Mimicking Amanda, Malena took a drag of smoke. The itch inside her throat was unbearable and despite her attempts to appear smooth and sophisticated, she started coughing.
“Problem is, I lost my star dancers.” Amanda patted Malena’s back.
“Well, you can get new ones,” Joaquin said. “Those two are not the only people in town who can dance.”
“No, they’re not the only ones, but they’re the best. I saw several dancers and nobody came close to them.” Amanda stared at Sebastian. “Unless …”
Malena set her cigarette on the ashtray. Never again.
“Unless what?” Joaquin said.
“Unless Sebastian helps me.”
The glass in Sebastian’s hand froze midair. “Me?”
“There’s a rumor in town that you can dance. That you learned in Argentina,” Amanda said, her words followed by a long thread of smoke.
“That was a long time ago.” Sebastian tossed back his drink without catching anyone’s eye.
“Your trip was only two years ago. I had not danced in twenty years and still remembered,” Amanda said.
“Besides, we can help you with the steps,” Joaquin said.
“Please, Sebas, it would only be once.” The excitement from days ago returned to Amanda’s voice. “We could do it during the New Year’s Eve celebration. At the plaza.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Joaquin said. “But who would dance with him? Do you have any female dancers in mind?”
Amanda turned toward Malena and smiled.
Malena sank in her chair, hoping to become invisible to all the curious eyes staring back at her.
Chapter 24
Amanda, 1940
In the darkness of the street, the light coming from Nicolas’s study shone as bright as the sun. He was awake, and Amanda knew there was no means of sneaking into the house without him hearing the front door. She slowed her pace, trying to come up with a lie good enough for him to believe. Not that he ever complained. That was the hardest part of all, lying to someone who knew you were being dishonest but pretended not to notice.
With trembling fingers, she slid her key into the lock and turned the doorknob. From the foyer of their two-story home—one of the newest and most beautiful constructions in all of San Isidro—she heard two male voices coming from the study. Since they were speaking Italian and one of them was yelling, it was fair to assume that Nicolas was talking to his brother.
Enzo, as usual, was the loudest one. When they spoke this fast, Amanda couldn’t understand them, but it was obvious that this wasn’t a regular visit. Enzo never came over this late, and although he was an ill-tempered man, she’d never heard him this upset.
Across the foyer was the staircase. Only a few meters away. If only she could cross the study threshold without being seen. But the study door was wide open. She removed her heels and took a step toward the stairs. Maybe they were distracted enough not to notice her.
“Sei pazzo, Nicolas,” Enzo shouted. “Pazzo e cieco!”
Enzo darted out of the study in such haste his chest bumped into Amanda’s shoulder, nearly dropping her to the floor, as though she’d been struck by a brick wall.
“Oh, here she is!” he said. “The model wife.”
Enzo glared into Amanda’s eyes with such hatred that for a minute she thought he would choke her.
“Vai via, Enzo!” Nicolas told him from his desk.
That Amanda understood, and was grateful that her husband was telling this imbecile to leave.
Enzo slammed the door shut. Amanda hid her shoes behind her back.
Nicolas remained seated, his hands resting on the sides of his leather chair.
“Did you have a good time, cara mia?”
Did she? Yes, the best time of her life. But now the remorse was back, the self-loathing, the chagrin. She nodded, eyes moistening. Things could have been so perfect between Nicolas and her.
“Bene,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind, I still have work to do.”
Work. At a moment like this. Of course, work was the only thing on Nicolas’s mind. Once she thought it was just devotion, a sense of responsibility to his parents’ memory, and she’d admired him for it. Now she knew work was all he had. Work was his excuse, his way of avoiding the truth, his escape.
Sometimes she wished he would just confront her. Tell her what he really thought. How disappointed he was in her, how much she’d failed him. But at other times, she wondered if he knew at all or if he even cared.
