by Carmen Amato
“Where are your manners, Fernando?” Lorena hissed. She tried to drag her feet but it was impossible in those heels. “You haven’t even introduced me to your guest.”
“We’ll speak later,” Fernando repeated and deposited Lorena outside his office. The door shut abruptly behind her.
Ernesto Silvio and the secretaries had their heads down but she knew they were secretly laughing at her. Lorena had never been so humiliated in her life. And there was still the newspaper problem to deal with. She stalked over to Silvio’s desk and glared at him, her best you ignorant shit look. “Who’s that with the president?” she snapped.
Silvio was an energetic man in his early forties and Fernando depended on him for virtually everything. Sometimes she wondered if Fernando even knew how to pee by himself.
The man met her eyes with a bland expression. “Have a nice morning, señora,” he said.
Chapter 20
Luz woke up alone in the bed.
The apartment was quiet, no sounds of a man in the bathroom or the kitchen. Luz edged into the hallway and called Eddo but there was no answer. She poked her head into the living room and checked the dining room, and called some more but there was nothing.
She walked back into the bedroom, not sure what to do, and saw the digital numbers of the little steel travel clock on the bedside table. It was 10:00 am.
She was supposed to have been at work in the Vega’s kitchen four hours ago.
Panic hit hard as Luz looked around for her clothes. They were folded on the dresser top, right next to the stereo and the neat stack of CD’s and a 200 peso bill in the little tray where Eddo’s wallet had been.
The room shimmered around her.
He’d left her 200 pesos and disappeared.
He’d left her 200 pesos because he’d thought she was a prostitute.
A prostitute. The kind that pulls off men’s shirts and does unspeakable things in tubs.
A whore.
A puta.
Putting on her jeans took forever. The blouse was worthless; there was no way to keep it closed. She found her shoes and socks, lurched into the living room, and stuffed the ruined blouse into the Prada tote.
Luz ran out the front door, wearing the sweater buttoned over her bra. She slammed the door hard and a draft churned angrily through the apartment.
Some paper near the coffee maker swirled off the kitchen counter and fluttered to the floor.
Chapter 21
Lorena seethed all morning, barely hearing the preschool brats sing as she toured the place and avoided dirty hands. When Fernando sat down for la cena she gave him a furious lecture, letting him know that she expected Ernesto Silvio to be let go immediately. And for that norteamericano newspaper reporter to be expelled from the country and sales of the newspaper banned in Mexico.
Through it all, Fernando said nothing, just mechanically spooned soup into his mouth like a robot. When Lorena ran down, he gave a sigh and wiped his lips with his napkin. The servant came in and removed the soup plates.
“Well?” Lorena demanded. “Did you even hear me?”
The servant came in with the main course, served each of them, and went out.
Fernando prodded at the chicken on his plate with his fork, rearranging it like he always did with his food and everything else. “My dear, you’ll learn in politics that all sorts of people have very disturbing agendas,” he said when the chicken was no longer touching the rice. “Sometimes it’s easy to ascertain the agenda, other times not so simple. You have to probe. Get to the bottom of what is going on before taking action yourself. Never be hasty.”
Lorena banged down her glass of white wine, swearing under her breath as it slopped over the bowl and onto the tablecloth. “Ernesto is insufferable,” she said.
“Ernesto is excellent,” Fernando said. An offending grain of rice was pushed to the proper side. “He has neither his own agenda nor political passions.”
Lorena rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t like me and he doesn’t want me to become president after you.”
Fernando stopped fussing with his plate. “Lorena,” he said testily. “If you can prove without a shadow of a doubt that wrongdoing is underway, then let me know. But I’m not listening to any more conspiracy theories without adequate proof today.”
Lorena’s blinked. “Conspiracy theories, Fernando?”
Fernando sliced his chicken into uniform pieces. “Political tonteria,” he said. “It’s probably all just nonsense.”
