Brothers in Trouble

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“What you two tall Gringos doing down here?” a tall slim Latina beauty, dressed loudly in the lilac dresses the bride’s maids were forced to wear, and not looking comfortable doing it, greeted the Harris brothers when they walked to the backyard. She sounded very Barrio.

“Cut it out, Contessa,” Marcus, the bridegroom smirked.

The Harris brothers: Reginald (“call me Reggie”), tall, long red hair and beard, and Nigel, beardless, immaculately short cut light brown hair, also tall, could see the similarities between their old friend and the caustic Chicana, though the woman was darker. Marcus’s father was Scotch/Irish. The heritage of the woman exclusively south of the border.

The brothers also looked related despite their differences in hair style and color. And their characters perhaps reflected in the hair. Reggie boisterous. Nigel more quiet and sly. And yet both would be welcomed at any party. Both being garrulous and charming.

“Contessa?” Reggie remarked.

“Because she think she is,” said Marcus.

“Fuck you cousin,” she said rudely yet tongue in cheek and without the tough Barrio accent. “Connie,” she smiled up at the brothers, lifting her hand to shake. “For Consuela.”

After the brothers introduced themselves and shook hands, an amused if shy blonde woman, much plainer than the woman she hid behind, but even the ugly lilac dress managed to suggest her voluptuousness, stepped forward. “Marcy. Trish’s best friend.” Trish was the bride.

“Speaking of Trish,” said Marcus, and left the four.

“I’m your best friend now,” said Connie. The two ladies giggled. Neither brother understood the humor and must have shown their confusion. “Long story,” Connie shrugged. “Now that Marcus has decided you two are safe with me, perhaps you’d like to catch up? Tequila shots?”

“Show us the way,” Reggie grinned.

She surprised them again, heading out the gate and to the street of lower middle class little houses. East LA. Half a block down, they stopped at a cherry red Camaro deuce coupe. She unlocked the passenger side door, pushed the seatback away and grabbed a paper bag with a bottle inside. “Mescal,” she told them, handing it to Reggie, who took a swig.

“That’s okay,” said Nigel.

“Go ahead, little brother. A swallow won’t hurt.”

“I’m driving.”

“One swig.”

Nigel shrugged and took a swig, handing it off to Marcy, who took a longer one, as did Connie.

“I got to change out of this ugly ass dress,” Connie muttered, moving to the trunk and opening it.

“Grab my bag too?” Marcy asked.

“I’m not going to have another picture in this ugly ass dress.”

“Me either,” Marcy giggled.

“Come on, you two” Connie said. “You must be starved.”

“I could eat something,” Nigel said.

“I could use a beer,” said Reggie before swigging again.

“Take it with us,” said Connie.


The two ladies dragged small cases on wheels behind them. The brothers followed them to a second, less occupied house. The owners of the two houses related. “Give us a minute,” Connie said. “Or go ahead. You’re hard to miss.”

“See you in a minute.”

“Or so,” Connie laughed. She grabbed the bottle before pulling Marcy into a bedroom, winking at Reggie before shutting the door.

“She likes you,” Nigel said.

“And Marcy likes you,” Reggie smirked.

“She’s okay.”

“You check out her body?”

“Okay. I’m fine with second choice.”

“The Contessa would eat you up and spit you out.”

“She’s definitely intense,” Nigel agreed. “And nothing like Lainey.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Sorry. It’s weird not having her here with you.”

“Well, she did kick me out of our apartment. I think Wayne was ready to kick me out of his I was moping so much. Even his primo hash buds didn’t cheer me up.”

“You going back to Barcelona after this?”

“After we visit with Mom and Grandma in San Diego. It’s a round trip ticket.”

“You’re hoping to reconcile with Lainey?”

“I’ll probably have to find a job first. Being on the dole got old for her. Me too to tell you the truth. Fucking great!” he smiled, heading to a table laden with Taco fixings and tamales. “You always have to go through all those toasts and whatever before you eat. This is how to have a reception.” He grabbed a plate and plopped a tamale on it. Nigel did the same. A metal tub had Dos Equis and Bohemia. Reggie grabbed the former. Nigel found an orange Fanta.


“I’m driving,” Nigel reminded his brother.

They settled on a temporary table. Four seats. They looked at a longer table, filled with families of the bride and groom. The groom mostly. His maternal side mostly. In front of it, a small table held a four tiered cake. Both newlyweds looked around, standing near it. Marcus spotted the brothers and rushed over. “Seen the Contessa?”

“Changing,” Reggie gestured towards the second house. “Sounds like it may take a few minutes.”

