Free Aching For It by Stanley Bennett Clay Page A

make
Mr. Santos ineligible for it.”
    “Like what?” I jumped in anxiously.
    “Drug trafficking, having HIV/AIDS, practicing polygamy,
advocating the overthrow of the Unites States government.”
    “I don’t think we have to worry about any of that,” I
responded confidently.
    “Also submitting false statements and fraudulent documents,
Mrs. Santos, which could not only end Mr. Santos’ chances of ever coming here,
but could subject you to federal charges.”
    Suddenly a chill shot up my spine. I thought about Frankie’s
sworn affidavit that the relationship had been consummated. I thought about my
signed statement as a third-party witness to their romantic relationship.
    I thought about Sylvester Winfrey.
    * * * * *
    “You know, you really need to work on your poker face,”
Frankie chided once we were outside Caitlin’s office.
    “What?”
    “You’re too old, too black and too gay to worry about every
little thing.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means that since you’ve gone through everything you’ve
gone through and gotten this far in life, you need to sit back and chill a bit.
You’ve run the gauntlet, Junie. From here on in, it’s going to be a cakewalk.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You sat there in front of Caitlin stressed like a new widow
with no inheritance.”
    “I did not.”
    “Yes you did. Thank God you don’t have to be there for the
interview with the consular officers.”
    “The consular officers?”
    “Yeah, did you forget? I’ll have to go back down to Santo
Domingo for an interview with officers from the US Embassy there. Étie and I,
remember? They’ll put us in separate rooms and ask us all kinds of questions to
make sure our stories jibe, including stories about our sexual intimacy.
    “But you guys signed an affidavit about that.”
    “Yeah, but they want to see us eye to eye talking about it.
They want us to work up a sweat, see if we’re lying. Besides, it’s another way
for Uncle Sam to get his rocks off.”
    “Oh shit. That’s right.”
    “Yep.”
    “Oh shit.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t know how good Étie’s going to be at that.”
    “Don’t underestimate your man, brother dear. He’ll be just
fine. He’s smart and he’s cool. A lot cooler than you.”
    “Yeah.”
    “And besides, there’s one thing I can definitely attest to
without any chance of contradiction.”
    “What?”
    “He is definitely packing.”
    “Frankie,” I warned.
    “Oh Christ, Junie. Allow a lascivious old diva a little
levity.”
    But I wasn’t much in levity mode. Not only was I still not
completely over the idea of my sister grabbing my man’s pinga , I
certainly was not ready to joke about it or make light of this very serious
situation. One false move, one inconsistent statement, could blow everything.
    “Okay, sorry, poor taste. But the reality is that they’re
going to ask Étie and me some pretty personal shit. Caitlin made that clear
from the get-go. So we might as well prepare ourselves for it. And believe me.
Étie can handle it, even if you can’t.”
    “I’m just not sure, Frankie.”
    “Look, you don’t have to be sure. Étie and I have to be
sure.”
    “I just don’t know.”
    “Do you want to get your man over here or not?”
    “Yes. Absolutely.”
    “Well then, stop being such a fucking pussy.”
    Frankie was right. That’s exactly what I was being. And to
think I had the nerve to accuse Étie of that, of being a pussy when he had been
nothing but brave, collected and unshakable throughout this entire ordeal.
    Still, I must confess. Frankie had correctly clocked me.
There was always going to be a certain nervousness, a certain uneasiness about
this rock-strewn, muddied, potholed odyssey toward our goal of getting Étie
here, at my side, in our home, in my arms, in America.
    * * * * *
    Étie and I spoke on the phone daily. I was able to get a
nice deal with Vonage so that I could have unlimited international minutes