'
Lorena saw the attractive man again that very night at the Lomas Altas Children’s Hospital benefit. He was positively gorgeous in a well cut tuxedo and shiny shoes.
Of course, she was gorgeous herself with her hair swept up and secured with a diamond clip. Her gown was a strapless amethyst silk with a small train. Max escorted her in and introduced her to various hospital patrons and made sure the right photographs were taken.
The event was held in the hospital cafeteria, with a band and champagne and waiters serving canapés. A small stage had been set up and the hospital director made a speech and then Lorena was asked to step up and say a few words. Of course Max had prepared for this. Her statement embraced those who worked so hard for all the wonderful children of Mexico.
Some boring people talked next and she realized the attractive man was one of them. According to the program he was Eduardo Cortez Castillo, legal advisor to the Marca Cortez company. He pledged a surprisingly large sum to the hospital on behalf of the company, and called for a round of applause for the architectural firm that had designed the wing, noting the way they had created innovative space for physical therapy, family consulting rooms, and other things Lorena supposed were important.
After the speeches and the tours and the rest of the formalities, Lorena circulated, making the sort of small talk expected of the First Lady. At the same time she discreetly assessed who at the benefit would support her candidacy and kept an eye out for Cortez. Really, how had this company minion managed to have a private breakfast with the president of Mexico?
Lorena eventually found Cortez. He was in a corner stuck like glue to a couple he appeared to know well. The woman was one of the architects he had recognized in his speech. The man next to her looked thick and menacing despite his tuxedo.
They were obviously having a private conversation and Lorena couldn’t get close enough to overhear them. But whatever they were talking about, Cortez was happy about it. In fact the little threesome looked positively animated. The woman hugged him, he shook hands with the man and left without speaking to anyone else.
In the limousine going back to Los Pinos, Lorena asked Max about Eduardo Cortez Castillo and Marca Cortez.
“Talavera,” Max said. “It’s the largest talavera maker in the country. Exports everywhere.”
Lorena almost laughed. She really shouldn’t take Fernando for granted the way she did; he still could surprise her now and then.
The papers on the breakfast table were probably some special design for her campaign.
Dear Fernando. He was giving her dishes.
Chapter 22
Luz didn’t get fired, but only because she starting sobbing hysterically in the middle of Señora Vega’s angry tirade.
She got back to the Vega’s house well after 11:00 am. The traffic on Constituyentes was terrible and she couldn’t find a colectivo minibus to take her through Chapultepec Park. There should have been buses near the Pantéon Dolores, the huge cemetery, but the street corner was thronged with people, all going in and out of the cemetery or buying flowers at the crowded florista stalls on the adjacent street. So Luz ended up walking an hour through the huge park alone, terrified that she would encounter a pack of wild dogs or thieves looking for easy prey.
Raul met her as soon as she unlocked the gate. “La señora is waiting for you in the kitchen.”
It was like walking a gauntlet. Señor Vega was reading in the living room. He looked up and frowned as Luz passed through the adjacent hallway. T
he Vega children were eating in the breakfast room and they stared as she went through the swinging door. Rosa and Marisol and even poor Inez who came to do the laundry were in the kitchen, all wearing their stupid faces. Señora Vega was sitting at the big desk, with an expression like thunder. Her mouth twisted in anger when she saw what Luz was wearing, and then she launched into a biting diatribe that lasted forever, until Luz’s stupid face dissolved into tears of humiliation and bottomless sadness.
In the end, Luz lost her Wednesday afternoons for a month.
She was back in uniform and upstairs cleaning by noon. Hector took Victoria to a friend’s house, Alejandro and Francesca started fighting in the game room, el señor migrated to his study, and la señora went upstairs to her bedroom.
When the gate buzzer sounded Luz ignored it. Rosa and Raul were both downstairs.
“Luz.” Rosa appeared a minute later in the doorway of Francesca’s bathroom where Luz was scouring the tub ring. “There’s somebody at the gate for you.”
