When the song ended, Malena let go of Leonardo’s grip. Two more songs and this will all be over. She searched for Amanda, standing tall backstage. The woman offered her the proud look of a lioness admiring her cub’s prowess, and it was all worth it. She’d made Amanda happy. The audience burst into applause. It was exhilarating, the idea of performing in front of a public, of having people’s attention and approval. It was one of the reasons she’d wanted to be an actress.
As the first chords of “El Choclo” started, Leonardo’s wife entered the parlor. A man in a gray suit walked behind her, holding her hand. Leonardo took a step forward, but Malena grasped his sleeve to stop him.
She rested her hand on his shoulder and danced. Somehow—miraculously—he responded. Leonardo started the routine as he’d done it with his wife, though he was moving faster than usual. He was stiff, mechanical, and would not meet Malena’s eyes; his full attention was on Rebecca and her man friend.
As the tempo picked up, Malena had difficulty following Leonardo’s lead. She searched his eyes, trying to get his attention, but he was in a trance, oblivious to her limitations. She tapped his shoulder and called his name, but Leonardo didn’t respond and led her into complicated steps she hadn’t perfected yet: the sacada, the gancho. She turned backstage for assistance. Amanda and Bernardo were frowning. Malena was not crazy or hallucinating; Leonardo was truly out of control, crazy with jealousy.
Leonardo attempted to lead a colgada. She had seen him do it with Rebecca before, but Malena was not ready for it—she had never attempted it herself. Leonardo, however, didn’t remember or care. He placed his foot between hers, leaning her to the side. He turned quickly. Malena felt her body dangling at a precarious angle, her foot slipping. She grabbed for Leonardo, but it was too late. They both fell hard on the floor. The polished wood felt cold and slippery on her backside. Her tight red skirt had rolled up, exposing her panties and girdle to all who cared to see. Laughter and booing burst from the audience as she tugged her dress down. They were so loud that the music was no longer audible.
“Nice ass!” a man yelled.
A ruckus erupted from the direction of Sebastian’s table. Standing, Malena spotted Sebastian holding a man in a headlock. Meanwhile, Leonardo jumped to his feet and plunged himself toward the man sitting with Rebecca, tackling him and knocking him off the chair.
A brawl broke out. Waiters and customers tried to separate the fighting men. The musicians stopped playing. Other more dignified citizens headed toward the door, and in the center of the stage, Amanda watched the evening crumble in front of her eyes.
Chapter 22
Cesar Villamizar seemed to have lost more hair in the last few weeks. Sebastian suspected he was responsible for the dark circles under the older man’s eyes and the pronounced wrinkles across his forehead.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Cesar shut the door behind him, staring at the newspaper in Sebastian’s hands.
“Yes.”
Cesar’s jaw hardened. Sebastian knew the man didn’t agree with his new policies of cutting down personnel and changing the paper’s focus, and he probably didn’t like that he’d taken charge of the accounting either. If it hadn’t been for all those years of loyalty to his father, Sebastian would have fired the man already, especially after this.
“Are you going to fire me?”
“No. But I want to know why you ran this article without showing it to me first.”
Sebastian tossed the paper on top of his desk for Cesar to see. In big bold letters the front page of El Heraldo read: OPENING OF MADRESELVA A DISASTER.
Cesar didn’t look at it. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, for one, I don’t see how this is your top story with so many things happening in the world right now.”
Cesar sighed. “San Isidro doesn’t care about the world.”
“Still, I don’t think this is newsworthy. Talk about local politics, economy, something relevant.”
“Local politics? You mean the mayor’s new haircut? That’s all that’s happened since yesterday in the political arena.”
Sebastian hit his desk. “Then use one of the wire stories. People need to know what’s going on in Quito or Guayaquil. What is President Arosemena up to? His government is anything but stable.”
“What’s this really about, Sebastian? Is this about your connection to the Platas family? Or the fact that you got involved in the fight?” He smirked. “You must learn to be impartial, Sebastian. That’s the first rule of journalism.”
Sebastian fantasized about punching Cesar’s face, just like he’d done with the insolent drunk who made that obscene comment about Liliana last night. But he’d caused enough problems already. He didn’t need any more.
“People need to know what happens in this town,” Cesar said. “Especially after all the hype about the first tango club. You can’t pick and choose the news just because they are close to you.”
Sebastian knew that, in theory, Cesar was right, but there was no relevance in local gossip or smearing Amanda’s nightclub. Sebastian didn’t even want to think about Claudia’s hysterics now that her aunt’s nightclub had been featured on the front page, especially next to the word “disaster,” not to mention his own mother. Amanda had been her best friend for years.
“Don’t lecture me, Cesar. I’m not the five-year-old who followed you around the paper. This is the last time you publish a story without my approval. From now on, I want to read every single word written in this newspaper before it gets published.”
“Might I remind you, Sebastian, that your father trusted me completely? That’s why he named me managing editor.”
Sebastian crossed his arms behind his head, mimicking his father’s arrogant gesture.
“Well, things are different now, Cesar. The sooner you realize that, the better it will be for you. The Ignacio Rivas era is gone.”
