The Sisters of Alameda Street
Page 10
All of Fausto’s training consisted of hanging upside down from trees, and he wasn’t even that good at it, in Alejandra’s opinion.
“Look,” Enrique said, “my padrino is a busy man. Don’t waste your time.” He patted Fausto’s back, dismissively, his attention still on the action around them. “Benito, add more chairs to the front row!” he told a man in a blue jumpsuit. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do here.”
“Fine. But I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to Mr. Simón.”
Enrique sighed, all amusement wiped from his face. He looked at Alejandra for the first time, sending a wave of electricity throughout her body.
“Alejandra, right? You look like a reasonable young lady. Would you put some sense into your cousin?”
He remembered her name? She nodded; she would nod to whatever he said.
“Look, you both seem like nice kids, but unfortunately I have to go.” He patted Fausto’s arm. “Good luck to you.” Enrique walked past Alejandra and the scent of his cologne masked, for a few seconds, the offensive smells in the area. Alejandra stared after him, mesmerized. She was starting to reconsider the idea of kissing a boy.
“Come on,” Fausto said, his fists clenched against his sides.
Alejandra followed her cousin in a haze, deaf to his complaints the entire way back. By the time she arrived home, she had reconsidered her stance on a lot of things.
Chapter 10
Malena followed Ana through the hallway, living room, and foyer, keeping her head low and her shoulders bent as if heading to her own execution. Her mind had gone blank. What, if anything, would she tell Lili’s mother? María Teresa would know her daughter’s voice well; she couldn’t deceive her. If only she could find a way to escape. Before she could flee the house, Ana held the study door open for her.
The unhooked receiver rested on the desk’s surface.
“Come on.” Ana pointed at the phone. “Your mother’s waiting.”
Malena approached the phone. She placed the receiver against her ear and heard a woman’s hoarse voice at the other end of the line.
“Lili?”
Ana stood beside her, examining every gesture, every feature in her face. Malena’s ears burned. She was ready to say “hello,” ready to give herself away, but before she could utter a sound, Lili’s letter flashed in her mind. Of course, why hadn’t she thought of that before?
“Liliana Paz! Answer right now!” María Teresa said. “I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.”
Malena looked into Ana’s eyes and placed the receiver on the hook.
“What are you doing?” Ana asked. “You just hung up on your mother!”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Malena said. “But my mother and I had a quarrel before I left, and I do not wish to speak to her. Please tell her not to call me again.”
“I know all about that fight, Lili, but your mother was acting for your own interest. That man is not good for you. His wife is pregnant, you know?”
Damn. Liliana’s boyfriend was married.
What had Lili said? Tell my mother that her plans to separate us didn’t work, and that it will take a long time for me to forgive and forget the pain she caused.
“I’m not sure of that. It could be another one of my mother’s plans to separate us,” she recited.
“Lili, you can’t possibly think that of your mother! She’s not a liar.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I’m not ready to speak to her.”
“What’s going on here?” Amanda asked from the doorway. She wore her beige coat, a matching pillbox hat, and held a small purse in her hand.
Ana sighed. “Liliana hung up on her mother.”
Amanda removed her gloves from her purse. “Well, Ana, that’s between María Teresa and Lili.” She peeked at Malena. “You look like you can use some fresh air. Do you want to come with me to the restaurant?”
Malena couldn’t say “yes” fast enough. Leaving the house was exactly what she needed. She rushed behind Amanda, though not without noticing first the hard look Ana gave her sister before they left the study.
“Don’t be disappointed when you see the place,” Amanda told Malena inside the taxi. “You have to remember I’m going to remodel it.”
Malena peered out the window. She was curious to see the source of yesterday’s commotion. Moreover, she was grateful that Amanda had taken her away from Ana’s questioning. She beamed at her savior and wished with all her heart she would turn out to be her mother.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Amanda said. “You probably noticed my family doesn’t trust I can pull this off, especially Rafael.” She shook her head. “He thinks women should only obey the men and look pretty. Sometimes I could just kill him. Such arrogance, such airs of superiority! He thinks he’s so cultured just because he can finish a crossword puzzle and read each and every word of El Heraldo. Never mind they always run the same puzzle or that the paper is only eight pages long!”
“But if he feels that way about women,” Malena said, “how does he let Alejandra work for him?”
“It’s not that he lets her. He didn’t have a choice. The jewelry store was our father’s and he taught Alejandra everything. My father is the one who put her there and believed in her.” She turned to the driver. “Here to the left. Besides, Rafael is not dumb. He knows she’s good and everyone likes her work.”
“But nobody knows she’s the jeweler.”
“That was Rafael’s condition when he took charge.”
Malena thought about Alejandra and the ill-treatment she must have suffered all those years under Rafael’s tyranny.
“She’s admirable.”
“Yes, she is.” Amanda glanced at the steep road ahead. “You should have seen her before. She was so different; she would have never allowed Rafael to treat her like this. She was so rambunctious.”
“Your mother told me she was in shock after your cousin died.”
