Embraced by the Shadows

by Mayra Calvani

  "Hmmm.” Valeria considered. “I thought you couldn't stand the sight of him."

  "Let's just say he's not as much a bastard as I thought he was. The other night, at the opening ... well, he wasn't so bad."

  "Well, well, well,” Valeria said. “At last you have admitted it. I told you how serious he was, and hardworking, and loyal, and responsible."

  Alana snorted, bewildered. “A second ago you wanted him dead. Now you're his lawyer. Anyway, don't push it. Loyal? Give me a break."

  "Human emotions are very complex. Love and hate are eternally united."

  "Tell me about it. No wonder I feel like killing you sometimes."

  Valeria made an impatient gesture with her hands. “Forget about the Pirate and let's talk about Humberto,” she said, grinning. “There might be possibilities for you."

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "What's so ridiculous about it? He's rich and handsome and..."

  "And?"

  "And he has always felt something for you."

  Alana sneered. “What about for you?” She sprang to her feet and went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator. Bending back her head, she drained almost half of it in a few greedy gulps. The liquid was delicious, cold and thick and sweet.

  Valeria watched her from the kitchen doorway, apparently mesmerized by her voracity. “Take it easy, you're going to choke yourself to death.” Then she went on talking about Humberto. “Okay, so he had it for both of us. That's no secret. The question is, do we still have feelings for him?"

  "We do—did, I mean."

  They stared a each other, a compressed smile on both their faces.

  "Uh-huh,” Valeria said.

  "It was all a game."

  "All a game?"

  "All a game,” Alana said.

  "But you were attracted to him. Very attracted ... and I mean animal attraction."

  Alana shrugged, smiling. “We were healthy kids. It was all a game."

  "You keep saying that. He was the first boy you ever kissed ... we ever kissed,” Valeria said.

  She looked at Valeria, bewildered. “So?"

  "Wouldn't you like him to be the first?"

  "As he was yours?"

  Valeria sighed. “How many times will I have to tell you that I've never slept with him? My God, you've nailed this idea into your brain,” she protested, making a restless gesture with her hands. She paused. “You're not going to answer me?"

  "Curiosity killed the cat."

  "Be serious!"

  "If I would like Humberto to be the first? Hell, no. He's like a brother to me."

  Valeria scoffed. “Come on, don't give me that. I know you."

  "You think you know me,” Alana slowly said.

  Valeria laughed, but she appeared to sober a bit. “We'll celebrate your first time."

  Alana held the bottle of orange juice tightly in her hand. Why did Valeria enjoy doing this to her? Why did they take perverse pleasure in driving each other crazy? It was like an addiction, like a drug. Were they deranged?

  Valeria leaned against the doorway and folded her arms across her chest. “Let me ask you something, Alana. When was the last time you were kissed by a man?"

  Alana felt a wave of heat rise to her cheeks. Oddly, the memory of this hot sensation seemed to her distinctively recent. “Why are you obsessed with my private life? You pretend to joke about it, but you're obsessed with it.” And yet she was smiling coldly, tauntingly.

  "Obsessed with your private life? What private life?"

  "At least I don't jump from one bed to another like a whore,” Alana said, and immediately regretted it. God, the sudden urge to pull Valeria into her arms and give her a fierce hug was almost unbearable. But she refused to let her feelings show.

  Valeria didn't reply, momentarily wounded and at loss for words. But surprisingly, she didn't insult her back. Instead she changed the conversation drastically. “What should I wear tonight? Can you lend me the green silk dress?” she said, her voice a mixture of forgiveness and reproach.

  Alana's eyes dropped to the bottle of orange juice in her hand. “Sure ... yes, sure."

  "Thank you,” Valeria said, turning toward her room.

  "Your welcome."

  From under her lowered lashes, Alana watched her go and then gulped down the rest of the orange juice, savoring its thickness and sweetness as it flowed down her throat. Some of it trickled down her chin and she wiped it off with the back of her hand. Lately she had been feeling unusually thirsty, like a dry old sponge, insatiable.

