Damas, Dramas, and Ana Ruiz

by Belinda Acosta

  “Yeah,” Diego said dumbly. He didn’t know what else to say.

  “Your sister doesn’t seem that into it, though.”

  “Oh, she’s being a pain in the ass since, um, stuff.”

  “Still the same?” Sonia asked bien gentle.

  “Yeah. It’s just weird, you know, because—everything was normal and now … it’s all messed up.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Sonia said, strumming lightly. “When my mom passed, it was hard for a long time. It’s still hard.” Sonia and Rafa’s mother had died two years earlier. Diego remembered how windblown she and her brother had looked at the funeral, clinging to their father, who was a heaping mass of stunned pain. Diego heard Mr. Castañeda bellow some coarse remarks to the referee for missing a foul, echoing the same thoughts fans were yelling in living rooms and sports bars all over town.

  “I’m sorry,” Diego said.

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.” He watched her fingers as she moved them along the frets and picked at the strings. What he wanted to say was that he was sorry he didn’t know how to talk to her. He was sorry she made him feel todo goofy inside. He was sorry he couldn’t come up with something he’d written in the journals he had hidden under his bed, something that would tell her how she made him feel. He was sorry he didn’t know what kind of shampoo she used, because if he did, híjole, he would run out and buy enough to take a bath in.

  “Hey, tell me what you think of this.” She plugged her guitar into the amplifier and began to play a bluesy number that Diego had never heard from her. The music yawned with ache and hit notes he could feel; emotions tender to the touch but plain enough to be the honest-to-God truth. She was just starting to get into it when Rafa came to the door, pulling it behind him to block the music.

  “Hey, Dad says to stop.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Rafa closed the door and went back to the game.

  “That was badass!” Diego said. “I didn’t know you could play like that.”

  “Not all the time. I’m not really a blues player, but this one came to me after my mom died. I played it a lot, and I don’t know—it made me feel better. My dad hates it.”

  “But it’s so—it really hits you, you know?”

  “Yeah, that’s what he says.” Sonia turned off the amplifier and tried to play it again, but it wasn’t the same. It was music that had to be played loud, like a howl. “I was thinking it needed lyrics,” she said. “But I’m not very good at that.”

  Diego found that hard to believe. “I might have some that would work.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Okay. I’d like to see what you got.”

  The two of them smiled at each other, the fireworks exploding in their eyes.

  When Carmen and Ana were having their own explosion after the Montalvo pachanga, Bianca was in her car. She had a bag of fresh clothes, had walked through the big, empty house she shared with her father, sorted through the mail, checked the answering machine, and even called her father, who was now in Dallas, to let him know she was fine, todo está bien. But when he asked her where she was, she lied. She said she was at her tía’s house studying. Where she really was, was outside the place where her mother was living, sitting in her car, chewing on a rope of cherry-flavored licorice (so she wouldn’t bite her nails). Her Bug was hard to miss, and the hospital staff could see it from the window.

  “Do you think she’s coming in today?” an orderly asked another one, as they straightened chairs in a common room.

  “I don’t know. She better come on if she’s going to. Visiting hours are over soon.”

  “She’s not coming in,” a third one said. “She just sits out there, waiting for who knows what.”

  “She’s waiting to be ready,” the first one said. “You got to remember these are just crazy people to us, but they belong to someone. It’s not easy for some. At least she’s trying.”

  “She’s not trying!” the third orderly huffed. “She’s just sitting in her car, listening to music, running down the clock.”

  “You don’t know what’s going on in her head, no more than you know what’s going on inside some of these sad folks’ heads,” the first orderly said.

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, there she goes,” the second orderly said, watching the lights on Bianca’s Bug blink on as she started her car and drove around and down the long drive to the main entrance.

  “And just in time,” the third orderly said. “Visiting hours are over right … now!” She turned to the others with her hand out. “Pay up.” The two other orderlies pulled out their bills and slapped them into the winner’s hand. This month alone, he was up twenty-five dollars.

