CARLOS & KATRINA

A Novel by Charles Adrian Trevino
Copyright 2006, 2020

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Chapter 35

"Hello, Carlos." Katrina stepped onto his oversized beach towel, smiling pleasantly. Carlos smiled back, trying to think of something appropriate to say, but found himself at a loss for words; he remained silent. The two young lovers embraced for a moment, then quickly separated. Neither of them were given to public displays of affection, especially in front of a staring, extremely curious crowd of beachgoers. But Carlos hesitated a second before letting go of her hand, giving it one final squeeze. Katrina was a rare and superlative person, he thought to himself; she had been strong enough to forgive him, and had actually come looking for him. He still couldn't quite believe it, and his face was reflecting his doubt. Yet there she really was, standing in front of him like some angelic vision from heaven... smiling.

Carlos wasn't sure what to say, how to begin. "Katrina," he stammered, looking down. "I feel like the biggest, dumbass idiot jerk buffoon that could ever exist for what I said to you this morning... there's no excuse for what I said to you... do you think you could ever forgive a complete jackass like me?"

Katrina reached out took his hand. "You're not a jackass, Carlos... and I already have forgiven you. You were just very angry, that's all. Everybody has to blow up sometime, and you had more than enough reason to. I know what you're really like, Carlos; I know you!" Katrina said, sincerely. "Don't worry about this morning any more... it's all just water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned."

Carlos realized he had been holding his breath; he exhaled in relief, and smiled again. Bending down, he scooped up his papers and sandals and tossed them aside to the sand. "Sit down, me proud beauty! Do you want to sit down? Or we could go somewhere else and talk... I need to talk to you, Katrina. I need to tell you something. I have ask you something..."

"No, right here is fine... I think your towel is big enough, don't you?" Katrina looked down at Carlos' oversized beach towel, laughing.

"Oh, yeah... I bought the biggest one I could find, since my head is so damn big..." Carlos made a jokingly grandiose motion with his hand for her to sit down, and she did. He quickly sat down beside her.

"You know Katrina, I've never told you this... but I'm always in a perpetual state of disbelief that you would ever want to spend your precious time with a stupid loser like me! I... I don't deserve someone like you, Katrina... really I don't, and I'm a cad for taking up your time. You could... you should be with someone much better than me, Katrina. Someone more like yourself..."

"You do, Carlos, you do deserve me! You're a superior person... and you deserve a superior consort. Like me!" Katrina looked at him with a comically smug expression. Now it was his turn to laugh. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than anything else about Katrina, it was her quick, playfully disarming wit. But her mood quickly turned serious.

"Carlos... I've thought a lot about what you said... about me always carrying my father's legacy on my shoulders. You were right, Carlos. I do carry a big weight around with me, always... and I feel like I'm ready to relieve myself of that load now. I want to bury it, forever. I've carried it long enough, and I want to live my own life now. I want to live my life with you now, free and unburdened; I want a good life. Carlos, you're the only person I've ever met who's like me... who thinks the same way I do. I've come to realize that I was very lonely before I met you... I was all alone, I had nobody..." a sad expression came over Katrina's face, and she looked down at the ground.

"Katrina..." Carlos reached over and grabbed her by the arms, giving her his sternest look. "Katrina, I'm a jerk! A goddamned fool! I do not deserve you! You're saying these things because you're a crazy person! And I don't like crazy people... they bug me!"

Katrina looked up at him again with a mock expression of anger. "Shut up, Carlos, before I punch you! If you say that one more time, I'm going to punch you out you big dumbass!" They both broke out into laughter.

Carlos looked up; a few wispy clouds were floating across a dreamy blue sky, the most beautiful shade of azure he had ever seen, or so it seemed. He stared at it all for a few more seconds, temporarily distracted; then he looked at Katrina again. She looked back at him impassively.

"Katrina..." Carlos raised an open hand and began drawing imaginary circles in the air. "Katrina, I... I need you to marry me. Will you marry me?" He looked at her expectantly. She stared blankly back at him, saying nothing.

"Ok, ok... please marry me," he said again, in a comically deadpan tone of voice.

Katrina just kept looking at him stolidly, saying nothing. A few long seconds passed; then Carlos sighed and lowered his hand again, looking at the purple and blue patterns on his beach towel.

