The Fountains of Silence(81)

“Yeah, I am.”

“No, you’re not. You like my cousin,” announces Puri.

“You think so, huh?” says Daniel through his side grin.

“Well, I’ll ask you the question—do you like Ana?”

Daniel leans in close to Puri. “A lot,” he whispers. “Maybe that can be our secret?”

“Trading whispers, Purificación? That’s your name, isn’t it? You’re Ana’s cousin. Shouldn’t you have a chaperone?” Lorenza stands on the sidewalk, brows arching.

Puri’s hands clench. “Mind your own business,” she says.

“Ay, fine. Just think it would be a shame if you were issued a yellow card.”

Puri’s eyes expand with panic. She gives Daniel a bob of farewell and runs away down the sidewalk.

“You scared her,” says Daniel.

Lorenza shrugs. “Did I? Oh well. Ay, I see you have your camera. Maybe you’d like to take a picture of me, caballero?”

He looks at Lorenza. Her uniform is a size too small. Purposely. Her bright red lips and black hair match the flag of the Falange.

“I’m sorry, Lorenza. I’m out of film.” Daniel leaves her on the sidewalk and walks back into the hotel.





104



“I’m feeling fine, cari?o. You needn’t worry. I’d love to see your photos.”

Daniel shifts to block his parents’ view. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait until I have them all organized.”

“They look quite organized.” His mother smiles. “But I understand. I’ll wait for the full exhibit. Are you sure you can’t come to dinner? We haven’t had much time together. We’re celebrating your father’s contract tonight.”

“He’d rather be with the young people, María. He’s made some friends.”

His mother seems surprised. “Really? Who are your friends? Where are you going?”

Daniel struggles to skirt a lie. “They’re friends of Nick Van Dorn’s. We’re having dinner. They mentioned something about a late event.”

“Probably a flamenco show,” nods his mother.

The note slipped under his door said nothing about a flamenco show. It said:

    11:00 p.m.–Tom Collins



“What about breakfast tomorrow?” asks his mother.

“Sounds good.” He tries to edge them to the door of his suite.

“Don’t wear those denims tonight. You look so nice in your suit.”

“Yes, ma’am. See you tomorrow.” The heavy door shuts with an answering clasp.



* * *





At five minutes past eleven, Ana enters Daniel’s room using her passkey.

“Pretty handy key you have there.”

“I’m sorry for not knocking. I didn’t want to risk being seen in the hall,” she explains. “Turndown service has already been here?”

“Yes. But room service hasn’t. I’m starving.”

Ana stands with her back against the closed door, clutching her purse to the front of her uniform.

“Come in. You’re off duty. You’re here for dinner.”

She looks about the room as if it’s entirely foreign. “I’ve never been in a guest’s room when I’m off duty. I’m breaking the rules.”

“No one will find out. I told my parents I was going out with Nick.”

“I told the staff downstairs that I was going to Puri’s.”

“See? No one will ever know.” Daniel shrugs and smiles.





105



Ana’s stomach tumbles and turns.

“Well, what shall we order?” Daniel holds up a menu.

“Room service mustn’t know there are two people in the room. Nothing escapes the employees. They all gossip, you know.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t know. Attendants and domestics have been part of Daniel’s life since birth. They fade into his background, like Franco’s security guards. They are silent witnesses, seemingly blind and deaf to all conversations and indiscretions. But they are not blind and deaf. Everything is noted. Things in the rooms, in the laundry, within the phone messages, and in the room-service orders.

Daniel’s voice is quiet. “Ana, come and sit down. You can’t stand at the door for dinner.” He holds out the menu.

Ana accepts the menu and moves to the small sofa. Daniel turns on the radio and the rolling voice of Lola Flores soothes the awkwardness, warming the room.

“I don’t know what to order,” she says. “You order for us. Something American.”

Daniel sits down next to her and takes the menu. “Let’s see. What about lobster thermidor and a crab Louie? We’ll share a baked Alaska for dessert.”

“When you call room service, tell them you want to eat a horse.”

Daniel stares at her. “Excuse me?”

“Texans say they’re so hungry they want to eat a horse. And then they order everything on the menu. That will sound entirely normal to the room-service operator.”

“No, it won’t sound normal. Americans say ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.’ It’s just an expression, they don’t mean it literally.”