A Summer for Scandal

by Lydia San Andres

But she wouldn’t be for long. Emilia felt a twinge of guilt.

  There was no chance of keeping Susana in the dark about Vega. But Emilia could wait until the next day to tell her. Maybe she should. Maybe it would be kinder to wait until morning, to give her one more night with nothing more to think about than Luis and how well things were going between them.

  Luis.

  Despite the oppressive heat, Emilia went cold. Surely Luis wouldn’t abandon his pursuit of Susana just because he disapproved of Emilia’s writing. He had always been the first to laugh off most of Emilia’s mischief, but this was no schoolgirl prank.

  For the first time that day, the enormity of the situation began to dawn on Emilia. She faltered, wondering how to broach the subject. But she didn’t have to—Susana did it for her.

  “What was it that Mr. Torres wanted earlier? From what I’ve heard, it was nothing short of a proposal of marriage. Perla Castillo swears she saw him slip a ring on your finger at La Tacita.”

  Emilia tried to laugh. “The gossips don’t waste any time, do they? No, it was nothing like that. He had some bad news for me.”

  Susana closed her book and set it down on the side table beside her. “What happened?”

  Emilia took a deep breath and told her— all of it.

  Susana listened silently, growing grimmer with every word. Finally, when Emilia finished, she burst out, “How on earth did the people at Blanco y Negro find you out? You’ve been so careful. Do you think it might have been someone at the publisher’s office?”

  “Well, no. As a matter of fact, I know exactly who it was. It was the editor himself, Manuel Vega. I’m sure you remember him from when he came to visit Ruben Torres.”

  “But how would he have found out?”

  “He might have overheard me talking with Torres when I…well, when I told him,” Emilia said.

  “Oh, Emilia, you didn’t.” Susana’s voice was a mixture of disappointment and dismay. It was a familiar sound, and one that made Emilia’s heart tighten inside her chest.

  “It’s all right. Torres wouldn’t say a word. I trust him almost as much as I trust you.”

  “So does Luis.” Susana looked at her and sighed. “I don’t understand why you feel you have to tell the world before Vega does.”

  “It’s going to come out anyway,” Emilia pointed out. “The gossip papers will never be satisfied until they ferret out my identity, and you know how people talk in this town. It’s a wonder they haven’t accused me of being Miss Del Valle—they’ve said everything else.”

  “Yes, and they’ll have plenty more to say when they learn the truth. You heard what they all think that day at Ana Maria’s boating party. They won’t just disapprove, Emilia— they’ll tear you apart.”

  “I know,” Emilia said. “And I wish there were anything else I could do. This way, at least, I have control of when it happens, and how.”

  “They’ll make our lives impossible. It’ll be worse than before.”

  It wasn’t that Emilia was oblivious to the whispers and the little snubs she knew cut Susana to the bone. It was just…well, everyone always said Emilia was contrary. Perhaps she was. But the thought of finally telling the truth filled her with relief.

  “I know,” Emilia said again.

  “Surely there are things that can be done to stop him and even if there aren’t, you can always deny anything he writes about you. He could be made to print a retraction. Or bribed. Or… blackmailed.”

  Susana was the last person Emilia would’ve imagined who would turn to blackmail to solve a problem. Her suggesting it only made Emilia realize just how much her sister hated Emilia’s plan.

  “I’ve put away a bit of money but it’s nowhere near enough to tempt someone who stands to gain hundreds of pesos—perhaps even thousands—from exposing me. I’m sorry, Susana, but I think this is the only way. You know I wouldn’t do it otherwise.”

  “I know.” Susana hung her head. “I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate the fact that you have to hide yourself and I hate that I have to ask you to do it. But Emilia—I don’t know if I could stand it if things went back to the way they were before. It was so lonely.” Her voice was hardly audible now. “I was lonely.”

  “So was I.”

