That was the problem. Maite was ridiculous and worse. She was pusillanimous, dull, utterly mediocre. Once you added all that together coupled with her lack of initiative, there really wasn’t any reason to consider another job.
She stared out the window as the rain fell.
She should make herself a cup of coffee, that’s what she should do. She should read her old comic books and listen to tangos. Play Carlos Gardel and songs about love and heartbreak. But as Maite sat there, with the rain falling, crumpling the newspaper in her hands, she felt no desire to do any of that.
Maite grabbed her coat and decided to go out. She’d walk. That’s what was best. Go for a walk, flee her hideous little apartment. The air was stale in this room, and she didn’t want to think about jobs or requirements or anything of the sort.
As soon as she stepped into the hallway she saw the man standing in front of Leonora’s door. He turned his head quickly and looked at her. She recognized him as the man in the picture she had been admiring before, but his hair was a little longer and he was wearing a red jacket.
“Oh, it’s you,” she blurted out stupidly, and the man frowned.
“Have we met?” he asked, looking surprised.
“No, no,” she said quickly shaking her head, trying to fix her blunder. “I’ve seen you in a picture with Leonora.”
“You know Leonora?”
“Sort of. I’m watching her cat for her. She’ll be back tomorrow. Were you looking for her?”
He nodded.
Well, of course he is, you dummy, she thought. Why else would he be here?
She wondered who had let him in. The tenants were supposed to be careful about letting strangers into the building, and there was the superintendent on the first floor who gossiped about everyone, but she supposed someone must have been lax about the entrance policy. People were always doing that, holding doors open even if they shouldn’t.
“She said she’d be around.”
“I don’t think she’ll be back today,” Maite said, reaching into her purse, pretending to look for her keys so she could lock her door. She looked slowly, as if she couldn’t find them, hoping he’d say something else.
He did.
“If you’re watching her cat then you must have the key to her apartment. I was supposed to pick something up from her. I think she left it inside for me.”
“You really should ask the super about that.”
“She borrowed my camera, and it must be inside her apartment. Maybe you could open the door for me? It would take a minute.”
“Well…”
“Forty-five seconds. If it’s not on the table I’ll zip right out. You can come in with me if you want.” There was an edge of anxiety to his words, but also a heavy dose of charm.
“I don’t even know your name,” Maite said, and congratulated herself on being crafty enough to come up with that line.
The man smiled. He stretched out a hand. “Emilio Lomelí.”
“I’m Maite.”
“I realize you were headed somewhere, but it would take a minute.”
“I’m not in a rush.”
She took out Leonora’s keys and opened the door, and they walked into the apartment. He seemed to know his way around the place and went into the bedroom, opening the drawer of a tall white dresser. Leonora observed him from the doorway, trying to think of something else she might say, something witty and interesting.
“What type of camera is it?”
“It’s a Canon F-1. Are you interested in photography?”
“No, not really,” Maite admitted.
He nodded and opened another drawer. Maite rubbed her hands together, trying hard to imagine what else to say. A minute or two more and he would give up and step out of the apartment, but she didn’t want him to leave yet. He was such a distinguished man, and she seldom had the chance to talk to someone like him.
Maite licked her lips. “Are you a photographer? I imagine you are.”
“Yep.”
Silence again. He had opened the bottom and last drawer. By the way he hunched his shoulders she could guess he hadn’t found what he wanted.
“Do you want me to help you look?”
“No, it’s fine,” he said as he stood up and glanced around the room. “She keeps all the photo equipment in this dresser. If it’s not there I’m not sure where it could be, and I don’t want to keep you here forever.”
“It’s no bother,” Maite said. “Do you want to look somewhere else?”
“Let’s give the living room a try.”
He walked past her, back into the living room. He moved a few of the canvases aside and inspected the shelf with the photographs. It all seemed to be in vain. He turned to her finally with a shrug. The yellow light in the living room accented his amber-colored eyes, making them more vivid.
“I guess she took it with her. Hey, if by any chance you find it, can you give me a ring?” he asked.
“Sure. But Leonora is coming back tomorrow.”
“I don’t know about that. When Leonora takes off like this she can be gone for days. She gets restless. Needs inspiration,” he said, smiling again and reaching into his pocket. He took out a business card. “Here. This is my phone. Will you call me if you find the camera?”
Emilio Lomelí, Antiques. The card was embossed, the letters velvet-soft against her fingertips.
“If I see a camera, I’ll phone you. Are you her boyfriend, by the way?” she asked, hoping the question sounded indifferent, casual.
“No. It’s a bit hard to explain.”
Explain all you like, she wanted to say, but he was already headed toward the door, checking his watch, and she imagined that he had an important place to be. Important stuff to do. She followed him and locked the door, and they were standing in the hallway again. Maite remembered she was supposed to go out, so she headed toward the stairs and he did too.