She stepped inside the room, playing with the strap of her shoes. A nearly-empty bottle of wine and a glass—just one—sat on his desk, besides his papers.
“Nicolas, we need to talk.”
He wrote on a piece of paper.
“I know, Nico. I’ve known for a long time.”
He wrote faster, the ink of his stylograph staining his fingers.
She left her shoes on one of the chairs and rested her hands on the desk.
“Nicolas.”
He didn’t look at her.
“Amanda dear, this is really not a good time. I have a lot to do.”
He was signing papers, writing quickly. She felt like shaking him and forcing the truth out of him. But she could never humiliate him like that. She knew he would never admit to anything. He would rather die first. That was the kind of man he was. He would rather carry his own burdens until he exploded than share them with someone, even someone whom he loved.
Amanda knew Nicolas loved her—as much as he could love a woman, anyway. Just not the way she wanted to be loved. If only he were mean to her, the way Rafael was to Ana, she would have an excuse to leave him. But what excuse did she have? He was the most considerate and splendid husband in town.
What would he do if she left?
She glanced at the wine bottle on his desk. There had been lots of bottles before this one, and she was certain there would be more. His reputation meant everything to him. He was willing to sacrifice his own happiness for it, and he had. She’d seen the sadness in his eyes, she’d heard him pacing in the living room at night, and she’d seen the bottles disappear from the pantry one by one. She couldn’t in good conscience cause him any more unhappiness. She loved him too much.
“Good night, mi amor,” she said, turning around.
She heard him pouring more wine as she left the room.
Chapter 25
Amanda had lost her mind! How could she expect Malena to dance with Claudia’s fiancé in front of the entire town? If Ana found out, she would throw her out of the house! Malena submerged the stalks of toronjil into a pot of boiling water; she needed to calm her nerves.
“You came home late last night.” Ana said behind her. “After midnight.”
“I was with Amanda.”
“I know, I know.” She sighed, serving herself black coffee. “But I don’t think a young lady should be out at those ungodly hours.” She took a sip. “And I know that’s not what your mother wants.”
Malena didn’t want to think about Lili’s mother; neither did she like Ana’s threatening tone. Trinidad placed a cup of coffee, bread, and marmalade on a metal tray.
“María Teresa is counting on me to take good care of you. I don’t want to disappoint her,” Ana said. “She called yesterday, you know?”
Malena eyed the door. Trinidad set a napkin on the tray.
“Is that for Alejandra?” Malena asked the maid before Ana got any ideas about phone calls and such.
“Yes.” Trinidad sighed. “She always forgets to have breakfast. That’s why she’s so thin.”
“Is she at the store?”
Trinidad added sugar to Alejandra’s coffee. “Isn’t she always?”
“May I take it to her?” Malena asked.
Trinidad shrugged. Malena picked up the tray and darted out of the kitchen before Ana could say another word.
The workshop door was ajar. No sound came from the room. With both hands on the tray, Malena was unable to knock on the doo
r, so she pushed it open with her foot.
Alejandra sat behind her desk with a piece of paper in her hands. She was immersed in her reading and must have not heard Malena for she didn’t raise her head.
“Good morning,” Malena said. “I brought your breakfast.”
Alejandra flinched. Her eyes widened, but as recognition set in, she brought her eyebrows together in a frown.
“Don’t you know how to knock?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that,” she raised the tray, “my hands are full.”
The paper in Alejandra’s hands was a newspaper clipping and it was wrinkled. Alejandra shoved it into one of the drawers in her desk and slammed it shut.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
Alejandra’s desk was filled with tools and metal pieces, there was no space for the tray. Alejandra pointed at the other desk in the corner of the room.
“You can leave it there.”
Malena set it down and brushed her hands on her swing skirt. The room reeked of wax and dust. She wouldn’t mind sweeping and organizing here a little bit—the place certainly needed it—but this was not the right time to make the offer. Alejandra’s cheeks were still flushed. What could be written in that newspaper article to make her so uncomfortable?
