The Sisters of Alameda Street

by Lorena Hughes

  Trinidad reentered the living room with a pitcher of water, glasses, and two generous slices of flan de coco—her specialty.

  “You’ve been saying that for years,” Amanda said. “What’s changed?”

  “I can’t sit back and watch your brother-in-law destroy the business your husband worked so hard for. Besides, he’s vulgar.”

  Destroy the business? No, surely Bernardo was exaggerating. He always did when it came to Enzo. Trinidad stood by Bernardo, like a statue, while he tried a bite of custard.

  “He begged me not to tell you anything,” Bernardo said. “But after today I owe him no loyalty.”

  “Not tell me what?”

  Bernardo ate another spoonful, not granting Trinidad a look, much less a compliment.

  “How bad the business is doing. It’s losing a lot of money.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Amanda said. “I’ve been getting my check the first of every month.”

  “Yes, he’s been borrowing money from the bank to make those payments.”

  Amanda uncrossed her legs. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I told you, he asked me not to say anything.” Sweat trickled from his hairline. “Besides, he said it was temporary. But I don’t believe him anymore—he’s been firing a lot of people lately.”

  Amanda slammed her fist on the side of the couch. “Damn Enzo! How could Nicolas have had such an incompetent brother?”

  “Not only incompetent: loud, perverted, you name it.”

  “So, what happened today?”

  Bernardo glanced at Trinidad over his shoulder. Amanda dismissed her. When Trinidad left the room, her braid no longer bounced and her shoulders drooped. Bernardo leaned forward.

  “I was scolding a waiter for coming in late when that … Enzo showed up and defended him. He not only made me look bad in front of an employee but he also called me a low-class, fake Frenchman.”

  Amanda rubbed her forehead. Here we go again.

  “You know, Madame, that I am a quarter French. My grandmother was from a little town near Nice. I wouldn’t make that up.”

  Amanda had heard this story a million times.

  “And her father was––”

  “So, what else happened with Enzo?”

  He devoured the remaining flan.

  “That waiter, the one I told you, has a younger sister Enzo has his filthy eyes on. Obviously he wanted to get on this man’s good side. Madame, he humiliated me in front of all the employees.” Shreds of coconut flew all the way to Amanda’s lap. “Anything to get a woman in his bed. You know how he is.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “So different from his brother.” He sighed. “Ah … Monsieur Nicolas. Now there was a gentleman: smart, hardworking, elegant. What a pity he had to die so young.”

  Amanda stared at the flower vase sitting on the coffee table, attempting to suppress the image of her late husband from her mind. “Bernardo, I need you to stay there. You’re the only person I trust in the entire restaurant.”

  “To be honest with you, Madame, I doubt Il Napolitano will be opened much longer.”

  This was more serious than she thought. She was going to have to pay a visit to that rotten brother-in-law of hers.

  A cold chill ran down Amanda’s spine when she walked into Il Napolitano, the first Italian restaurant in San Isidro. Back when Nicolas Fornasieri was alive, it was the most exclusive, elegant, and crowded place in town. Everybody wanted to try its famous shrimp cannelloni, listen to the quartet of violins, and admire its owner, one of the most charming men ever to set foot in San Isidro.

  She could picture her husband with his impeccable black suit standing by the entryway, welcoming customers with his thick Italian accent. Tonight, the room was empty, except for a waiter without a tie or a jacket, sweeping the floor. The last time she had been here at this hour, people were waiting in line to be seated. But that had been nearly a year ago. She glanced at the chandeliers. They needed a feather duster and a polish. The tables were not even set now. Old chairs sat upside down on a corner table while raggedy tablecloths were piled up nearby. Amanda glanced at the velvet curtains that had once hung proudly beside two gigantic glass windows. Now they were faded and dirty. It was fortunate Nicolas had never lived to see the miserable state the place was in.

  She walked to the waiter.

  “Where’s Enzo?”

  “At the office.” The man studied her from head to toe. “Who wants to see him?”

  She pulled her shoulders back. She was the wife of Nicolas Fornasieri, the legend, the man who had created the trendiest place in town. How dare this little man talk to her with such disdain? There was a time when every employee in this restaurant had bowed to her when she walked in. Back then, nobody would have even thought of answering her in that tone.

  “Tell him Nicolas Fornasieri’s widow is here.”

  The waiter dropped the broom and rushed to the office. His reaction didn’t surprise her. None of the employees knew her, except for Bernardo, and it was all her fault. She shouldn’t have trusted Enzo to manage the business for so many years. Instead of waiting comfortably for her check every month, or for the yearly report, she should have checked up on the business frequently. It was out of the way, it hurt too much to go, she didn’t want to put up with Enzo—whatever her excuse, it was never the right time to go.

  “Cara mia, what an honor!”

  Amanda had to hold on to the back of a chair when she saw Enzo. He had grown to look just like his older brother. Never before had their resemblance been so pronounced. His head was now filled with gray hairs, his nose had acquired the same length and shape as Nicolas’s, and his green eyes had the same shine—that same mischievous expression. At fifty, Enzo was looking better than ever. He hugged Amanda and gave her a kiss on the cheek, tickling her skin with his warm breath. Butterflies in her stomach? At her age? She took a step back, reminding herself of the reason for her visit.