  SIXTEEN

  Montalvo’s eight o’clock class was just ending when Ana drove up to his studio with breakfast tacos. As she entered with her bags of food, Montalvo looked up from the notes he was reading.

  “Buenos días,” Ana said timidly. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Buenas, Ana! What is all this?”

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought you a little of everything—tacos de lengua, tacos de huevo y papa, huevo y chorizo, tocino, gorditas, pan dulce …”

  “You brought enough for the whole class!” Montalvo exclaimed. “Please sit. Was this Robert’s idea?”

  “Well, no. I mean yes. He wanted me to check on you after Mrs. Gruber kidnapped you last night, and since you didn’t get your tacos, I thought I would make a special delivery.”

  “You did not have to, but how nice that you did. And Leanora was a gracious captor.” It took a moment for Ana to figure out he was talking about Mrs. Gruber.

  “Really? She can be very, um … trying.”

  “She is a character, but she was not so bad when it was the two of us,” Montalvo said, poking through the bags Ana set on the table. “Please, I hope you will join me. I cannot eat all of this myself, and cold tacos are almost not worth eating.” Before she could answer, he got paper plates and napkins and began to set a table for the two of them. She uncovered the to-go containers, and the aroma of coffee, warm tortillas, and fresh pico de gallo sprung up to tease them. They danced around the table setting things up, and when it was all ready, he invited her to sit.

  “So, really,” Ana began as she unwrapped a bundle of warm gorditas, “she was nice to you?”

  “Yes! She can be very charming when she wants to be. She’s not as awful as people say she is. Pobrecita, she is lonely. But you cannot guess so many words could come out of one little woman. She could not stop talking! I was exhausted when she finally took me back to my hotel.”

  “She didn’t take you right away?”

  “No, she made her driver take us around the city on the—what did she call it?—the Loop, and she told me the story of her family and her life.”

  “I thought she wanted to interrogate you.”

  “She did,” Montalvo laughed. “But she saved that for last.”

  “You must have been dying by that time,” Ana said, remembering that Montalvo had said he was starving.

  “I was. She heard my stomach growl and made her driver take us to this place she called the Sonic? Is that right? She bought me a hamburger and papas fritas.”

  Montalvo found a container of lime wedges and squirted the juice onto his lengua taco, sprinkled it with bits of white onion and cilantro, refolded it, and took a healthy bite.

  “Ah! But it was nothing like this. This is from heaven! Muchísimas gracias, Ana!”

  The two of them continued to eat, talking about the evening—he asking her about all the people he met, and she asking about his daughter, who was still sleeping at the hotel.

  “She will be fine,” Montalvo said, unwrapping another taco. “And you? How was the rest of your evening?” A small cloud came over Ana as she remembered her fight with Carmen in the car. She thought about telling Montalvo about it. Maybe he would have some good advi
ce. But the whole thing made her sad, and she was having a nice morning with Montalvo. She didn’t want to ruin it. And besides, she didn’t want to get into what her daughter said about him, thinking he was Ana’s novio. Qué loca!

  “It was fine,” she said, watching Montalvo enjoy his meal. “Let me ask you something. You said you have five daughters. Did you have quinceañeras for all them?”

  “Oh, no,” Montalvo said. “My girls weren’t interested. I thought Lili would be, but even she said no to it. There was a party, but not the whole ceremony at the church y todo,” Montalvo said. “Why?”

  “Oh, just comparing notes. I’ve been trying to plan a quinceañera with Carmen, and it’s been nothing but difficult. Very difficult. She’s very …” Ana exhaled a frustrated growl.

  “But I imagine she is lovely, like her mother.”

  Ana wasn’t sure if Montalvo meant what he said or if he was trying to be as gracious with her as he was with Mrs. Gruber. She ignored the spark his words made in her belly.

  “So, she is fourteen. And your son?”

  “Diego is almost seventeen.”

  “And why are you doing it? Is this something you did when you were a girl?

  “No,” Ana said, picking through the pan dulce for the smallest piece. “I was hoping it would be a nice way for us to try and get along,” she said. “We—I …” Ana’s voice broke off, and Montalvo searched her face for an explanation.

