“No one’s to blame,” Mama said. “The window, please.”
As soon as the window was shut and the curtains were drawn, Mama cried freely. “First Lola and Pedro. Then the strike. And always—” She took a shaky breath. “And always there is Domingo. Here.” She touched her bodice with her hand. “After all this time, I sometimes turn to speak with him as if he is still here.”
Pedro called, “Is dinner ready yet?”
“I’m so sorry.” Mama dabbed her eyes with a corner of her apron. “I try to be strong.”
Bella hugged her. “You are strong.”
As Pedro walked into the kitchen he peeked into the pot. “Soup?” he asked.
“No.” Bella turned off the stove. “Bread and coffee.”
“Again?” Pedro asked.
“Unless a fairy comes along with a magical stone to make us soup, bread and coffee will have to do,” Bella said. “Did I ever tell you the story of stone soup?”
Pedro shook his head.
“Call Juanita and Isabel,” Mama said. “Tonight Bella will start our meal off with a story.”
The following afternoon Bella was washing the lunch dishes when the Navarros turned on their radio.
“Even the windows can’t shut out that music,” Mama said.
Bella nodded. But as she stepped away from the sink, the song stopped, and a man began reading a story: “True!— nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?”
Bella raised the window partway so she could hear.
Mama frowned. “Yesterday you said it was too chilly to open the windows.”
“I’ve heard this story before.”
The voice was louder now: “The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them.”
“It’s Poe’s ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’ ” Bella said. “A pitiful performance! Grandfather and I heard another man on the radio reading Poe just as poorly. Even I could do better than that.”
“His voice does seem wrong,” Mama said.
Bella slammed the window. “Grandfather says radio people should stick to their soap commercials and comedies.” She dried the last dish and handed it to Mama. “If only—” She stopped.
“Yes?” Mama said.
“Why didn’t I think of this before?” Bella set down the towel.
“You’re not making sense.”
“I’ve got to see Mary.”
Mary opened her door as Bella ran up the walk. “Do you want to help me with a project?” Bella asked.
“As long as it’s not cleaning,” Mary said. “Mama and I just finished washing all the windows at Colonel Purcell’s.”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
Mary nodded.
“I want to audition for the radio.”
“Are you serious?”
“So many of the performers are dreadful. If you helped me practice, I know I could do better.”
“It might be fun.”
“We could read stories and plays,” Bella said.
“And commercials.”
“ ‘Use Pepsodent twice a day.’ ”
“ ‘And see your dentist twice a year,’ ” Mary sang.
“ ‘This program has been brought to you by Pepsodent,’ ” Bella spoke in an extra-deep voice, “ ‘the amazing new liquid dentifrice that gives you a winning smile.’ ”
Both girls laughed.
For the next two weeks the girls practiced in Bella’s or Mary’s bedroom. Mary coached Bella as she read stories by Poe and Twain and Hawthorne. And together they made up silly commercials. Isabel and Juanita and Carmen had great fun pretending to be the studio audience.
One day Mary and Bella even sang a duet, pretending to be Olive Palmer and Paul Oliver, the stars of The Palmolive Radio Hour. Isabel and Juanita hummed along as Bella and Mary sang the Bing Crosby song: “Where the blue of the night meets the gold of the day . . .”
When they finished the last verse, Bella took the role of the announcer, but she got tongue-tied by the silly names: “Ladies and gentlemen, that was our resident songbirds, Palm Olive and Oliver Paul.”
The girls laughed so hard that Mama came to the door and asked, “Is someone hurt in here?”
“We’re fine, Mama.” Bella was giggling so hard that she could barely talk.
“Too bad Lola can’t hear us.” Mary caught her breath.
“She’d think it was hilarious.”
Mary raised her eyebrows.
“Are you thinking what I am?” Bella said.
“Do we dare?”
“The weekend jailer is a soft touch,” Bella said.
On Saturday morning Lola grinned when she saw the girls. “I feel like I’ve won the daily double.” She hugged them both. Her voice sounded hoarse, and she looked paler than ever.
After Lola had learned the good news about Mary’s father, Bella said, “We’ve got a surprise for you, Tía Lola.”
“Are you hiding a handsome man somewhere?” Lola looked toward the door.
“No.” Bella shook her head. “But we’ve been practicing a few tunes.” She nodded to Mary. “Ready?”
The girls sang their favorite song from The Palmolive Radio Hour. Then, while Lola was still laughing, they sang a Coca-Cola jingle they’d made up. After starting with the Coke slogan, “Meet me at the soda fountain,” they added a string of silly rhymes like “It’s too foggy on this mountain” and “I don’t think you should be shoutin’.”
In the middle of their song the jailer and a guard stopped in the doorway to listen, and the men both joined Lola when she applauded at the end.
Bella and Mary curtsied.
“You two should be on the radio,” Lola said. “I’d much rather hear you sing than those silly Ipana Troubadours!”
Later that week Bella read a story to Mary called “The Minister’s Black Veil.” When Bella was done, Mary just stared.
“Was it bad?” Bella asked.
“No, it was very good,” Mary said. “I could imagine that scary mask over his face. You probably think Lola was joking the other day, but I really believe you’re good enough to be on the radio.”