  “What happened here?” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Amanda hated that Italian accent that grew stronger whenever he wanted to charm someone or get out of trouble. He had used it hundreds of times with female customers.

  “Why isn’t anybody here?” she said.

  “Oh, because we’re closed. We don’t open on weeknights anymore.”

  “Really? Then why is the ‘open’ sign on the front door?”

  “Well, maybe people aren’t hungry.”

  “Oh, please, you can think of a better excuse.”

  “What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t the fake Frenchman take your check on the first?”

  “Yes, but he also came to see me today and told me what was going on.”

  “Nothing is going on. It’s been a slow month, that’s all.”

  She headed for the office. “I want to see your bookkeeping.”

  She could hear him cursing in Italian under his breath as he followed her into the office.

  A woman with a blonde wig sat on the desk filing her nails, the top three buttons of her blouse undone. Startled, she buttoned her shirt as Amanda approached the desk. Enzo nodded toward the front door. The woman immediately jumped off the desk and left.

  Amanda opened the desk’s top drawer.

  “This is ridiculous, Amanda.”

  She shuffled through various papers.

  “Come on, sorella …” Enzo mellowed his tone. “This is just a misunderstanding.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’m not your sister.”

  In the second drawer, she found a leather-bound accounts book. Enzo paled. As soon as she opened the notebook, an ocean of red ink spread throughout the pages.

  “What is this? You barely have enough to pay the employees.”

  “Well, you know how people are. It turns out my last accountant robbed me.”

  “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. Aren’t you man enough to admit the truth? You’re a lousy administrator and instead of working, you
waste your time with women and parties!”

  “You mean her?” He pointed at the door. “She’s just my secretary.”

  “What do you need a secretary for? Nicolas never had one back when the business was doing well!”

  “It’s easy to sit back in your comfortable chair and criticize everything when you’re not doing any of the work!”

  Amanda knew he had lost his patience when he started gesticulating with his arm and twitching his right eye, just like his brother.

  “You have never moved one finger to help with the business. How dare you come here and throw all these insults at me?”

  Enzo had a point. He had been in charge of the restaurant for over twenty years, and she hadn’t granted him more than a yearly visit.

  “The only reason I haven’t been involved,” she said, “is because Nicolas left you in charge of all his businesses. If I had been in charge, I am certain this restaurant wouldn’t have turned into the garbage that it is now!”

  “You?” Enzo chuckled. “A woman could never manage a business like this.”

  “Of course I could.”

  His laugh was so loud Amanda was sure that stupid fake-blonde could hear them from the hallway. The thought of that woman smiling enraged her.

  “It doesn’t take a genius to run a restaurant,” she said. “All it needs is someone to work.”

  Enzo looked at her with an amused smile, his arms crossed in front of his tight chest. “Talking is easy, sorella. Doing is something else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if you think you can do a better job than I can, then do it.”

  Amanda looked about the crammed office. She couldn’t run a restaurant. She’d never worked before.

  Enzo rubbed his eyelids. “I don’t have time for this. Let me get back to work.”

  “You mean screwing your secretary?” She regretted her words as soon as they came out.

  Enzo leaned on his desk. “Jealousy is an ugly thing.”

  “Oh, please … I’m not jealous of her. Why would I be?”

  “For one, she’s young. Her life is like a blank page. Not one filled with strikes and blots, like yours.” He unfolded his arms. “Oh, don’t get me started.”

  Amanda lifted her chin up. “Say it. Say what you’ve been thinking all these years.”

  He held her stare for a long time, his eyes glimmering with contempt. He blamed her for everything. That, she knew. She thought he was going to start his accusations, but surprisingly, his glare softened and the wrinkles on his forehead released.

  “You know? It really is a good thing you came. I’m glad this is finally out in the open.” He walked toward his jacket, hanging by the door. “I’m tired of having to deal with creditors and employees.” He searched inside his pockets for a set of keys and threw them at her.

  “Here. Il Napolitano is all yours.” He put on his hat and turned to the door. “I expect my check the first of the month.”

  Chapter 4

  When Malena woke up, she was alone in Claudia’s room, a neatly made bed by her side. Somewhere in the neighborhood, a dog barked. So it hadn’t been a dream; she was at her mother’s house. Incredible she’d been able to fall asleep after spending most of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to Claudia’s breathing and waiting for Liliana to show up in the room. But Lili never came. How strange that she hadn’t arrived yet. If something bad had happened to her, no one would even know to look for her. Oh, Christ. She couldn’t think of that now. Guilt was something she couldn’t deal with at this moment.

  She pulled her valise from under the bed and set it on top of the covers. Her clothes—what little she had brought—were neatly organized by colors. She slipped into one of her better shirtwaist dresses and scrambled out of the room. The sooner she talked to the sisters, the sooner this deceit would be over.

  The house was quiet, and the dining room empty. Malena pushed the swinging door that led to the kitchen. The temperature here was warmer than any other part of the house and a mélange of smells filled the room, among them spices and coffee. Trinidad stood by the sink, peeling potatoes. This morning, she had fixed her hair in two long braids instead of one.