"Katrina," Carlos looked up at her again with an annoyed expression. "Have you ever heard that old joke, you know... 'how do you keep a jackass in suspense? I'll tell you later?' Have you ever heard that one?"

Katrina continued to stare at him for a few more seconds; then her mouth began to twitch slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if she were fighting back a smile.

Encouraged, Carlos took the initiative. "Alright Katrina, go ahead and think about it. Take your sweet-ass time, take all day if you want." He looked at her sternly again. "I have to warn you, though... sometimes I beats my women... to keep them in line, you know. But I'm willing to make an exception in your case... if you behave yourself and act right!"

"Oh, God..." Katrina said, looking up and closing her eyes for a few seconds. Then her loud laughter rang out once again, musically, like chimes tinkling in the breeze. Carlos watched her in pleasure, drinking in the sound of her laughter; he absolutely adored Katrina's laugh.

Katrina opened her eyes again and smiled at him. "Alright, Carlos... if you promise not to beats me... then yes, I will marry you!" She reached over and threw her arms around him, and they hugged each other tightly for a long time, completely forgetting about the inquisitive audience surrounding them. Carlos felt his head spinning, the same way it had when they first made love together in Katrina's bedroom, after not seeing each other for months. It seemed as if all of the worries, troubles and doubts that he had carried around with him for so long were ebbing away now, like melting snow on a warm, sunny winter day. He broke out in joyful laughter once more; he couldn't remember ever feeling this happy in his entire life.

Neither could Katrina.

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David Slasher spun around fast, feeling immense satisfaction as his right foot impacted his rubber punching dummy at chin level. Quickly regaining his equilibrium, he paused for a second, watching it recoil back violently on its post; then turning fully back around, he attacked it again with a flurry of rapid-fire karate punches using both fists, before finishing the poor dummy off with another powerful kick, this time using his left leg.

He had been drilling hard for over thirty minutes, and it was time to stop and take a breather. It always felt good to vent his frustration in this manner, and it was great exercise too; getting his blood flowing fast always had an excellent effect on his mental state, helping him to deal with the increasing pressures of his new career as lead singer and rhythm guitarist for the Cool Banditos, a band that was starting to establish itself as a dynamic force to be reckoned with... and not to be trifled with.

Slasher broke into a smile as he started to think about what had occurred at the band's last concert, when they had opened for the incredibly inept Genius Genesis. An embarrassingly untalented group of musical imbeciles trying to pass themselves off as superstars with the generous help of music industry "titan" David Geeken -- who was rapidly becoming an international joke himself -- the geniuses had undeservedly risen to the top of the charts. The Banditos had effortlessly blown the rank pretenders' cover by playing a set that had raised the cheering crowd to its feet and gotten them dancing in the aisles. When the openers quit the stage, the crowd had practically shouted themselves hoarse calling for encores... which they had gleefully provided. After the Banditos had finally finished their last number and the Geniuses had meekly taken over, over half the crowd had walked out, some booing... for them the excitement was over, and the rank headliners would only be a dull, disappointing anti-climax to an evening of magic.

And things were only going to get better. They were only days away from hooking up with Van "The Man" Norrisman and his band, Them Guys; also appearing on the bill would be Steven the Cat and jazz-rock's premier band Santa Ana, whose lead guitarist Charles Santa Ana had been an inspiration to both Carlos and Slasher for many years. It was promising to be the tour of the year, and the Banditos would be playing a major role in it! He could hardly contain his excitement.

David picked up his tee-shirt from the chair where he had tossed it and began to wipe the sweat from his face. Then collapsing into the chair, he sat there for a while just smiling. Resting always felt so good after he had pushed himself especially hard; that was why he did it. Closing his eyes, his thoughts began drifting off to green, pleasurable pastures as he luxuriated in blissful relaxation with dreams of fame, riches and endless sex orgies circulating through his mind.