  * * * *

  "Let's get drunk tonight, like old times. If we get too smashed to drive, we'll call a taxi,” Humberto said. He was sitting across from Valeria at one of the corner tables of the restaurant. Beside their table, protruding from the wall, stood an old decrepit skeleton, medieval-looking torchlights casting ghostly flickering shadows on either side of it.

  "Let's drink to that,” Valeria said, bringing her glass of red wine to her lips.

  Alana laughed. “Remember the last time we got drunk, last summer?"

  "Oh, my God, yes!” Valeria said. “You were playing chess. You almost killed each other. Who won, anyway?"

  "No one. Before it was over Alana hurled the chess board across the room. All the pieces went flying all over the place. I was winning, naturally,” Humberto said.

  "No, no. That was on another night,” Alana protested. “The last time we got drunk we got into an argument about vigilantism and justice."

  "Oh, yeah. That's true,” Humberto said. “We can argue about less sensitive topics tonight. About music and books, or about food and wine. Or about paintings. I just got this new video documentary on Dali."

  Valeria looked alarmed. “No please! I don't want to hear about Dali tonight. You get too carried away."

  "I love Dali. His paintings are like my nightmares,” Alana said. “But paintings with angels are my favorite."

  "I think paintings with angels are spooky,” Valeria said.

  Valeria and Humberto had arrived more than an hour ago. Alana had welcomed him warmly, hugging and kissing and thanking him profusely for the flowers, and people had turned their heads to look at them. Three beautiful young people. The three Musketeers. Alana had quickly showed them to the table she had reserved, and Valeria and Humberto drank and ate extravagantly, loving the food but feeling sorry for Alana for not being able to sit with them. Alana had hardly had any free time to talk to them. Friday and Saturday nights were the busiest, and the restaurant had been swarming with customers since eight o'clock.

  Humberto loved the place, loved Alana's costume and make-up. He told them he had been to a similar place in Los Angeles, a swanky tavern called Fangs, very popular among university students.

  He was tall and slender, but his body was well-shaped and muscled, due to many years of karate—not a sport he took seriously, but more like a hobby. His skin was deeply tanned. During the summers, when he surfed almost everyday, his skin took such a dark hue it made him look like a mulatto. His hair was brown, not a dull brown but the kind of brown that glows like chestnuts, and fell in unruly waves down to his neck. But the most amazing feature were his eyes, big and brown and gentle, surrounded by dark lashes that were long like Spanish fans, and set under thick brows. Eyes that were solemn, but that often sparked with understanding and kindness. He was a nervous person, always doing something with his hands and feet, endlessly swaying his legs when sitting. He had always been hyperactive. Still was. His father owned the most successful Mercedes Benz dealership on the island. But even though he had grown up in a rich family, Humberto never acted spoiled or arrogant. On the contrary. He was very friendly, generous, and that's why people liked him.

  Humberto and Valeria remained at the table drinking wine until Alana ordered the CLOSED sign put out. She left a few instructions with her assistant, a zombie who was actually the person responsible for locking up the place, then she beckoned Humberto and Valeria to follow h
er.

  They left the restaurant talking and laughing, their arms wrapped around each other like the three musketeers, Humberto squeezed in the middle.

  As they went down the narrow corridor to the nightclub, Humberto gasped at the torchlights and skulls around him and said, feigning an intense shudder, “Oh, my God! I'm sooooo scared! Please hold me tight!” And he shut his eyes and snuggled between them.

  Alana and Valeria giggled. And for a moment it truly felt like old times.

  At the end of the corridor the werewolf porter opened the door for them, and in a minute they were swallowed by the darkly magical gloominess of the club. Victor, dressed as Dracula, greeted Alana and Valeria with a kiss and they introduced him to Humberto.

  "I have your table. Follow me,” Victor shouted, trying to get himself heard over the loud music.

  After they were seated, Humberto ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon. Alana and Valeria protested, saying he didn't have to, that it was too expensive.