“Shit. And Marcy’s still with her?”


“I’ll see if Trish wants to check on them.”

“Or elazığ escort you can just cut the cake.”

“I know, but…” Marcus shrugged and returned to his bride. The tall, pretty blonde shook her head and muttered something and dashed off to the neighbor house. Her bridal dress with the full skirt looked amusing in her rush. As did her obviously bare feet.

But Marcus holding the bridal bouquet uncomfortably was what made Reggie laugh. “I have a feeling the Contessa won’t be catching that, if that’s the problem,” he said.

“And we won’t be catching the garter,” Nigel added.


It probably took longer than the wedding party wished before the bride, with her two bridesmaids in tow finally emerged. She looked flushed and calmer. Mescal, Nigel figured. The ladies they just met looked much better and more comfortable in summery cotton dresses. Connie looked almost elegant in her burnt orange number, and Marcy looked cute in pastel blue. The dresses also conformed well to their bodies. More curves than expected from Connie, but Marcy confirmed her voluptuous body. Brick shit house came to Nigel’s mind.

Bridesmaids and other young ladies gathered in a group to receive the toss. As predicted, Connie avoided catching it. Marcy didn’t. She caught it. And blushed. Connie punched her lightly and muttered something. Marcy bowed her head.

Both Nigel and Reggie avoided catching the garter. Another cousin of Marcus’s caught it. His girlfriend kissed him, and everyone laughed.

After the cake cutting and the messy offering to each other, people settled down. Champagne was poured and the best man, also a friend of Reggie’s, though less of Nigel’s than Marcus had been, made a hilarious speech. A much more sober and moving one from the groom’s father. Toasts were made. A couple of the older Chicana women, grandmother and great aunt Nigel figured, handed the bride and groom each a Styrofoam to go box. The newlyweds made the rounds, thanking people.

“Sorry I couldn’t hang out with you guys,” Marcus said to the brothers.

“Happy to see you happily married,” said Reggie.

“At least for a day,” Nigel smirked.

“Fuck you, asshole,” Marcus laughed.

“It’s all downhill. I hope you got a prenup.”

“She’d be the one needing it from me. Her family’s fucking rich.”

“So it wasn’t her pretty face.”

Marcus laughed again, along with Reggie, before he wandered off to the next person.

“It’s amazing the bride’s family came to the Barrio for this,” said Reggie.

“The limo’s for them. To make their escape.”


“Great minds,” said Connie, tapping Reggie’s bottle of Dos Equis with hers. She also had a tamale on her plate, as did Marcy. But Marcy chose Sprite.

“Had enough alcohol too?” Nigel asked her.

“Who said,” she snickered, revealing a plastic cup. Pouring a couple fingers or four of the Mescal, she drowned it in the soda.

“I need another beer,” said Reggie. “Want me to get another for you?”

“Thanks,” said Connie with a smile.

When he returned with two bottle in one hand and a basket of fresh made tortilla chips and a cup of guacamole set in it, he settled into his seat. “Anyone got a joint?”

“I do,” said Connie. “But not here. Too many ‘rents.”

“Your parents here?” Nigel asked.

“The tall proud one chatting up the rich as shit in-laws. The sad one beside him is my mother.”

“A handsome couple,” Reggie said.

“I suppose. My dad’s a teatotaller. On the wagon. My mom’s a tippler. I don’t even know if my dad realizes it. But it takes it’s toll I think. She’s gotten heavy and her face is showing…changes. The teatotalling will probably keep my dad proud and handsome. Asshole.”

“You don’t get along?” Nigel said the obvious.

“It’s just sad. Let’s eat up and skedaddle.”

“Any place you want to skedaddle too?” Reggie asked.

The ladies looked at each other.

“Mexico,” said Marcy.

“We planned to head to Tijuana tomorrow,” Connie explained, “but with two strong Gringos, why not tonight?”

“Hasn’t it got dangerous?” Nigel said. “My uncle told me stories of going down there. Betting on Jai Lai. Fifty cent beers. I wanted to go, but he hasn’t gone in years.”

“That’s why we need you Gringos,” Connie smirked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re such a wuss, brother.”

“Please?” said Marcy.

“Maybe we can do something else. Go to a club or something.”

“Such a chicken,” Reggie muttered.

“I’m not a chicken.”

“I can see your feathers. You can’t hide your feathers.”

“Damn it. I’m not chicken. You’re just doing it again.”

“What am I doing?”

