by VC Andrews
I laughed, too, although I wasn’t sure exactly what I was laughing at, maybe just how happy and pleasant he was. Through his gestures, his little Spanish, and the English I understood, he apologized for not being able to take me to school every morning. His private school was in the opposite direction, and there was not enough time to go to both.
“But I can get you to the bus station,” he said.
As we drove up the driveway to the house, we could see another sports car parked in front. It was blue and just as new and beautiful. However, when we drew closer, I saw it had a very bad dent on the right front fender. Edward grimaced.
“Sophia’s boyfriend is here,” he said. “Bradley Whitfield. He takes her home when I don’t, which is most of the time.” He looked at me, pointed to the car, and added, “My sister’s boyfriend. Boyfriend.”
He embraced himself and pursed his lips, closing his eyes and shaking.
I laughed and said, “Muchacho amante. Lover boy.”
“Right. Muchacho amante. Good. That’s what I’ll call him.”
When we entered the house, we heard their laughter. They were in the living room.
“Don’t tell me you picked her up at public school,” Sophia cried as we approached.
“What I do and don’t do is none of your damn business, Sophia,” Edward told her. “I told you that last night, and I meant it.”
Sophia laughed. “I wonder why you’re getting so lovey-dovey with her. What do you think’s the reason, Bradley?” she asked the boy sitting beside her.
He had long blond hair, strikingly blue eyes, and a firm, strong mouth. I thought he was at least as tall as Edward and more athletic-looking because of his broader shoulders. His light blue sports jacket was folded beside him on the arm of the sofa, and his white shirt was opened at the collar, showing his thick gold necklace. His light hair and blue eyes were emphasized by the contrast with his dark complexion. My first thought was, Why would someone as movie-star good-looking as he is have anything to do with Sophia?
“She’s your cousin,” Bradley said. He looked at me and in perfect Spanish said, “Sí? Usted es su prima?” he asked me.
“Stop showing off, Bradley,” she snapped at him.
“Sí,” I said and added, “Pero no es mi culpa,” which meant but it isn’t my fault.
He roared with laughter.
“What did she say, Bradley?” She pushed him hard, and he cried out in feigned pain.
Edward had a big smile on his face, even though he didn’t fully understand what I had said.
“She said it isn’t what?” he asked Bradley.
“Her fault.”
Edward laughed as hard as Bradley.
Sophia’s face reddened. “She’s supposed to report to Mrs. Rosario immediately on getting home, Edward. Remember? Mother said she can stay in the guest room, but she still has to do her house chores. Mrs. Rosario!” she screamed. “Delia is ready to wash the toilets.”
“Shut up, Sophia,” Edward told her.
“She’s wearing my throwaway clothes,” she told Bradley. He looked at me again.
“Really? Throwaway? They don’t look so bad. Maybe because they’re on her.”
“Go home, Bradley. You make me sick,” she told him, and stood up.
He laughed, but looked a little frightened. “Take it easy. We’re just having fun.”
“I don’t think it’s fun.”
Señora Rosario appeared in the hallway. Sophia practically leaped at her.
“She’s back, Mrs. Rosario. Don’t you have things for her to do?”
Señora Rosario looked at her and then turned to me. “Venga, Delia.”
“I think she should change her clothes first, Mrs. Rosario,” Edward told her.
She nodded and told me to come to the kitchen after I changed. The bathrooms did have to be cleaned, and afterward, I would help with dinner preparations. I would not, I found out, eat with the help anymore. I would eat with Edward and Sophia and my aunt when she was home for dinner. Edward had managed to get my aunt to give in on some things but not others. All of that still puzzled me, but, as Abuela Anabela often said, “Hay que tomar lo bueno con lo malo.” You have to take the good with the bad. I was just not sure if eating with my cousins and my aunt was good.
I hurried to the stairway.
“Nice meeting you,” Bradley called after me.
“You’re such a jerk, Bradley,” Sophia said.
Edward followed me upstairs and went into his own room. I changed and went to work under the new arrangements: chores to do every day, eat with my so-called family, and then off to study English until I was too tired to keep my eyes open. True to his word, Edward did drive me to the bus station every morning. Most of the time, Sophia’s boyfriend, Bradley, picked her up in the morning, but some mornings, he didn’t or couldn’t. On those mornings, Sophia had to go to school with Edward, who couldn’t use his sports car then. She hated it and made me sit in the back, while she talked incessantly on her cell phone, to ignore me more than anything, I thought. Edward was always criticizing her, and she was always saying nasty, even dirty, things to him.
I soon realized that although someone who heard them might think they were just being a brother and a sister, Edward and Sophia really didn’t like or trust each other. Their arguments weren’t simply brother-sister tiffs. Sophia complained to her mother about Edward more than Edward complained to her about Sophia. Moving between them was like crossing the border of two countries poised to go to war but each afraid to begin. I could see they kept secrets from each other and were in no way as close as a brother and sister should be.
However, it didn’t surprise me that they had secrets. This was a house full of secrets and distrust. The servants didn’t like the people they were working for and were very suspicious and anxious, never expecting compliments and always expecting criticism. It was like moving about while lightning streaked through the air around you, whether you were inside or outside the house. You were always afraid of being burned or singed or stung by either a dirty look or a nasty word. Fortunately for me, my aunt was very absorbed in her social activities and her romances.
