The Sisters of Alameda Street Page 8

  It had been a beautiful wedding. Everyone said so. And she was a radiant bride, according to her mother’s friends. With her hand, Ana felt the cloche cap headpiece hugging her head to make sure it was real. Yes, this was her veil and this man in the tuxedo, white bow tie, and matching gloves was her husband. She held Rafael’s arm tighter as they stood in the greeting line of the Club de Rotarios’s foyer. Faces blended in front of her as they congratulated her. Amanda came by, holding the arm of a tall man with inquisitive green eyes and a regal stance. This must be the mysterious man she’d met the night of the contest, the man she’d been talking about incessantly since that day. But he must have been at least ten years older than them!

  “Ana, this is Nicolas Fornasieri,” she said. “Nicolas, my sister Ana.”

  Ana shook his hand, shocked that such perfection existed outside the Renaissance paintings in Alejandra’s art books.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  He kissed her hand. “Bellissima.”

  Ana smiled. Nobody had ever called her beautiful before.

  “This is my brother, Vincenzo.” Nicolas pointed at a young man resembling himself, who stood behind Amanda. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought him with me.”

  “No, not at all,” Ana said.

  Nicolas’s brother shook her hand.

  “Call me Enzo,” he said. Up close, he was even more handsome than his brother.

  Ana recovered her hand. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. There’s plenty of food and drink in the parlor.”

  Rafael glowered at the newcomers.

  After they finished greeting the last guests in line, Rafael asked her to come with him. He led her toward the lavatory, pulling on her arm a bit too hard. He yanked the door open and pushed her in.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What are we doing here?”

  He locked the door behind them. “Who are those men with Amanda?”

  “Friends of hers. Why?”

  “What were they telling you?”

  “Nothing. They just congratulated me.”

  “No. They were giving you compliments. I heard them. And one of them kissed your hand.”

  “He was just being nice.”

  Rafael hit the wall. “No. He was flirting. How dare he kiss you in front of me? It’s our wedding day, for God’s sake!”

  Ana took a step back. She’d seen Rafael displeased before, but not like this.

  “It’s that Italian, isn’t it?” he said.

  What did he know about him? “Yes, the owner of Il Napolitano.”

  “What is he doing here?”

  “Amanda invited him.”

  He drew his brows together. “How dare she? This is not her wedding.”

  “I don’t understand what’s wrong with that. He’s her friend.”

  “And Joaquin is mine, and he happens to be my best man.”

  She caressed Rafael’s cheek. “Forgive her, please. There’s nothing we can do about it. I can’t ask them to leave.”

  “That sister of yours, I should have known better than …”

  He removed his gloves and shoved them by the sink. What was he going to say? Did he regret marrying Ana?

  “I think Joaquin will understand,” she said. “Don’t let that ruin our day.” She held his hands in hers and kissed them tenderly.

  His eyes softened a notch. “You do look very nice today.”

  This was the first compliment he’d given her. He held her face with her hands and kissed her. Softly at first, but then his tongue broke into her mouth in an aggressive search. She could taste the champagne on his lips and his new mustache rubbed her skin like sandpaper.

  “You’re mine,” he said in a distant, strange voice.

  He pushed her against the tiled wall, his hands traveling hungrily about her body, leaving no part untouched. His hand lingered painfully on one of her breasts and the other found her hand and brought it to his crotch. It was hard and warm. She tried to pull away, but he didn’t let her. Instead, he raised her dress all the way to her girdle. His hand went directly to her silk panties. He dug his finger inside her most intimate area and rummaged about, as though he were searching for diamonds in a stream.

  This was a nightmare, a wedding dream gone bad. She could barely breathe. She needed air, distance. This was not the way she’d imagined her first kiss to be. There was nothing romantic or remotely tender about this fondling.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he finally pulled away from her. Still breathing hard, he licked his upper lip with his tongue. “Tonight,” he said. “We’ll finish tonight.”