“When you and Marcus and Billy would band together. Lure me along on your misadventures. Make fun of the little brother getting drunk or stoned for the first time and laughing your heads off. Getting me nearly killed a time or too. Or getting nearly caught. It’s how it starts. Calling me chicken.”

“And you didn’t have fun? Hanging with the older guys. The fun guys.”


“Let’s just go,” said Connie. “We can figure things out in the car.”

“I’m driving,” said Nigel.

“Of course you are, little brother,” Reggie laughed.

“Let us get our bags,” said Connie.

“And your stash?” Reggie suggested.

“Of course.”

“Another thing to worry about,” Reggie sighed. “Crossing the border smelling like marijuana.”

“I don’t think they’ll care crossing over,” said Connie. “It’s coming back you need to worry about.”


They laughed.

The seating was obvious, even with Marcy’s short legs. She sat up front with Nigel, and Connie and Reggie shared the back seat. Marcy’s legs did help give Reggie more room, since she could move her seat up. Even if Reggie wouldn’t have minded bumping knees with the gorgeous, sexy and daring Chicana beside him.

“Good shit,” said Reggie, a little choked but not coughing. Reggie was a connoisseur of marijuana. He even chose Amsterdam to live because of it, where he met his longtime girlfriend and eventually moved with her to Barcelona, the nearest city to the small town in which she had been brought up.

Connie just had a one-hitter, which Reggie decided wasn’t practical for Nigel. So he offered to roll it. Rolling his own cigarettes, he always had some papers. It was a thick immaculate joint, impressing Connie.

Besides getting high, Reggie realized it had another benefit. Nigel relaxed. And got funnier. Impressing Marcy. He had everyone in stitches as they headed south. “At least go in that direction,” Reggie insisted.

“We can do something in San Diego,” Nigel decided. “I know some cool clubs in San Diego.”

“Chicken,” Reggie muttered.

“Nice ride Nigel,” said Connie.

A Lexus Nigel had bought a couple months before.

“My brother the entrepreneur. Tell them about it.”

“I was working a summer intern job,” Nigel started, “between graduating college and going on to graduate school.”

“What did you study?” Marcy asked.

“Engineering. My uncle, who’s been my mentor, does software and hardware for Hughes aircraft. Designing simulators to test missiles. I wanted a more…constructive career I guess. Having to do with the medical side of things. The internship was mostly data entry, putting medical data from a couple of testing sites into a program that would analyze and graph the results. It seemed too superficial. Too narrow. Just local information, and rudimentary graphics. I thought if I could expand the data, feeding in from all over the country, and made the graphics more elaborate, color for instance, which, with the use of staining as well as the actual discoloration of tissue, could create a much more thorough database and much more substantial analysis.

“So I spent my time while not studying at graduate school creating the code, the algorithm to make it work, as well as designing a console to import information and export results, and then, once it got tested and worked, demonstrating it to various research facilities and pharmaceutical laboratories. Building as large amount of subscriptions as possible, not only for the money, but also to broaden the database. The most important aspect for those who subscribe is the researchers able to find a specific pool of people with the sort of medical problems in which the research laboratories can focus.”

“Specific people?” Marcy asked. “Isn’t there a problem with privacy?”

Nigel smiled at her. “Great question. It’s all coded. No names. Each person is assigned a code number. Part of the number comes from the sources. Where the person was originally tested. And that source basically is the only place in which the person is known and can be contacted.”

“Sounds like a lucrative niche,” said Connie.

“The entrepreneur’s greatest hope,” Reggie grinned.

“Well done,” said Marcy.


The brothers charmed their new lady friends. Nigel’s funny bits, and Reggie telling stories about his friends in Amsterdam and his life in Barcelona.

“Shut up and let them talk, Brother,” Nigel finally said.

“That’s okay,” said Marcy. “My life isn’t nearly as interesting.”

“Are you from around here?” Nigel asked.

“Born and bred in the valley. Orange County.”

Behind them they heard the two talking Spanish, so conversations became split.

“How do you know the bride?” Nigel asked.

“We grew up together.”

“Sounds like her family has money.”

“They didn’t always. Or her maternal grandfather did, and her father had to prove himself, which he did.”

“What sort of company?”

“Construction. Her father really did start at the bottom, which didn’t impress the grandfather. But he was ambitious enough to seduce the owner’s daughter and then went from there. The grandfather supported them enough to buy his daughter the house next to mine.”

“And your family?”

“My dad’s a dentist. My mom was the receptionist at the first place he worked. Where they met. She became his assistant until my brothers and I arrived. She actually does the books for my father and his partners.”

