No Matter How Much You Promise

by Edgardo Vega

  “For another twenty-five dollars we will transmit your return electronically to the Internal Revenue, señora. This will ensure that your return will arrive sooner. Yes? Very good. A very wise decision, señora.”

  Barry was happy, and Elsa liked Barbara Marrero, a Vassar grad who was a Spanish medievalist and had done graduate work in Spain. She did volunteer work for the Metropolitan Museum, drove a cherry-red BMW, was a gym rat, looked totally fit, and dressed impeccably. Her father was in banking in Miami and was connected through different business arrangements to the powerful Puerto Rican Ferré family, one of whom, Luis Ferré, had been governor of the island. After the Puerto Rican offices of Barry’s accounting firm were inaugurated in May and the Spantax promotional campaign had been a success there as well, John and Barbara Marrero invited Elsa and Barry to go island-hopping with them for two weeks on a yacht belonging to Barbara’s father. They had helicoptered from the airport to the nearby marina, and after a light lunch they had set sail for St. Thomas.

  Elsa and Barbara lay on deck chairs in their very brief bikinis, the sea breezes and salt air instigating their sensuality. Elsa felt proud that she was still young and her body was firm. The Marreros’ two boys, Roger and Doug, both gorgeous—the one attending Carson Academy, in his last year, and the other finishing his second year at Princeton—came along and on more than one occasion she had caught them looking at her admiringly. She’d smiled openly so that the young one had blushed. Doug was accompanied by his blond girlfriend from Virginia, while Roger, who was the handsomer of the two, athletic and very polite, was by himself. Elsa had introduced the Marrero boys to Vidamía when the Marreros had visited their home and Roger and Doug had both seemed friendly.

  Elsa made a serious attempt to invite Vidamía to come sailing with them, but Vidamía said that this was a pivotal year in her family’s life and that she wanted to devote as much time as possible to being with them. “Pivotal,” she’d said. The word didn’t belong in her daughter’s vocabulary, although she had to admit that there was something quite different about Vidamía lately. A tinge of jealousy crossed Elsa’s heart, again mixed with an odd, confusing pride. Vidamía was a beautiful young woman, svelte and strong and remarkably sensual, her body perfectly sculpted. Her face, however, was truly stunning, the large green eyes and high cheekbones emphasized to a greater degree now that she was using makeup. Her nose was a little bony but it validated her whiteness. And yet it was her confidence, her poise, her sense of personhood that made her appear older, more in command.

  Elsa was sure Vidamía was already having sex, although she couldn’t imagine her involved sexually with the Breitenbach boy. Vidamía’s birthday at least had been uneventful, and she seemed genuinely grateful for the present. Two thousand eight hundred dollars the ruby jewelry had cost. She hoped her relationship with her daughter would never change. She genuinely admired her. The girl was smart and mature, and although Elsa didn’t like the influences she was acquiring down on the Lower East Side during the summers, she was proud that instead of becoming more American Vidamía was able to retain her Puerto Rican culture. Rather than Billy Farrell’s family molding her daughter into just another tasteless white girl, the neighborhood had turned the tables on him. It was Cookie who had been converted into a Puerto Rican ditty-bop, una jebita loca. God, she couldn’t believe the girl and the way she talked. She was just like Elsa’s own homegirls back when she was growing up. The victory over Billy Farrell gave her profound satisfaction, but she knew better than to get too comfortable.

  There were other matters that caused her even more concern. One was the fact that on the sailing trip in the Caribbean, Barry began to make overtures to her about having a child. He said he had spoken to his doctor and that there was a definite possibility that his vasectomy could be reversed. The idea of being pregnant again, as romantic as it sounded, didn’t appeal to her. She was still only thirty-four, so the idea didn’t seem that far-fetched. She’d wait and see what the doctors said.

  35. Confrontation

  In June, when Vidamía’s classes were all but over, Taylor Breitenbach came home and gave her a ring to express his wish for a commitment, pointing out that it wasn’t an engagement ring or anything like that, but that he wanted her to know that he had no desire to see anyone else but her; he hoped she felt the same way. The next time they saw each other, however, she returned the ring and told him that maybe it would be better if they were just friends and didn’t date anymore. He asked if she’d met someone else. Without thinking, she said, “Yes, I did. Down in the city.” Taylor simply nodded and said that maybe it was all for the best. He wished her luck and added that if Yale accepted her and she decided to attend, he’d see her in New Haven and maybe they could have lunch sometime. She said that would be fine and when he dropped her off in front of her house, he actually put out his hand and they shook hands stiffly.

  It rained and rained that night, and, unable to sleep, Vidamía sat in the window seat of her room, watching the lightning and listening to the thunder. She thought about Wyndell Ross and was certain he wouldn’t call and that if he did she wouldn’t go out with him. She didn’t know why, but it didn’t seem right. And then she thought about her mother and knew it had to do with her and recalled once again Kunta Kinte and knew that her reluctance had to do with Wyndell’s being black. She felt confused and was afraid that Wyndell would call her. Deep in her chest she felt a horrible loneliness and hugged herself against the realization that she was alone in the world. That as much as she loved her family and her friends, and as much as that love was returned, she was alone. For the first time in her life she understood the word “melancholy” and knew that other people in the world must feel the same. She didn’t know where her awareness came from, whether she had read something or heard it in school or perhaps talked about it with Lurleen, but she knew that human beings spent a good deal of time warding off loneliness and often clung to each other and to things and ideas in order not to feel the despair of this awareness.

