The Fountains of Silence(100)

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Letting it hurt. Scraping the rust off my heart. Sitting around this tent fire in the godforsaken bush, freezing my can off, and pondering life’s mysteries with my sad-sack cowboy pal, creating memories that will make me laugh.”

It made Daniel laugh too. “I can’t believe you’re actually sleeping in a tent.”

“Neither can my bulging disc. But I wanted to see the stars on this side of the earth. Thought if I put myself out here something might come of it. I’m doing the work.”



* * *





Many years later, he still thinks of Ben’s words. What good did anger and blame bring? It polluted him. It didn’t empower him. It didn’t bring him peace.

It didn’t bring him Ana.





Almost any bigtime Dallas socialite is likely to hire Draper’s Party Service to handle invitations. That means providing the printed invitations of course, as well as addressing them (you can always tell a Draper envelope—the handwritten lines are flush right), mailing the invitations and keeping track of RSVPs. Draper might also consult with a hostess on whom she’s inviting to the party. . . . If necessary, she might even do some matchmaking. Draper has lists of acceptable young men and women who want to attend the fall social events, and will match dates from her list, notifying a young man of his date for a given evening.


“Party Power: Why Society Loves Ann Draper”

D Magazine, October 1976





132



Daniel parks outside of the estate. He pushes the Eagles 8-track into the player and stares out the windshield. He’ll sneak in late and slip out early. The grand gala, organized by a professional party planner, is a birthday celebration for his father’s new wife. Sissy is a lifelong Dallas socialite. She’s thoughtful, patient, and very kind. But she’s nothing like his mother.

Prior to the second marriage, the house held tight to the essence of his mom. The spirit of María Alonso Moya Matheson walked barefoot through the expansive rooms. She hummed her favorite melodies and hovered nearby during late paella dinners. He felt her. But over the past months Spanish food, music, and art have all slowly disappeared from his childhood home. Mealtimes have been altered. It’s not her fault, but Sissy’s presence seems to amplify his mother’s absence. It stings.

Today Spain has an absence—their dictator who ruled for thirty-six years. What is Ana’s reaction? What is the country feeling? If Ben were alive, they’d be on the phone. Daniel puts his hand on the steering wheel and closes his eyes, listening to the song, letting it hurt. He’ll do the work.

A knock sounds on the glass. A clean-cut valet gives him a wave. He rolls down the window.

“Good evening, Mr. Matheson. Your sister thought you might be out here. She said your father will be asking about you.”

“Thanks, Buck. You can take it from here. I’ll walk up.”

Daniel heads down the road. He runs a hand through his hair and steps through the high, pillared gates of the family property. A trail of expensive cars lines the long ribbon lane leading to the fountain and circular drive in front of their Preston Hollow estate. The trees bordering the drive twinkle with tiny gold lights.

The party swings. Tuxedoed waitstaff circulate with champagne and hors d’oeuvres while a jazz singer croons from an interior Juliet balcony. His sister stands with a group of classmates from Hockaday. When she sees Daniel, she darts toward him.

“?Hola!” She throws her arms around his neck. “No fair hiding in your truck, unless you take me with you,” she whispers in Spanish.

“Hola,” he laughs. “Thanks for sending Buck with the two-minute warning.”

“De nada.” She tugs at his sleeve. “Oh my, letting your rebel run? Most men are in suits and you’re wearing a blazer and boots. Mrs. Draper will not be pleased. You’re sabotaging her matchmaking efforts.” Daniel rolls his eyes.

His sister steps back to display her dress. “The new wife bought it for me. It’s pretty, don’t you think?”

“Very pretty, but don’t call her that. Her name is Sissy. And remember, no Spanish. It’s unfair. She doesn’t understand.”

Cristina sighs. “Mom would hate that the house staff speaks English now. It’s weird.”

It is weird, but he doesn’t comment.

“And . . . do not go upstairs. Sissy redecorated. Everything is chintz charming. Dad doesn’t like it but won’t say anything. Last weekend I found him long-faced, rooting around in the attic. He claims things are missing. Did you steal some of Mom’s stuff?”

“I didn’t steal it, I rescued it.” He smiles.

Cristina grabs his arm. “Oh, Danny, please let me come live with you. My friends, they all love you.”

“Shh,” he says. “Here they come. Remember, no Spanish.”

Daniel’s father and his wife circulate toward them through the crowd.

“Happy birthday, Sissy,” says Daniel.

“Thank you, Daniel, darling. And thank you for the beautiful flowers!”

“Well done, Dan. You’re showing me up,” jokes his father. Mrs. Draper, the party sovereign, appears.

“Good evening, Daniel.” She surveys his attire and pinches a smile. “So handsome and . . . individual. Funny, I know you were born here but sometimes you seem more Spanish than your sister.”