“Yes. And the shock has lasted more than twenty years.” Amanda scowled. “Alejandra and Fausto were close. He grew up with us, like a brother. His mother was Mamá Blanca’s sister, Tía Emilia. She was a year older than my mother, but they could pass as twins. She was a curt woman, though, very different from my mother.” She crossed her hands over her lap, displaying her perfectly manicured red fingernails. “Tía Emilia and her husband died in a bus crash on their way to Quito when Fausto was seven years old.”
“That’s terrible.”
“When he died, my sister was so depressed she joined the convent.”
Alejandra, a nun? “For how long?”
“I don’t know, less than a year.”
“What happened then?”
“She changed her mind, I guess. I think she just wanted solitude. Everything in the house reminded her of Fausto. I don’t think she really wanted to be a nun.”
Somehow Malena couldn’t reconcile the image of Alejandra as a nun. What if, in reality, she’d joined the convent to hide something? Like a pregnancy?
“Did you see her during that time?”
“No, she didn’t want to see anybody. It was especially hard for my mother.” She waved her hand. “Oh, let’s not talk about that anymore. I don’t like thinking of those times. They were hard for everyone.” Amanda scrutinized Malena’s features the way Mamá Blanca had done the other day. Her perfect eyebrows creased in disapproval. Oh, no, what had she discovered?
“You know?” Amanda said. “You would be a lot prettier without all that eyeliner and mascara, and you don’t need the fake eyelashes either.” She brought her fingers to one of Malena’s curls and pushed it away. “Your hair is gorgeous but it needs a trim and some styling.” She glanced at Malena’s old shirtwaist dress. “And you definitely need new clothes. I can’t believe María Teresa has been so careless about your appearance. She used to be very fashionable when she lived here.” She looked outside the window. “Well, I guess the country would do that to a person.”
“I don’t want you to be a burra like me,” her grandmother would say. “Study hard so you can be a teacher or a nurse, like your mother.” Her mother, the nurse. How did La Abuela come up with that lie? It was apparent that none of the Platas sisters were nurses. If only her grandmother hadn’t made that up, Malena would not have spent a full year locked in the library trying to memorize the names of muscles, bones, and organs.
“Right here,” Amanda told the driver. She turned to Malena. “Welcome to the Madreselva.”
Madreselva, Amanda explained as they walked into the restaurant, was the name of a plant. More importantly, it was the name of a famous tango sung by Carlos Gardel. Amanda must have thought it natural to name the nightclub after the song.
A transformation came over Amanda as they walked in. A smile illuminated her face, her eyes brightened, and she hummed the “Madreselva” tango.
Malena followed Amanda’s glance up, to the tall vaulted ceilings.
“So what do you think?” Amanda asked.
“I think it has a lot of potential. Great chandeliers.”
“I love those chandeliers.” Amanda pointed at the back of the room. “I am going to raise a big stage there, and hire musicians and dancers.”
“Dancers?”
“I placed an ad in the paper today. I’m having auditions all next week.”
“Wonderful.” Tango dancing had always captivated Malena, even when her grandmother criticized it.
“It’s completely inappropriate for respectable women to dance so close to a man,” she’d say.
Her father, on the other hand, had always liked it. After La Abuela died, he’d bought the entire Gardel record collection.
“Are you going to dance, too?” Malena asked.
A veil of sadness came over Amanda’s expression. “I can’t dance anymore. Not like I used to anyway. I had a bad fracture in my leg.” She raised her skirt, exposing a thick scar winding from her knee up to the middle of her thigh.
So that was why Amanda limped sometimes.
“Now one of my legs is shorter than the other.” She lowered her skirt with a rough motion. “Like some kind of freak.”
“Oh, but you’re so beautiful, Amanda. That’s barely noticeable.”
Amanda caressed her cheek. “You’re sweet.”
“How did that happen?”
“I was in a car accident.” Amanda’s voice broke, and Malena knew her sadness had nothing to do with the physical pain. “I’ve never driven since.”
There was so much she wanted to know about Amanda. “Can I come to the auditions?”
“Sure, I can definitely use the help.” Her smile faded. “This place brings me so many memories.”
“What memories?” Malena couldn’t believe she’d voiced her imprudent thoughts.
“Oh, nothing important. Memories of an old woman that nobody cares to hear.”
“You’re not old, and of course I would like to hear them.”
Amanda left her purse on top of a table. “No time for that.”
“Oh, but I insist.”
“Just leave it be, Liliana.” She softened her tone. “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
Chapter 11
Amanda, 1936
I knew we were going to win,” Joaquin told Amanda from across the table.
Amanda had known, too. All those months of practice, of sneaking out at night with Joaquin, of trying to find a decent place to practice, of begging her mother to make her dress—all that effort had to pay off somehow. And it had. She was finally at Il Napolitano, the new Italian restaurant everyone was talking about. She’d always known that if she wanted to come here, she would have to earn it herself. Expecting Papá Pancho to bring them would’ve been a fantasy. It was simply not the kind of expense he would incur, even if he had enough money in his safety vault to take the entire family every weekend.