  The loneliness made her feel vulnerable, but she stepped fully into it, unafraid, knowing that perhaps if she wasn’t afraid of it she might learn something profound about herself. The thought of being brave made her recall the time she’d thought about being a drummer boy in the Revolutionary War and about Fawn and her insistence that she was a drummer girl. What would happen to Fawn without the band? Perhaps she needed the band as much as her father did. Vidamía began thinking about how she could help Fawn. Suddenly she felt very drowsy and lay down. She was asleep almost instantly. During the night she woke up in a sweat after having a dream in which she was running, carrying two babies in her arms. She was in a field of heather and there was a very large, hairy dog running alongside of her. She wasn’t afraid of the dog. In the distance she saw smoke coming from the chimney of a stone house sitting on a bluff. Below the cliffs she heard the sea pounding the rocks. It began to drizzle and she went into the house and made a fire. She fed the babies and then began singing, and although she couldn’t discern the words, she was certain that she was singing in the Irish tongue. When she got up in the morning she was as confused about Wyndell as before.

  Toward the end of summer, Elsa’s problems with Vidamía grew in intensity. One weekend afternoon as she worked at preparing a paper for a conference of Hispanic psychologists at a university in Michigan later in 1989, Barry came into her study and dropped a credit-card statement on her desk. The amount $8,578 was circled in red and above it was the name of her darling daughter, the ingrate and social barbarian, who was lately driving her crazy with her behavior and speech. Elsa was suddenly blinded with rage. Standing up with the paper in her hand she shook it at the Heavens. Her feelings for her daughter were so incongruous. One minute she admired her and the next she wanted to strangle her.

  “Jesus Christ, what in the hell cost eight thousand dollars?” she said. “What did she do now—buy a car for those people? Did she put a down payment on a co-op for herself? She’s been t
hreatening to move out, you know.”

  “Just read the statement,” Barry said, patiently.

  Elsa looked at the statement and then slammed the paper down on her desk.

  “The Greene Piano Company on Ludlow Street?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “Who in the hell plays the piano in that godforsaken neighborhood for there to be a piano company there? She bought a piano?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “We already have a piano. Why does she want another one? Nobody ever plays the damn thing anyway. When are they going to deliver it? Maybe you can call them up and cancel the order. No, it’s Saturday. Okay, Monday you call them up and cancel it.”

  Barry directed her once more to the statement and explained that the purchase had been made at the beginning of August.

  “I’m sure it’s been paid for and delivered.”

  “Her father,” she said, the awful truth slapping her awake. “She bought it for her father. I’m going to kill her when she gets home. Where is she?”

  Just minutes later, Vidamía walked in after having jogged several miles. She raced immediately upstairs to shower and was about to enter her room when she heard the familiar “Young lady!” followed by a stern request that she report immediately downstairs. When Vidamía reached the bottom of the stairs, Elsa was looking away in her best I’ve-had-it-with-you pose, her right arm extended and the long coral pink fingernail of her index finger pointing to the library.

  “March,” she said.

  “March?” Vidamía said, snottily. “How butch!”

  “What!” Elsa shouted. “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘How butch,’” she replied, staring defiantly at her mother. “You know, how macho.”

  “Macho? Are you accusing me of some sort of sexual aberration? Butch? That’s a derogatory term used by homosexuals. What did you mean?”

  Vidamía laughed as she walked into the library. Without removing her running shoes, she tucked a leg under her and plopped into one of the big leather chairs. When Elsa reminded her that her shoes were on the furniture, Vidamía ignored her. Barry was sitting across from her, his head down and his spectacles in his right hand, in which he also held several pieces of paper. He looked pained and uncomfortable. Elsa continued her attack on Vidamía. Barry finally told Elsa to calm down. Fuming, Elsa sat on the leather couch between the two chairs.

  “Just relax a minute,” Barry said, putting his glasses back on.

  Vidamía felt a little sad for Barry. He worked so hard and demanded so little. Perhaps he didn’t want to admit it, but her love for her father had affected her relationship to Barry, and each subsequent year he seemed more and more subdued in manner. He now avoided her more than he had previously. Although she wasn’t supposed to know it, doctors had been unable to reverse his vasectomy, and his wish to have a child of his own now weighed heavily on him. He was still cordial and answered her questions with patience, once in a while making a thoughtful suggestion. He was still the same impersonal male who smiled at her accomplishments and tolerated her faults, never judging or praising her. And yet since she had found her true father, Barry’s status in her life had shifted. For the first time she realized how deeply hurt he was that he no longer commanded the position of most important male in her life.

  “Well, are you going to tell her or do I?” Elsa said.

  “Elsa, please,” Barry replied. “Just relax.”