  And she had been, for all she’d tried to convince Susana that she was better off without the constant obligation of having to attend this or that affair. Staying home every weekend, she’d insisted, would only allow her more time to write. She had liked it, most of the time, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t miss the companionship of someone dropping by for a cup of coffee or spending Sunday afternoons laughing over dishes of ice cream at Helados Imperiales.

  They sat in silence as the night grew darker around them. Any minute now their father would return and they would be forced to get up, start preparing dinner, cleaning up the kitchen, and doing the dozen little tasks that kept the house running smoothly.

  The street lamps had come on, and in the light they cast on the porch Emilia could see her sister’s profile. It looked so much like their mother’s that for a second Emilia could almost see her, sitting on the rocking chair beside Susana, telling her, as she did whenever anyone accused her of being wild, that her untamable nature was what made her special. It was her mother who’d told her to take care of Susana. But it had also been her mother who’d said every person, at least once in her life, had to learn how to follow their heart.

  Writing The True Accounts had helped her get through the days after her mother’s death, when their father had been sunk in a rum-soaked haze and even Susana had barely been able to speak. Stealing moments away from the mourners to imagine wild adventures for Valeria had kept her sane. It had made her job at Mr. Mendez’s company bearable and the money it brought in had allowed her a modicum of independence. It was awful to know that something that had given so much to Emilia could hurt her sister so badly.

  There was a faint noise, and Susana’s voice rose from the darkness. “I can’t pretend I think this is a good idea.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Emilia said.

  There was a long pause, then Susana said, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you. But at least I’ll promise you I won’t stand in your way.”

  Chapter 16

  “Do you have them?” Emilia cried the moment she saw Ruben.

  It was almost eight and the booths that had been set up around the park were being stocked with books and other goods. As she’d hunted for Ruben, Emilia had spotted Luis climbing a ladder to hang streamers from a street lamp, while Carmen and Ana Maria fixed yellow and blue bunting to the door of every shop window in the square. Even Don Anselmo, who headed the Town Council was notoriously bad-tempered, had agreed to let them decorate his storefront.

  Ruben was helping Rosa nail a sign to the front of the WSA booth. Emilia hurried towards them, feeling excitement begin to build low in her stomach.

  Her skin had been tingling ever since she’d left the house, and when she found Ruben in the crowd, she realized it had been tingling in anticipation of this very moment. Their eyes met, his lips curved into a warm smile, and it was all Emilia could do not to throw herself into his arms and demand he kiss her.

  Rosa finished driving the nail into the wood and, with Ruben’s help, stepped down from the stool. She hurried off to see to something else and Ruben was free to come over to Emilia’s booth and show her the crate he had stowed beneath one of the tables.

  It had been delivered the day before, and Emilia hadn’t had a chance to see its contents yet.

  The neatly bound books were hardly works of art, but the slim volumes had been printed on paper of good quality, between two solid green covers, and the fanciful sketches—not done by Manuel Vega after all, Ruben had assured her, but by another friend of his— brought her stories to life in a way that made her want to dance down the street.

  The only thing that marred Emilia’s delight was Susana’s absence. She had already left the house by
the time Emilia had gotten out of the bath, and though Emilia looked around discreetly as she and Ruben stacked the books into a prominent position in the booth, she was nowhere to be seen.

  She had taken her embroidered bookmarks out of the cookie tin she’d been keeping them in, so she must have been planning to attend the fair at some point. Emilia set out a cardboard sign she had lettered the day before. It stated the prices of each of the items, but with more than half of the items missing, it was all but useless.

  A few meters away, in the park’s bandstand, the band was beginning to tune their instruments. As the first strains of a popular song began to rise into the air, the festive feeling that had fallen over the town began to grow, and by the time Mrs. Espinosa gave the opening speech, providing shade for most of those who stood alongside her on the dais with her extraordinarily large hat, the crowd was downright merry.

  That day, the streets of Arroyo Blanco were busier than ever, with the dozens of people who had had come out en masse to find a reprieve from the heat of the city, only to find it just as stifling. The fair had drawn all kinds of people— booksellers, newspapermen and even farmers from the surrounding countryside, garbed in straw hats with machetes hanging from their belt. The newcomers and, it seemed like everyone in town, were so excited they didn’t seem to be affected by the mugginess rising into the air.

