“You will find me a thoughtful man.” He turned as the maid entered, carrying a tray which held a brandy decanter and globular glasses.
She set it down and withdrew. Santiago poured three drinks. “As you see, I anticipated this moment.” He extended glasses to Louise and myself, then raised his own. “A toast to you, Mr. Brandon. I appreciate your great talent, and your even greater wisdom.”
“Wisdom?” Louise gave him a puzzled glance.
“Exactly.” He nodded. “I have no schooling in art, but I do know that a project such as this can be dangerous.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There is always the temptation to go on, to overdo. But Mr. Brandon knows when to stop. He has demonstrated, shall we say, the artistic conscience. Let us drink to his decision.”
Santiago sipped his brandy. Louise took a token swallow and I followed suit. Again I wondered how much he knew.
“You do not know just what this moment means to me,” he said. “To stand here in this house, with this portrait of the one I love—it is the dream of a poor boy come true.”
“But you weren’t always poor,” Louise said. “You told me yourself that your father was a wealthy man.”
“So he was.” Santiago paused to drink again. “I passed my childhood in luxury; I lacked for nothing until my father died. But then my older brother inherited the estancia and I left home to make my own way in the world. Perhaps it is just as well, for there is much in the past which does not bear looking into. But I have heard stories.” He smiled at me. “There is one in particular which may interest you,” he said.
“Several years after I left, my brother’s wife died in childbirth. Naturally he married again, but no one anticipated his choice. A nobody, a girl without breeding or background, but one imagines her youth and beauty enticed him.”
Did his sidelong glance at Louise hold a meaning or was that just my imagination? Now his eyes were fixed on me again.
“Unlike his first wife, his new bride did not conceive, and it troubled him. To make certain he was not at fault, during this period he fathered several children by various serving-maids at the estancia. But my brother did not reproach his wife for her defects; instead he summoned a physician. His examination was inconclusive, but during its course he made another discovery—my brother’s wife had the symptoms of an obscure eye condition, a malady which might some day bring blindness.
“The physician advised immediate surgery, but she was afraid the operation itself could blind her. So great was this fear that she made my brother swear a solemn oath upon the Blessed Virgin that, no matter what happened, no one would be allowed to touch her eyes.”
“Poor woman!” Louise repressed a shudder. “What happened?”
“Naturally, after learning of her condition, my brother abstained from the further exercise of his conjugal rights. According to the physician it was still possible she might conceive, and if so perhaps her malady might be transmitted to the child. Since my brother had no wish to bring suffering into the world he turned elsewhere for his pleasures. Never once did he complain of the inconvenience she caused him in this regard. His was the patience of a saint. One would expect her to be grateful for his thoughtfulness, but it is the nature of women to lack true understanding.”
Santiago took another swallow of his drink. “To his horror, my brother discovered that his wife had taken a lover. A young boy who worked as a gardener at the estancia. The betrayal took place while he was away; he now spent much time in Buenos Aires, where he had business affairs and the consolation of a sympathetic and understanding mistress.
“When the scandal was reported to him he at first refused to believe, but within weeks the evidence was unmistakable. His wife was pregnant.”
“He divorced her?” Louise murmured.
Santiago shrugged. “Impossible. My brother was a religious man. But there was a need to deal with the gossip, the sly winks, the laughter behind his back. His reputation, his very honor, was at stake.”
I took advantage of his pause to jump in. “Let me finish the story for you,” I said. “ Knowing his wife’s fear of blindness, he insisted on the operation and bribed the surgeon to destroy her eyesight.”
Santiago shook his head. “You forgot—he had sworn to the pobrecita that her eyes would not be touched.”
“What did he do?” Louise said.
“He sewed up her eyelids.” Santiago nodded. “Never once did he touch the eyes themselves. He sewed her eyelids shut with catgut and banished her to a guesthouse with a servingwoman to attend her every need.”
“Horrible!” Louise whispered.
“I am sure she suffered,” Santiago said. “But mercifully, not for long. One night a fire broke out in the bedroom of the guesthouse while the servingwoman was away. No one knows how it started—perhaps my brother’s wife knocked over a candle. Unfortunately the door was locked and the servingwoman had the only key. A great tragedy.”
I couldn’t look at Louise, but I had to face him. “And her lover?” I asked.
“He ran for his life, into the pampas. It was there that my brother tracked him down with the dogs and administered a suitable punishment.”
“What sort of punishment would that be?”
Santiago raised his glass. “The young man was stripped and tied to a tree. His genitals were smeared with wild honey. You have heard of the fire ants, amigo? They swarmed in this area—and they will devour anything which bears even the scent of honey.”
Louise made a strangled sound in her throat, then turned and ran from the room.
Santiago gulped the rest of his drink. “It would seem I have upset her,” he said. “This was not my intention—”
“Just what was your intention?” I met the bull-man’s gaze. “Your story doesn’t upset me. This is not the jungle. And you are not your brother.”
Santiago smiled. “I have no brother,” he said.