“You looked stunning in there,” Joaquin said without taking his eyes off her. He had gotten a haircut that morning and she hated it; there was no curl left, and his nose protruded more than usual. Yet there was something appealing about him, something that made girls melt in his presence. It might have been his long eyelashes and magnetic chestnut eyes, or maybe the way he led girls on the dance floor. He was the best dancer Amanda had ever known, and she would be eternally grateful for everything he’d taught her. How lucky she’d been to meet him during that melcochada party four years ago—they’d become inseparable ever since.
“Carlitos would have been proud,” he said.
Carlitos, of course, was none other than Carlos Gardel, their idol, who had died last year in an airplane crash. She still cried from time to time remembering that fatal day.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
Amanda looked around the grand salon. Happy didn’t even begin to describe her feelings; it was a dream come true. Il Napolitano was everything she’d heard and more. Dinner was wonderful; she had the cannelloni and Joaquin tried the risotto. The music, the wine, those lovely chandeliers and the lighting were enough to make her wish the evening would never end.
“Yes,” she said as her eyes rested on a man in a tuxedo standing by the quartet of violinists, staring straight in her direction, sending heat to her face, to her entire body.
Joaquin’s voice got lost in the background. She held the man’s stare for a moment, and smiled. He smiled back. But Joaquin’s cold fingers touching her hand broke the enchantment. She turned to him, irritated, but he apparently didn’t perceive her annoyance and had a smile on his face. He held her hand in his, softly, possessively, and pulled out a red velvet box from his jacket pocket.
Oh, no, she had to do something—quickly. She knew how Joaquin felt, but she had always hoped he wouldn’t tell her.
She looked him squarely in the eye.
“I’m in love.”
“What?”
“Do you see the man with the black tuxedo and the red carnation?”
Joaquin glanced over his shoulder.
“I’m going to marry him,” she said.
Joaquin covered the box with a cloth napkin.
Amanda pretended not to see the sadness in his eyes, the frown between his thick eyebrows. She loved Joaquin, but he was like a brother to her; she’d never thought of him in terms of marriage. The day she married, it would be to someone important, someone who would take her away from this small town and show her the world.
She returned her attention to the back of the room, but the elegant stranger was no longer there.
“Buona sera,” a husky voice greeted her from behind. “Welcome to Il Napolitano.”
It was him.
“Are you enjoying your dinner?”
Madre mía, that Italian accent was so attractive. She twisted a side curl with her index finger. “Very much.”
“My name is Nicolas Fornasieri. I’m the owner of this establishment.”
Nicolas Fornasieri. She liked the sound of his name. She liked everything about him, including the fact that he was older than he’d appeared from afar—probably in his thirties already—and that he had the most mesmerizing green eyes she’d ever seen.
A short and stout waiter stood beside him with a bottle of wine in his hands.
“I understand you’re the winners of the dance contest?” Nicolas said.
“Yes.” Amanda locked her eyes with his.
“My congratulations to both of you,” Nicolas said and then turned to the waiter. “Bernardo, per piacere.”
The man called Bernardo served them two glasses of red wine.
“Please enjoy this drink from my country,” Nicolas s
aid.
Joaquin finished his wine in one gulp and set the glass on the table a little too loudly, glaring at Nicolas. For a moment, Amanda thought he was going to break the glass on the Italian’s head.
She took a sip of wine.
“Delicious.” She boldly looked into his eyes.
Nicolas looked away. An older man nervous at her advances? She wanted to laugh.
He excused himself and left with Bernardo.
Joaquin stood up. “Are you ready to leave?”
“But we haven’t had dessert yet.”
“I know, but I don’t feel so good. I think the shrimp was bad.”
“Are you out of your mind? In a restaurant like this?”
Joaquin held her arm. “Come on.”
Amanda was not about to let Joaquin’s jealousy ruin her only chance with Nicolas.
“I need to go to the ladies’ room first,” she said.
She headed for the lavatory before Joaquin could do anything to stop her. And what a lavatory it was. It even had a sitting area! She powdered her nose casually, looking in the mirror until the last woman was gone. When she was alone, she took off her bracelet and dropped it near a flowerpot. She finished fixing her hair and left.
First thing the next morning, Amanda went back to Il Napolitano to pick up her bracelet. Nicolas sent Bernardo to fetch it while they sat at a table by the piano. The place was closed until lunchtime, but there were already a handful of waiters setting up tables. Nicolas opened another wine bottle and poured half a glass for her to taste.
“Isn’t it a little early for wine?” Amanda asked.
“It’s never too early for vino rosso.”
Eagerly, Amanda tasted the wine. This was a man, not a boy, having a drink with her. How his eyes sparkled when he took that long sip! They stared at each other for a long time, with little to say. She was speechless, bewitched by the intensity of his gaze.
A jumble of Italian brought her back from her trance. A young man about her age, or maybe a little bit older, stood behind her. She had never studied Italian, but she gathered he was asking who she was. And he had called her bella.