The Fountains of Silence(82)

“Thank goodness,” she laughs. “Well, we must hide the fact that I’m here.”

Daniel calls in the room-service order. As he hangs up, Ana removes cutlery wrapped in a cloth napkin from her purse.

“You brought your own fork?”

“I borrowed it from downstairs. We can’t ask for two sets of flatware. They’ll know. I’ll use a glass from the bathroom.”

Daniel shakes his head, grinning. “Please let me take a picture of you right now.”

Ana smiles and laughs, holding up her borrowed knife and fork for the photo. The tension softens amidst the laughter and the radio’s clack of Lola’s castanets.

“So, I’ve given it a lot of thought,” says Daniel. “Ben has to be the one who took the photos. He mentioned he might use them and I wasn’t here to ask.”

“But how would he get into your suite?”

“He once commented that he has connections.”

While they wait for room service to arrive, Ana asks to see Daniel’s portfolio again. They sit side by side on the couch, paging through the album. “This is one of my favorites.” Ana points to an enormous tree with thousands of shimmering lights. “What is it?”

“It’s the big pecan tree in Highland Park. Each year around Christmas there’s a ceremony to decorate it.”

They arrive at the photo of the Texas garden party.

“The mansion, this is where you live?”

Daniel nods.

“And that’s Laura Beth,” says Ana, pointing to the glamorous girl blowing a kiss to the photographer.

Daniel’s surprise is audible. “How do you know about Laura Beth?”

“Your mother mentions her a lot. And Laura Beth has sent telegrams to the hotel. Remember, the staff sees everything.” Ana looks to Daniel for response.

“It’s over, but it didn’t end well. My mom still doesn’t know. Laura Beth couldn’t accept me as I am. As soon as she discovered that I wasn’t going to change, she started kissing other guys. She broke things off and claimed my family was ‘too ethnic.’”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

“My mom is Spanish. It makes our family different.”

“But Se?ora Matheson is beautiful.”

“Yeah, but she’s different from Dallas society women. She raised me differently. We speak only Spanish together. We listen to Spanish records on the hi-fi. Some of her jewelry and clothing are different. She eats dinner late and starts the day late. We celebrate Spanish holidays. Just like Americans seem strange here, I seem strange to Laura Beth and her family. But it’s okay. We had nothing to talk about. Everything was difficult. I just didn’t realize how difficult until I came to Madrid. The first day you took me to Miguel’s shop I wanted—”

The knock at the door launches Ana to her feet. She grabs her purse and runs to the bathroom to hide.

Ana stands against the bathroom counter, heart trampolining within her chest. Why did she ever agree to this? She’s breaking every rule. She could get fired, or be issued a yellow card. She recognizes the waiter’s voice. It’s Guillermo, a server from Catalonia. She breathes a sigh of relief. Guillermo is quiet, unconcerned with the business of others. She hears the clink and plink of dishes on the rolling cart being wheeled into the room.

Ana looks in the mirror and adjusts her hair. It’s pinned up. Should she have let it down? She pulls one strand loose, letting it spiral against her face. Daniel’s shaving kit sits open on the counter. A blue bottle with a white top says, Arrid Men’s Spray. Stops perspiration odor on contact. Lorenza says American men wear perfume under their arms. Is this what she was referring to? Daniel smells so good it sets her heart fluttering.

She hears the door close but doesn’t dare move. Is the waiter still in the room? She stands still, unable to identify the sounds. A few moments pass until Daniel’s voice emerges.

“Should I wheel the tray in there?” he asks.

Ana opens the door.

The lights are dimmed. The sheer pearl curtains sway amidst the soft music and quiet breeze from the terrace. The room-service table sits in the middle of the room topped with a pressed white tablecloth, silver cloche domes, and formal serving pieces. Positioned in the center of the table is a single shimmering candle.

Daniel stands next to the elegant table, entirely relaxed in his jeans and dusty boots. He’s not looking through a camera lens. He’s looking at her, directly at her. He sees her.

“Ready, Ana?”

Her field of vision narrows. Daniel stands at the end of the long tunnel she has so long been walking.

She is not in the hotel.

She is not a maid.

She is on a date with a gorgeous boy.

A boy who likes her.

Threats, yellow cards, war, fear, and silence fall like leaves from a tree abandoning its season. She lets it all flutter away. One night. She will allow herself this one night.

She looks at Daniel and utters the word that sings in her heart.

“Yes.”





106



4:00 a.m.

Empty plates. Abandoned table. Thumb of a flickering candle.

Daniel’s boots are tossed on different locations of the carpet. Plaid shirt peeled to his white T-shirt. Ana’s hair hangs loose around her shoulders.