Malena approached the desk, hands behind her back. With a pair of tongs, Alejandra molded a metal string into a circular shape. She worked fast, too fast for Malena to keep track of what she was doing. She was giving it a new shape now, a petal, and she added other pieces to it—creating sort of a silver flower.
“Amanda said your father taught you his craft.”
“That’s correct.”
Malena couldn’t take her eyes off Alejandra’s work. “I think that’s wonderful.”
“What?”
“That your father would have entrusted you with his business. That he believed in you.”
“I don’t see how that is so strange. That’s how family businesses are built, with the contribution of the entire family.”
“Yes, but it’s usually the sons who inherit the business, not the daughters, especially not the youngest daughter.”
“Well, my father didn’t have any sons and I was the only one who showed any interest in jewelry.”
“Yes, but he had a nephew.”
Alejandra opened a drawer, then another, and a third one, without bothering to close them. She pulled out a small torch from one of them. The loud torch that would prevent her from having to hear anything else about her cousin.
“I saw you at the nightclub the other night,” Malena said before Alejandra could turn on the torch. “You should wear dresses more often.”
Alejandra turned on the torch and soldered the silver petals together.
Chapter 26
Alejandra, 1940
At age seventeen, Alejandra reached the conclusion that she was invisible to boys. Either that or they were afraid Fausto would break their noses if they got close to her. Fausto was her blessing and her curse. Her blessing when he stood up for her when the neighborhood boys complained that he brought her along to play cards or pool. Her curse because he was always on guard when a boy wanted to team up with her or helped her with her stroke at the pool table.
So when they met Enrique Hidalgo at the circus after all those years and he acted as if she were a stain on the wall, she wasn’t surprised at all. Even though Mamá Blanca constantly reminded her she wasn’t ugly (but what mother would think her child was ugly?) and people often commented on her gorgeous hair, she didn’t even come close to her sister Abigail—with that porcelain skin and those almond-shaped eyes. That aura of fragility of Abigail’s drove men insane. And it sure had caused the same effect in Enrique.
After Amanda in her late teens, Abigail was the most sought-after girl in town; the Queen of San Isidro. Yet Abigail never seemed to notice how beautiful she was. She always seemed to be in another world. Her nose buried behind a book; undergoing health treatments that involved thermal baths and hospital visits. She even went to a different school. Abigail had practically grown up apart from Alejandra and Fausto. And now that she’d agreed to go to the circus with them, Alejandra wished her sister would have stayed away, in her own little world, wherever that might be.
Initially, Enrique had been polite with Alejandra.
“Yes, I remember you two.” He’d pointed at Fausto. “You’re the one who wanted to be an acrobat, right?”
Fausto blushed. Alejandra and Fausto hadn’t mentioned the circus incident in the last four years, but she knew he was ashamed of it.
“And you,” Enrique continued, now looking at Alejandra, sending a cold shiver down the back of her neck. “You’re his little sister.”
“Cousin,” she said, resenting the word “little.”
That was as much attention as he’d given her. In contrast, when Fausto introduced Abigail, Enrique kissed her hand. He didn’t look at Alejandra once after that.
But the most perturbing thing was to see Enrique at the dining room table, in her own house, after Abigail and Papá Pancho came fussing about him fixing some accounting problem.
Enrique greeted Mamá Blanca and Alejandra’s older sisters. For Alejandra, he reserved only a quick glance and a wave of the hand, as if she were a small child who didn’t deserve a proper salutation.
During the meal, Enrique exchanged glances with Abigail. Alejandra had been an idiot to think about him during all these years and wonder what their next encounter would be like. In her mind, it had never been like this.
She stared at her uneaten food, stabbing a pea with her fork, wishing she could do the same to one of Abigail’s rosy cheeks. Enrique and Fausto took turns telling stories. Enrique’s were pretty funny, but Alejandra was not in the mood for jokes. She was the only one at the table who didn’t laugh, and she was the only one to leave the room before dinner was over. Nobody seemed to notice; not even Mamá Blanca, who was always on her case, telling her to eat more, to wear some makeup.