  “Buenos días, Niña Lili,” she said.

  “Good morning, Trinidad. Where’s the family?”

  “The men are at the store, Niña Claudia went to mass, and Doña Ana and Doña Amanda took their mother to the doctor for a checkup.”

  And Alejandra? People in the house rarely mentioned her. It was almost as if she were another object in their beautiful home.

  “Do you know when they’ll be back?” She didn’t have a lot of time. Lili could show up any second now.

  “They didn’t say, Niña. Would you like some breakfast?”

  How could anyone eat at a time like this? She should have spoken to the sisters last night! She didn’t even want to think about the chaos that would ensue if Lili arrived before Malena had a chance to clarify her situation.

  Trinidad brought a basket of bread to the counter and a jar of marmalade—no labels on the jar.

  Then again, there might never be another opportunity to speak to the maid.

  “Did you make this?” Malena raised the jar to eye level.

  “Yes, Niña. It’s blackberry.”

  Her neighbor Julia prepared her own marmalade, too. Perhaps she should call her soon and tell her she was fine—at least for now—and maybe get some advice from her only friend in Guayaquil.

  Malena sat on a stool. “After twenty-seven years, you must know the family well.”

  “That I do.” Trinidad placed a cup of café con leche in front of Malena.

  “And you’ve met my mother, right?”

  “Yes. Before she got married, she spent a lot of time in this house with Doña Ana. She was her only friend.” So María Teresa was Ana’s friend, not a relative. “But we haven’t seen her in fifteen years, at least. She never comes to San Isidro anymore.”

  “My mother is a very busy woman.” Malena poured sugar in her coffee. “But she always talks about Ana. She also talks about another friend. A family friend. But she lost track of him years ago and asked me to find out what happened to him. So I thought that maybe … you knew him, too.” She set the spoon on the saucer. “His name was Hugo Sevilla.” It felt weird to say her father’s name aloud.

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I never forget a name, Niña.” She dried her hands on a hand towel. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go upstairs to tidy up the rooms.”

  The woman darted out of the kitchen before Malena could say another word. Had Trinidad been honest? She seemed in an awful hurry to leave. Then again, if Malena’s mother had an illicit relationship with her father, it wouldn’t be so strange if Trinidad had never met him.

  There had to be something in this house to prove that one of the sisters had a baby or at least knew Malena’s father. Photographs, letters, or maybe the birth certificate she hadn’t been able to locate in her apartment. There was that picture of the sisters in the study. She’d better take advantage of nobody being home and go there. Who knew how much longer before Lili arrived.

  She fled to the study and pushed the door open.

  “Do you need something?”

  Malena flinched. She hadn’t seen Claudia standing by the front door, hanging her coat on the tree-shaped hanger.

  “I just need a piece of paper,” Malena said. “To write a letter to my mother.”

  Claudia removed the black lace veil covering her head while staring at Malena for an unnerving moment. The temperature rose in Malena’s face. Just one more lie. Soon this will all be over.

  “Go ahead, then.” Claudia inserted her gloves in her purse and headed for the stairs.

  Through the spaces in the staircase banister, Malena waited for Claudia’s thin legs to disappear onto the second story. Then, she entered the study and searched for a clue in all the desk drawers
and underneath stacks of stationary paper, envelopes, and store documents. She found an address book, but her father’s name was not in there.

  She removed the Platas sisters’ picture from the hook. Judging by the girls’ dresses and hairdos, it must have been more than twenty years old. Yet Malena could still recognize the mole on Amanda’s cheek, Ana’s pointy chin, and Alejandra’s big brown eyes. At the center of the frame, Abigail looked directly—almost defiantly—at the camera. Malena looked for a resemblance between the dead woman and herself, and identified the same unruly hair and full mouth. A teenage boy stood by a very young Alejandra. He was handsome and oddly resembled Mamá Blanca.

  The peal of the doorbell made her drop the picture to the floor. Liliana! She picked it up, wiped the glass with her sleeve, checked for cracks, and returned it to the hook. The doorbell rang again. She had to open it before Trinidad or Claudia did. She had to talk to Lili, beg her to help her.

  She dashed to the front door and pulled it open. The face in front of her wasn’t Lili’s. It was a man’s face, and she had seen those sad eyes before. She recognized him then. He was the man sitting in the restaurant across from the hotel; the man staring at her; the man drinking by himself; the man in the fancy suit. He wore a similar suit today, and he had an armband on.

  “Good morning.” He seemed confused. “I’m looking for Claudia.”

  She lowered her gaze, as if that simple motion would prevent him from recognizing her. If he did, if he said something, she would have to explain herself, to lie again. Under his polished black shoes lay a piece of paper, an envelope. She could read a portion of the sender’s name: Liliana. Her palms moistened. It must be a letter from her. He followed her glance to the ground and, upon seeing the envelope, moved his foot.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see it.”

  She picked up the envelope so he wouldn’t read the name.

  “Please come in. I’ll go get Claudia for you,” she said.

  She kept the envelope behind her back while holding the door for him.

  He walked into the foyer. “Have we met before?”