by Meg Medina
For a long moment, she did not move. A boy had never ordered her about, not even Rafael. She looked to Dalia for help, but her expression was blank.
Teresa, however, seemed angrier by the moment. “Did you hear what Señor Umberto said? He’s called you. Go.”
Sonia set down the pot and went to him. Umberto took the eye charm between his sticky fingers and flashed a smile as he pulled her a little closer. His breath was on her shoulders, and his eyes flitted over her bosom.
“Where did you get such a necklace, Sonia Ocampo?” he cooed. “It must have cost a pretty penny.” He looked at his aunt, whose jewelry collection was the talk of every woman in the capital. “What do you think, Tía?”
Señora Masón laid down her paper again and looked over the top of her reading glasses irritably.
“What a question, nephew! Next you’ll confuse glass with sapphire. It’s a cheap rural piece, of course, from the interior,” she said. “The countryside is full of those milagros — and the little superstitions that go with them.”
Sonia forced herself not to speak. Milagros were pounded with care into the shape of each person’s hope, she knew. They weren’t cheap — in any way.
“But where did you get it?” Umberto insisted, holding his nose rudely to the metal and helping himself to another look inside her uniform.
She tugged firmly enough to step back.
“It was a going-away gift,” she said quietly.
“Oh,” he said, pouting. “A boyfriend, I suppose.”
Suddenly, he screamed and jumped back from the table. Hot coffee was steaming in his lap and dripping onto the Oriental rug.
“You stupid girl!” he shouted at Dalia. “You’ve ruined my suit! I’m scalded!”
“A million pardons,” Dalia said without a trace of remorse in her voice. She looked at Sonia severely. “We will need more coffee. Fetch it now.”
Old Teresa snatched the coffeepot from Dalia, complaining loudly about the shabby qualifications of modern workers.
“You’ll do well to call Arenas, señora,” Teresa said.
Sonia backed from the room, her eyes meeting Dalia’s for a split second as the insults rained down. She’d scalded him on purpose; Sonia was sure of it. Dalia was never careless.
She raced all the way to the kitchen, grateful that Ramona was at the gate, arguing with the grocer about a bill. How would she explain such a catastrophe?
Eva shook her head as she filled a new carafe, listening to Sonia’s account of what happened.
“Hmpf.” She buttoned up her uniform to the chin and pushed the door open with her bottom. “Stay here, mi vida.”
Sonia watched her disappear through the door. The kitchen suddenly felt empty and large. Teresa would have Ramona’s ear about Dalia before the day was through.
Sonia sat down at the worktable, her mind carefully going over the morning’s events. What could she do to repair them? She knew all the girls would pay for what happened — even Dalia.
She changed into her work apron, her hands still shaking. The birds in the ice chest were all plucked and chilled by the time the others returned.
“WHO EVER HEARD of such a thing? Two girls needed to buy the bread and cheeses in town? ¡Qué cosa! People will say we’re hiring the simpleminded!” Old Teresa grimaced at the sprig of daisies she was arranging in a vase.
“I want them to go,” Dalia said from the corner, where she was carving radishes into rosebuds. “I’ll finally get my work done in peace.”
“And who asked your opinion?” Teresa barked.
“I think it’s the perfect day for the girls to go,” Ramona said. “La señora will be at the polo matches today. Have you forgotten? We won’t have guests to worry about. Besides, Sonia hasn’t seen the city yet.”
“That one?” The old woman rolled her eyes to the heavens. “She needs to learn hard work, that’s all. She won’t learn that by strolling around like an empress!”
Ramona smiled at Teresa. “I’ve heard Oscar say you were once quite a beauty strolling along the avenues, too.”
Sonia tried not to gape at the thought. It was impossible to imagine a shriveled crone like Teresa being carefree and pretty.
“Keep this in a safe place, oíste?” Ramona handed Eva several bills.
“No one will lay his hands on this,” Eva promised, tucking it inside her brassiere.
“Unless you want him to,” Dalia muttered.