Eddo. Luz sat back on her heels, her heart jumping. But the servants were not supposed to have callers. La señora would kill her.
“What’s he look like?” she gulped.
“Tall. Slim. Hot.” Rosa’s eyes sparkled. “If you don’t want him I’ll take him.”
“Madre de Dios,” Luz breathed. She rushed past Rosa, flew down the stairs, and ran to the gate.
It was Juan Pablo.
“What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” She gave him a quick hug and kiss. He was supposed to be home, in Soledad de Doblado. In school.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Juan Pablo said. He had on jeans and his navy blue sweatshirt with the big zippered kangaroo pocket in front and “Santa Catalina” in white letters across the back. “You didn’t come home this weekend.”
“I left a message,” Luz said. “Didn’t you check?”
“We got the message.” Juan Pablo shifted his feet.
“Something’s wrong,” Luz insisted. “Is Mama all right? Lupe? The girls?”
“You didn’t come home this weekend,” he said again.
“I know I didn’t come home this weekend,” Luz said impatiently.
“You didn’t come home, so you didn’t bring home any money.” Juan Pablo looked miserable.
“Mama took you out of school to collect my pay?”
“I came with Tío.”
“Tío?!”
“Yeah. He knew somebody coming to the city so we hitched a ride.”
“No.” Luz had a sudden vision of Juan Pablo in the back of a truck with a bunch of Tío’s drunken friends as they passed around a bottle of rotgut mezcal. She gulped with relief when she heard him say they were returning on the 4:00 pm bus.
“Where’s Tío now?” she asked.
“At the newspaper stand down the street.” Juan Pablo waved his hand toward the intersection with Virreyes. “I’m supposed to meet him there in a few minutes.”
Luz left him at the gate while she got her pay and the 200 pesos she’d earned at the Portillos, so that all together it was only short 650 pesos. She made Juan Pablo put the money into the zippered pocket of the sweatshirt to avoid pickpockets.
“Did I get you in trouble, coming like this?” Juan Pablo looked at her closely.
I’m a mess. Luz knew that her eyes were red and swollen. Her hair was a tangled ponytail secured with a brown rubber band. Her hands had been shaky since morning.
“I’m fine,” Luz lied. She grabbed his arms and gave him a squeeze. “I should yell at you for missing school.”
“There wasn’t any school.” Juan Pablo kissed her swiftly. “Today’s a holiday. Dia de los Muertos.”
The Day of the Dead.
“Of course,” Luz said.
Chapter 23
Hugo de la Madrid Acosta propped himself against the pillows, pulled the sheet to his waist, and poured himself a glass of champagne. His performance had been exceptional. He’d stayed hard for a long time, making her writhe and shout until he’d exploded into her like a stallion mounting a wild mare.
The Dom Perignon was cold and crisp. He drank two large swallows and watched the woman at the dressing table pin up her hair. Her glass of champagne was on the table in front of her and she occasionally sipped from it, her lips sensual as they pressed against the glass.
She was a diamond. Flawless. Glittering bright and white. A class of one, an elite woman, descended from Spanish royalty, educated and beautiful, deserving of the biggest stage in any country.
Graciela was still his wife and the mother of his child. But she was a round river pebble compared to this sparkling, faceted diamond.
Lorena pushed a last pin into the thick white hair she’d caught up in a twist at the back. She often did her hair afterwards, sitting naked in front of the vanity table in the room they always used. He liked when she did that, liked the knowledge that she was preening for him. She’d never had children and her belly was still flat and her breasts firm.
She put on her underwear, wisps of La Perla lace unlike anything that Graciela had ever worn, and stepped into a navy silk sheath dress. She came to the bed. “Zip me up.”
Hugo slid his hand through the opening in the back and caressed her lace-covered breast. Lorena made a noise deep in her throat. She let him continue for a moment then twisted to signal he was done.
Hugo zipped up the dress. “Where are you off to?”
