A Summer for Scandal

by Lydia San Andres

  “You wretch!”

  He lunged at her and she shrieked with laughter while he called her every name he could think of. Somewhere along the way he got off track, and by the time he had rucked up her chemise and was plunging into her slick cleft, the insults had become endearments and her laughter had turned into soft, gasping sighs.

  It wasn’t until much later, when she was nestled in his arms, her hands stroking his chest, that she finally said, “I love you too, Ruben.”

  For the rest of the night, Ruben dedicated himself to showing her just how much he loved her. At length, in the early hours of the morning, as they lay over the blankets feeling the soft, pleasant burn of exhaustion and listening to each other breathe, Emilia asked, “What will happen to the paper now?”

  “I don’t think I can carry on with it.”

  He’d visited Lopez, his printer, the day before and had learned subscription numbers had soared since Saturday. He’d received dozens of letters from advertisers hoping to do business with Ruben, but the magazine was half Manuel’s by rights and Ruben didn’t see how he could work with someone he didn’t trust.

  “I think you could find a way to put it to good use.” Emilia sat up, looking thoughtful. If she had any ideas, she didn’t elaborate. “What would you do, otherwise?”

  “I think it’s time I paid some attention to my own book instead of critiquing other people’s. I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to salvage my fiasco of a second novel but maybe I ought to give up on it and start something new.”

  Submerged in thought, Emilia began to dress herself with brisk efficiency. Ruben sat back and watched her, feeling an odd sort of tenderness creep over him as she deftly fastened the round buttons on the front of her shirt and held out her arm so he could help her fasten the cuffs, as naturally as if he had been helping her dress for years. It came to him, suddenly, and with something of a shock, that he could be there to help her dress for all the years to come. The thought sent a jolt through him, like that of an electrical current, and he wondered if she could feel it on his skin as he slid her button in place and placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

  “Very much obliged, Mr. Torres,” she said, smiling, and held out her other arm.

  He took it, and held it for a moment, looking up at her. “I want you to meet my family.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, “but I have to go home afterwards. I can’t let Susana deal with the repercussions of the scandal by herself. If anything, she’ll need help beating back the gawkers if they start picking through our trash.”

  “I’m quite handy with a broom,” he said, elaborating when she raised an eyebrow, “I thought that would be the instrument of choice for beating back gawkers.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure we could use your help. Now come and get dressed— we’ve a lot to do today.”

  Chapter 24

  If the news about Emilia writing The True Accounts had spread quickly, then Ruben’s editorial had swept over Arroyo Blanco like a wildfire.

  It had only been two days since they’d returned from Ciudad Real and already they’d heard more than one person—most of them men, and most of them old enough to be her father— speculate about how she knew so much about courtesans. There had been lascivious offers to give her enough material for a new story or to playact those she had already written, which Emilia had managed to deflect with humor—and an impressive act of violence or two, which had made Ruben realize exactly why women’s parasols had such sharp tips.

  Worst of all, however, were the articles and columns being printed. Ruben even had come across a piece that speculated Cruz’s notorious drunkenness was due to his shame over his inability to control his youngest daughter.

  Emilia’s stories had been more widely read than anyone had supposed. Letters of all kinds appeared to be multiplying inside her mailbox, and some newspapermen had even made the trek to Arroyo Blanco to interview her in person.

  She and Ruben met one of them as they walked to the dry goods store for a pound of beans. Susana had volunteered to do it, but Emilia had told her she wasn’t planning on hiding inside the house for the rest of her life so, with Ruben for company, she headed out.

  The reporter, a weedy fellow in spectacles and a rusty black suit, must have been lying in wait, because he popped up from a bench the moment the two of them crossed the park. He glanced at Ruben and jotted something down in his miniature notebook, then bounded forward to meet them.

  “Miss Cruz, I’m Federico Valverde from La Tribuna de Ciudad Real. I was hoping to come across you today,” he said, looking so pleased with himself that Ruben had to hide a smile. “It’s come to my attention that the residents of Arroyo Blanco aren’t happy with your literary efforts.”

  Ruben’s smile vanished.

  A great number of people had gone out of their way to make sure Emilia was aware of their disapproval but the day before they’d heard Carmen Vidal telling a visiting cousin that she was “very close friends” with Miss Del Valle, and just that morning Doña Benita, who used to be friends with her grandmother, stopped by the house to ask if Emilia would mind letting her read the next installment before it came out, an avid look in her eyes.

  “I have a quote here, from one of your fellow townspeople: ‘We all think she’s a disgrace to this town. Arroyo Blanco had always been a decent sort of place and you’ll find the people who make their homes here don’t care for the notoriety her kind attracts.’”

  Emilia and Ruben exchanged a glance. That had almost certainly been Ana Maria Espinosa.

  The newsman was gazing at Emilia. “How would you respond to that, Miss Cruz?”

  “I don’t care to respond at all,” Emilia said tightly.

  “And to the claim that an organization was founded to oppose the sale of La Rosa Carmesí and other such magazines in the town?”

  “Never heard of it,” Emilia said, beginning to walk away.