I soon realized that whoever my aunt’s male companion was one week or even one day would never be seen again the next. She put people on and off the way she changed clothes. Nothing made her happy long. Sophia appeared to be a clone of her mother, very spoiled, very self-centered, and very disrespectful of any she considered beneath her. I was definitely included in that group.
During the week, I had taken some of the other clothing she had Señora Rosario dump on my bed, and I had cut and sewn and pinned all the garments until they fit better. I could see she was disappointed and even annoyed that I had tailored them so well. Edward told me most of it no longer fit her because she had gained so much weight. When I cleaned her suite, I saw where she had hidden candy. She must have forgotten about some of it, because it was old and attracted ants.
I was soon learning English fast enough to get the gist of most of their conversations at dinner, although I was far from competent enough to participate comfortably. Most of the arguments Sophia had with her mother were over her weight or letters the school sent about her, complaining about her behavior in class. Edward enjoyed teasing Sophia about it, too, and later in the week, he picked up on the comment her boyfriend, Bradley, had made about the clothes I wore. He mentioned it at dinner.
“Bradley wasn’t kidding. Your clothes never looked that good on you, Sophia. It was very nice of you to give them to her.”
Her eyes flared. She cocked her pupils on him like two pistols and seemed ready to dump one curse after another on his head but held back. Instead, she turned a furious glance at me and cut me with her smile. Surely, she was plotting some vengeance. Why she disliked me so much, I did not know, but I avoided even her shadow, asked her nothing, and avoided looking at her at the dinner table. Now I understood what Señora Rosario had meant about staying out of Sophia’s way.
Rather than stop her children from arguing and being nasty to each other, my aunt seemed pleased. She yelled at them only when they raised their voices and annoyed her. When I asked Señora Rosario about it, she smirked and said, “Señora Dallas believes it’s better to be a lion than a rabbit.”
“Por qúe?”
“Why?” She shrugged. “She thinks we’re at war, and in war, it is better to be a lion.”
“Who’s at war?”
“Todos nosotros,” she replied.
“All of us? But why?”
“When you find out, let me know,” she said, and walked away.
Life was so much simpler in Mexico, I thought. It gave me a lot to consider. Despite my workload and my schooling, I had plenty of time to think about all of it, especially on my walks.
Twice during the week, Edward, because of other commitments, was unable to pick me up at the bus station or on my way back. Actually, I didn’t mind the walk so much. It was still not terribly hot in Palm Springs, and I did enjoy looking at the homes and observing people. There was an elderly man who always waved hello to me as he pruned the bushes and flowers in his front yard. Not everyone here was so wealthy that he or she had servants.
I wrote four letters to my grandmother that first week, not telling her one terrible thing. I was afraid she might see through my exaggerations but made everything sound as wonderful as I could, anyway. Señora Rosario made sure my letters were mailed out. I had yet to receive one back but looked forward to it every day.
Ignacio often asked about her and any news from Mexico. I could see he was homesick, too, despite all of the opportunities and better money to be made here. He lost more and more of his shyness as time passed, and we spent more time talking on the bus and sometimes at lunch at school. I don’t know if it was because of me or because he had simply decided he had to speak English better, but I could see he was trying harder and working harder at improving. We began to practice more on the bus as well.
English was not easy to learn, but whenever I got a little discouraged, I thought of my aunt when she was my age back in Mexico, determined to lift herself out of poverty and the hard life. I had to give the devil her due. Despite how mean I thought she was, I couldn’t help but admire her for her achievements. I would never want to be like her, but I wouldn’t mind being as rich as she was. Who wouldn’t?
It occurred to me that I was very much like Cinderella now. I lived in a wealthy world, but I was treated like a poor servant. I was surrounded with expensive things—art, furniture, beautiful cars—and I was on an estate that rivaled those of presidents, kings, and queens. However, I still cleaned toilets and wore hand-me-downs.
Unlike Cinderella, I had no one with a magic wand to turn me into a princess, even just until midnight. I had no glass slipper. My cousin Edward was the only one I thought was really kind to me. Sometimes I felt he enjoyed how his kindness to me annoyed his sister and his mother. I knew he didn’t approve of the way either of them lived and treated people, especially servants. It didn’t take me long to realize that not only was I in a house without any sign of religion or faith in anything other than what money could buy, but I was in a house without any sign of love.
When I stepped onto the bus each morning, I wondered what would happen if I just sat and never stepped off. Would I end up in Mexico? Mata told me her father said Mexico was really only a few hours away. Of course, to get back to my village would take days by car or bus, and, of course, I had to have the proper papers. However, not a morning or an afternoon passed without my daydreaming about it. I was that homesick.
I was doing just that one afternoon after I had stepped off the bus and said good-bye to Ignacio, who had gotten up enough nerve to wave back when I waved. I started along as usual, taking my time, not all that anxious to get back to my aunt’s hacienda and start my chores. It was another magnificent day, when the birds seemed to want to sing more than usual. It caused me to remember my grandmother telling me the birds were jealous of my mother’s voice. How I longed to hear her again. Perhaps she was singing to me through the beautiful birds that followed me from branch to branch on trees along the street. I waved to the old gentleman, who waved back.