Very slowly, David began returning to reality, his eyes still shut; something had been bothering him of late, and it was starting to haunt him again. It was a song that Carlos had written, very quickly, when he was under a lot of pressure and very angry over some personal matters; a song he had titled "A Free Worm in Paris." The music was good, like most of Carlos' compositions; it was the lyrics that had been worrying Slasher. Furious, penetratingly acidic lyrics dripping with accusatory venom, quite unlike the things Carlos normally came up with. Actually, it was an excellent musical effort, potentially a number one hit. What concerned him was the people that the lyrics were so obviously describing; very rich and vindictive entertainment industry moguls and behind-the-scenes financiers. People who wouldn't take such an insult lightly. Sick, ridiculous, but very powerful people who could -- and probably would -- get someone to try to hurt Carlos, in retribution for having been so accurately depicted in what would surely become a widespread popular song.

The song had come about a few nights previously when the band had been unwinding, watching television in Slasher's den after a strenuous rehearsal session. Carlos had been sitting at a table apart from the others, not partaking in the media entertainment, as was his usual custom. He was working on some song lyrics, looking down at a pad in front of him, when a cartoon comedy program had suddenly interrupted the Western which the rest of them had been enjoying, much to their unpleasant surprise. These unexplained interruptions had been occuring more and more frequently -- just another act of arrogance forced upon a helpless public by the unseen wizards of the media. That event had been suspicious and disturbing enough by itself, but it was what had ensued that had caused Carlos to express his invective so strongly in his song.

A cartoon character that was obviously based on Carlos' now famous girlfriend Katrina Fury was sitting on a four-poster bed, exactly like the one David had seen in Katrina's room, crying a torrent of tears as she watched a television that was blaring out some breaking news about a rage-rock star named Carlos, who had just been shot to death onstage by a disgruntled fan as he was performing his number one rage-rock hit. The cartoon Katrina had then gotten up and plucked a picture of another animated character, ugly and wearing a large Mayinkan hat, from the wall. Holding it up in front of her she had begun to wail, "Carlos, oh my Carlos, what will I do without you?" Then to the complete disgust of the watching trio of musicians, an oversized wicked smile had come across the cartoon-Katrina's face, distorting her beautiful features. "Oh, I know what I'll do!" she had gleefully exclaimed; then reaching behind her back, she had produced a huge penis-shaped vibrating massager from out of nowhere and jumped into her bed, pulling the covers over herself. An exaggeratedly loud buzzing noise had filled the air and the four-poster bed had begun to rock violently back and forth, then bounce up and down.

Slasher quickly picked up the remote control and turned off the t.v., as Mitch and Billy looked at each other with blank expressions on their faces. These Carlos and Katrina cartoons had become quite commonplace lately, but none of them had ever seen anything as pathetically and unbelievably sick as what they had just been forced to witness. David had looked over at Carlos, who was still just sitting there looking down at his notepad as if he hadn't heard -- but an expression of absolutely ultimate disgust had come over his face. After a few seconds of silence David had softly suggested that maybe they should call it a night. Letting out a loud exhalation, Carlos had muttered an agreement, and the foursome had gotten up and solemnly left the room. No one had known what to say to Carlos.

David opened his eyes again. He had been debating whether or not to discourage Carlos from releasing the song, but had decided that it wasn't his place to do so. For one thing, Carlos was the leader of the band, and he certainly had reason enough to go forward with it. Also, it was most definitely an appropriate riposte to the demented monkeys who controlled the media, and seemingly everything else in the world. If he and the rest of the guys had heretofore thought that Carlos had just been joking around about evil conspirators who controlled the country -- and the music industry -- they could no longer deny the truth of what he had been constantly trying to impart to them. They were all playing the role of ignorant, hapless stooges to unseen manipulators who were obviously of the lowest ilk; these bad actors deserved to be rebuked, and forcefully, as Carlos was doing. Still, it seemed to him to be a rather dangerous proposition...

David sighed. Rising from his chair, he looked across the room at his rubber punching dummy, and considered another pummeling session. He suddenly felt a strong imperative to keep himself in top fighting form; Carlos needed protection, and Slasher was a logical source, since he was the one who was with him the most. But instead of returning to his rubber dummy, Slasher went over to his dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Reaching inside, he drew out a deadly-looking pistol and cocked it; then he turned and raised it up, aiming it at his rubber punching dummy's forehead. He pulled the trigger and heard a loud click, then pulled the trigger again and again. From now on he would keep it fully loaded and at the ready, and carry it with him at all times.

Nobody was going to harm Carlos... not if Slasher could help it.

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Copyright 2020 by Charles Adrian Trevino.