  The reporter consulted his notes. “I believe it’s called the Decency League. Miss Cruz—”

  Ruben laid a hand on his shoulder. “I believe the authoress has declined to answer questions at the moment.”

  “That’s all right,” the reporter said. “I’ll be here all week, conducting interviews. Miss Cruz can reach out to me whenever she chooses. I’d like a chance to ask her where she gained her knowledge of the courtesan profession. Is it true, Miss Cruz, that you worked as a courtesan to a Spanish nobleman and that he was the inspiration for the duke in The True Accounts?”

  Once glance at Emilia’s expression and Ruben felt as if he had to check her ears for steam. He took her by the arm before she could do more than glare at the little newsman, and led her quickly out of the park.

  “I can just see the headlines,” she said with a groan when they had crossed the street. “‘Small town divided by controversial authoress’. I wouldn’t mind it if they were writing about my stories, but all their articles seem to be speculation about me and my life— they make me feel like a zoo animal or a specimen under a microscope.”

  “They’ll move on. Eventually,” Ruben told her.

  “And it’s not only the gossip columnists. Half the town is waiting to see what I’ll say or do next.” She shook her head. “I feel an awful lot like Valeria must have, only with writing instead of sex and a good thing too, as I don’t think I’ve the patience to put up with a needy duke.”

  “I don’t think I could put up with a needy duke either,” he said, hoping to make her laugh.

  But Emilia had stopped in her tracks and was staring across the street at the entrance of the Hotel Central, a dawning look of horror in her face. Despite the midday sun, which was warm enough to make even people of their complexion red in the face, she had gone pale.

  Ruben followed her gaze and felt his expression mirroring hers as he saw her father, surrounded by reporters and very obviously drunk.

  “I can’t let them go after my father,” Emilia said, and started forward.

  They�
�d cornered him.

  Emilia’s heart was in her mouth as she bolted towards the Hotel Central. There was a bar there, and though it wasn’t one of her father’s regular drinking spots, he was agreeing to accompany three reporters inside as they offered to buy him a drink. Cristobal was among them, Emilia realized when she reached them. He had his arm around her father’s shoulder and a vicious glint in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, but he’ll have to join you another time,” Emilia said, attempting to smile at the reporters. “I’m afraid we need him at home.”

  “Don’t be a spoilsport, Emilia,” Cristobal said, directing his razor sharp smile at her. “Don Virgilio was just about to tell us about the time you stole his copy of La Tentacion de Marianela.”

  “Oh, I’m sure these fine gentlemen don’t want to hear all that.”

  “But they do. They’re very interested in hearing all Don Virgilio has to say.”

  Emilia flashed the reporters a bright smile. “He is a very interesting person, after all. Cristobal, will you come with me for a second? There’s something that I have to tell you.”

  “Go ahead and tell me.”

  Oh, how she wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face.

  “It’s private,” Emilia said. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt.

  Cristobal cast a quick glance at the reporters and appeared to think better of resisting. He followed Emilia, who had her father by the arm, and Ruben around the corner.

  “What is it, Emilia?

  Emilia turned towards her father. “Papa, will you please go home? Susana needs your help with some of the books left over from the fair.”

  She waited until her father had shuffled down the street before turning to Cristobal, ice in her gaze.

  “You leave my father alone, Cristobal. If I see you talking to him one more time—”

  “You’ll what?” Cristobal said, with a lazy raise of his eyebrow.

  What could she do?

  Emilia stared at him for a fraction of a second, then she remembered the contract she’d taken from the office. She hadn’t known what she would do when she took it but now, seeing a smug smile spreading over Cristobal’s face, her decision was sealed.

  “You have gambling debts. You lost against a man named Hugo San Miguel and you tried to pay him back by changing the terms of payment in the order he made to your father’s company.” She felt Ruben start beside her but didn’t spare him a glance—all her attention was focused on Cristobal, who was now openly glaring at her. “I know all about it and furthermore, I have proof. So if you want me to keep quiet about this, you will do everything in your power to keep reporters away from my father.”

  “What will you do? Tell my father?” Cristobal attempted a sneer, but to Emilia it was clear he was worried. “He would never let the truth come out.”

  “But I would.” For once, Emilia didn’t bother to conceal her dislike of Cristobal. “And I will. Manuel Vega is not the only one who can write exposés, you know.”

  “All right,” Cristobal said. “I’ll keep the reporters away from your drunk of a father.”

  “Can we take his word for it?” Ruben asked Emilia. “Or should we ask him to prove his sincerity?”

  Emilia gave Ruben a thoughtful look. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Nothing, really, only…he seems to be such good friends with Manuel. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind convincing him to sell him his shares of Blanco y Negro and then signing them over to us—in exchange for a cut of the sale price, of course,” he added graciously.

  Cristobal’s gaze darted from Ruben to Emilia.

  “I have proof of your dealings with San Miguel,” Emilia said. “And I’m sure that wasn’t the first time you meddled with the accounts. I might not work at Mendez & Co. anymore, but you aren’t exactly a favorite around there. There are any number of people who might do me the favor of looking through the records.”

  “Fine,” Cristobal said. “But I want forty percent of the sale price.”