  "Don't worry, I'll pay for it with my credit card,” Humberto said.

  "You still have to pay your credit card bills, don't you?” Alana said.

  "I said don't worry,” Humberto said.

  "What's the occasion?” Victor said, his imposing Dracula figure bending forward over their table.

  "An old-time friends’ reunion,” Alana said, looking up at him.

  "I'll bring the bottle myself. It's not everyday we open a Dom Perignon,” Victor said, giving them a wink and stalking off, his black cape flaring behind him.

  "That's sweet of you, Humberto, but you really didn't have to do it. The important thing is that we're together. Any bottle of wine would have been just fine,” Alana said.

  "He didn't let me pay for my dinner, either,” Valeria told her, though she added, “I've never had Dom Perignon before."

  Humberto smiled. “What about you, Alana?"

  She shrugged. “Me neither ... But it's just champagne, isn't it?"

  "You see how she is, Humberto? The problem with her is that she doesn't know how to live,” Valeria said.

  "Okay, let's not make a big deal out of it. It's just champagne. It's nothing,” Humberto said, leaning his elbows on the table. His eyes settled on Alana's neck.

  "Very nice, Alana. Your necklace."

  "Everybody loves that necklace,” Valeria said.

  He frowned. “That's strange. I feel as though I've seen that necklace somewhere before. Or something similar to it. But I don't remember where."

  "Really?” Alana said. “Let me know if you remember, okay? I'm dying to know about it myself."

  Then they explained to Humberto all the mystery surrounding La Cueva del Vampiro, and how they thought everything was probably a publicity scam.

  After a moment Victor came back with their bottle of Dom Perignon, and Alana noticed that some of the people from other tables were glancing curiously at them.

  Victor uncorked the bottle. A faint popping sound was heard—the music swallowed up most of the sound—and Victor poured the foamy crystalline liquid into their glasses. Under the red shafts of light that stemmed from the stalactites, the champagne had acquired an ominous reddish glow.

  Victor wished them a fun night and walked off, disappearing among the heads of the crowd. Alana was glad she had called earlier to reserve a table. The club was filled. All of the tables seemed taken, and the dancing floor swarmed with young swirling bodies. The long sarcophagus-bar at the end of the room was so packed with customers it was impossible to see the bartenders.

  "To friendship,” Alana said, lifting her glass of champagne.

  Humberto and Valeria raised their glasses and repeated in unison, “To friendship."

  They clinked glasses, their eyes beaming with happiness. And drank.

  "Mmmm,” Valeria said, and drank some more. “It's really delicious. I never thought it would make so much difference, but it does. How will I ever go back to normal champagne now?"

  "Marry me, and you won't have to,” Humberto said.

  "Don't say that! I might take you seriously,” Valeria said.

  "Yes, it's really delicious,” Alana said. She tilted her head back and gulped down the rest of the glass.

  Valeria laughed. “For God's sake, Alana! This is not beer! You have to savor it and take pleasure in each tiny sip."

  "I'm thirsty,” Alana said, licking her lips. Her throat felt parched, and the coolness of the champagne was so soothing...

  "Let me refill your glass,” Humberto said, reaching for the bottle in the silver ice-bucket and pouring her more champagne.

  There was a moment of silence in which the three looked at each other, as if not knowing what to say next. Then they laughed.

  "Great. Now that we're together I don't know what the hell to talk about,” Humberto said.

  "I guess I wore him down during dinner,” Valeria said, biting her lower lip and giving them a melodramatic sad look.

  Humberto shook his head, taking her seriously. “No, no, you didn't."

  Valeria turned to Alana. “I told him all about our jobs, our new apartment, our fights together—you know, a synopsis of our present lives. So you don't have to bore him with the same story over again."

  "She couldn't possibly bore me,” Humberto said, looking at Alana. His big brown eyes flickered with warmth, and threw her a look that clearly said, Valeria will never change, will she?

  But Alana said, “She's right. And anyway, you know how I hate talking about myself. I prefer when Valeria does it for me. So let's talk about you. How does it feel being an astronomer?"