  “She doesn’t have the right to do as she pleases.”

  “The credit-card bill came, right?” Vidamía said.

  “Oh, so you know exactly what this is about?” Elsa said, shifting forward. “Incredible. First she does it and then she brazenly defends it.”

  “Defends it? I’m not defending anything. You gave me a credit card for my birthday last year. It had a twenty-five-thousand dollar credit line on it and I used some of it.”

  “Some of it? Some of it? Almost nine thousand dollars, young lady.”

  “What’s the big deal? We’ve got money to burn.”

  “That’s not the point,” Elsa replied.

  “What is the point, then? When I was a little kid and we moved into this house, I thought it was great. Getting driven to school by a chauffeur, pampered by Mrs. Alvarez, huge Christmas and birthday presents; trips to Puerto Rico, to Cancún, to Spain, to Portugal, to Holland. Even to Japan. How many girls eleven years old have a special guide take them through the Louvre for the afternoon while their mother goes shopping for clothes in Paris? Mademoiselle, over here we have the Fwench impwessionist Monet. Monsieur Monet was known for his paintings of … Blase, blase, blase. Everything first class. I thought all airplane seats were the same size until I talked to some girl in junior high school and she said she was all cramped in her seat and I thought maybe the girl had some sort of eating disorder because she didn’t look that overweight. And then we flew to Boston on the shuttle to visit Titi Hilda after she moved there. Right away I realized that seats for regular people were smaller than the first-class seats. All of this excessive wealth before I was twelve years old.”

  “Of all the ungrateful …” Elsa started to say and looked to Barry for support.

  “No, wait,” Vidamía said, shifting agilely on the chair so that she was now kneeling on the cushion, her arms gesticulating in her best homegirl imitation, the body language aggressive, challenging. “Look at this house. Eighteen rooms. The wealthiest section of Tarrytown. Last year I asked Billy Horn, whose father has a real estate office in Mount Kisko, how much he thought our house was worth? He said that he’d ask his father. The following week he came back and said that with the land that it’s on it was now worth about 3.2 million dollars.”

  “You’re a very lucky young lady,” Elsa said, feigning hurt. “You just happen to have very little appreciation for it.”

  “C’mon, mami. You gave me the card. What was I supposed to do with a twenty-five-thousand-dollar credit line, buy records and clothes? How much did I spend all together since you gave me the card last year? Not even a thousand dollars. You must think I’m an idiot. I hear people talking at parties and at dinners. I mean, Babs Marrero …”

  “Mrs. Marrero to you,” Elsa interjected.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Vidamía snapped. “Anyway, Mrs. I-hang-out-with-Ivanna-in-the-sauna Marrero can’t stop talking about the success of Spantax and swears that her husband, Mr. I’ll-kick-that-damn-Castro-out-of-Cuba-myself Marrero, will be on the cover of Time by Christmas. Give me a break, okay? Does ‘Spantax netted twenty-five million dollars’ sound like we’re getting on line for the welfare cheese Grandma Ursula talks about?” she inquired of Elsa, and at the same time happened to look at Barry, who was subtly enjoying her awareness of how well his enterprises were doing. “And that doesn’t even count what Barry’s company makes now that it’s expanded to Florida and Puerto Rico. Damn it. We’re rich.”

  “So what!” Elsa said. “That doesn’t give you the right to squander money on your whims.”

  “We’re rich.”

  “Dammit, your stepfather works very hard, and in my own small way I contribute quite handsomely to our income. We’re not spendthrifts. Our expenditures are for necessities.”

  “Necessities? We have two Jacuzzis in this place, one in the pool house and one in the guest house. And now you’re having a second swimming pool built. What necessities? Oh, and my sweet sixteen party was a real necessity.”

  “I’m talking about when we were starting out.”

  “Right, so why are you making such a big deal about me buying a piano for my family?”

  “Your family?” Elsa shouted. “What are we?”

  “You’re my family, too,” Vidamía said, tears coming to her eyes. “I’m sorry, mami. You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “She knows that,” Barry said.

  “Wait a minute, Barry,” Elsa interrupted. “I want an explanation.”

  Barry was firm.

  “As far as I�
��m concerned she doesn’t have to explain anything,” he said. “All I want is for Vidamía to learn how important it is to handle money wisely. She’s right, the amount is small if we consider our overall wealth.” He turned to Vidamía and asked her if she understood.

  For the first time Vidamía saw a profound tenderness in Barry and understood why her mother clung to him, seeking what she hadn’t been able to find in another male. It was obvious Barry adored her mother, but she had never seen how it was possible for her mother to feel the same for him, although she was constantly praising him. Perhaps it was all a show on her mother’s part. Vidamía’s heart felt strangely pained, and then she realized that deep inside she also loved Barry. Not in the same way that she loved Billy Farrell, but with respect and admiration and a kind of awe.

  “I’m sorry, Barry,” she said. “I thought I was doing a good thing.”

  “A good thing?” Elsa said.

  “Maybe you were,” Barry said, ignoring Elsa. “But I wish you had consulted us first.”