  All the booths, as well as the coffeehouse and the bakery and even Doña Romelia’s florist shop, were making a brisk trade. Emilia looked around with satisfaction. “The program will run for years at this rate,” she said.

  “This is all thanks to you,” Ruben told her. “All these people are here for you.”

  “Not everyone surely,” Emilia protested. She gave him a sharp look. “You said you were only going to tell the reporters.”

  “I might have cabled another person or two. Or twenty,” he admitted when Emilia raised her eyebrow at him. “And a few more besides. And there was the notice in El Diario. Everyone was more than happy to come. You’re quite famous, you know.”

  “More like notorious,” Emilia said, but she was inwardly pleased.

  “I’d say intrepid,” Ruben countered. He lowered his voice a notch and though he kept his distance, his words affected her as much as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear. “And beautiful. And brave.”

  Something warm settled into Emilia’s stomach.

  “Also stubborn and infuriating and a little crazy,” Ruben said, laughing when she picked up a book from the stand and swatted at him with it, “but mostly brave.”

  At her booth across from Emilia’s, Ana Maria was handing out pamphlets that Emilia knew, from earlier inspection, contained a tersely written essay on why real feminists ought to avoid stories like The True Accounts. Emilia could feel Ana Maria looking disapprovingly at her and Ruben as they laughed together, and she had to fight the urge to thumb her nose at her.

  Next to her at the WSA booth, Rosa and her cousin Perla were counting the proceeds from the three sales they’d made in quick succession. The books Rosa had ordered were selling well but not, Emilia heard when Carmen came up to them during a lull in the relentless traffic, as well as the early copies of Morillo’s last book that Carmen had managed to acquire.

  “I’ve all but sold out and it’s not even noon yet,” Carmen said, then called across the space that separated the booths, “Ana Maria, your mother will be thrilled with all the money that’s come in.”

  Ana Maria left her booth with one of the maids that had been helping her arrange things and came to the WSA stand. “There are more people here than anyone expected,” Ana Maria said. “At this rate, there’ll be enough money to fund a new town by nightfall, never mind the literacy program.”

  “You know why that is, don’t you?” Carmen said.

  “I heard Miss Del Valle might be coming to the fair,” Perla said, and Carmen looked annoyed at having her gossip poached.

  Emilia exchanged a look with Ruben. His eyes were sparkling with suppressed mirth but he didn’t speak, only leaned back to listen.

  “Miss Del Valle, here in Arroyo Blanco?” Ana Maria asked. “What makes you think so?”

  “There was a notice in El Diario Nuevo this morning,” Carmen said. “Do you think she plans to reveal herself?”

  “Do you think she’s here already?” Perla asked. She rose on the tips of her toes and peered out at the crowd. “Who do you think she could be?”

  Emilia hid a smile.

  Ana Maria frowned. “I don’t think she’s coming at all. I think it sounds like a ploy to get people to attend the fair.”

  Carmen raised an eyebrow. “A ploy of your mother’s? She’s the organizer after all.”

  “Of course not,” Ana Maria said irritably. “My mother would never resort to using schemes to draw people’s attention to the fair. If you ask me, I think it was Miss Del Valle herself who put up the notice, just to rile people up. Someone who writes the kinds of things she writes is sure to be disgraceful enough to indulge in publicity stunts.”

  “What do you think, Mr. Torres?” Carmen asked, peering into Emilia’s booth so she could give Ruben a questioning look as she tilted her head coquettishly.

  Emilia frowned at her but Carmen, caught up with her appraisal of Ruben’s figure, didn’t notice.

  Before Ruben could answer, someone with a quiet but firm voice spoke up. “I think Miss Del Valle is a wonderful writer. Her stories are vivid and clever, and I think they’re more important than any of us realize.”

  It was Susana.

