For a full list of chapters, click here: Table of Contents
Summer, 1986
When he was seventeen, the summer before his freshman year, Franky Benítez would wake up at noon each day and head to the beach with a case of Medalla beers, two Whoppers and onion rings. By sunset, Franky, his cousin Ismael, and their best friends Marito and Guille would return to Franky’s condo where he lived with his father, his stepmom, and his brothers and sisters. MTV would buzz in the living room as the boys drank more beers, and Franky’s stepmom made them dinner. Around ten, after kissing his siblings good night, Franky and his boys would pass the Studio hair gel, spray themselves with Polo and get dressed for Neon’s, a club that would blast New Wave for the children of light-skinned Puerto Rico. The attire was always typical San Juan Menudo: jeans, docksiders, no socks, open-collared shirts, Izod or OP or Playero, a necklace, a crucifix, a watch, some cash.
To Franky, Ismael, Marito, and Guille, Neon’s was theirs, and they owned it as if they were a bunch of preppie Rat Packers. They would walk in, order some Long Island Iced Teas, take their corner table and wait for the girls to head their way since they all knew that although Franky was the shy one, the Puerto Rican girls loved him. He had both his mother, her hazel eyes, her light brown hair, and his father, his coffee skin, his smile, his laugh. Franky was so different, the girls would say, and did you know he got into Harvard? Who didn’t know?
But, as Franky once told Ismael, San Juan girls wasted entire days preparing themselves. The short dresses, the makeup, the slicked-back hair. Life was not a Robert Palmer video. Of course, Franky would be polite to his San Juan girls, say hello to them with kisses on cheeks, ask them about their day, their college plans, and whether they were headed to the beach the next afternoon. And sometimes, when the night was slow and Franky drank his third Iced Tea, and they played “Bizarre Love Triangle,” he would be the first one to dance with them.
American girls were different. You could pick out an American girl in Puerto Rico without even talking to them. American girls always wore jeans and blouses, and they always wanted to drink. They were simple: they listened and made him laugh. They knew his music, his favorite movies, and they wouldn’t care if he didn’t feel like going out some nights. On the island, unlike when he was back in the Bronx, the American girls Franky met would also be willing. Some nights, Franky and his boys got lucky. They would drink, dance, and head for the beach in jammed cars, wine and cigarettes in hands. And that was it. No commitments, no dates the next night, just some caresses and promises to write from college. On most other nights, after Neon’s closed, they would head to the casino for ham-and-cheese sandwiches, a few bottles of beer and the chance to make a run against the dealer.
“I will show all you how this shit is done!”
That was Franky’s father one night during that summer of 1986 as he led the boys into the El San Juan Hotel and Casino. Franky believed right there: his father was a saint. Saint Francisco Antonio Benítez of Hope, patron saint of all dreamers.
The story goes that Francisco Antonio had just forty dollars in his wallet when he sat at the final seat of a crowded ten-dollar table in the far corner of the casino. In just four shoes, he had accumulated over four thousand dollars in winnings, prompting the pit boss to rate him for the rest of the night and offer him two VIP tickets to a boxing match that the El San Juan would host the next evening. Francisco Antonio thanked the pit boss for the offer and returned to the hotel’s restaurant, where he treated Franky’s boys to a meal of freshly-caught lobsters from Fajardo, plaintain mofongo, rice, beans, yuca, and coconut flan. All this and bottles of a Chilean wine one of Franky’s boys had claimed was grown near the grave of Pablo Neruda.
And as he placed a stack of hundreds next to the check, Francisco Antonio stood up on his chair and yelled, “I can do it one more time!” So, he led the boys to the most expensive table in the casino, and seated alone this time, tripled his money in less than half an hour. By now, the pit boss had offered the hotel’s penthouse suite, to which Francisco Antonio so graciously accepted.
