimming the streets, a tall Spanish man grabbed him and asked him to slow down, told him he would teach him English and take him where he would find a better job than anywhere here, in what he kept calling New England. New York City. He'd heard the name before.

One year later

"I think that you will do fine now, yes, yes you will. Just remember, 'I' before 'E' except after 'C', all right? OK? Are you even listening to me, amigo? Or is your head up in the clouds as usual?" A light slap to the shoulder brought the Puerto Rican back to reality.

"What? Oh, si. I mean, yeah. I'll be fine, and I'll remember."

The older Cuban twirled in his huge office chair and tilted his head, studied the man closely. "Angel? You're safe, you know that right? Si, si, you're safe. Stop worrying about them, they won't find you. How is your name pronounced in this country?"

"Ayn-jell. I was thinking of what might be the best way to hide out."

Luca sighed and shook his head, lifted his booted feet to rest them on the table and slid his palms behind his head as he sat more steadily in the chair. "Oh and what might that be? You gonna live in the bell tower of a church?"

Angel gave him a dissatisfied look and shook his head. "Very funny, compadre. No, I'm serious. I was thinking about posing as a. . . what is that in English hold on. Oh, a drag queen." He said with an affirmative nod.

Luca stared at him blankly and then burst into hearty, loud laughs. He was bent over in the chair now, tears streaming down his face, dark eyes raising. "That was a good one, Angel. Really, what are you gonna do?"

"I was serious, Luca." He said, slightly disheartened. "No one would recognize me if I looked like a woman. Only I don't know where to begin, or how you get the clothes, learn to do the makeup. I need you to help me."

Luca looked slightly disgusted, moreover he was annoyed by the work it would take but he nodded. "I'll send you to this guy, he's really good at the disguising art. But you can't give any names or anything. It's just gotta be you."

He nodded and swallowed, waited as Luca jotted down a name. The pride his father had left him was gone.

The next morning he walked down the filthy dark streets of New York to the address he'd been given and knocked. The door opened and he was yanked in with a surprised yelp. He stumbled to stay standing and looked around the 'workshop' this man owned and then turned to him. The man was studying him carefully.

"What?"

"Trying to come up with your sizes, turn." He said, wiggling his finger around. Angel did so and he started pulling garments out of drawers and closets all over. He bagged them and then pulled Angel to sit on a stool. He walked to where there were dozens of mannequin heads that modeled wigs. He began taking some down and testing them on Angel's head.

He stopped at one point and nodded. "This one is best." He said, Angel reached to touch the ends of the dark haired wig. It was odd for him, he swallowed hard. The man prepared a few other wigs. "Should you ever feel festive." He said, then set that all aside.

"Women have a saying in America," he said, pulling a pair of tweezers from his table. "I think it was french, 'One must suffer for beauty'. Keep that in mind." He said, "And for God's sakes remember to hold still."

An hour later after a few hundred yelps and jumps, his eyebrows were no longer masculinely bushy, but neatly plucked into two curvy lines on his brow. He was given the tweezers to take. The man suddenly reached out and touched his ears. "Pierced? Good, I don't have to do it then." He said, removing the small rings. He replaced them with some bigger hoops and gave him a few different pairs of earrings.

"Now you just have to learn to apply cosmetics."

Los cosmeticos?

"Um. All right."

The man got some makeup together and placed it in front of Angel. "Now, go wash your face, you always wash your face first." Angel did and then sat again, the man took some foundation and started blending it. "You must make sure this is not obvious on your face, it should just make you look more even textured. No streaks or anything, when you buy more, make sure it's this color."

Angel nodded and did the half f his face he was instructed to so as to get used to it and be good at it. He did well. He was then taught to line his eyes, apply blush, eyeshadow and mascara. Then he was given a compact. 'For if your skin starts looking shiny.'

An hour later Angel stumbled out with all his stuff, waving another thanks to the man. He made a last trip to Luca's and then went to what he was now calling home. A molding apartment on Avenue B, owned by some guy. Rent was tough to make so Luca was helping him and one day that guy came by to tell him he needn't pay rent since he was having so much trouble making it.

That was only the beginning.