“I’m just wondering when you’re friend’s family got rich…”

“She was a sophomore when they moved to a much tonier neighborhood and she went to a private school. But we kept in touch as much as we could. It helped that we both got cars when we turned sixteen, though hers was a lot nicer than mine, a new convertible, while I got a hand me down from my father. Hers came first, and she came by to show it off, and didn’t come by after. When I got mine, I would drive to her place. Met her new friends. Most of them I thought were a bit too full of themselves. But her boyfriend was cool. And his friend. Double dating helped us sustain our relationships. My dad’s old Toyota proved the better make out car. I’d sleep over at her place, but a lot of times we spent evenings at my boyfriend’s place. His folks liked cocktail parties. They even left him home for a long weekend, and I slept with a boy for the first time. My best friend next door in his older brother’s room with her boyfriend.

“It got a bit rocky when she broke up with her boyfriend. She became a third wheel. Was I there to visit her or my boyfriend? He nudged it the wrong way, if he wanted to sustain our relationship. First insisting I should ignore my best friend. Then when I told him that wasn’t what I wanted, he suggested a threesome. And I don’t know if I was completely against that. Not that Trish and I ever experimented or anything. But it almost made sense. Except I got the feeling it might have been on his mind for a while. That he hoped I’d say yes, and would end up with her. Because they lived in the same neighborhood. I’m sure every boy has a fantasy. Being with two girls. And for a moment, like I said, I thought about it. But then the doubts came. Looking back on things. Noticing his glances at her in retrospect. Again, being a boy, and Trish is definitely better looking than me, it wasn’t unexpected. But those glances tended to linger. And never went away, no matter how close we were supposed to be. Or it maybe my own doubts or jealousy amplified his gazes. Whatever. I broke up with him after his suggestion. He played it like he didn’t really mean it, and I told him I just wanted to be with my best friend. He suggested I’d rather fuck her than him, and I told him to fuck himself, since I was no longer available. And that was that.”

“Did you ever tell Trish?”

“Not then, no. Later, in college, something similar happened. A boy I was with met Trish, and…”

“You two went to college together?”

“We shared a duplex. Her father buying the property. We went to different schools. San Jose State for me. Stanford for her.”

“So near Silicon Valley.”

“Where she met Marcus. Yes.”

Nigel laughed. “Did you hear that Reggie? ‘Let’s Party’ Marcus married a Stanford girl.”

“Hunh?” his brother replied dumbly.

Nigel angled his head so he could see him in the mirror. A goofy smile. Nigel couldn’t see Connie.

“Oh shit,” said Marcy, looking directly at the back seat.

“Is she doing what I think she is?” Nigel asked.

“Probably,” Marcy giggled. “And it isn’t one sided.”


“My new friend’s got nice tits.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I bet you got nicer ones,” said Connie.

“I’ll have to take your word for that too.” Nigel said.

“I don’t.” Reggie moaned.

“I’m not quite wasted enough for that,” Marcy blushed.

“No more booze, but I still got pot and my one hitter,” said Connie.

“No talking with your mouth full,” Reggie said.

“But…” Connie stopped, giggled and went silent. Except Nigel could swear he heard slurping noises.

“What the hell,” said Marcy, opening the front of her dress and then her bra. Front clasp. Since she was facing the back seat, her knees on the front passenger seat, Nigel’s glance only caught a side view. But it was enough. Full and resilient. Smallish nipples. Pinkish brown areola, about the size of quarter.

“Nice,” said Reggie.

Untranslatable noises came from Connie. But Reggie figured the translation. “Apples and oranges, Contessa. Or maybe grapefruit and plums,” he chuckled.

More sounds. Then silence. Or slurping.

“Oh shit,” said Marcy.

“What?” Nigel asked.

“Connie came prepared.”

Nigel saw his brother’s head lower and disappear. After a much more feminine moan, he saw feet. Smaller, female feet. One ended up resting against his head rest. Both masculine and feminine moans, muffled. Kissing.

Marcy wasn’t the only voyeur. Nigel watched her lift her dress and push fingers past her panties. A couple minutes of rubbing and she took his hand. “Here,” she murmured. “Feel,” and his fingers went where hers had been, feeling abundant wetness and heat. “Just a second,” she muttered and faced front, removing the panties. He braved weighing her amazing breasts before she turned around again and placed his hand back where it was. She worked her nipples, making them taut and a tad longer. His hardness pressed against the crotch of his slacks, but he had no way to relieve the pressure.

Things got noisier in the back seat. “Oh yes!” Connie gasped over and over, the words going higher and higher. “Oh fuck!” she finally keened.

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