—Mujer, what is that stuff you put in my hair?

—I‘m trying to fix it.

—You never complained about it before, Santo snapped back.

She hummed the Dallas theme song as she went about her days. Mouthing Pamela‘s dialogue when she became discouraged. The important thing is to live each day to the fullest and as long as you do, they‘ll be the happiest in your life. But no matter how much Esperanza polished her utensils, mirrors, the glass figurines on the shelves, they never shone for long. The dust was persistent. The condensation, salt, and heat made a coat of dirt on everything. The more the elements fought with her, the harder she tried to deceive them. And the short, feathered bangs that looked so great on Pamela didn‘t survive the humidity of D.R. No matter how much lye Esperanza combed through her hair, it curled and crimped and fanned out like an old broom.

—No màs! Esperanza yelled at her own reflection in the blotchy mirror that made her brown skin look as if she was riddled with beauty marks. —Maldita vida mía, I‘m going to Dallas, she had whispered to herself, afraid that if someone heard her, they‘d convince her to stay in Los Llanos. She‘d heard of people who made their way to Nueva York. Dallas couldn‘t be far off. She imagined herself working for a rich family. Just like Raul and Teresa, the Ewings‘ housekeepers. If only Teresa would have said something on that show but no, she just stood there in the background waiting to serve. Esperanza was tired of waiting.

She couldn‘t bear to see Santo work the land of Los Llanos every day so that her lazy neighbors, who got blisters from thinking about harvesting a crop, could eat off his sweat. Especially when all that time, she could‘ve been living like a queen. Her father had warned her that if she left the capital where she was born, to live in Los Llanos with Santo, she would regret it. But all Santo had to do was take his share of the land away from Don Chan and breed cattle and cultivate rice like the Spaniards did back in the days. Or sell the land to some foreigners like other people had already done. But Don Chan refused to sell the land and insisted on sharing the little that they had. And if Esperanza had learned anything from watching the Ewings, it was that no one becomes a millionaire by sharing.

She shouldn‘t have listened to Santo. She should‘ve gone to Dallas as soon as she stepped on American soil. Esperanza saw Don Chan sitting in the big chair, his pants high up on his legs. He looked frail. His hair cut short, spiked up, despite the pomade he favored. The dark brown of his skin from years of being in the sun. The yellowed teeth from all the cigars and rolled tobacco. That was not what she had planned for her life at all. Having to wipe Don Chan‘s ass when he lost all his faculties. It was bound to happen.