  "He's not an astronomer yet,” Valeria said.

  "Valeria, please. Drink your champagne and let the poor guy talk,” Alana said.

  "What did I do? Okay, okay, I'll be a good girl,” Valeria said.

  Alana turned to Humberto. “Just ignore her,” she said.

  Humberto laughed. “You two will never change.” Then he added, “It's true, though. To call myself an astronomer I need at least a master's degree. Right now I just have a bachelor's in physics."

  Alana leaned her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. “Valeria told me you plan to start your master's in the spring semester."

  Humberto nodded, somewhat guiltily. “Yeah, I should go back to school at the beginning of September, but I'm really worn down. I thought it'd be nice to stay here for a while. I miss my father, too. I want to spend some time with him."

  Alana's eyes lit up. “How's he doing? I haven't seen him in years."

  "Oh, he's fine. Forever the businessman, he never gives up."

  "How old is he now?” Alana said.

  "Almost seventy. But he still looks fifty-five,” he said. “You know? He always asks me about you."

  "I think the last time I saw him was four years ago. Yes, yes. Do you remember? After our high-school graduation he gave a big pool party at your home,” Alana said.

  Alana frowned, picturing Humberto's father in her mind. Antonio Curet. A tall, good-looking, middle-aged man with dark-rimmed glasses and suntanned skin, always impeccably dressed, and always carrying a chic, elegant briefcase.

  After the death of his wife, when Humberto was only five, he had remained unmarried. He was a successful man. Besides the Mercedes Benz dealership, he owned an office building in Hato Rey, a parking lot, and a few coffee shops. If there was more, Alana didn't know. There was always one or two men around him ... secretaries? But listening to Humberto talk about his father, she had grown to admire him. He had been born in poverty in Santo Domingo and had left school and started working at fourteen. He had been a taxi and truck driver in New York, then he had started lending money to people ... and in this way his fortune had begun. He was a self-made man, lived in a sumptuous mansion in one of the most prestigious neighborhoods of the city, and was very generous with his family and friends, always making sure his nieces and nephews went to good schools and universities. He had always wished for Humberto to become a lawyer.

  Of course,
all this information Alana had gotten from Humberto, for she had hardly ever sat down and talked with Señor Curet. Except ... except for the difficult time immediately following her mother's death, when Señor Curet had been deeply consoling her and her uncle, offering his help in any way possible. Alana remembered him at the funeral. He had clenched his jaw, and for a moment his face had contorted with raw, piercing grief.

  Something doesn't feel right.

  Alana snapped back to the present, abruptly shoving away the memory as she shoved her thick reddish hair away from her face. She gulped down some more champagne, her hand clasped tightly around the glass.

  Humberto talked about his studies, about Los Angeles, about a girl he had recently met this summer and with whom he had gone on the camping trip—a librarian seven years his senior who loved wine and books. He talked about California, a place he loved and where eventually he planned to work and live.

  Then Alana talked about Boston, about its splendid autumns and merciless winters, about how she had led a quiet life there, keeping away from parties and concentrating on her studies. Humberto asked her if she had visited Salem, a place she had been obsessed with since she was in high school, when she had been forever talking about witches and their infamous trials.

  Alana nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes! I went last year. You won't believe it, but the first thing you see when you enter the town is a cemetery. There's a witch museum and a couple of other historical places. I stayed two nights, a Friday and a Saturday. Actually, there was nothing out of the world there, but I loved it. I loved the sensation of being there. I stayed in a very picturesque little inn, next to a small forest. That night ... it was so strange, that night...” she stopped, her eyes suddenly widening with bewilderment. She had had a strange dream in Salem, a dream which up to this point had been blurred in her mind. But now, astoundingly enough, she could remembered it with amazing clarity.

  "What is it?” Valeria said, nudging Alana with her elbow.

  Alana looked at her, feeling disturbingly excited. Yes, the champagne had gotten into her brain cells, but this had nothing to do with it.

  Humberto frowned, gazing expectantly at Alana.