by PJ Skinner
At half past nine another woman let herself in and sat down at one of the desks. She was very short. Her legs dangled over the edge of her chair and, although she wore vertiginous heels, her feet did not quite reach the floor. She was heavily made-up, with clumps of mascara on her long lashes and a huge quiff in her long, wavy, bottle-blonde hair. She was squeezed into a very tight skirt and jacket with a frilled shirt spilling out of it. Her fingers were swamped with rings and she jangled when she moved, due to the number of bracelets she was wearing. ‘Buenos dias. You must be Sam?’
‘Yes, buenos dias. I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are.’
‘I am Marta Perez. I work for Mr Mike as his assistant. By the way, I lived in Miami as a child, so we can speak English together.’
‘Great. It’s very nice to meet you. Your English is a lot better than my Spanish. Does anyone else work for Mike, besides you and Tati?’
‘But of course. Hernan Sanchez’s daughter, Gloria, works here, too.’
‘And what does she do?’
‘Chica, Gloria is the daughter of Hernan Sanchez; she does whatever she likes.’
‘Is Mr Sanchez an important man in Calderon?’
‘Yes, he is, how you say, Mr Big?’
‘Mr Big, okay then,’ said Sam, feeling out of her depth and wondering if the translation was correct. ‘What time does Gloria get here?’ she asked, feeling like she already knew the answer.
‘Whenever she feels like it.’ This was followed by a dismissive swish of the hair. Sam knew that question time was over.
***
On Sam’s first day in Calderon Mike introduced her to Gloria at lunch. Gloria Sanchez was not in a good mood. Sam felt intimidated by the long, appraising look she gave her before offering her face for a kiss on either cheek. Gloria was sparrow-shaped with a big chest and short skinny legs. She had lots of multi-coloured hair that had originally been a reddish-auburn colour but had succumbed to various experiments in the hair salon. It was very long and naturally curly, like that of most girls in Calderon. She wore a lot of makeup and her mascara was flaking around her eyes, giving her the look of an indignant panda. She chain-smoked throughout lunch, as did almost everyone else in the restaurant. She started to speak, somewhat at random, on the subject of her boyfriend.
‘Aye, chica, you know Diego is not treating me right.’
‘Oh?’ said Sam, not sure of the correct response to this revelation.
‘You know he is just not taking me seriously. He is quite happy to get drunk and do chaka-chaka with me but he goes missing all the time. I heard he was seen with another woman last night.’
‘How dreadful,’ said Sam, taken aback. Gloria’s boyfriend, Diego, sounded like a complete jerk, but it was rather a lot of information for a first meeting.
‘Oh yes, he like to get drunk with me but I want him to get serious.’
‘How annoying,’ said Sam. ‘You must be a saint to put up with that sort of behaviour.’
Mollified, Gloria drank her coffee and sucked on another cigarette. Sam felt she had passed some sort of test.
‘So what did you think of our Gloria?’ asked Mike on the way home from the restaurant.
‘She seems like quite a girl,’ replied Sam.
‘Did she tell you that she has twin boys? They don’t come out much. Gloria leaves them with the maid.’
‘The maid? Poor things. That’s a bit harsh.’
‘Par for the course around here Sam.’
‘I’m not sure I will get used to that attitude quickly.’
***
Gloria, who, as Marta had intimated, helped Mike on an ad-hoc basis which revolved around her hangovers, took Sam to buy a map. Sam had a feeling that from the way Gloria and Mike talked to each other, that there might have been some other ad-hoc activity involved from time to time. Gloria was the daughter of one of Sierramar’s richest men and Mike had offered her a job due to the network of contacts that it afforded him. It was obvious to Sam that Mike fancied Gloria. He seemed to have developed a crush on the hard-drinking, soft-hearted woman. Gloria was not the most diligent worker but she had her uses, if only for the immediate attention that a daughter of Señor Hernan Sanchez could get in a restaurant at peak times.
The Geographical Institute was perched on a hill at the boundary between the old and new Calderon. It contained a planetarium with a round dome that could be seen from anywhere in the city. The only way to get there was by car. Driving in Sierramar was a highly risky affair due to the fact that most of the population bought their licences instead of taking a driving test.
Gloria drove as if she were being chased by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, putting on her lipstick and lighting cigarettes at high speed, while nonchalantly throwing the jeep around the corners with one hand, on what seemed like two wheels. Sam gripped her seat with white-knuckled hands.
‘Are we in a hurry?’ she asked, hoping to alert Gloria to her distress.
‘Oh no, chica. Mike told me to drive slowly because you were not well and might vomit. This is slow.’
When they got to the gates of the institute, armed guards stopped their jeep and asked them to park in the street and to walk up the steep driveway instead of parking in the car park at the institute.
‘I have a sore leg officer,’ said Gloria, simpering. ‘I can’t climb all the way up that hill in these heels.’
‘No one may park up at the institute except the management.’
‘Oh, but I would only be parking for a very short time. I just have to collect something. Please let me drive up. Or you will have to carry me.’
