The Fountains of Silence(58)

The tension at the table is palpable. His mother sits wholly erect, as if a yardstick had been placed down the back of her dress. She holds the stem of her glass delicately, with her thumb and two forefingers. Her large diamond rings reflect and sparkle amidst the bubbles through the glass.

The stiffness, it’s the American part of his mother and it pains him.

“Excuse me.” She smiles and departs for the restroom.

Daniel fiddles with the fork on the table. His father releases a deep sigh.

“What did the doctors say?” asks Daniel.

“An issue with the uterus. They may eventually have to remove it. It’ll all be fine, partner.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

The nervous edge in his mother’s voice, the crying behind closed doors, his parents supporting an orphanage, the pieces complete the picture. He and his father sit, silent, until Daniel speaks.

“Now I understand—the orphanage deal,” he says. “Nick mentioned it.”

“That kid’s a loose cannon. No wonder he’s getting beat up. Nothing’s been decided. I need to close this drilling deal first.” He flags a waiter for another vermouth.

His mother returns to the table full of smiles. “I just love this restaurant, don’t you? It’s a shame you didn’t bring your camera. We could have taken a family picture. You look so handsome in a suit.”

Her enthusiasm is genuine. But he knows his mother. She uses happiness as a shield. She’s trying to protect him or prepare him. Maybe both.



* * *





Daniel unlocks the door to his suite. On the coffee table is a plate with round chocolates bearing the gold crest of the Castellana Hilton. Neighboring the plate are several notes and messages. The first is a folded piece of paper. He hopes it’s from Ana.

    ?Amigo! My sister is bringing you this note. Thank you for the photograph. It’s fabulosa! Everyone is impressed by it. Fuga is now El Huérfano, isn’t it great? Please don’t forget us on Sunday. We will be waiting for you and your big car. See you soon, Texano!

—Rafa



The next notes are message slips from the hotel operator.

    8:25 p.m. From Benjamin Stahl Call me at the Bureau. An opportunity.

8:30 p.m. From Nicholas Van Dorn Meet us at Taberna de Antonio Sánchez.

9:45 p.m. From Nicholas Van Dorn Eating at Botín. Join us.

11:10 p.m. From Nicholas Van Dorn Heading for Pasapoga club on Gran Vía.

11:15 p.m. From Tom Collins Sleep well.



Tom Collins. He smiles. The message was an hour ago. Is Ana home in Vallecas now? Or is this one of the days she stays overnight at the hotel? He thinks about stealing down to the basement to check.

At the very bottom of the stack is a Western Union telegram. The envelope is sealed and addressed to Daniel. Is it from his uncle? He tears it open.

    WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM

—VIA NIGHT LETTER CABLE

SENDER: LAURA BETH JOYCE—DALLAS, TX

MR. DANIEL MATHESON, CASTELLANA HILTON, MADRID

CAN WE TALK? I’M SORRY. I WANT TO COME TO MADRID.





70



Daniel calls to have the breakfast dishes picked up, hoping to see Ana. Just as he hangs up the phone, there’s a knock at the door.

Ben Stahl leans on the doorframe, tie wrestled loose. Pieces of his normally slick hair stand in exclamation points. His flapping shirttail is stained with red wine. “I called you.” Ben’s voice sounds like he’s gargled with gasoline.

“I got back after midnight. I figured it was too late,” says Daniel.

“Late? You’re joking, right? I haven’t been to sleep yet. But the word late, let’s think about that word. It’s such an important one, isn’t it? Late—often paired with regret or disappointment.” Ben’s lungs chime in, hacking up a nightclub of cigarette smoke.

“How did you know what suite I was in?” asks Daniel.

“I’ve got connections to get me where I need to be. Listen, I need a photographer on Monday. My guy has to be in Barcelona. Are you available?”

Daniel’s heart hops. He tries to act casual. “Sure. What’s the assignment?”

“You’ll be perfect for this. But I don’t have a budget so there’s no pay.”

“That’s fine,” says Daniel. As the words leave his mouth, he knows he responded too quickly.

Ben nods. “That’s fine because you’re stinkin’ rich or that’s fine because you understand the value of an opportunity?”

Daniel accepts the challenge. “First, I’m not rich. If I were, I’d be on my way to J-School. Second, if you need a free shoot it sounds like you’re the one who grasps opportunity value.”

Ben laughs. “There he is, swingin’ those punches. Hey, can I use your john?”

Without waiting for an answer, Ben pushes past Daniel into the room. He sees the wall of photos and stops.

“Actually, I’m not ready to share those yet,” says Daniel.

“You’re not ready? Looks like you’ve got your own exhibition here.” Ben scans the photos. He moves in, pushing his face close to the pictures. “Holy hell, Matheson.”