“Downstairs.” Lorena let a hand trail across his chest before reaching for her champagne glass. “Max is going to show me the campaign website.”
“The website or the data sharing site?”
She shrugged as she sipped. “The one with the pictures of me.”
“The official website,” Hugo verified.
“We’re going to have a big kickoff party for it,” Lorena said. “Can you come?”
“Can you come away with me on the boat?” Hugo countered. It had been months since he’d been on the small yacht he kept in Puerto Vallarta and they’d never gone there together.
“After the election,” Lorena said. “Then we can do anything.”
“I want to fuck you right in the middle of the ocean.”
She poured them both more champagne. “HOLA! will do another interview,” she said, obviously not interested in fantasy sex talk. “They’ll cover the rallies, too.”
“How many rallies?”
“Every major city.” Lorena touched her glass to Hugo’s in a victory toast. “We’ll start in Oaxaca. A sharp stick in Romero’s eye.”
“What about Valdez Obrero?” The popular mayor of Guadalajara was sure to be the PRI candidate and tough to beat in the election.
“We’ll save Guadalajara for after the nomination,” she said.
“I want to talk to Max just to make sure everything’s on track,” Hugo said. Once the rallies started and they were counting down the weeks until the nomination conference, Arias would spend the money as fast as it came in. Hugo wanted to keep the snotty little shit from pocketing anything for himself and his boyfriend. “Send him to my office next week.”
Her campaign was like a fire in his blood. The complexities of getting her on the roster at the nominating convention, developing her platform, catering to the PAN party backbone and convincing them that Lorena could win a general election was the ultimate business deal, the biggest one Hugo had ever taken on. But the political game was only half of it; setting up the funding had been a stroke of genius, coupled by fortune’s smile. Hugo felt more alive than at any time when he was building up his company, buying other companies, being first to crack the monopolistic Mexican telecommunications market or even as he blew fresh air through the Ministry of Public Security. He was pulling it all off, with a partnership of huge risk and huge reward. But when Lorena won Los Pinos, his diamond would give him the power that was rightfully his.
“Max is being brilliant with the campaign funds,” she said.
“Anyone can be brilliant with that much money.”
Lorena caressed him through the sheet. “Are you having second thoughts about funding the campaign? Is Graciela being mean about the money?”
“Never mind about Graciela.” Hugo leaned forward and kissed her, then spoke with his lips against hers. “Your slogan will be everywhere. Lorena’s your sister.”
“Romero can’t compete with that.” Lorena’s tongue played with his before she pulled away. “He’s hardly visible at all, just blah-blah-blah out of him about legal reform and being important at the United Nations. I don’t know why he’s so popular. You never see him doing anything fun.”
“Don’t worry.” Hugo watched her ass sway as Lorena went back to the vanity table, relieved she hadn’t pressed him about the money or his wife. “You’ll be the first woman president. And the most beautiful.”
She laughed knowingly at that, even as she studied herself in the mirror and began applying makeup. Hugo liked the way Lorena knew her value, how well polished she kept the diamond even after spending most of the afternoon acting like a whore, biting and sucking and screaming.
“Sure you need to rush off?” he asked, wondering if he could get hard again.
“Dinner with some of the PAN deputados tonight,” Lorena sighed. “It will take me hours to get ready.”
“So how is Fernando these days?” Hugo decided to be content with the afternoon’s activity. He finished what was left in his glass then poured himself more champagne. “Working on his legacy of strong leadership for the Mexican people?”
Lorena half turned to him, mascara wand raised. “Fernando is buying me dishes.”
Hugo chuckled and drained his glass. “Dishes?”
“Probably for the campaign.” She fluttered her lashes in the mirror and applied a coat of mascara. “I think it’s a specialty talavera pattern. A surprise.”
“But why dishes?”
“Honestly, who knows what goes through Fernando’s head besides numbers and economic theories.” Lorena flapped her hand dismissively. “But he had someone from Marca Cortez in his office very early last week. Pretended that it was all very important.”