Makeup. She stopped by the lavatory and entered. Perhaps that was what she was missing; the mystery behind Abigail’s beauty. She opened the medicine cabinet above the sink and took her sister’s red lipstick and mascara. Next time Enrique saw her, he would notice her.
Enrique did notice her, but not in a good way. Alejandra could tell he was trying not to laugh as she stepped into the jewelry store the next day. He rested his chin on his palm and focused on his accounting book.
“What the hell happened to you?” Fausto blurted out from one of the stools. “Are you going to try out for the circus now that Enrique is here?”
Rafael chuckled. Enrique covered his mouth with his notepad. Alejandra removed one of her shoes and threw it at Fausto. Both Rafael and Enrique ducked as the shoe bypassed them before landing on Fausto’s forehead.
“Are you crazy?” Fausto rubbed his head. “You could have killed me.”
“That was precisely my intention.”
“Loca!”
“Imbécil!”
Abigail, who witnessed the entire scene from the end counter, approached her.
“Come with me, Ale.”
Alejandra shook her elbow away from Abigail’s grasp.
“Don’t do me any favors!” Alejandra rushed to the hallway so Abigail wouldn’t follow her.
Her father was walking out of the workshop.
“What’s going on here? What are all those screams? And what happened to your face?”
“It’s called makeup.”
Papá Pancho sighed. “Hija, you don’t need that garbage to look pretty. You’re a natural beauty.”
“Well, I’m tired of people thinking I’m a child.”
“Being a woman has nothing to do with makeup. But if you must wear it, at least ask one of your sisters to teach you.”
Alejandra fought the angry tears threatening to come out. “Papá, if you want to help me, then give me a job at the store.”
Papá Pancho scratched h
is head. “At the store? I have too many employees now. There’s Fausto, Rafael, Abigail, and now Enrique. There’s not any room there for another clerk.”
“I don’t want to be a clerk.”
“Then?”
“I want to be an accountant.”
Papá Pancho smiled. “You? An accountant? But you’re an artist, you hate numbers. Besides I just hired an accountant. Why would I want another?”
“And you think he’s going to last here long? He worked at a circus, Papá. People like him are nomads. Think about this, if I learn, you won’t have to pay a stranger to work for you. I’ll do it for free.”
Papá Pancho nodded toward the workshop. She followed him in.
“What do you propose?” He shut the door.
Alejandra knew she had won the minute she mentioned her money-saving plan. “Have Enrique teach me everything he knows. Once I learn, you come up with an excuse, any excuse, to fire him.”
Papá Pancho rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. Accounting is not suitable for a woman.”
“It’s not suitable for gamblers either,” she said. “Or overly ambitious sons-in-law, or strangers. Do you want to continue trusting Fausto or Rafael with your money once this Enrique leaves?”
Papá Pancho folded his arms across his chest. “You’re right, hija. How did I get such a smart daughter? You must take after me.” He pinched her cheek. “It’s settled then, I’ll tell Enrique to start teaching you right away.”
Alejandra smiled triumphantly. Let’s see if Enrique didn’t notice her now.
Chapter 27
Although the Madreselva was closed tonight, the lights were on. Malena followed Amanda inside and stopped at the sight of Sebastian sitting by the bar with Joaquin. Malena’s hands dampened inside her gloves. Sebastian looked more handsome than ever in that black leather jacket.
Amanda clutched Malena’s arm. “You can do this.”
Joaquin greeted them. Malena clumsily removed her gloves and shook hands with him. But neither she nor Sebastian attempted to shake hands. She couldn’t even look at him. She’d never imagined that one day she would be dancing with Claudia’s fiancé. If Claudia ever found out, she would bring the Holy Inquisition down on her!
The Sisters of Alameda Street Page 17