Ivan heard that and broke out laughing. He said, “Are you crazy? That’s that old-time Negro religion of crossing over. That shit don’t work no more. We just did a party with jet-black football players, and everybody was in the room. You even said that yourself. Those guys are celebrities, and they’re true-blue black brothers,” he told her.

Lucina kept her poise. She said, “And they are also football players. But are you? And are you a rapper? Are you a basketball player? Are you a baseball player? Are you any of those?”

Ivan began to shake his head, not liking where their conversation was headed.

Lucina told him, “Ivan, I have been around white men in this country who were basically nobodies. And all they did was kiss the ass of the rich and famous, drop names, lie about their friendships, and hang around the club just long enough for a big bag of money to fall right into their pockets. And I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes. But if you don’t play the game the way you have to play it, then you can be stuck looking in from the outside, with no one to blame but yourself.”

Ivan continued to shake his head defiantly. Even as a high-yellow, rainbow-eyed, light-brown-haired brother, he still had his black pride about him. And he would allow no foreign Brazilian girl to try to strip that pride away from him, no matter how good she looked or how much money they could make together.

But Lucina remained adamant. She flashed him that rare smile of hers and said, “I would even give you a big diamond earring for your left ear to add some sparkle to your eyes.”

Ivan couldn’t help but laugh at her. He repeated, “You’re crazy.” He told her, “You know what, if my look is so special, then how come you don’t remember seeing me before? You looked right at me.”

Ivan figured he had her. It was time to cut the cord on her bullshit. But he had to admit that she was good at it. He could imagine that other young women would have no chance with her. Women loved that kind of flattery. No wonder Lucina Gallo ruled them. But Ivan was a man—a rising businessman.

Lucina said, “You mean at the Padres party outside of the Market Street Hotel in the early summer? You were standing on the sidewalk trying to get in. And you were wearing a striped light blue shirt, dark blue jeans, and brown leather shoes.”

Ivan was ready to jump up from the table. He lost all of his business savvy and blurted, “Get the fuck out of here! No fuckin’ way! There’s no way possible you can remember me from just a look on the sidewalk with all these new people you meet.”