The phone call broke me out of my daydream, and I was a bit startled, to put it mildly. I had recently sold Icarus, the publishing firm that Eric, Bobbie, and I founded, to a large national publishing house. I now lounged near my pool with an ice cold PBR and my favorite pretzels (Rold Gold) when I heard my cell phone buzz with the default dial tone. It was late August, and despite being Oregon (so not hellish like some other places), it was still a bit toasty when it didn't rain.
"Hello?" I answered, truly unsure of who could possibly want to call me on a lazy Friday afternoon after I basically retired for the rest of my life.
"Is this Mario Mancini?" I heard a vaguely familiar voice on the phone.
"Yes, that's me. Who are you, though?" I inquired, rather wary to say the least.
"My name is Carly Salazar . I...work in the secretary pool at Icarus, or at least I did until...lately. The new management fired me and now...well, I don't know what to do. I'm only appealing to you because you're the only single man among the three previous owners. I'm begging you, please, let me make my case to you. I'm at my wit's end! I can't afford to get fired! Please, sir!" the young woman's voice was clearly that of a very terrified lady.
"You were fired, not laid-off, but terminated for cause? Are you sure of this? Did they at least explain to do why you got fired so early into your time there? I seem to recall that you were relatively new and came highly recommended from the college that contacted us, Hyperion Institute, now that I know your name. They showed me your college transcripts, your GPA, all of that. You graduated cum laude, didn't you? Eric and Bobbie both agreed on you before I even saw your resume and application. Of course, it had to be unanimous, but they sold me on you pretty fast," I recollected now, despite the beer.
"Yes...sir, Mr. Mancini. It's hard to...admit this, but I'm...a Dreamer," Carly finally confessed to me, "they fired me because I don't have a work permit, a green card. I'm not legal to work in the United States. I don't even have a student visa."
"A Dreamer. You mean that you were born elsewhere, your parents came to the U.S. illegally, and you tagged along for the ride because you were too young to have a say in the matter, right?" I continued, still enjoying my beer, but also getting...a bit aroused by Carly's voice, I had to admit to myself.
"Yes, sir. I was just four when they took me here. I don't know any other country. I have little or no memory of Mexico, though I'm bilingual, of course. Spanish is my first language, but as you can see, I can speak English fluently and without too much of an obvious accent. Please, sir. I know why they fired. I understand. But I need...work or something. I need to be able to stay in the United States. I don't know what I'd do if I was deported. My whole life is here, my whole family, too, all of my friends," Carly sobbed in my ear.
"Now, what exactly do you want me to do for you, Carly? You said that you wanted to make your case to me, but for what? What kind of action? Let's put our cards on the table here. No, better yet, come here. To this address. 675 Wolfram Drive. Show up as quickly as you can, too. You should make your case in person for what you want. It sounds as if we'll need some privacy, anyway," I encouraged her, "take at least some of your clothes and such with you. Some kind of overnight bag, just in case."
"Thank you, Mr. Mancini. I'll do as you ask, sir. You're the only hope that I have left. You won't regret this, I promise you!" Carly hung up and obviously sounded ready to hurry to my place.
I decided, of course, that I would drop what I was doing and do my best to get my place in company order. I wasn't the messiest guy, but I also wasn't the King of Neat Freaks, either. I tried to keep my place in reasonable shape most of the time, but I didn't panic if it got messy now and then, such as the last time that I had Bobbie and Eric over for a threesome, just the Sunday prior to Carly's call. We left a mess and I hired a maid service to clean it up, so that was good. I only hired such services irregularly, preferring not to keep permanent staff, just in case they had loose lips.
This situation was a case in point, as I didn't know if anyone would suspect at least one prospective solution that came to mind. I knew of ladies who regularly let Americans impregnate them to have "anchor babies," children with automatic U.S. citizenship. I had never deliberately done that to an immigrant woman, but I strongly considered it as an option here. Marriage was another thought, but then the Feds would be occasional guests, and I wasn't sure that I liked that idea much at all. I valued my privacy and I kept a bit of weed now and then. That didn't make me fond of too much government attention.
At any rate, there wasn't time to hire a maid service this time around, plus I didn't want any nosy maids prying into my business. No, it was best to clean things up myself, and that I did with relative ease, despite the slight beer buzz from the Pabst Blue Ribbon in my bloodstream. It took longer to make ME presentable than it did my house, as I hadn't shaved that morning. I used the electric shaver and didn't worry about being too close at shaving, since I knew that some women liked just a hint of wildness. I was just about done and barely had time to pull on a new polo shirt and khakis when I heard the doorbell ring.
It was the same Latin cutie that I remembered from the secretarial pool, but this time she was at her level best. She was a knockout, in fact, if you had to ask me, especially right then. She had long, luscious, jet-black hair and the same lovely, earthy complexion that one typically associated with Mexican women. She could easily have been one of a million ladies of mestizo heritage, but she was remarkably attractive, particularly with her sweet smile and adorable vulnerability. There was just a hint of just how scared she really was, which wasn't shocking due to the risk of deportation.
"Carly, right? I'm Mario Mancini," I shook Carly's hand and she shivered in my presence, "where are my manners? Come in and sit there, will ya?"
"Mr. Mancini, thank you for...having me over. Sorry to pester you, and I wouldn't have, if it weren't so urgent. I could easily be facing deportation soon, depending on how quickly the Feds learn of my situation, which is more likely by the day, as I'll probably be on the street and have to turn tricks just to eat. I really don't want to do that, but I don't see too many options left. You're a lifesaver, even by agreeing to give me a face-to-face to plead my case.
"Basically, I need two things, and I'm not sure how to get them, but I hoped that you'd find a way to help me with that. I need a new job of some kind...and some way to work legally and stay in the USA. Pretty soon, if things don't improve, I'll need a new home, too. My rent is already late on my apartment and my utilities are already getting shut-off notices. I'm not sure how I would pay them in time to avoid suspension of services.