She scrambled to come up with something to say to him. She dearly wished she had been wearing something nicer. She had on a shabby, shapeless gray coat and her comfy blue shoes. If she’d known she was going to be talking to a man like this, she would have taken the time to apply a bit of mascara and pick a more flattering outfit. She remembered seeing a shearling coat inside Leonora’s closet and wondered what she might look like in something like that.
“Thanks, Maite,” he said when they reached the front entrance.
“No problem,” she replied, ecstatic that he’d said her name. It sounded wonderful coming from a handsome man’s lips.
She closed the door and pretended to fiddle with the lock, sneaking a look in the direction he had gone and seeing him walk away. He went around the corner and was gone. Maite clutched her purse tight against her chest.
She thought about following him for a moment. Not with any nefarious intention, but simply because she wondered where he was headed, simply to prolong the moment between them. But she didn’t dare, afraid of what he might think if he should turn his head and see her walking behind him.
The next morning she arrived at work bright and early. She was eager to chat with Diana, but she didn’t get a chance until lunchtime, when they both hurried to the coffee shop across the street.
“I met somebody,” Maite said. “His name is Emilio.”
“Then that’s why you wouldn’t have dinner with me Friday,” Diana said, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Don’t be silly, no. I met him yesterday. He’s very handsome, very interesting. He sells antiques. Would you believe it? A mutual friend introduced us—there was a little reunion, I wasn’t even going to go—and we talked for hours. We have so much in common.”
“Well, that’s exciting. But what about Luis?”
Maite fibbed. Never big lies. Little things. It wasn’t malice. You simply couldn’t go through life being fra
nk. When someone asked what she had done during the weekend, it wasn’t possible to always say “nothing.” “Nothing” sounded dry and sad. Therefore, once in a while, she embroidered her life with a little lie. She took the men from the comic books she read and fashioned them into imaginary dates, boyfriends.
Besides, it was nice to have someone to share her fantasies with, to see Diana’s eyes brighten with admiration when Maite regaled her with a story about her exciting weekend date. She didn’t do it all the time either. It had been weeks since she’d last mentioned Luis, who was obviously patterned after the hero of Secret Romance. A dashing physician.
“I don’t know,” Maite said. “He’s too quiet.”
“You’re terrible, Maite,” Diana replied, but she spoke with admiration, and Maite felt that in the end she was doing Diana a favor by telling her these stories. They entertained both of them; they turned what might have been a gloomy lunch break into something magical.
“Are you going to see him again then?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“You have such good times.”
“Well, you know, once in a while,” Maite said modestly as she thought about her weekend spent doing a crossword and watching the bird in its cage.
Diana wanted more details about her new quasi-boyfriend, so Maite invented suitable interests and hobbies—he had taught himself to play the guitar and liked watching Japanese films—she even shared some of his imaginary charming comments. She eventually grew weary of the charade and was glad when they crossed the street again and returned to work.
On the way back home she felt tired, her head pressed against the window of the bus, as she watched with indifference as a couple of young men tried to pinch the ass of a teenage schoolgirl, who valiantly warded them off. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see any of that. There was such ugliness in the world.
After making herself dinner and feeding her parakeet a treat, she knocked on Leonora’s door, but no one answered. She let herself in and saw that the apartment looked just as it had the day before. The girl was not back yet. On the couch, the fat tabby lifted its head and looked at Maite. She fed the cat, guessing the girl would arrive later that night. She wanted to try on that shearling coat she’d seen in the closet, but instead she rummaged through the girl’s toiletries and sprayed expensive perfume on her wrists.
She’d read that you ought to place perfume on the pulse points. She sniffed at her wrist, wondering what a lover would think of this scent.
Leonora’s perfume was sickly-sweet.
Back in her apartment she read Secret Romance. She chewed a nail, wondering when Beatriz would realize her lover was hidden away in an isolated house, deep in the jungle. It was early, but she fell asleep on the couch.
She dreamed of it. The jungle, with tall palm trees and an errant, sensual moon. With orchids and a jasmine perfume. The beating of drums late at night and the distant music of the waves against the shore. She dreamed she was dressed in a black beaded dress that trailed behind her and that she walked through the jungle, moving closer to the place where people played the drums.
Drums like a beating heart, drums making the earth quiver.
She pushed aside the foliage to emerge onto a clearing, and in the middle of the clearing there was a stone slab, and on the stone slab there was Leonora, laid up like the victim of some ancient Aztec sacrifice as shot by a Hollywood crew, dressed all in white, her eyes fixed on the moon as she awaited the arrival of a warrior-priest with a knife.
Maite looked down at the girl, but the girl did not see her. The girl saw only the moon. She was caught in a spell, in a trance, like Jorge Luis in his coma.
Maite stepped aside; she left the drums behind, she left the girl on the stone slab, and descended toward the beach. Crabs bit her feet and stones scraped her skin, and she smelled this rich scent, like salt and sulfur and brine. The world had smelled like this in the beginning, during creation, when the ocean raged and the creatures in the water multiplied, making the ocean teem with life.
