Olga Dies Dreaming(31)
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OLGA TURNED OFF the main avenue onto her block, a line of attached limestones glimmering in the summer sun. Each just like her own: garden level and two short stories. A tiny wrought iron gate out front, bounding in the smallest patch of concrete front yard, large stone steps with a black iron banister leading up to the parlor floor. Like hers, most of the houses were owner-inhabited, landlords presiding over the bottom two floors, a rental unit up top. Like hers, the renters were almost always relations, someone in need of a reasonable place to lay their head while they finished school or got on their feet after a divorce or simply tried to make their way in a difficult world. As such, the block took on the nature of a long-running telenovela, with series regulars and guest stars, multigenerational feuds and intricate plot points. Already ladies were sweeping stoops and setting out their lawn chairs for a day filled with the busywork of neighborhood bochinche: watching the comings and goings of the street to see what this week’s episode would bring. Her phone rang. It was Matteo.
“Whatcha doing, girl?” he asked.
She smiled. “I’m in my old neighborhood, hanging with my niece today.”
“Aw, have I found myself a Tender Roni girl?” he asked.
She laughed. “I guess! What are you doing?”
“I’m…” He hesitated. “I’m picking up a sofa.…”
As they had only hung out a couple times, and always ended up at her place, Olga had managed to forget about Matteo’s hoarding, and in fact, could not wrap her head around it. She despised clutter of any sort and had shocked herself by pushing past his confession. Yet, it was likely his openness about this defect drew her to him in the first place, her fear of her own imperfections softened by his acceptance of his own. Before she could figure out the appropriate response, he jumped in.
“But look, ma, the reason I called is because I’ve got a hundred dollars of yours, and I wanted to let you know.”
“What?”
“Apparently you left Sylvia a hundred-dollar bill on the bar the other night and she’s not gonna take your money like that.”
For some reason, Olga felt embarrassed. No money had exchanged hands between Matteo and Sylvia, despite numerous drinks consumed and tons of time on her barstools. While she was certain they had some kind of arrangement—clearly Matteo was a regular—she felt strange about not compensating the woman for her time and hospitality. Yet she also felt strange that Matteo knew she had done it.
“I wanted her to have it,” she said. “She was so lovely to us.”
Matteo sighed. “That’s sweet, but Sylvia is stubborn, and believe me, she will check to make sure I gave you your Benjamin back. In other news, it’s nice to know I have a crush on a chick who’s such a generous tipper.”
She felt herself blush, but luckily was, by now, in front of her house, where her niece was sitting on the stoop, surrounded by two dozen splits of champagne and a Michael’s bag bursting open with turquoise tulle.
“Matteo, let me call you later.”
FAVORS
“?Ay, querida! What have you gotten into over here?” Olga asked.
“Olga!” Her niece bounded down the steps, and the turquoise fabric, somehow stuck on her shorts, transformed into a tail. She threw her skinny arms around Olga’s waist and hugged her tight. “Papi said you were coming this weekend.” She released her embrace, as if she’d just remembered something. “Where’ve you been all summer?”
“Working, mija,” Olga replied, ready to own her crime. Lourdes had grown so much that summer, the sight of her made Olga melancholy for all she’d missed. “But, you’re right, I let the whole summer go without us doing anything fun. I’m sorry. Tell me, what’s all this?”
“Lourdes!” Mabel had popped her head out the window of the top floor. “I hope you’re making those bows even!” She looked at Olga. “Oh, hey.”
Olga looked up. “Hey, prima!” Mabel had been living in the rental apartment ever since she met Julio, her fiancé. She claimed she wanted the apartment to help Prieto with Lourdes, but all the cousins knew that what she needed was a fuck-pad, since up until then, despite being in their thirties, both she and Julio had lived at their respective parents’ homes. As soon as Olga saw her cousin, she realized that her niece, along with the rest of her family, had likely been enlisted in Mabel’s crafting army and that the house would be ground zero for preparing tacky takeaways for her upcoming nuptials. Celebrations in her family were more than a day of gathering. The planning, preparation, and postmortem chisme sessions were both how and why Olga’s family marked any major occasion. She hadn’t factored wedding prep into her visit, but should she dare to seem less than enthusiastic about helping, the whole day would devolve into war with Mabel, and Olga didn’t want to sour everyone’s mood.
“Oye,” she said, “I just figured you could use some extra hands!”
“Oh yeah?” Mabel called down, suspiciously. “Well, I guess better late than never. Come in. I’ll show you what to do.”
Lourdes poked her and mimed a secret, which Olga bent down to hear. “I was gonna play with Camille today, but Mabel says no one plays until all the favors are done.”