When I rounded the corner, I heard a car horn and stepped to the side, but the car didn’t pass me. I assumed it was Edward catching up to me as he occasionally did now, but it wasn’t Edward. It was Sophia’s boyfriend, Bradley Whitfield.
“Hola, señorita. Venga. Quiere un paseo?”
A ride? Where was Sophia?
“Venga,” he repeated. “Don’t be afraid, come on,” he said when I still hesitated. “I won’t bite you.” He laughed at my shyness.
I got into his sports car, and he drove off.
“Dónde está Sophia?”
“Con sus amigas que fuman el pote, yo estoy seguro.”
He was sure she was smoking pot with her girlfriends? Why would he tell me?
He laughed at the look of shock on my face.
If he knew where Sophia was, why was he driving down this street? I asked him.
“To see if you were walking along,” he told me, and smiled.
Then he turned left when he should have gone straight.
“Me? Why?”
“Why not?” he replied.
“Dónde vamos?” I asked him.
“Where are we going?” He thought a moment, then smiled and said, “Just for a ride. Let the wind blow through your hair in your chariot, m’lady.” He laughed.
And for a moment, only a moment, I wondered if Cinderella had found her prince.
10
Bradley
I asked Bradley where he had learned to speak Spanish so well, and he told me he had been brought up by his nanny, Maria De Santas, who always spoke to him in Spanish.
“I knew how to speak Spanish before I knew how to speak English.”
“Why were you brought up by a nanny? Where was your mother?”
“She left us when I was only six months old,” he told me.
“Left you? I don’t understand.”
“Me, neither,” he said. He paused and then added, “She ran off with the manager of my father’s auto-parts plant.”
“Where did they go?”
He looked at me as if I was asking a stupid question.
“Somewhere in Florida, I think. My father knew because of the legal stuff that followed, but he doesn’t like to talk about it.”
How could a mother leave her own child? Were all of the women in America as selfish as mi tía Isabela? Why wasn’t family as important here as it was in Mexico?
“I don’t think about it anymore,” he continued, now sounding more angry. “To me, it’s the same as if she died. My father finally remarried, and I have a young sister, Gayle. She’s six. Maria is still with us, so Gayle is speaking Spanish well, too. It doesn’t hurt to know how to speak Spanish around here, with all you Mexicans,” he added.
“It doesn’t hurt to know how to speak English, either,” I told him, and he laughed. Then he looked at me in the strangest way. It was as if he was looking at me really for the first time.
“You’re a very pretty girl, Delia, but I bet you know how pretty you are, right?”
“No,” I said, blushing. I wanted to tell him about the evil eye and why doting on myself was not good. Besides, he was supposed to be Sophia’s boyfriend and shouldn’t be saying such things to other girls. “Don’t you think Sophia’s pretty?” I asked.
“She’s all right,” he said quickly. “She needs to lose weight, but I’ll never be the one to tell her. She’d have me assassinated.”
Talking about her with him made me nervous, even though I was the one who had brought up her name. Maybe it was my way of getting him to remember who his girlfriend was so he would stop paying so much attention to me, although I couldn’t help but be flattered by such a handsome boy.
“I should go n
ow to my aunt’s hacienda,” I said. “I have work.”
“Don’t worry. You would never be home by now walking, anyway,” he told me, and turned down a side street. “My father is fixing up some houses here for resale on this street,” he said. “He has his hands in a lot of things. Matter of fact, here’s one.” He made a sharp turn into a driveway. It was a house no bigger than the one mi tía Isabela sent me to live in with Señor Baker. “Let’s see how well the work is going.” He shut off the engine and got out of the car. “C’mon,” he urged.
I looked at the house. There was no one working around it and no other vehicle in the driveway. Behind us, the street was very quiet. There was no one outside any of the homes, and I had yet to see another car drive along.
“I have to get back home,” I insisted. “Please.”
“We’ll just be a few minutes. You’ll still get home faster than you would have walking, I promise,” he told me.
He looked as if he wouldn’t get back into the car unless I followed him to look at the house, so I got out.
“This one should be nearly done,” he told me. He led me around to a rear door. Under a mat, he found a key. Why were we going in through the back way?
The door opened on a small kitchen. I could see some tools on a table and some sawdust on the floor where a cabinet had been trimmed to fit a new dishwasher. At least he was telling me the truth about the restoration, I thought, and relaxed a little. He walked about, inspecting some of the work.
“My father’s made me his refurbishing assistant. I’m responsible for what goes on here. Eventually, I’ll take over most of his businesses, you know. He wants me to go to college to major in business education, but I’m not sure it’s necessary. We buy these houses for nothing, put in some money, and sell them at great prices.”
I followed him into the living room, where I saw work had been done around a fireplace and a new wood floor had been laid. He studied a window frame and shook his head.
“They could do better than this,” he said. “These gaps are unnecessary. Come here and look at what I mean.”