When Maite awoke it was late, and her neck ached from sleeping in a strange position. She rubbed it, dragged herself to bed, and tried to rest a little longer.
5
MAITE EXPECTED LEONORA back on Tuesday, but when she knocked the girl didn’t answer. She opened the door to the apartment and fed the cat before heading to work, irritated by the thoughtlessness of her neighbor. She wondered what Leonora could be doing that was keeping her so busy. Well, she probably didn’t have to guess too hard: partying. Since Leonora had moved into the building, Maite had heard loud music coming from her apartment late at night more than a few times. The super had complained the girl threw large get-togethers even though the building was supposed to be a “family” building.
“You know, young girls,” the super said, shaking her head. “But she always pays the rent on time, which is more than I can say of certain people.”
Maite had wanted to tell the super that she was also a young person, that she too could turn up the music on her console, make it play really loud and invite friends over for drinks. But that would have been a lie. So she nodded in agreement.
Maite spent most of her morning wondering if Leonora was still partying and if so how exactly. Perhaps Sunday had bled into Monday and then into Tuesday. One long, orgiastic celebration with champagne and truffles. Perhaps it was something more earthy. Pot, the strumming of a guitar, the sort of hippie nonsense university students dabbled in.
She wondered why the girl hadn’t invited Emilio Lomelí to go with her. If Maite had been the girl, she would have phoned him immediately and asked him to accompany her. Perhaps Leonora had access to men who were even more interesting and good looking than Emilio Lomelí.
Some people had all the luck, didn’t they? Leonora was young, beautiful, she had no money woes. Maite frowned, resenting all the precious, perfect people who went around with no care in the world and who couldn’t be bothered to return to their homes, to feed their damn cats.
When Maite reached her apartment, before she had the chance to take off her shoes and put on her slippers, the phone rang.
“Hello,” she said.
“Maite? It’s me, Leonora.”
“Leonora, I thought you said you’d be back on Sunday. Monday, at the latest.”
“I was delayed,” the girl said. Her voice sounded a bit odd, as though she was holding the receiver very close to her mouth. “I need to ask you for a favor. I’m not coming back for a while, and I need you to bring me a box with my things and the cat.”
“Bring you?”
“Please. I can’t stop by the apartment right now. The box is above the garbage can. The cat carrier is under the sink. Could you meet me in half an hour? I’ll give you an address.”
“I don’t have a car. How do you expect me to carry a cat and a box?”
“Can you take a taxi? I’ll pay for the taxi. I’ll pay you triple for each day. Oh, please, please, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
She could hear the girl breathing on the other end of the line. She could imagine her twisting the telephone cord between her fingers.
“I was supposed to meet my friends,” Maite lied.
“I promise, I’ll pay you triple. I’ll pay for the extra time, the cab…Bring me the box and the cat. Please, I really need them.”
“Well, all right. What’s the address?” Maite asked, reaching for the notepad she kept by the refrigerator and scribbling down the information.
“Don’t give them to anyone else. You understand?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Half an hour. You’ll be there?”
“Yes, fine.”
After hanging up, Maite headed into Leonora’s apartment and stuffed the cat in the carrier. The tabby was too fat—it barely fit inside the little metal bin. The box wasn’t
large, but it was still cumbersome to lug downstairs when she was dragging an overweight feline. For a moment she had thought to take the bus, to tell the girl she had called a taxi, then pocket the difference. She decided it was too much effort and opted for the taxi.
She assumed Leonora was at a friend’s place, but the cab dropped her off at a printer’s shop. On the windows of the shop the printer had pasted numerous posters and business cards, so it was impossible to see the inside clearly. Maite managed to pry the door open and juggle a cat and a box, shoving both in after some muttering.
There was a long counter and behind the counter all the printing equipment and paper and ink necessary to run a business like this. A young man was operating a mimeograph machine in a corner, cranking a handle.
Maite set the box on the counter and the cat on the ground. She wondered if Leonora was in the back.
The young man turned to look at Maite. He had a stylish beard and wore a t-shirt and overalls, and behind his ear he’d tucked a pencil. His hair was longish and his eyebrows were very thick, like a pair of extra furry azotadores had taken up residence above his eyes. He nodded at her, wiped his hands on a rag he carried in his pocket, and approached the counter.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m here to see Leonora.”
The young man frowned. “Leonora? Why would you come to see her here?”
“She said she’d meet me at this address. I have some things for her.”
“I didn’t realize she’d be coming around.”
“Maybe she’s running late.”
“What time did she say she’d meet you?”
“About right now.”
The young man nodded. There were three chairs by the window. Maite sat on one of them, and she placed the cat on another. She kept the box on her lap, drumming her fingers against it. The young man went back to cranking the handle of the mimeograph. In a corner, a small metallic fan turned its blades.
After ten minutes had passed Maite began to fidget, tapping her foot against the floor. After around twenty minutes the damn cat began to meow mournfully periodically. When a whole hour had gone by, Maite stood up and approached the counter again.
Velvet Was the Night Page 6