The teenage soldiers giggled at the thought but allowed themselves to be persuaded by Gloria’s blatant flirting. They kept the women’s identification papers as surety but for what Sam could not imagine. Gloria gunned the car up the hill and parked in a space that was reserved, a fact she ignored.
They entered the institute through a large door into a cool vestibule surrounded by various small windows occupied by uniformed staff, who dealt with the different stages needed to purchase a map. The maps Mike wanted to buy were of an area close to the border with Peru. The first thing they had to do was fill in a form with the numbers of the maps they wanted and sign a promise that they would not give the maps to any foreigners. Sam found this amusing, considering that she was a foreigner herself. Then they had to look up the serial number of each of the maps. Identifying the sheets was time consuming.
‘You know that Mike has dyslexia?’ asked Gloria.
Sam shook her head.
‘He often gives me the wrong reference numbers. There is only one public telephone in the building, so it is nearly impossible to call him and check them. I have had to return to the office and start again more than once.’
When they had filled in the form with the correct serial numbers, they took it upstairs to the Coronel, the term the locals used for Colonel, for countersigning. He was a very dashing officer with apparently very little to do. However, as a matter of course, they were kept waiting half an hour outside his office before he found the time to sign their form.
Sam complained to Gloria. ‘This is ridiculous. In England we just chose the map we want from a rack, pay and go. Why do we have to go through all this bureaucracy?’
‘That is how we do things in Sierramar, Sam. You’ll have to be patient.’
Sam sighed. She made it clear that she thought it was a stupid system. Gloria pretended not to hear her. When the Coronel’s secretary finally beckoned them in, he was in an expansive mood.
‘Buenos dias, mi senoras, how can I help you today?’
‘Please sir, can you sign the form so we can get some maps for our work?’ asked Gloria batting her eyelashes. The Coronel seemed much more interested in Sam, who fidgeted in her seat, making it clear that she was bored by the whole process.
‘Do you speak Spanish?’ asked the Coronel.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve only been here a few days. But I’m le
arning.’
‘No problem, your friend will translate.’ He looked inquiringly at Gloria who nodded sullenly, her attempts at flirting having been ignored. ‘Do you know why I have to sign this form for you?’ he asked her.
‘No, I don’t, I’m afraid,’ said Sam, who had been thinking that it was just to annoy them by stringing out the process.
‘Did you know that during the conflict of 1941, Peru stole a large piece of the Amazon basin from Sierramar? When the war was over, the two countries could not agree about the position of the border between them. This is caused by the fact that a certain remote river valley between two mountain ridges was proposed and accepted as the border as part of negotiations to end the war. Unknown to either side at the time, there was a second river valley in between the two mountain ridges. The discovery of the second river led to disputes about which river was originally intended as the border. Now, no one agrees which valley was the one mentioned in the treaty. The advent of aerial photography and satellite photographs has made the mistake clear to both sides and the bickering over the border continues. The hostility between our two countries still simmers and occasionally bubbles over. Sierramar has refused to change its international boundaries to exclude the part annexed by Peru and you cannot bring a map of Sierramar into the country that shows the new borders. They confiscate them in the airport if found in anyone’s luggage.’
‘I had no idea,’ said Sam.
‘The result of all this controversy is that the nearer an area is to this disputed border, the more difficult it is to buy a map of it. That is why you have to come and see me to get permission for copies of any maps in that area. To make sure you are not a Peruvian spy.’
Sam felt embarrassed at her former attitude, which he had clearly read.
‘I’m not a spy. Thank you, sir.’
He nodded and signed the form.
‘Have a good day, ladies. See you again.’
They went downstairs to queue at the cash desk. Sam tried to imagine what it was like to lose a large chunk of your country to an aggressive neighbour. She felt chastened.
Gloria did not comment, leaving her to stew.
IV
During her first days in Calderon, Sam spent much of the time at the flat, looking out of the window down at the Avenida Miranda, which was the most exclusive part of town. She noticed that while most of the cars were almost falling to pieces with age, there were also expensive cars driving by. She asked Marta, who was always ready to fill her in on Calderon’s cultural mores.
‘Marta, why are most of the cars in Calderon really old? I only see new ones here in the Avenida.’
‘Well, chica, the government imposes a three hundred percent import duty on imported vehicles, so having a new car is an expensive luxury. Only the very rich can afford one. So the cars that are already in the country are just getting older and older. The few new cars you see are owned by the wealthiest people in Calderon, who can afford to pay the import taxes. The new cars are really more like taxis, though. The owners spend all their time ferrying relatives and friends about all day, especially the women. Since they don’t work, they all have plenty of time to act as taxi drivers.’
‘How come Gloria works if her father is Mr Big? Why isn’t she driving her relatives around, too?’
‘Her father is a self-made man. He doesn’t mind subsidising her as long as she works a bit, too. He’s unusual amongst the rich here. He believes that everyone should work no matter how much money they have. Anyway, you know Gloria, she would be very bored as one of these ladies who lunch.’
‘None of her friends work, then?’
‘Ha! They’re too stuck up to work. They think they’re too good to have a job. They just party and get drunk and drugged.’ Marta spat out these words, making no effort to hide her contempt.
Sam decided to leave that subject alone for a while.