  Emilia’s heart leapt and she shot her sister a grateful look. But if her sister’s support was a surprise, Carmen’s next words nearly caused Emilia to fall flat to the floor. “I don’t know about the rest of you but I enjoyed The True Accounts,” she said, tossing her head and ignoring Ana Maria’s glare. “They’re miles better than those improving tales that make girls think they ought to make martyrs of themselves just to be considered good. At least Valeria has fun.”

  “Those stories,” Ana Maria said, “are obscene. They promote all kinds of depravity—”

  “And yet we all read them,” Carmen pointed out. “Even you Ana Maria, for all you try to pretend like you’re above such things. They’re fun and exciting and I think that to imply women have to be kept away from things that might damage their understanding of the world is to do our intellect a great disservice.”

  Ana Maria looked flustered. “I would never imply that.”

  It was all Emilia could do to keep from clapping.

  “What other purpose does your Decency League have than to censor women’s reading habits?” Susana asked.

  Emilia was burning to hear Ana Maria’s answer but old Dr. Moreno chose that moment to come to her booth, where he began to exclaim about her book of legends. She and Ruben attended to him and when he left, having purchased two copies for his nephews and one for himself, the conversation had moved on to a different subject and Ana Maria had returned to her booth, looking sulky.

  Susana waited until Perla finished telling a story, then slipped into her and Emilia’s booth, visibly pleased. “I’m sorry about last night,” she whispered as Ruben turned away from them to greet another customer. “I mean to stand by you, whatever happens—I should have said it from the start.”

  Emilia said nothing, only squeezed her hand.

  Half an hour later, Luis, with his unerring ability to find Susana in the midst of any crowd, arrived at their booth and agreed to help Susana attend to it while Emilia and Ruben took a turn around the park to look at the other booths.

  They set off at a stroll, and though Emilia longed to slip her arm through his—there was nothing improper about that— she remained at a respectable distance to keep the gossips at bay. She waved at Angelica Morales, whose grandmother owned the dry goods store, as they passed by her booth, then guided Ruben towards the brightly painted cart that had been set up in front of La Tacita.

  She’d left the house without having breakfast, a
nd the smell of frying empanadas had been making her stomach rumble for the past quarter of an hour. Biting into the half-circle of crispy dough and feeling the savory filling tumble into her mouth nearly made her groan out loud. She didn’t, but a little sound of content escaped her, and it was loud enough for Ruben to hear over the noise of the fair. He swallowed a bite of his own empanada and grinned at her, a knowing grin with a wicked edge to it, one that told her, as clearly as if he’d spoken the words, that he knew how to get her to make that sound for him and he was looking forward to doing it again.

  Suddenly aflame, Emilia busied herself with brushing off the crumbs that had fallen on her shirtwaist.

  “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked, handing her a second empanada and a cup of lemonade, and resuming their circuit around the park.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Emilia glanced back, toward the WSA booth. Carmen’s white open-work dress was fluttering in the breeze as she leaned towards Rosa to tell her something. “Maybe a little less nervous than I was before. I haven’t given the people here enough credit for being understanding about…what I do. I’ve no doubt there will be plenty of people who’ll despise me for it, but perhaps not everyone will.”

  “And that makes you feel relieved, doesn’t it?” Ruben asked softly. Emilia opened her mouth to argue but she found, for once, she didn’t want to. He was right. She was relieved. “You insist you don’t care what the townspeople think about you. But deep down, I think, there’s something about you that does care. You care about the town, and about the people in it, and most of all, you care about keeping your place among them.”

  “Seeing that my place among them is roughly below Don Anselmo’s three-legged dog, the one who liked to chew on everyone’s flowers…”

  Ruben didn’t react to Emilia’s attempt at humor.

  “I care too,” he said softly, and something about his expression made Emilia want to caress his face. “Too much, sometimes.”

  It must have occurred to him that the middle of a busy fair was not the best place for confidences because he drained his cup of lemonade and said, “Let’s take a walk.”