Indeed if all the graffito on the mens room wall was true, then Vanessa was the whore Diego knew her to be. That's how they met. There was a scrawled phone number, and Diego, his heart pumping the machismo blood of his forefathers, called. From there it was nothing to it. Vanessa needed rent money because the price to live in a white man's neighborhood was sky high. And all Vanessa had to do was stretch back and kick her solid legs high into the air. Diego knew what to do from that point on. It was relatively simple because his mother had shown him how many times over. And Vanessa reminded Diego a lot of her.