  She shivered. His words sounded more like a threat than a promise.

  He straightened his jacket and combed his hair with his fingers. “We need to go back. They’re probably looking for us.”

  “You go ahead,” she whispered. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Don’t take long.”

  He walked out the door and left her alone.

  Trembling, Ana opened the water faucet and washed her hands, adding more and more soap to her already clean hands. Why had he touched her like that? It had been so dreadful, so vulgar. She didn’t even want to think about what awaited her tonight.

  She brought her hands to her throat, where a painful lump had formed. Warm tears streamed down her cheeks. This Rafael, the one she’d met in this lavatory, was a stranger. This couldn’t be the man she married. She sat on the toilet, covering her face with her hands. What had she done? Who was this savage she’d married?

  The door opened behind her, but she didn’t dare to turn around. It would be too undignified—the bride crying in the lavatory. She quietly dried her tears with her fingers. Whoever was at the door was watching her and probably didn’t know what to do either. After an excruciating moment, the person gently shut the door. Only then did she turn around, confirming that she was alone again. Alone with her reality, for she could never tell anyone the revulsion her new husband had provoked in her.

  Chapter 8

  At the jewelry store, Rafael was a different man. From a stool behind the counter, Malena witnessed how he assumed an amicable persona who patiently waited for a woman to make a ring selection. He offered several options, praising her slender fingers and good taste. The woman’s husband yawned by her side, but his boredom was no obstacle for Rafael to remove another set of rings from the drawer and place them on the counter.

  “Mmm … I don’t know,” the woman said. “Maybe a necklace.”

  Rafael elbowed Javier, whose face emerged from behind the newspaper.

  “Necklaces,” Rafael mumbled.

  Javier folded the paper and shoved it under his arm. From the display case, he removed a necklace with a massive amber pendant. “How about this one?”

  The woman tilted her head, considering the piece.

  “I think it would match your eyes beautifully,” Rafael said.

  “Allow me, please.” Javier lifted the woman’s hair and clasped the necklace around her neck with one swift move. There was undeniable skill and probably years of practice in his deliberate actions—he didn’t even drop the paper. He handed her a mirror. “What do you think?”

  Eyeing her reflection, she touched the intricate pendant hanging over her bosom. “What do you think, Mariano?”

  The husband flinched, as though he’d just woken from a dream. “Very nice, querida.” He turned to Rafael. “You have a great jeweler.”

  Rafael patted his son’s back. “Yes, we do. Javier is a natural.”

  Blushing, Javier glanced at Malena.

  “Papá …”

  Javier loosened his tie a notch, his glance shifting from Malena to the counter and back to her. What was wrong with him? What was there to be nervous about? If anything, he should be proud. Malena had no idea he was the genius behind the splendid jewelry in those display cases.

  “All right, I’ll take it,” the woman said.

  Both Rafael and the woman’s husband exhaled.

 
“Great choice.” Rafael started the transaction behind the cash register while Javier packed the necklace.

  The bell at the front door chimed and Claudia walked into the store. She removed her veil, peeking at her father as she did so. Rafael gave her one of those looks—the ones reserved for family members in the privacy of their home.

  After the couple left, Rafael turned to Claudia.

  “Did you lose your watch or what?”

  “I’m sorry, Papá. I stayed for confession.”

  “Do you have to go to mass every morning? God is probably tired of you already.”

  “Papá!”

  “Confess on Saturdays or whenever it doesn’t intrude with your work schedule. We need you here. At least until Liliana learns the job.”

  What? Malena was expected to work for this man?

  Claudia opened a drawer and tossed her purse inside.

  Well, if Malena must work here, she would start by reorganizing those cluttered drawers. She’d been itching to do it since Javier opened one of them. Maybe working for the family would alleviate some of the guilt of lying and living off of them.