“And for you, the list,” Ramona told Sonia. “Don’t forget: It’s the stop by the amphitheater. The stop after that is Colonia Vásquez.” She shuddered and pointed at Sonia’s shiny charm. “Tuck that in. Pickpockets and thieves are the order of the day there.”
Eva hooked a basket over her wrist and pointed to the kitchen clock, her eyes shiny with excitement.
“Let’s go, cariño!” She grabbed Sonia by the elbow and hurried toward the door. “We’ll miss the morning trolley!”
Using Cuca’s map, they got off at the appointed stop and climbed the steep hills toward the market. Unlike Tres Montes, the shops here were all indoors and boasted elegant plate-glass windows. Eva dallied at each to admire the finely dressed mannequins, contemplating the attire as if it were in the reach of her empty pocketbook.
“¡Qué belleza!” she said, pressing her nose to the glass of a dress shop. A wide-brimmed hat with a purple sash had caught her eye. “That color complements my eyes.”
Sonia squinted to read the price tag and gasped.
“We’ll have to work until we’re old women to buy that,” she said. “It’s more than a year’s worth of wages!”
Eva pouted. “This way, then, spoilsport.”
She unbuttoned the top of her uniform to show off her neck and crossed the busy street with confidence. Sonia followed, only narrowly dodging a man maneuvering his heavy vegetable cart over the cobblestones.
“Careful!” he huffed, just as she bumped into the street sweeper, pushing his broom.
“Look where you’re walking, señorita!” cried the other.
Sonia mumbled her apologies and rushed to catch Eva, who was nearly lost inside the mob of servants dashing about on their early morning errands. All were dressed in the fussy uniforms of the houses they served. Eva knew each house by heart.
“The red shirts belong to the Rodero family, the pale green skirts to Ortiz.” She waved at a girl she recognized. “And that bile-yellow sash is an atrocity of the La Calles,” she added under her breath. “Even our widow’s garb is better than that.”
When they finally reached the food market, it was already as crowded as an ant colony. Their strategy was for Sonia to read the items aloud as Eva spied the right vendor and pushed her way to the front of each line. They bought fresh milk and cream, picked tangerines for ambrosia, waited for two loaves of bread to be pulled from the baker’s oven, and found cuts of pork that would not become too hard in Dalia’s fryer.
By midday their baskets felt heavy, and their backs were soaked with perspiration. The black uniforms seemed to draw in every last ray of sunshine.
“I can’t walk another step,” Eva groaned, sinking onto a shady bench near a long line of parked cars. She unlaced her heavy shoes and pried them off before rolling down her stockings to cool her legs. “It’s no wonder Ramona has such flat feet.”
A familiar voice interrupted her. “What’s the matter? You girls look like two wilted flowers!”
It was Oscar, the house chauffeur. He looked like a dapper grandfather in his bow tie and cap, leaning against his black car, newspaper under his arm. A round-faced dollop of a man, he often came to the kitchen window in the afternoon to escape the silly conversations of his own young apprentices, who always bragged about girlfriends, fast cars, and horse races.
“Oscar! What a miracle to find you here!” Eva said as he joined them.
“Not really. I’ve taken la señora to her engagement. I won’t be needed until the afternoon.”
Eva offered a sly smile to Sonia and check
ed her reflection in the buffed hood. Passersby were admiring the stately automobile, wondering, like Sonia, about the luxuries inside.
“I don’t suppose you’d take us home. You can drop us by the back gate so Teresa doesn’t see. It’s just that the trolley stop is across the plaza. I’ll die before I reach it,” Eva said.
Sonia held her breath. Tía Neli had told her that something this grand might happen. The only vehicle she’d ever known was Rafael’s old truck.
Oscar’s laugh was little bursts of steam through his teeth. “Of course, I’ll take you. I can’t have you perish so stupidly. But if you’re not in a hurry, how about a shaved ice first?” He pointed at a bucktoothed young man smiling amiably from his umbrella cart near the fountain. Oscar turned to Sonia and winked as he handed her two coins.
“That’s my nephew. He gives pretty girls a good price if they smile.”