“Now, gentlemen, in order to complete this marvelous night, I ask all of you to please join me at the bar,” Franky’s father said, cashing in his chips, the casino providing him with a check for nine thousand dollars.
And the moment Francisco Antonio approached the bar, he was welcomed with a rounding show of applause, to which Franky’s father responded, “Drinks for everyone! And put it on my bill!”
They drank until three in the morning. And when Francisco Antonio received the tab, he placed the check for nine thousand dollars on the bar and walked away.
Later, Franky and his father walked the beach and collapsed right near the shore. “I love you, son, I love you more than anything else in the world,” Franky’s father said. Then he began to sing his song, the song he had made up just for Franky that night in front of the cinema in Santurce, the first summer his son came back to Puerto Rico after moving to the Bronx with his ex-wife.
That summer in 1986, Franky Benítez saw his future. It would be just like his father in a casino. Nothing would stop it.
This is good! I like where it’s going and confirms my comment on the prologue. Keep going Julio!
Thanks! Will keep at it.
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Great start! Evokes memories of Junot Diaz’s ‘…Oscar Wao’, which is a favorite of mine. Excited to read more…
Un abrazo! Stevie (i.e., Armbruster Jr)
Thanks, bro, for the comments. I am huge fan of Oscar Wao myself. Great book and there is influence here. Want to take it in a different direction. Thanks for the comment! Abrazos…
[…] previous installments, click on these links: Prologue Summer, 1986 Today, 4:30 a.m. November, […]
Ok, I’m sucked into this already — my mental images are so vivid. Franky sees things thru the eyes of a child, but he files them into his mental rolodex — and I see that rolodex gathering some momentum —
This is really really good — so i’m off to read the rest — and then of course, take part in deciding the next way to go….
Patty! Thanks so much for your comment and for taking the time today to read my piece.
Julio,
Franky’s father reminds me a little of my dad, a hopeful dreamer always willing to place a bet. Great descriptions of Franky and his friends. I remember the “Menudo” days and can clearly see Franky dressed in ” jeans, docksiders, no socks, open-collared shirts, Izod or OP or Playero, a necklace, a crucifix, a watch, some cash”. Wonderful imagery.
Thank you again for the comment!
Julio, i’ve only read the Prologue and this chapter. It’s really good. The descriptions here are great: I am in that casino. You evoke the mid 80’s perfectly, but give it a West Side Story feel. (was this intended?). Can’t wait for the rest. Thanks for supporting my series too by the way.
Justin, thanks so much. Very cool of you to say West Side Story, I am trying to explore the character’s bicultural and dual worlds. Much appreciated.
[…] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Julio Ricardo Varela, Julio Ricardo Varela. Julio Ricardo Varela said: My debut #TuesdaySerial Summer, 1986: http://t.co/1BHIHnd aka Franky Benítez's Greatest Summer Ever #latinolit […]
I like the nostalgic tone of the piece and how you’ve painted your character between two worlds. In that way, it reminded me a little of “A Bronx Tale”. I too thought the descriptions were well done and liked the relationship between father and son. Good start.
Genevieve, thanks so much for that comment. “A Bronx Tale” is one of my favorite movies, very likely a subconscious influence.
I could really feel the energy among them as the went from place to place. Great characterizations.
Thanks, Tony. I had fun with this one.
The father is a wonderful “larger than life” character for Franky to admire at such an important time in his life. There is the makings of a great story here.
Jason, thanks so much for that comment and really appreciate it!
Between the time of year, locale, the company he kept and the diet the opening paragraph suggests, he was living the complete opposite of my current existence and I envy him so greatly that at points I wish bad things upon him. But I still liked him.
Because you are a kind soul, John. Don’t worry, Franky’s world gets messed up very soon. Thanks for reading. Will check yours out tomorrow.
Great description- a bit nostalgic and evocative. You really make me see everything happening on a sepia-toned films.
http://tinyurl.com/23zymrz
Interesting, that is cool to know. Much appreciated.