  Rafael faced Javier. “And you! When are you going to clean that damn storage room?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “No, not tomorrow. Right now.” He pointed at the back door. “Now that Claudia’s here, you can get to it.”

  Malena jumped off the stool. “I’ll help you.”

  Someone opened the shop door again—the indecisive woman.

  “I changed my mind. I want earrings.” She strode toward Javier while her husband stood by the door, looking as if a close family member had just died.

  “Go ahead,” Javier told Malena. “I’ll be right there.”

  Malena wandered down the hallway, not sure where the storage room was. She heard a muffled noise, the same one from the other day, and opened the door without knocking.

  From behind an old wooden desk, Alejandra lifted her head up. She had goggles on and held a small torch and a pair of tongs in her hands. She’d been soldering something, a cross pendant, on top of a rectangular rock-like surface. She turned the torch off and set her tools by a small scale.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Malena let go of the doorknob. “Sorry. I had no idea you worked here.”

  Alejandra wiped her hands on her stained blue apron and rested her goggles on her head. Her desk was filled with various types of pliers, hammers, and other tools Malena had never seen before. It was a long room, and there was another desk across from Alejandra’s. A kiln sat on a table in the corner of the room. The only source of light, besides the lamps on both desks, was a high window by Alejandra’s desk. Based upon how dirty the floors and walls were, Trinidad was probably not allowed in here.

  “Are you Javier’s assistant?” Malena asked.

  Alejandra let out a chuckle, which sounded a lot like Amanda’s laughter, except that it was stripped of any joy. “More the other way around. He’s my apprentice.”

  “But Don Rafael said—”

  “I know exactly what he said.”

  Malena picked up a silver earring with ruby inlays from Alejandra’s desk.

  “Did you really make all those pieces in there?”

  “Most of them. Javier helps me with the polishing and some soldering.”

  Malena placed the earring beside a cone-shaped metal tool with a ring inside. “I’ve never seen a woman doing this type of work before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “Why does Don Rafael lie about Javier?”

  “He doesn’t want anybody to know the jeweler is a woman. He thinks it would be bad for business.”

  “Does he also make you dress like a man?”

  Frowning, Alejandra lowered her goggles.

  “Sorry,” Malena said. “I didn’t mean to … I mean, I like your clothes, they’re just unusual.”

  Alejandra picked up the torch and resumed her work.

  The entire family lived off this woman’s work, yet nobody ever acknowledged her, including the maid. Didn’t they have any gratitude?

  Alejandra turned off the torch. “You’re still here.”

  “I’m sorry.” Malena walked to the door. “I’m leaving now.”

  The door across from the workshop was already open. Malena found Javier standing in the middle of a murky room surrounded by boxes, books, and old furniture. The smell of dust and mold was overwhelming. Never in her life had she seen so much dirt concentrated in one place. It gave her the chills.

  “Where should I start?” she asked.

  Javier pointed at a big cardboard box on the floor. “Why don’t you look through that stuff? Throw whatever seems unimportant in that black trash bag.”

  Malena dragged a chair next to the box and sat down.

  “Where were you just now?” he asked.

  She opened the flaps of the box. “At the workshop, with your aunt.”

  Javier’s eyes looked darker, almost black, under this light.

  “So you know.” He opened another cardboard box.

  “Why do you take credit for her work?”

  “My father’s the one who does it.” He removed a tarnished lamp from the box. “I can’t do anything about it. You must have noticed he doesn’t let anyone contradict him.”

  “But you enable him with your silence.”

  “Can you imagine what my life would be like if I dared contradict him in front of a customer? I can tell you right now. It would be hell.”

  “Sure, but I bet next time he wouldn’t lie again.”

  “Maybe.”

  What a hypocrite she was—judging Javier when she was also living a lie. And her lie was worse than his.

  Malena removed a large black notebook from the box at her feet. It seemed like an ordinary accounting book. The writing was somewhat faded and some of the yellowing pages were about to fall off. She wouldn’t have looked at it twice if it weren’t for one thing.