  “Twenty-five,” Ruben said, “and a lifetime without shame.”

  “Now, now, let’s not go too far,” Emilia said. “I’m sure there’ll plenty of shame to be had in the rest of his life. There always is for a person like him.”

  Cristobal glared at her and strode away.

  “I’ll telephone you with the details!” Emilia called after him, making her voice cheery. Once he had rounded the corner, however, she slumped. As awful as Cristobal was, she had no taste for blackmail. “That was awful. But your plan was genius. Do you really think he’ll hand over the paper?”

  “If we make him a good enough offer. I wrote to San Miguel when I was in Ciudad Real, and told him where to find Manuel, who also owes him. Manuel will want to take advantage of the rising profits from all the articles he’s been printing about you, but it’ll be easy to persuade him to take the money so he can settle all his debts.”

  “Where will we get it, though? I’ve a bit put away but nothing near what we’d need to buy the paper.”

  Ruben began to walk again. “I spoke to my father’s man of business the other day. When I left home, I gave up everything, including a small settlement my father had made on me. It was offered to me again and I decided to accept it. I have to go over the numbers, but there’ll be enough left over for Cristobal’s bribe, I think.” He squeezed Emilia’s hand. “And for rent on a nice apartment in the city or a cottage here in town, with plenty of space for two.”

  Emilia squeezed back. “Both sound awfully nice.”

  The thing she liked most about Ruben, she thought as they walked hand in hand, was how easily she could see him standing at her side—as she wrote, as she raged at the world… even as she engaged in blackmail. As if he could hear her thoughts, he lifted their clasped hands, kissed her knuckles, and whispered, “I did tell you I’d be yours."

  Chapter 25

  They got to the dry goods store without further incident and, when Emilia had bought her beans and Ruben had walked her home—for companionship, not protection— he did something he had been putting off for the two days since he’d arrived in town: he went to see Luis.

  Miss Cruz had told him Luis had gone to the municipal branch of the Banco Nacional, where he hoped to be employed. Ruben took a seat at the park and watched the people of Arroyo Blanco—and the newsmen sniffing after new things to write about Emilia—stride back and forth Paseo Principal. Mr. Valverde accosted Doña Romelia and was promptly fended off with a large black handbag, but he had more luck with Mr. Perez, the town’s mayor, who talked so expansively a distinctively exhausted look entered the little reporter’s eyes.

  Ruben was so entertained by the sight he almost missed Luis when he came striding out of the bank, looking triumphant. He’d gotten the job, then. Luis’s life was on track, no thanks to Ruben’s interference. Relieved he hadn’t done any permanent damage, Ruben felt some of the guilt he’d been carrying on his shoulders dissolve as he hurried to Luis’s side.

  “Ruben!” Luis exclaimed. “Susana told me you were back in town. Is everything all right now between you and Emilia?”

  Ruben nodded. “And I hear congratulations are in order for you and Miss Cruz.”

  Luis beamed. “You’ll have to call her Susana now,” he said. “Are you heading up to the house? I told them I’d join them for lunch.”

  “I was, but not just yet. I was hoping to speak with you first.”

  Telling Luis what he’d done was one of the hardest things Ruben had ever done. No—it wasn’t telling him that was hard. It was watching the happiness in his eyes slowly fade away, knowing it would be replaced by pain and loathing.

  “I had no right to speak for either of you,” Ruben said. “But when I saw you with Miss Vidal—when I saw the way you talked to her, and touched her—I remembered all those other girls you’ve loved and abandoned and I thought it was up to me to protect Miss Cruz from a disappointment.”

  “All those girls… I know I haven’t been entirely honorable.
Especially when it came to Miss Perdomo. But I thought you knew I couldn’t really love them, because none of them were Susana.” Luis scraped a hand over his hair, looking as if he didn’t know how to feel. “I’ve known since we were fourteen years old that she was the one I’d eventually marry. She’s the only woman I’ve really loved, and I knew I could never to do anything but play at it with anyone else. All those girls, Ruben, they knew what I offered wasn’t love, or permanence. I was very clear with them about it, though Miss Perdomo refused to believe me. She pressured me into an engagement, saying her reputation would be ruined otherwise, and it was Susana who counseled me to ask Miss Perdomo to break things off."

  And Ruben hadn’t realized it wasn’t real love because he hadn’t known how to recognize it.

  “Perhaps,” Luis said, looking at Ruben with eyes full of sympathy, “I should have made it clear to you too."

  Luis and Susana wasted no time in setting a wedding date. “I’ve been waiting for ten years, at least,” Luis told Emilia as they helped Susana freshen up the sitting room of the adorable little house Luis had found for them on Paseo Principal, “and I’ll be damned if I’ll wait any longer.”

  “It might do you good to cultivate a little patience,” Emilia said, holding a swatch of flowered fabric against a faded armchair. “You’re going to need it now that you’ll have me for a little sister.”

  Susana smiled up at the two of them, unaware of the smear of paint on the bridge of her nose. “He’ll have to cultivate a lot of it, in that case. And buy a barrel or two besides.”

  “Or you could share yours with me,” Luis suggested, bending down to place a kiss on the tip of her nose.