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult time. My husband and I are—he is not living with us now. It’s very hard on my children. Especially Carmen.”

  Montalvo could see it was hard on Ana también. He put his taco down and leaned forward to give Ana all his attention.

  “These things happen,” he said.

  “I didn’t think it would happen to me.”

  “Did you marry young?”

  “Right out of high school.”

  “Ah,” he said. “People change, hopefully to become the best person they can become. If that happens at the same time with another person, it is a miracle. But do not ask me. I am the last person to give advice on this.”

  Finally, Ana thought. Someone who was not going to tell her how to act, what to think, or how to feel about her situation.

  “But don’t worry, Ana, you are a beautiful woman. You will not be alone for long.” It had been so long since Ana was told she was beautiful, she thought he was joking. She smirked until she caught Montalvo looking at her todo wistful.

  “You do not know how beautiful you are, do you?”

  Híjole! Ana began to nervously clean up the remains of their meal.

  “Let me help you,” Montalvo said. When he stood up, Ana got flustered and knocked over a half-full cup of pico de gallo, and it made a puddle in a pile of napkins.

  “Ay, discúlpeme! I was trying to help,” Montalvo said, even though Ana knew it was she who was the clumsy one. As he went to find some paper towels, Ana wondered if Montalvo was one of those men who couldn’t help but flirt with women no matter who they were or what they looked like, or if he was really trying to win her over. Ana could see how informal she had become with Montalvo and decided to direct their talk to less dangerous things.

  “You said you and your daughter were going to California for Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes. One of her sisters is there, and she will stay to meet with some producers.”

  “In Hollywood? Wow. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were a famous movie star one day.”

  “Maybe. I would rather she were a successful actress instead of a starlet. But we will see.”

  Ana searched for a trash can. She found one near the table where Montalvo had his plans all laid out.

  “Is this the piece you’re working on?”

  “Yes! Un momento.” He ran to the far side of the warehouse and flipped a switch, fully lighting the cavernous space to expose a large skeleton of wood, wire, and rebar.

  “Oh, my goodness! I didn’t even notice that was there! You’ve done a lot of work since I was last here!” she said. “But what is it?”

  “This is only the form,” he said, running back to her. “It is almost finished, and then we will start applying the shell when it is ready.”

  “And the students are helping with this?”

  “Some of the students. I have the rest of them doing smaller work over there.” He pointed to a wall of shelves on the other side of the warehouse, where the student works were stored. “Mocte and another student are helping me with this.”

  “I bet Mocte is thrilled,” Ana said, feeling very proud of him.

  “I am thrilled. He has many good ideas and is very talented.”

  “But I don’t understand how this works. You fly up there and they hand you material, or what?”

  “Something like that. Come, I’ll show you. But you will need to change.”

  “Change? No, that’s okay. I’ll just come back and watch you work with the students sometime.”

  “Oh, please, Ana Ruiz. Come play with me!” Montalvo puffed out his lower lip como un chico (qué chulo!). Ana laughed. “Please, Ana. I need your help.”

  “Well … what do I have to do?”

  “There is a coverall behind that panel. Go put it on and I will show you.”

  Ana was unsure of what she was getting into.

  “This is good. I have only thought of this new way of working, but I have not tried it out and should like to do so before I bring it to the students. In my own studio, this would be nothing, but I am still getting familiar with this space. Really, this is a huge favor for me.”

  Ana was worried but went behind the panel as he said and found the coveralls. As she changed, she could hear the squeal and jerk of the ropes and pulleys as Montalvo pulled them into place. She put on the large coverall quickly, but paused when she realized it carried his scent. Not a sour, used-up smell, but faint, like a caress. Ana tried to come up with a good reason to stop, but it was too late. Montalvo’s scent filled her like a strong whiskey. Pero, la mujer pulled herself together and came out from behind the panel. Montalvo smiled and gave her his hand.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” Ana said.

  “It’s all right,” Montalvo said (bien dreamy). “I’ll help you. Now, put your legs through this.” He was holding down the harness for her.