What charming characters, both Franky and father. I loved the little trip into 80’s Puerto Rico too .
Not related to the story, but the mention of “the grave of Pablo Neruda” took me on an interesting trip to google (I’d not heard of him). Wikipedia told me this: “Pinochet had denied permission to transform Neruda’s funeral into a public event. However, thousands of grieving Chileans disobeyed the curfew and crowded the streets.” which was another lovely journey, so thanks for that too!
That is cool. And btw, “Musketeers” is a very enjoyable story.
Yes, I’m coming to love Franky and his stories. It’s so full of life and energy. I could taste the food in that casino, and “wine grown near the grave of Pablo Neruda” was very evocative. Will this be a novel one day? It should be. 🙂
Grace, I really appreciate the comment. In fact, what I have been doing is writing in moments and scenes to see where it takes me, and yes, it is beginning to take me on a novel route. But what I like about this is that I keep writing these moments and in the end, they can be read in any order, except the prologue. Last night, I wrote close to 1800 words about when Franky’s parents met. It was definitely not a flash piece, LOL. Thanks again!
First off let me apologize for taking so long to get back to you. This last week was… well let me just say that running out of gas by the side of the road was the high point of my week….
Now on to your work. There is a real sense of location and character here. It makes you want to keep reading. You do a good job of creating vignettes that gel together into a satisfying whole.
No worries, Al! Thanks for visiting. Week is almost over!
Good story! Great descriptions throughout, and you really brought 1986 to life in this.
Thanks, Eric! Ah, 1986, I remember it well…
I was almost the right age in 1986 to be one of Franky’s girls. That thought would have given my mother fits for years LOL–probably why she had such a hard time letting me go away to college. I love that his father spent all that time making money in the casino only to turn around and leave it there. Speaks volumes about the type of person he was.
Seleste, thanks so much for the comment and I’m happy that you liked this.
Dude! That was fantastic! A plate of mofongo would do the trick right now.
Yeah! That would be awesome. It’s so freakin cold in Boston. I need me some mofongo!
This is really, really great. I really enjoyed reading it.
Thanks for taking the time to respond!
I love the descriptions and the dialogue in this is just wonderful, Julio! Great story!
Thanks, Maria. Happy to hear that you liked this.
Another glimpse into the life of Franky. I’m drawn into his story and look forward to reading more. You’ve painted a vivid picture of his life. Great job.
Thank you, my new Facebook friend!
Julio, if nothing else in this story defines the era, (which it does), this one line would do it: “Life was not a Robert Palmer video.”
I am truly enthralled at how you weave what could be considered noir into the ’80s – amazing.
Absolute brilliant writing!
Deanna, you rock for that. I put that line in right at the end thinking of how Franky thought of San Juan girls. Thanks again. Will read your Flash last this weekend.
That was soo great this is my 3th time reading it can’t get enough
Thanks for stopping to check it out. Peace.
This is the first part of your world I’ve had the pleasure of exploring. I loved the voice, the flow, the feel of this. Really excellent work and I’m looking forward to reading more.
Thanks so much for swinging by and reading it.
This was such an easy and pleasurable read. Love the way you weave so much authentic voice and detail (the way your writing flows is so natural), you’ve really got that modern summery “beat” style nailed. There is so much good here, I’m sure if the rest is up to this standard you’ll have no problem finding success.
Richard, thanks so much for those incredibly kind words.
It’s good to have dreams – and even better to have a patron saint of dreamers on hand.
I enjoyed following the boys across their summer. The sense of the place came through well.
Nicely done.
Hey, Kevin thanks so much for your comment.
I’m so glad I sought out this piece of the Franky B story. It clears so much up for me and after all these week’s Franky has become someone tangible and not just a legend spoken about in his absence. You describe a world far removed from my summer of 1986 in England and I thank you for it.
Cheers, Jase. At least there was New Order in England in 1986.