Applehead Fever

33 - a constellation

"You know Los Lobos is performing, right?"

"Yeah... what about 'em?"

I whipped my head away from the window, eyes piercing LaVelle. Evaldo also gave LaVelle a crazed look, his eyes wide and mustache twitching. "What the hell you mean 'what about 'em?'? Do you know who Los Lobos are??"

LaVelle's tongue cruised over the top row of his perfectly aligned teeth, eyes fixed above the seats on the tour bus. "Some Mexican band you be doing the salsa to."

"Man, you lame for that."

"Lame for what?" Randy popped his head over the seat, now facing the pair with his back to the front of the bus.

"This wastoid is slamming Los Lobos." Evaldo sniffed, flattening himself up against the window as if being near LaVelle was contaminating his pristine opinion.

Randy screwed his face up. "Los Lobos?"

Evaldo stared blankly at Randy for a moment. His palpable disappointment reached me from across the isle, furrowing my brows and eliciting my teeth to clamp over my tongue to restrain from remarking. When Evaldo spoke again, his features were obscured, for they faced the window. Reflection too muddled to make out an expression from where I sat. "You guys been living under a rock. I'm embarrassed for you."

"This man's trippin'." LaVelle huffed, lifting a hand and flicking the Mexican's ear. Evaldo went to smack his sinewy hand away, but was too slow. Instead swatting at the air as if trying to stave off a persistent fly.

"Personally, I like Whitney Houston better." Randy proclaimed, holding a hand to his chest to sell his sincerity. Though that sincerity was tainted when his eyes darkened and his tongue slowly mopped his bottom lip. "That body is a full coarse meal waiting to be devoured."

I furrowed my brows further at his articulation. Her body? Of course Whitney was gorgeous, but there was more to her than her body. Even more to her past her obvious talent for singing.

Perhaps I was just being sour as a result of my body being the center of attention in my career. His comment felt degrading, and I'd took it as if he were referring to me.

Though this was apparently quite funny to LaVelle, who erupted in obnoxious cackles and gave Randy an incredulous look. "You and Whitney? As if! Whitney would step on yo broke ass like a piece of gum on the sidewalk!"

"And then she'd scrape you off her heel and throw you in the trash!" Evaldo piped in, getting revenge on their colleague for his earlier teasing.

Randy glowered at the pair as they indulged in a few more jabs. They'd evolved into an insult competition; spitting out one for the other to try and one up it. I winced at the comments passed harmlessly between the pair, wondering how this hadn't started a fight.

If even a single word of what they were uttering reached my family's ears, there would be a riot. At least one person would be pummeled, joke or not.

My parents taught me to speak courteously to and of others. Any words spoken that may be taken as an insult rather than a joke were to never be spoken at all. Manners were one of the upmost important things in our household. Manners and respect to others.

It was important to them to teach their children those social etiquettes, since it was also important to enforce it in their classes. And I'd made sure to uphold my parents expectations. To keep my derogatory judgment to a quiet inner speculation.

I guess the trio of dancers across from me had different social etiquettes to stand by.

The subject of their boorish criticism took a few more rounds of the incessant ridiculing before boiling over with his own aspersions. "I know you ain't talking! You're still saying that you can smooth talk miss finger over there, but you've already been told she's off limits. You can't have her no way, and she hasn't even paid any attention to you!"