Sonia stared down at her uniform and then at the healthy flush in Eva’s cheeks.
“Maybe you should go, Eva.”
But Eva only gave Sonia’s hair a little straightening with her fingers. “Give it a try, amorcito. Allure is an art; it takes practice.”
“S-s-s-s-s-s!” Oscar laughed and slapped his knee as Sonia crossed the plaza.
They sat in happy and refreshed silence, enjoying the sights. Workers crisscrossed the busy streets in their smart suits and new shoes. The women left behind a scent of fancy soaps as they whisked by in dresses that only grazed their knees. The men’s pastel ties flapped over their shoulders in the breeze.
But it was a group of schoolgirls that caught Sonia’s attention in particular. Here in the capital, even people her own age looked special in a way she’d never seen at home. No one wore dusty sandals or walked in bare feet. Their hair was combed and pinned, their skin fresh. They looked regal, Sonia thought admiringly, in their pleated skirts and crisp white shirts, a red kerchief tied at their necks. They held books to their chests, shiny ones filled with new and exciting information, she imagined. How nice to be a girl on the way home for a lunch that was prepared by someone else. How lovely not to be the one toiling over steaks and fried potatoes in a grand kitchen that wasn’t her own.
Oscar savored his ice loudly as Sonia watched the group round the corner.
“You know, you remind me of my own granddaughter,” he told her finally.
“I thought I reminded you of your granddaughter,” Eva protested. “You’re shameless.”
Oscar smiled guiltily and pulled a picture from his wallet.
“This is Lara.” He pointed to a girl who looked nothing at all like either one of them. “She dreams of becoming a doctor,” he said proudly.
Sonia studied the photograph. Lara looked to be about fifteen, and she had the bright eyes of hope.
“A doctor? That’s good, Señor Oscar,” Sonia said politely. She did not mention that intelligence meant nothing in Tres Montes, where almost no one finished school, regardless of their talents.
Oscar nodded. “A born intellect. Just like her mother.” He looked at Sonia and dabbed the cold syrup from his lips.
“But you have the high forehead of a bright child, too. I see something special behind your eyes.”
“Not at all, Señor Oscar,” she replied quickly. “I’m quite ordinary. I’m happy with dusting and fetching.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “There’s not something else you want to be?”
Sonia fell into a thoughtful silence. She only knew what she did not want to be. Not magic. Not lonely. Not trapped. Never once had she thought of what she did want, never imagined a future the way Lara did.
“Don’t strain yourself with all that thinking, amorcito,” Eva told her. “How many choices do you think there are for girls like us?”
Sonia smiled at Oscar, who was still waiting patiently for her reply.
“I am not sure what I’ll be, señor. Maybe a teacher.” The words sprang to her lips from the blue. She shrugged at Eva, who looked positively shocked. “You have to admit that ours at home is a disaster.”
On the ride home, they took turns telling Oscar all about silly Irina Gomez. Sonia marveled at the electric car windows as she listened to Eva’s imitations of Irina Gomez.
“It’s from the goodness of my heart that I slave with these harlots and dunces,” Eva said, throwing back her head. “Not even my doctorate in pedagogy — have I mentioned it? — can break through their thick skulls!”
Oscar’s eyes narrowed to watery slits as he laughed at all they said.
What will you be?
Sonia let that question roam through her mind all afternoon after she returned to Casa Masón. In all her life, no one had ever asked her what she hoped to be. They never asked Rafael or Luis or anyone. Irina Gomez certainly hadn’t entertained such thoughts. But neither had her parents, though she knew they loved her. Why not?
She was walking back from the laundry, still admiring Lara’s audacity, when she saw the rear gates open. This time it was not Oscar’s long black car winding through the grounds, but a bright red convertible barreling down the path in her direction. When she looked carefully, she saw that Umberto was behind the wheel.
Sonia stepped on the lawn to let the miniature car pass, but instead it came to a halt right beside her. Umberto looked suntanned, and his hair was tousled. He wore sunglasses and a fine linen shirt that was the same creamy color of the leather seats. From where she was standing, she could even smell his cologne.