Cesar’s eyes flickered with contempt, but Sebastian was not about to back down. He held his stare and smirked.
Cesar looked away and left the room.
Sebastian picked up the paper again. If this article had any repercussions on the nightclub, it would be his fault. He’d started the fight. Of course he regretted it now, but he couldn’t tolerate disrespect, especially toward women, and that jerk deserved all the punches he got. Sebastian rubbed his temple with his fingers. He had to learn to control that wretched temper of his. Somehow. As he shut his eyes, the image of Lili in her red dress emerged in his mind. He had no idea that girl was so attractive or that she could move with such grace. It had been a shock to see her there, dancing, looking so beautiful. The movement of her hips, her long legs, and her bare back had been like a magnet.
He opened his eyes again. He had to stop thinking about her. He was engaged and Claudia would be furious when she found out he’d gone to the nightclub after she begged him not to. But perhaps not as furious as Amanda would be after she read the newspaper.
Chapter 23
Almost midnight and nobody had showed up at the Madreselva yet. Covering a yawn with her hand, Malena avoided Amanda’s face across the table. Bernardo was already sweeping the dance floor, the musicians chatted among themselves and a group of bored waiters leaned against the wall by the front door.
Amanda set her glass on the table.
“Damn Sebastian! I can’t believe he published that story. This is his fault.”
Malena wasn’t so sure about that. If she hadn’t fallen down, this wouldn’t be happening, but she’d apologized enough, and Amanda said she didn’t blame her. If anything it had been Leonardo’s fault, she said. He’d started this entire mess and he’d paid for it. His indiscretion had cost him a job and a trip to the hospital for a concussion after Rebecca’s man friend struck him with a chair.
Amanda stood up. “Let’s go.”
“What if someone comes?”
“I’m not going to sit around and wait all night. Bernardo!”
The man rushed to her side.
<
br /> “Oui, Madame?”
“Tell the waiters and cooks to go home.” Her voice trailed off as she looked at something or someone behind Malena’s head.
At the entrance stood a tall man with thinning black hair and dark eyes.
“Buenas noches,” he told Amanda.
Amanda took a few steps toward him and stopped, her shoulders tense, her arms rigid. They stared at each other in silence until she flung her arms over his shoulders and hugged him. He was stiff at first, but eventually raised his arms to her back.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Amanda said. “What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Spain.”
“I did. I still live there. I only came to San Isidro to sell my parents’ house.”
“Good,” Amanda said. “We get to have you here for a few days.”
Amanda introduced the man as Joaquin Nasser, an old friend, and Malena as María Teresa Paz’s daughter. Joaquin didn’t appear to know the real Liliana—a small blessing.
“I met your mother when we were youngsters.” Joaquin told Malena. “How is she doing nowadays?”
Malena drank from Amanda’s glass. It was whiskey and it was awful.
“Fine, I think.”
“Joaquin is a wonderful dancer,” Amanda told Malena, pointing at the chairs. “We won a dancing contest once.”
One of the violinists started playing.
“How’s the wife?” Amanda asked Joaquin.
Joaquin undid the button of his jacket before he sat down. “Fine.”
“Did she come with you?”
“No. She stayed in Madrid.”
The silence lingered between them. Malena had the impression she was intruding in a private conversation.
“Should I bring another bottle?” Malena asked, though Bernardo was approaching them with one already.
Amanda didn’t answer. Her full attention was on Joaquin as he looked around the place.
“It’s incredible what you’ve done here,” he said.
“All for nothing.”
“Don’t say that. It will work out.”
“You must not know what happened here yesterday.”
“I know. I’ve been here for a few days now.”
Amanda tapped her red fingernails on the table. At the first notes of the tango “Volver,” Joaquin reached for Amanda’s hand.
“Would you dance with me? For old time’s sake?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not exactly in a dancing mood.”
“Come on, you’re going to waste a perfectly good dance floor?” He caressed her hand. “We would have killed for a spot like this when we were young.” Joaquin turned to Malena. “Don’t you agree with me?”
There was a hint of panic in Amanda’s eyes. She placed her hand on her bad leg.
Joaquin stood up, pulling softly on Amanda’s arm.
“This is silly, Joaquin.”
“Just one dance.”
“Please don’t ask me that.”
He eyed her leg. “I don’t care about that.”
She conceded. He led her to the dance floor and embraced her, their chests touching. The two of them moved in perfect harmony to the beat of the bandonéon.
“Volver” was one of the saddest tangos ever written. It talked about returning to one’s first love after twenty years. Amanda had been married once, and her husband had died, but there was something about Joaquin and this encounter that didn’t seem like a simple meeting between two old friends. They danced close together, but Amanda moved stiffly, as if dancing were a chore, like sweeping or dusting. So different from the time she taught Malena how to dance. In one of their turns, Malena spotted tears in Amanda’s eyes.
A tall man with abundant gray hair entered the nightclub. He was handsome despite his age, which must have been around the same as Joaquin—late forties, early fifties. He stopped by the dance floor and folded his arms across his chest, watching Amanda and Joaquin.
When the song ended, the man applauded slowly and loudly, but his expression didn’t reveal happiness. His neck muscles were taut and his eyebrows, those thick eyebrows, were joined so close to one another they looked like one.