“Too bad I’m not a little older,” Bella said. “I might have a chance of getting a part.”
“When you add in being a girl and Spanish, the odds must be a million to one against you.”
“If only we could talk Grandfather into auditioning.”
“He hates the radio,” Mary said.
“But think of how exciting it would be to hear his voice broadcast—” Bella stopped.
“What?”
“It might just work.” Bella spoke slowly as she thought.
“Tell me what you’re thinking!”
“What if we didn’t give Grandfather a choice?” Bella said.
“Do you plan on kidnapping him?” Mary asked.
“No.” Bella smiled. “But if I went to the station . . . I have an idea.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“We’ll see,” Bella said. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
CHAPTER 27
WTAM
The following morning, after Bella had helped Mama hang out the clothes, she walked to Mary’s with her new dress, shoes, and pearls in a paper sack, and a coin for trolley fare that she’d borrowed from the emergency jar.
As Mary helped Bella put on her makeup and pin up her hair, she said, “I may as well become a hairdresser, with all the practice I’m getting.”
When Mary walked Bella to the corner to catch the trolley, two separate boys whistled. “Someone approves of my work.” Mary giggled.
“The second one was whistling at you,” Bella said. “And he’s cuter than that stuck-up Tony of yours.”
“If only Tony was mine.” Mary sighed.
On the trolley ride into Tampa, Bella practiced her speech to herself. “My name is Bella Lorente.” She imagined shaking the manager’s hand. “My grandfather and I would like to read on the radio. I’m a story
teller, and my grandfather is the greatest lector in all of Ybor.” But even if the station agreed to an audition, could she convince Grandfather to come?
Bella expected that WTAM Radio would be in a brand-new building, but she found the station on the ground floor of an old hotel. Except for the rear parking lot, which held a steel broadcast tower and guy wires that extended high above the roof, the office was an ordinary four-story brick building. Tall aluminum letters above the front entrance read W T A M, THE VOICE OF TAMPA BAY.
A cold breeze blew off the salt marsh at the edge of town and made her shiver. What would Grandfather say if he saw her now? How could she approach the very men who were trying to replace the proud legacy of the lector ? But she had no choice.
To succeed in the Anglos’ world she must be bold, like Aunt Lola, instead of letting other people control her life, like Mama!
Bella held her breath and opened the heavy glass door. To make the lobby look modern, fluorescent lights had been hung from the high ceiling, and the walls had been painted silver gray. The furniture was made of chromed tubes and stiff black cushions.
A secretary sat behind a long counter, typing. Bella had to say “Excuse me” before she turned.
“Yes?” the secretary said, keeping one eye on her typewriter.
“Could I—” Bella reminded herself to stand straight and proud, as Lola had taught her. “I mean, may I speak to the manager?”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“He’s a real busy fellow,” the secretary said.
“I understand,” Bella said, “but my grandfather and I would like to read on the radio.”
“You can fill out an application.” The secretary handed Bella a form and turned back to her typewriter.
Bella stared at the paper. Grandfather would never submit to the indignity of filling out an application. “But you don’t understand,” Bella said. “My grandfather is a lector.”
“There’s lots of folks who want to be on the air.” The secretary began typing. “If he’s serious, just have him fill out—”
“What have we here?” A handsome young man walked toward Bella. He was wearing a brown suit and polished two-toned shoes. “Hi there.” He leaned on the counter. “I’ll bet you’re a dancer.”
“No.” Bella blushed and smoothed the front of her dress.
“Well, you’ve certainly got a dancer’s legs.” He shook Bella’s hand. “I’m Jim Parsons, the assistant manager.”
“Nice to meet you.” Bella smiled and looked him in the eye.
“You must be a singer, then,” Parsons said. “If your voice is half as pretty as your face, I’ll see that you get your very own show.” The secretary rolled her eyes and went back to work. “So what’s your name?”
“Bella Lorente. But—”
“Say no more. Bella, Bella.” He ran his hand through his slicked-back blond hair. “I have it. Spanish, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“I have the perfect billing: Bella Lorente, the Spanish Songstress.”
Bella laughed.
“No good?” the young man said.
“I’m not a singer.”
“So I’m all wet?” Parsons stopped.
“I’m here because my grandfather—”
“We’re looking for fresh programming, Miss Lorente.”
“Both my grandfather and I would like to perform on the radio. I tell stories and he is a lector—the most famous reader in all of Ybor City.”
“¿Comprende español?”
“Yes, and Grandfather’s grammar and diction are perfect.”
“We don’t care about technical stuff.”
“My grandfather makes his living reading stories, and he’s taught me well.”
“Well, we’ve been tinkering with the idea of a Spanish story hour. We may make it a regular feature. You and your grandpa should try out.”
“That would be wonderful,” Bella said.
“Bring him down here on Thursday afternoon, and I’ll see that the boss gives you an audition.”
Bella was so excited to tell Mama the news that she went straight home without changing her clothes. When she walked in the back door, Mama cried, “You’ve gone to the jail again!”
“No, Mama. I went to WTAM Radio.”