“I can never resist stopping for a pretty girl,” he said, smiling. “It’s my weakness. Hop in. It’s Sonia, isn’t it? Come on; I’ll give you a ride to the main house.”
The engine made the ground beneath her feet rumble in a way she did not like. For a moment, she was tongue-tied, thinking of how to escape. The others were back at the kitchen — and she suddenly felt very much alone.
“It’s not far, Señor Umberto,” she said carefully. “I can walk. But thank you very much for the offer.” She started off quickly, but his little car lurched forward.
Umberto took off his glasses and pocketed them before leaning over to open the door. “I insist.”
Sonia stared at the door and the two compact seats. How exactly did one refuse a request from her employer’s nephew?
“You there!” Teresa was hobbling along the path from the garden, waving her handkerchief like a flag. “Come along!”
Sonia breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time since meeting her, she was thankful to lay eyes on the old woman.
“I’m afraid I have to go,” she told Umberto politely.
“Pity,” he said, and zoomed off toward the garage.
She ran to where Teresa was waiting up at the path.
“A la orden, Señora Teresa,” she said, out of breath.
Teresa waited for Umberto’s car to disappear before grabbing Sonia roughly by the arm and leading her toward the house.
“What did you think you were doing out there?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Nothing, Señora Teresa,” Sonia said in shock. “I delivered the laundry and was on my way back. Señor Umberto drove up and offered a ride.”
Teresa squeezed her arm tighter with surprising strength.
“We don’t hire hussies here, you understand? You stay away from that boy.”
“Hussy? It’s nothing like that! I tried to say no —”
The old woman let out a snort and continued on toward the house. The effort of marching at this pace was making her wheeze.
“I’ve lived long enough to smell trouble. I know how some of you country girls think! You want to slip inside the eyes of any rich man and snag his imagination, so his money can solve all your problems. You’ll throw yourself at anything. ¡Tremenda!”
Sonia pulled her arm free at last and stopped near the kitchen door. “But that’s not true, Señora Teresa. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
Teresa’s eye was twitching.
“You are a domestic,” Teresa hissed. “A do
mestic apprentice, in fact, which means you have a place — and that’s in the kitchen, understand? You are not paid to fill the eyes of men, least of all Señor Umberto. Stay away from him. If I see you talking again, I’ll have you on the next train home. Do you hear me?”
Sonia entered the kitchen without a word.
Ramona looked up from her ledger book and frowned when she saw Sonia’s expression. “Is there a problem?”
“Go help the others with the linens,” Teresa snapped. “A word with you, Ramona.” She motioned to the dining room.
Sonia sat down at the table, where Dalia and Eva were already working. Her lips were trembling, and her eyes were brimming with tears of frustration, already imagining her reputation in shreds.
Eva reached for a napkin and looked over her shoulder. “What’s the matter with the old witch now, amor?”
Sonia shook her head as her tears spilled. She reached for a napkin to fold.
“Don’t worry, amorcito,” Eva cooed. “One day, when you’re a teacher, you won’t have to deal with the likes of that old thing — not to mention being spared the trouble making these silly birds.” Four cloth swans were already made for the lunch table.
Dalia looked at Eva with disdain. “Why do you do this, Eva? Let this silly girl feel sorry for herself? Fill her head with pointless dreams? What are you going to tell her next, eh? That one of these birds can take flight?”
Eva kept her eyes down as she worked. “Don’t be cruel. Some of us still have feelings, Dalia. We haven’t all forgotten how to dream, you know.”
Dalia’s mouth tightened to a line. “Cruel? How about you? You treat this girl like a pampered hothouse flower. She’ll never learn how to survive a single day in the real world. That’s cruel.”
She glanced at Sonia, whose cheeks were now rivers, and shook her head in disgust. “Let me guess: Teresa called you a hussy. She would know — that old cow warmed the bed of Señora Masón’s father for years.” She twisted the next cloth as if wringing a bird’s neck. “In time, you’ll be called worse. Now, stop your stupid tears. You’ve been spoiled long enough, little angel.”