  “Whose handwriting is this?” she asked.

  Javier peeked over her shoulder. “I have no idea. Those are very old.” He pointed to the date on the bottom of the page. “That was back when my grandfather and Tío Fausto were alive. You can probably throw them away.”

  Malena looked inside the box; it was full of notebooks exactly like the one in her hand. She examined the familiar writing and scanned the names at the bottom of the page: Francisco Platas, owner; Fausto Guerrero, cashier; Rafael Dávila, clerk; Enrique Hidalgo, accountant. But there was no Hugo Sevilla in there.

  “Finally someone decided to clean around here.”

  Malena lifted her head. Alejandra stood by the door.

  “You’re welcome to help,” Javier said.

  “Ha!”

  “I knew I could count on you.” Javier stepped on a cockroach. “Would you at least help Lili figure out if we need those notebooks?”

  Malena handed Alejandra the notebook. As soon as Alejandra opened it, her smile faded. She slammed it shut.

  “This is trash.”

  Alejandra left without another word. Malena stared after her, stuffing the notebooks into a trash bag. Whenever she got a chance, she would hide them.

  For the next couple of hours, Malena and Javier cleared bookshelves, threw away trash, and moved furniture around, all along engrossed in a conversation about their favorite movies. Her absolute favorite was Breakfast at Tiffany’s while he favored anything starring James Stewart. For the first time since her arrival, Malena felt normal. With Javier, she didn’t have to pretend to be someone else. Since he didn’t know much about Lili and her family, Malena could talk without fear of making a mistake. And one thing she was good at was film talk. It had been the only thing she and her father had in common. Once a month, sometimes twice, he would take her to the cinema to watch the latest Mexican drama or American comedy. She would even watch Westerns if it meant going to the picture show on a lazy Saturday afternoon. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed those con
versations with her father about a movie’s ending or an actor’s performance.

  “Do you know Ernesto Albán?” Javier asked.

  “Of course.”

  Ernesto Albán, a local comedian mostly famous for his theater performances around the country, had been one of her father’s favorite actors.

  “Have you seen his movie yet?”

  “No.” Her father had promised to take her, but he had died first. There was so much he’d left unfinished. Again came that empty feeling in her stomach and the despair from the first days after his death. She’d been eager to run away from the pain, and she had, just not far enough from her memories.

  “You have to see it,” he said. “It’s funny.”

  She turned away from Javier and dusted the top shelf of a bookcase with a rag. Swallowing was painful, but it was the only place her tears could go. She cleared her throat.

  “I always dreamt of working with him,” she said.

  “With who?”

  “Ernesto Albán.”

  “You want to be an actress?”

  “I did. When I was younger, of course. Nobody can make a living in theater in this country.” At least, that was what her father always said.

  She’d never voiced her dream before—mainly out of fear that people would mock her—and she didn’t know why she’d told Javier, or what it was about him that had inspired her trust.

  “Well, fortunately you won’t have to worry about money,” he said. “You’re going to inherit a huge ranch, from what I hear, and you’ll probably find a rich husband.”

  Malena scrubbed harder. She’d never wanted to find a husband, rich or poor, but what bothered her the most was his condescending tone. She was about to answer, but a knock on the door interrupted her.

  “Lili?” It was Ana’s voice. “Oh, here you are. I’ve been looking for you all over the house.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your mother is on the phone waiting to talk to you.”

  Chapter 9

  Alejandra, 1936

  Whatever was wrong with Fausto now? He’d been acting very strange around Alejandra, and she couldn’t stand it. Sure, he’d paid her attention while they were having their picture taken, but ever since her sisters had left, he’d run off with the neighborhood kids and left her alone on the swings. If only she didn’t have a stupid dress on, she could have run behind them. But her mother had warned her to take care of her only outing dress, passed down from one of her older sisters.