The Fountains of Silence(19)

“Around the corner an hour ago, speaking to a hotel employee. Thankfully, the little bellboy stopped me before I pitched Hi-Fi to them. It’s a new foundation that’s lighter than our Pan-Cake makeup used for Technicolor. Don’t imagine you’d be interested in covering the new Hi-Fi line for the Tribune, would you, Ben?”

Ben’s hair is immaculate but his dress shirt is missing a button and shows freckles of a prior meal. His generous stomach makes his tie appear short. “Sorry, Max, I focus more on world news,” says Ben.

Max sees the drift of Ben’s gaze and turns to Daniel.

“Well, howdy there, partner. Are you straight off a movie set?” asks Factor.

“No, sir, just inappropriately dressed for the function,” says Daniel.

“Nonsense. Nothing wrong with being comfortable, young man.”

But he isn’t comfortable. Despite Mr. Factor’s compliment, he knows his mother will be annoyed that he’s underdressed.

“Let’s get this kid into a Hollywood picture,” says Factor.

“Dan’s a photographer, not an actor,” says Ben.

“Really? Sure seems like he belongs on the other side of the lens.”

Daniel fights the impulse to roll his eyes. Why does everyone need to categorize him, and incorrectly? Laura Beth had a particular talent for that.

“Excuse me, I’m going to head up to my room,” he says. Inappropriate dress aside, mention of the Guardia Civil nearby makes him uneasy.

“Dan, wait a minute.” Ben Stahl follows him. “I’m not going to the luncheon either. We can have lunch in the hotel coffee shop. It’s the only place in Madrid to get a burger and a milkshake.”

Daniel hesitates, sizing up Ben’s invitation. Is this generosity or just another one of his father’s chess moves? He decides to find out. “Sure, a burger sounds good.”





18



Ana sews the button onto Se?ora Matheson’s silk blouse. The white label on the neckline declares it’s from Neiman-Marcus. An assigned guest once told Lorenza all about Neiman-Marcus. The lavish store, established in Dallas, sells luxury items to oil-rich Texans. Ever since Franco granted drilling rights in Spain, the hotel has been flooded with Texans. Oil fortune brings talk of debutante balls, fancy summer camps, silver dollars, and something called pimento-cheese sandwiches.

The image of Daniel with the candied chestnut floats back to Ana. The little girl, bouncing on her toes, stared at the treat like it was a diamond. Diamonds are also something common on Texans. Is Daniel a common Texan? He’s certainly different from other guests at the hotel. He looked at her when she spoke. He opened the door for her. He carried the bag from La Violeta as if it were his job, not hers. As nice as Nick is, he’s never done that. She thinks of Daniel’s photos and his worn jeans. He’s unusual. Was it rude that instead of answering his questions, she posed her own?

Carefully folding the blouse, Ana places it next to the suitcase packed for Valencia. She positions the two boxes of candy from La Violeta on the desk. She stares at the wrapping, recalling the enchanting atmosphere of the shop. How lucky the recipient in Valencia will be.

Valencia. City by the sea, birthplace of her favorite painter, Sorolla. Hotel guests speak of Valencia’s tranquil beauty, fragrant orange trees, and rolling blue waters. What does a large body of water sound and smell like? Ana wonders. Landlocked, fenced by circumstance, she has never seen the sea. She sees Spain only through images on postcards that guests collect in their rooms. If she transfers to the hotel business office, perhaps one day she too will walk along the beach in Valencia. Ana will need letters of recommendation for her application. If she does a good job, perhaps Daniel’s family might consider it? A letter from an influential American family could expedite consideration.

Ana straightens the room, thinking of oranges, thinking of Valencia. On the chest of drawers she sees a bright turquoise package.

    NEW!

Out of color TV research—a great make-up discovery:

Max Factor Hi-Fi Fluid Makeup



Lorenza has whispered that Max Factor and his wife are guests at the hotel. Ana can’t wait to share her findings of the new cosmetics.

She moves to empty the trash. The small bin contains only one item: a squat, green glass bottle. Ana inspects it and immediately wishes she hadn’t. She doesn’t need Texas secrets. She has enough of her own.





Madrid today has got more Texans than Spaniards. The barroom in the Castellana Hilton sounds like roundup time in the Panhandle.

So far in Spain no Texan has leaped into the Plaza de Toros and attempted to show the Spaniards how a real man can bulldog a beef. I have seen no horses ridden into lobbies lately. My friends, riches are weakening the strain that made you exceptional. Constant association with Yankee businessmen is turning you sissy. I blame it on the ladies, largely. They are trying to live up to Neiman-Marcus and are forcing their will on husbands who used to wear spurs to the square dance. The girls say: “Now, you behave!” And the old boys are behaving.


—ROBERT C. RUARK


from “World Travel Is Turning Texans into Real Sissies”

Abilene Reporter-News, Abilene, Texas, July 30, 1954





19



Ben chooses a booth in the small alcove restaurant.