***
Mike took Sam to a nightclub to show her the local idea of a good time. The Discoteca was chosen, as it was one of the only places to go in the modern northern area of town, where the wealthiest people lived. It had a décor that screamed seventies along with a dancefloor that had flashing squares like something out of Saturday Night Fever. It was owned by the ex-husband of one of Gloria’s friends. It was packed.
‘How come all barmen are Indians but none of the clients are? Is this normal?’ Sam asked.
‘It’s the system,’ replied Gloria. ‘The white people are richer than the mestizos, who are richer than the Indians, and everyone is richer than the black people. That’s what separates the social classes here. A white person wouldn’t dream of working in a bar or as a waiter and you don’t get too many mestizos in a disco unless they’re serving the drinks. Money talks, though. The disadvantage of belonging to the wrong race can be neutralised by the possession of a large amount of money. One of my friends is a mestizo whose mother runs Coca Cola in Sierramar. That qualifies her as white.’
Men outnumbered the women in the night club and were very territorial. Once a woman was singled out for attention, the suitor swaggered up with hands in pockets and hips or chest pushed out and thrust his face up close to the victim’s face. If the woman selected was sitting on a stool, a male leg was put up to shield away other males and kept the woman trapped where she was while the attempted seduction was carried out.
The revellers had a reduced personal space compared with what Sam was used to. She found that they came so close to her when they spoke that she felt uncomfortable. This was especially true of the women, who reached out and touched the clothes she was wearing or her hair in a way that would be considered odd in England. She flinched when someone she did not know put their arm around her waist. Once people discovered she was English, she was surrounded by enthusiastic questioners, many of whom spoke English with American accents, as most of them had gone to college in the USA.
‘Oh, you are English. Are you from London?’
‘Yes I am.’
‘Ah, I have heard that the English are very cold people.’
‘Oh? I wouldn’t say that. Reserved is a better word.’
‘Wow, how do you cope with all that fog?’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen fog in London. Perhaps I don’t get up early enough.’
‘Do you get football hooligans on the streets? Is it dangerous?’
‘Margaret Thatcher has controlled that problem. It doesn’t really exist anymore. Well, not very much anyway.’
‘We need Margaret Thatcher over here. She would control the corruption.’
‘Actually, she’s not Prime Minister any more. It’s John Major now. Maybe you could ask her to come over, since she’s free.’
‘But she stole the Malvinas. What right have you English people to the Malvinas?’
Sam shifted on her feet trying to find a placatory answer but feeling very uncomfortable. She was not used to all this attention. Her shoes stuck to the residue of spilt drinks on the floor of the disco and her eyes watered from the thick cigarette smoke. Luckily Gloria noticed that she was being corralled. She stepped in, placing herself between a relieved Sam and her interrogators.
‘She’s a girl,’ said Gloria. ‘Why are you asking her about war? She doesn’t know anything.’
Sam was very grateful for her intervention, even though none of the questioning was particularly hostile.
As the night wore on, Gloria wanted to move on to another party, to see if she could bump into Diego. But she was not in a fit state to go anywhere else. After much protesting, Mike and Sam managed to manoeuvre her into the car and to drive her home. Gloria complained about getting kidnapped and smoked dope on the back seat. When they got to her building, she slid out of the back seat onto the pavement where she sat for several minutes, still griping.
‘I don’t know why we can’t go and find Diego. I’m sure he’s missing me.’
‘Gloria, it’s four o clock in the morning and he’s probably tucked up in bed by now. You should be, too.
Come on, let’s go.’
After smoking another cigarette, she hauled herself up and tried to open the front door. But she was so drunk that she kept dropping her keys. Mike left Sam in the car, took the keys from Gloria and opened the door for her. He then disappeared into the building with her in a manner that suggested this was not the first time he had helped her get home. When he got back to the car, he had a very obvious smear of lipstick all over his lips and chin. Sam did not comment. Gloria was obviously having a very rough time at home, what with an impending divorce and a troubled love life.
On the way home, Mike explained Gloria’s romantic situation to Sam.
‘Diego Mena is from one of Calderon’s richest and most powerful families and is one of the most eligible bachelors in town. His mother is a class-A bitch and would never let him marry Gloria, a divorcée, despite her also coming from a good family. He’s charming and educated and is very popular with everyone. But he’s totally unreliable and unfaithful. I doubt he has any intention of marrying Gloria.’
‘Does she know?’
‘I’m sure she does but she can’t admit it to herself. It’s tough being an outsider in your own class. Despite all evidence to the contrary, money doesn’t actually buy you love.’
Sam felt sorry for Gloria. She knew the feeling of being used by someone who did not care about her. Horrible memories of the humiliation surrounding the revelations about Simon’s adventures assailed her and she felt kinship with Gloria. No wonder she drank too much.
The next day, Sam, Gloria and Marta went to lunch at the Banana Verde. Sam was still thinking about the night before.
‘I noticed in the disco that the men seemed to assume that if they wanted a woman, they could have her. Do women not have a say in the matter in Calderon?’ she asked.
‘Not really, chica,’ replied Gloria. ‘We are just decoration and not expected to have an opinion.’