****
I drove through dusk. Lights winked on along Hollywood Boulevard from the Christmas decorations festooning lampposts and arching overhead. Glare and glow could not completely conceal the shabbiness of sleazy storefronts or blot out the shadows moving past them. Twilight beckoned those shadows from their hiding places; no holiday halted the perpetual parade of pimps and pushers, chickenhawks and hookers, winos and heads. Christmas was coming, but the blaring of tape-deck carols held little promise for such as these, and none for me.
Stonewalling it with Santiago had settled nothing. The truth was that I’d made a little token gesture of defiance, then ran off to let Louise face the music.
It hadn’t been a pretty tune he’d played for the two of us, and now that she was alone with him he’d be free to orchestrate his fury. Was he really suspicious? How much did he actually know? And what would he do?
For a moment I was prompted to turn and go back. But what then? Would I hold Santiago at bay with a tire iron while Louise packed her things? Suppose she didn’t want to leave with me? Did I really love her enough to force the issue?
I kept to my course but the questions pursued me as I headed home.
The phone was ringing as I entered the apartment. My hand wasn’t steady as I lifted the receiver and my voice wasn’t steady either.
“Yes?”
“Darling, I’ve been trying to reach you—”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter. He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Please—I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. But hurry—” I hurried.
And after I parked my car in the empty driveway, after we’d clung to one another in the darkened hall, after we settled on the sofa before the fireplace, Louise dropped her bombshell.
“I’m getting a divorce,” she said.
“Divorce…?”
“When you left he came to my room. He said he wanted to apologize for upsetting me, but that wasn’t the real reason. What he really wanted to do was tell me how he’d sc
ared you off with that story he’d made up.”
“And you believed him?”
“Of course not, darling! I told him he was a liar. I told him you had nothing to be afraid of, and he had no right to humiliate me. I said I was fed up listening to his sick raving, and I was moving out. That wiped the grin off his face in a hurry. You should have seen him—he looked like he’d been hit with a club!”
I didn’t say anything, because I hadn’t seen him. But I was seeing Louise now. Not the ethereal Cinderella of the portrait, and not the scullery-maid—this was another woman entirely; hot-eyed, harsh-voiced, implacable in her fury.
Santiago must have seen as much, and more. He blustered, he protested, but in the end he pleaded. And when he tried to embrace her, things came full circle again. Once more she raked his face with her nails, but this time in final farewell. And it was he who left, stunned and shaken, without even stopping to pack a bag.
“He actually agreed to a divorce?” I said.
Louise shrugged. “Oh, he told me he was going to fight it, but that’s just talk. I warned him that if he tried to stop me in court I’d let it all hang out—the jealousy, the drinking, everything. I’d even testify about how he couldn’t get it up.” She laughed. “Don’t worry, I know Carlos. That’s one kind of publicity he’d do anything to avoid.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.” The hot eyes blazed, the harsh voice sounded huskily in my ear. “You’re here,” she whispered.
And as her mouth met mine, I felt the fury.
****
I left before the maid arrived in the morning, just as I’d always done, even though Louise wanted me to stay.
“Don’t you understand?” I said. “If you want an uncontested divorce, you can’t afford to have me here.”
Dirk Otjens recommended an attorney named Bernie Prager; she went to him and he agreed. He warned Louise not to be seen privately or in public with another man unless there was a third party present.
Louise reported to me by phone. “I don’t think I can stand it, darling —not seeing you—”
“Do you still have the maid?”
“Josefina? She comes in every day, as usual.”
“Then so can I. As long as she’s there we have no problem. I’ll just show up to put a few more finishing touches on the portrait in the afternoons.”
“And in the evenings—”
“That’s when we can blow the whole deal,” I said. “Santiago has probably hired somebody to check on you.”
“No way.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Prager’s nobody’s fool. He’s used to handling messy divorce cases and he knows it’s money in his pocket if he gets a good settlement.” Louise laughed. “Turns out he’s got private investigators on his own payroll. So Carlos is the one being tailed.”
“Where is your husband?”
“He moved into the Sepulveda Athletic Club last night, went to his office today—business as usual.”
“Suppose he hired a private eye by phone?”
“The office lines and the one in his room are already bugged. I told you, Prager’s nobody’s fool.”
“Sounds like an expensive operation.”
“Who cares? Darling, don’t you understand? Carlos has money coming out of his ears. And we’re going to squeeze out more. When this is over, I’ll be set for life. We’ll both be set for life.” She laughed again.
I didn’t share her amusement. Granted, Carlos Santiago wasn’t exactly Mr. Nice. Maybe he deserved to be cuckolded, deserved to lose Louise. But was she really justified in taking him for a bundle under false pretenses?
And was I any better if I stood still for it? I thought about what would happen after the divorce settlement was made. No more painting, no more hustling for commissions. I could see myself with Louise, sharing the sweet life, the big house, big cars, travel, leisure, luxuries. And yet, as I sketched a mental portrait of my future, my artist’s eye noted a shadow. The shadow of one of those pimps prowling Hollywood Boulevard.