After Bella explained her plan, Mama only said, “You’re so smart! But Grandfather will never go near the radio station.”
“He’s got to at least try!”
The next morning Bella stopped at the market and Ferlita’s and brought Grandfather breakfast. He looked at the tray without interest until he saw the butter. “One-way bread?” he said. “Have you forgotten there’s a Depression going on?”
“I made a trip to the bakery.”
“Can it be my birthday?”
“No, but I took a ride on the trolley yesterday, and I have some good news for you.”
Grandfather smelled his bread. “What sort of news?”
“I visited WTAM Radio, and they want us to audition for their new Spanish story program.”
“The radio!” Grandfather set his bread down and stared at Bella. “Have you lost your mind?”
“If you can hold the attention of a hall filled with cigar workers, it will be a hundred times easier to talk into a microphone.”
“But I know nothing of those machines. The very thought of my voice flying through the air makes me dizzy.”
“Don’t the people of Ybor deserve to have literature performed properly?” Bella asked.
“But the radio?”
“Imagine what a help the extra money would be in paying Lola’s lawyer. Not to mention food for the little ones. It hurts so much to see them go hungry.”
Grandfather sighed deeply and looked at his hands.
“I told them we were a team,” Bella said. “Would you do it for me?”
“For you?” He sat up and took her hand. “Yes, my dear, for you and the family I will.”
“And remember we’re a team,” Bella said, giving him a big hug and a kiss. She ran out the door before he could change his mind.
CHAPTER 28
The Audition
On the day of the audition Bella stopped by Mary’s on her way to Grandfather’s.
“I’m so afraid he’s going to back out,” she said as Mary fixed her hair for her.
“Act confident,” Mary said. “Think of how Lola would do it.”
Bella smiled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I met a cute young man at the radio station whom Lola would like very much,” Bella said.
“She does like her men young,” Mary chuckled.
“She likes them any age. I miss her so much.”
“No one could make me laugh like her,” Mary said.
“She’s not gone forever,” Bella said. “I’m not giving up until she’s free.”
“The trolley awaits us, Señor García,” Bella called as she knocked on Grandfather’s front door.
“I’m really too old for this.” Grandfather didn’t get up from his chair, but he looked elegant in his white suit coat and shirt, gold cuff links, silk tie, and dark pants.
“Today is your chance to prove that radio can have a higher and more honorable purpose,” Bella said.
“So now it comes down to honor?” Grandfather gave Bella a wry smile.
“Indeed it does.” Bella grinned. “Your hat, señor?” She took his hat from the stand and handed it to him.
Grandfather looked up at the shiny WTAM sign. “I know you meant well, but—”
“You’ll be great.” Bella snatched the door open and pulled him inside.
“May I help you?” the secretary asked.
“We have an appointment to see Mr. Parsons,” Bella said.
The woman frowned at her appointment calendar. “I don’t see anything. Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” Bella said.
“Miss Lorente,” a voice interrupted. “You’re right
on time.”
Bella looked up. Parsons was walking down the hall.
“You must be Mr. Lorente.” He clapped his left hand on Grandfather’s shoulder and shook his hand with his right.
“My name is Roberto García.”
“Pleased to meet you. This little girl of yours is a knockout.” Parsons winked at Bella. “Howard’s in a meeting right now. If you folks’ll have a seat, he should be finished shortly.”
The springs of the couch squeaked as Grandfather and Bella sat down. “I feel like I’m waiting to have surgery,” Grandfather whispered.
“They’re going to love you,” Bella said. “They will.”
The secretary went back to her typing. Bella knew that Grandfather hated typewriters as much as he hated radios. “A letter should be written by hand,” he often said. “How insulting and lazy to have a machine do your writing for you.”
After the secretary had finished her letter and answered two phone calls, Grandfather pulled out his watch and frowned.
“I’m sure it won’t be much longer,” Bella said.
He shifted his hat from one hand to the other and looked at the door. “I’m sorry, Bella, but this wasn’t meant to be.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to give a little notice when you set these things up, Jim.” A voice drifted down the hall. Parsons and an older man were walking their way.
“Mr. García and Miss Lorente,” Parsons said. “I’d like you to meet Robert Howard, our station manager.”
“Nice of you to stop by.” Howard extended his hand to Grandfather. “Jim tells me you’re willing to try a reading.”
Grandfather’s legs were stiff as he got up. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Howard.” Grandfather shook his hand.
“Call me Bob. If you’ll come this way, the studio should be ready.” Howard and Parsons started down the hall.
Grandfather turned to Bella. He looked old and tired. His suit was rumpled, and his hair was plastered down on one side.
“Won’t it be exciting if the radio turns out to be your new calling?” Bella said.
“The mike is waiting,” Parsons called.
“You said you’d do it for me.” Bella took Grandfather’s hand. “And we’ve come all this way.”
With a sigh, Grandfather turned to follow the men. Bella was feeling good until she saw the bright lights of the studio. Three of the walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling curtains, and the fourth held a glass-windowed control booth. A microphone stood at the front of the room. In the near corner a glamorous woman in a silky green dress was sitting at a piano bench and reading the lines of a script to a man.
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