  Ana choked.

  “Oh please, please! It would help me very much. You don’t want me to kill a student, do you?”

  “I don’t want you to kill me, either!”

  “I assure you, you are in good hands. Please, let me help you.” Montalvo helped pull the harness up to Ana’s waist and attached a safety lead to another strap he had her place around her chest. Montalvo was all business, pulling and cinching and deciding the best way to secure her. The flurry of his hands over her body—madre santa—even with the coverall between her skin and his hands, made her heart gallop. She bit her tongue.

  “’Stá bien?” he asked. “Are you ready?”

  “Do I have any choice?” she asked, not sure what was going to happen next.

  “All right then—ándale!” He pulled on a rope, and before she knew it, Ana was in the air, floating like a piñata over Montalvo’s head. She thought she might fly into the structure, but just as she grazed it, Montalvo pulled her away by the other rope attached to her chest.

  “’Stá bien?” he called to her from below.

  Ana couldn’t answer; she was breathless with excitement. As she swung the other way, toward the wall, she screamed, and then laughed, in spite of herself—a full laugh drenched with delight.

  Below, Montalvo was worried. This was not working the way he had planned. He was making adjustments in his head.

  “The idea is to have two students, one in the air, one on the ground, helping to navigate and apply the fiberglass pieces, which I will mold onto the frame with the heat,” he said.

  But Ana did not hear him. Flying up there made her feel as if every worry she had in the world had exploded and fallen
away like confetti. She was breathing deeply out of excitement instead of fear, a thrill blowing through her body and bursting from her in streamers.

  “Now, I will figure out how to bring you down,” Montalvo said.

  “What do you mean, ‘figure out’?” Ana asked. Now she was escared. He made it look like nothing the day she first saw him in the harness, but that was when he was handling himself. Now he was working out how to instruct his students to work the harness-and-pulley system from a different angle.

  “Ándale!” he said. Híjole! Ana was falling! Her stomach lurched, and the food she ate bounced to the top of her stomach. But just as quickly as she fell, she suddenly stopped—a foot above the ground. Because Montalvo was working as a counterweight to her, his feet were off the ground también. They circled each other in the air, both of them breathing deeply. He took hold of Ana’s waist and pulled her toward him while taking the rope over his head. She could see the strain of him holding both of them in his biceps, in the flush of his skin, the gleam of sweat on his neck. And when his body working hard bloomed that scent of his (qué hombrazo!), Ana gasped.

  “I have you,” he said. He was afraid he might be hurting her, and the adrenaline rush made him work fast. He let loose a length of rope wrapped around his arm, finally bringing them both to the ground. He was still holding her, and he carefully let her body slide down his to the floor. Ana’s heart was pounding in her ears, and Montalvo was breathing heavily.

  “That wasn’t the way it was supposed to work,” he admitted. “But I think now I have a better idea of how to explain it. Gracias! Are you all right?” He looked at her dazed expression, worrying that he had handled her too roughly. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

  Ana was more than all right. Pero, pobre mujer! She desperately wanted to be kissed.

  Ana didn’t see Montalvo again until Thanksgiving week, when she offered to drive him and his daughter to the airport. The trip was short and fast, y nada más. But over the break, oh, how Ana suffered! She was tortured with daydreams of him—his scent, the feel of his arm around her, the shape of his hands, the warmth of his skin, the caress of her breast against his chest as she slid down his body. Híjole! She was filled with desire and sick with guilt. She was married. She was married to Esteban, the father of her children, the man she had vowed to spend the rest of her life with. Didn’t that mean something, anything, anymore? She loved Esteban, but being with a man who had lost his passion for her was worse than wounding; it had made her numb. Being close to Montalvo awakened a part of her that she thought was asleep forever. She thought her passion was like a small room in the attic: closed up, dark, and coated with dust. Now, that space was burst open, filled with light, the windows blown out, and every corner soft and round, humming with sensation. She felt alive, but this was worse than being closed up and forgotten. She had nowhere to unleash that blissful desire. So she stamped it down and tried to ignore it. The holiday came just in time.