It wasn’t a pretty picture.
But when I arrived in the afternoon sunshine of Louise’s living room, the shadow vanished in the glow of her gaiety.
“Wonderful news, darling!” she greeted me. “Carlos is gone.”
“You already told me—”
She shook her head. “I mean really gone,” she said. “Prager’s people just came through with a report. He phoned in for reservations on the noon flight to New Orleans. One of his tankers is arriving there and he’s going to supervise unloading operations. He won’t be back until after the holidays.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Prager sent a man to LAX. He saw Carlos take off. And all his calls are being referred to the company office in New Orleans.”
She hugged me. “Isn’t that marvelous? Now we can spend Christmas together.” Her eyes and voice softened. “That’s what I’ve missed the most. A real old-fashioned Christmas, with a tree and everything.”
“But didn’t you and Carlos—”
Louise shook her head. “Something always came up at the last minute—like this New Orleans trip. If we hadn’t split, I’d be on that plane with him right now.
“Did you ever celebrate Christmas in Kuwait? That’s where we were last year, eating lamb curry with some greasy port official. Carlos promised, no more holiday business trips, this year we’d stay home and have a regular Christmas together. You see how he kept his word.”
“Be reasonable,” I said. “Under the circumstances what do you expect?”
“Even if this hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t change anything.” Once again her eyes smoldered and her voice harshened. “He’d still go and drag me with him, just to show off in front of his business friends. ‘Look what I’ve got—hot stuff, isn’t she? See how I dress her, cover her with fancy jewelry?’ Oh yes, nothing’s too good for Carlos Santiago—he always buys the best!”
Suddenly the hot eyes brimmed and the strident voice dissolved into a soft sobbing.
I held her very close. “Come on,” I said. “Fix your face and get your things.”
“Where are we going?”
“Shopping. For ornaments—and the biggest damned Christmas tree in town.”
****
If you’ve ever gone Christmas shopping with a child, perhaps you can understand what the next few days were like. We picked up our ornaments in the big stores along Wilshire; like Hollywood Boulevard, this street too was alive with holiday decorations and the sound of Yuletide carols. But there was nothing tawdry behind the tinsel, nothing mechanical about the music, no shadows to blur the sparkle in Louise’s eyes. To her this make-believe was reality; each day she became a kid again, eager and expectant.
Nights found her eager and expectant too, but no longer a child. The contrast was exciting, and each mood held its special treasures. All but one.
It came upon her late in the afternoon of the twenty-third, when the tree arrived. The deliveryman set it up on a stand in the den and after he left we gazed at it together in the gathering twilight.
All at once she was shivering in my arms.
“What’s the matter?” I murmured.
“I don’t know. Something’s wrong—it feels like there’s someone watching us.”
“Of course.” I gestured toward the easel in the corner. “It’s your portrait.”
“No, not that.” She glanced up at me. “Darling, I’m scared. Suppose Carlos comes back?”
“I phoned Prager an hour ago. He has transcripts of all your husband’s calls up until noon today. Carlos phoned his secretary from New Orleans and said he’ll be there through the twenty-seventh.”
“Suppose he comes back without notifying the office?”
“If he does he’ll be spotted—Prager’s keeping the airport staked out, just in case.” I kissed her. “Now stop worrying. There’s no sense being paranoid—”
“Paranoid.”
I could feel her shivering again. “Carlos is the one who’s paranoid. Remember that horrible story he told us—”
“But it was only a story. He has no brother.”
“I think it’s true. He did those things.”
“That’s what he wanted us to think. It was a bluff, and it didn’t work. And we’re not going to let him spoil our holiday.”
“All right.” Louise nodded, brightening. “When do we decorate the tree?”
“Christmas Eve,” I said. “Tomorrow night.”
****
It was late the following morning when I left—almost noon—and already Josefina was getting ready to depart. She had some last-minute shopping to do, she said, for her family.
And so did I.
“When will you be back?” Louise asked.
“A few hours.”
“Take me with you.”
“I can’t—it’s a surprise.”
“Promise you’ll hurry then, darling.” Her eyes were radiant. “I can’t wait to trim the tree.”
“I’ll make it as soon as possible.”
But “soon” is a relative term and—when applied to parking and shopping on the day before Christmas—an unrealistic one.
I knew exactly what I was looking for, but it was close to closing-time in the little custom-jewelry place where I finally found it.
I’d never bought an engagement ring before and didn’t know if Louise would approve of my choice. The stone was marquise-cut but it looked tiny and insignificant in comparison with the diamonds Santiago had given her. Still, people are always saying it’s the sentiment that counts. I hoped she’d feel that way.
When I stepped out onto the street again it was already ablaze with lights and the sky above had dimmed from dusk to darkness. On the way to my car I found a phone booth and put in a call to Prager’s office.
There was no answer.
I might have anticipated his office would be closed—if there’d been a party, it was over now. Perhaps I could reach him at home after I got back to the house. On the other hand, why bother? If there’d been anything to report he’d have phoned Louise immediately.
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