“What a beautiful scene!” he said. “Brava, Amanda. Brava!”
Amanda pulled away from Joaquin.
“What are you doing here?” she said. “You agreed to let me run the restaurant.”
So this was the infamous Enzo.
“I did, but it seems there’s not much left to run. I see you have better things to do with your time.”
Amanda ran her fingers over the sequins of her blue dress.
“So it was true,” Enzo said. “All the rumors about you were true. My poor brother! How many lovers did you have then? Let’s see.” He counted with his fingers. “There was this poor bastard, your father’s accountant, probably the milkman and the postman, too–”
Her father’s accountant?
Before Enzo could say another word, Joaquin rammed him with his shoulder, sending him into a nearby wall. Joaquin grasped Enzo by the throat and pressed his thumbs into his windpipe.
“Don’t you ever, ever, talk to her like that again!” he said.
Amanda rushed toward them, as quickly as her stiff leg allowed. “Joaquin, stop!”
The altercation became a welcome distraction to the employees. Cooks and dishwashers gawked at the fight. So did Sebastian Rivas, who had entered the salon as Joaquin pinned Enzo against the wall.
Enzo’s lips lost their color but he managed to reach back to grab a bottle of wine from a nearby table. As he raised it above his head, preparing to strike, Sebastian snatched the bottle from Enzo’s hand. Bernardo and one of the waiters pinned Joaquin’s arms while the chef took Enzo’s.
“Maledetto!” Enzo rubbed his neck. “I’m going to kill you!”
Sebastian set the bottle on the table and stood between the two men, his arms outstretched.
Joaquin shook himself loose from Bernardo’s grasp. Sebastian gave him a warning look.
“Get out!” Amanda told Enzo.
Enzo looked around the room—he was alone against a crowd. The Italian regained control of himself and adjusted his collar.
“I’ll be back for my check.”
He stalked out of the restaurant.
Bernardo clapped twice to call the attention of all employees. “That’s enough, everybody go home!”
As the crowd dispersed, Amanda poured whiskey into one of the glasses Bernardo had brought earlier. Sebastian looked at Malena, as if noticing her for the first time, and smiled.
“What are you doing here, Sebastian?” Amanda handed the glass to Joaquin. “Did you come to gather material for tomorrow’s headline?”
“No. I came to apologize.” He ran his fingers along his satin tie. “My managing editor was under the impression he didn’t have to get my approval to publish anything, as trivial or damaging as it might be.”
Amanda served another glass for herself, without water, and drained it.
“In that case, I hope you took care of him.” She set the glass down. “We can’t have disloyal employees so close to us.”
“It won’t happen again, Amanda. You have my word.” Sebastian stretched out his hand toward Joaquin. “I’m sorry. With all the commotion, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Sebastian Rivas.”
“Ignacio’s son?”
“Yes.”
Joaquin patted his back. “Your father and I used to be neighbors. I’m Joaquin Nasser.”
“Of course, Señor. My father spoke often of you. You’re a diplomat, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I was very sorry to hear about his passing. He was a great man.”
“He was.”
The sadness in Sebastian’s voice reminded Malena of her own misery since her father’s death. Except that she didn’t have the consolation of knowing her father had been a good man, like Sebastian did. She didn’t know what to think of her father, especially after Enzo had mentioned him as one of Amanda
’s lovers. Her father didn’t only have a double life, it seemed, but a triple and a quadruple. Understanding what had driven him to suicide—with every new bit of information she gathered—was becoming an impossible task.
“Have a drink with us.” Joaquin poured Sebastian a tumbler of whiskey.
Sebastian removed his coat and hung it behind the chair.
“Finally, good whiskey in this town.”
He sat by Joaquin while Malena remained standing.
“Would you like some whiskey, Lili?” Amanda offered.
God, no. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Have a seat,” Amanda told her.
Malena sat next to Amanda, avoiding Sebastian’s face at all cost. If La Abuela could see her now, sitting with two men at a nightclub while they drank. Bernardo brought more ice and glasses.
“I didn’t see your mother here last night,” Amanda told Sebastian.
“She wasn’t feeling well.” He rubbed his chin. “She hasn’t been herself since my father’s passing.”
“Well, losing a husband isn’t easy,” she said.
Joaquin added ice to his drink.
“So what are your plans now?” Sebastian asked her.
“My plans? Besides getting intoxicated, nothing.” She was the only one to laugh—bitterly—at her joke. But maybe it wasn’t a joke.
“If you’d like, I can run advertisements for the nightclub all next week, at no cost, of course.” Sebastian offered cigarettes to everyone. Malena took one, though the idea of swallowing smoke didn’t seem too appealing. “Believe it or not, advertising can be very effective.”
Malena held her breath as Sebastian leaned over her to light her cigarette.
“That would be very nice, Sebastian,” Amanda said.
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Joaquin interjected. “But you need more than that. You need to make people want to come. To believe this is the most entertaining place in town. You have to promote it with more than print advertisement. People have to be moved by dance. They have to see it and want to do it.”
The Sisters of Alameda Street Page 16