Damas, Dramas, and Ana Ruiz

by Belinda Acosta

  “It was, but it had nothing to do with the ceremony itself,” Beatriz said. “I mean, the ceremony was special. The Mass was nice, and the few gifts I got were nice, but the best part—the very best part to me—was when it was over, and I sat with my mom and my aunts and my cousins eating leftover cake and talking into the middle of the night. My mom lost one of her shoes and my tiara got bent, but I didn’t care. That was the most time I got to spend with her, because you know, she worked so much. If she wasn’t working, she was sleeping.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Ana said.

  It had been a long time since Ana had any conversation with Carmen, and she was beginning to think it would never happen again. She had wanted the quinceañera to be a time to bond and become close again. Now, although things seemed to be coming together, it seemed like a way for Carmen to avoid talking to Ana about anything outside the quinceañera; the whole thing was feeling more and more like a giant to-do list.

  “All the girls are at the nail salon?” Ana asked, holding up a plain blue sack to her face for Beatriz’s response.

  Beatriz made a face like she tasted something sour. “Yeah—oh, except Bianca. But they said she was on her way.”

  “On her way? From where?”

  Beatriz shrugged. “I didn’t ask. Why?”

  “She’s been acting a little … I’m not sure. Sometimes she vanishes, and I don’t know where she is and she doesn’t answer her phone. And when I ask her where she’s been, she says she was running errands.”

  “You think it’s a boy?” Beatriz asked, holding up a slinky peach dress for Ana to see.

  “No,” Ana said about the dress. “I want something that says mom, not mamasota.”

  “Oh, come on! Just a little mamasota?” Beatriz teased. “Show a little of that juice in the caboose, already! And the girls’ dresses? How are they coming?”

  “I can’t believe it, but I think Bianca is going to deliver,” Ana said.

  “And she’s keeping up with school?”

  “Yes, she actually made Carmen’s quinceañera the project of her business practices class, with the budget and a production schedule y todo! I was shocked. And she finally got Carmen to give up on that god-awful tiger-stripe print. So, now Carmen is going to be in champagne white and the girls are going to be in pastels.”

  “Well, then—maybe it’s nothing,” Beatriz said.

  “No, it’s something,” Ana said, holding up another shapeless dress under her chin.

  “Okay, so are you trying to look matronly? At least get something that shows off your figure!” Beatriz said. “So, look, my theory is this: if she’s doing well in school and she’s still keeping up with all the stuff she’s supposed to keep up with, there’s probably nothing to worry about.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Ana said. “You have boys. And how soon we forget, Miss I’m Going to the Library to Study.”

  “I did go to the library to study—some of the time,” Beatriz said.

  “Well, I need to get to the bottom of this before her dad gets back this week,” Ana said. “If she is doing anything stupid with some boy, I think it will be better for her to deal with me first.” Ana continued searching through dresses on the rack before she stopped with a tired huff.

  “I can’t believe it. I don’t see anything I like. Are you ready to go?” Ana turned to look at Beatriz, who was loaded down with clothes.

  “Go ahead, I’ll wait,” Ana said. Beatriz went into a dressing room to try on the outfits. Ana sat on a small padded bench outside the dressing room, facing the three-way mirror in the outer dressing room. A few other women came and went, but they mostly had the dressing room to themselves.

  “Maybe I did it all wrong,” Ana said.

  “Did what all wrong? The quinceañera?”

  “No. My life. Maybe all the choices I made were wrong. When Esteban and I got married, I thought it was the most perfect thing. I understood him. I knew what he was about. I recognized him. It all made sense. He was home.” Ana sighed.

  “What do you mean, ‘he was home’?” Beatriz asked from inside the dressing room.

  “He was what I knew. You know, a good guy. A good man. Uncomplicated and familiar. Maybe I should have been a painter or an art teacher. Maybe I got married too young. Maybe I should have gone away to school.”

  Beatriz came out of the dressing room to look at herself in the three-way mirror.

  “Why do you assume you are the one who made all the wrong choices? You didn’t make Esteban’s choices.”

  “No, but maybe I expected too much.”

  “Your problem isn’t that you expect too much—it’s that you expect too little. Don’t get me wrong. Esteban is a good man. I’ve seen how he is. He’s a good father. He’s got a good heart, but—”

  “But what?”

  “You always said everyone told you you were lucky to get a man like Esteban. Did it ever occur to you that he was the lucky one?”

  Never, ever, in Ana Ruiz’s married life had that thought ever come to her. Beatriz went back into her dressing room to try on another outfit.

  “Oye, has Montalvo said anything to you about staying?”

  “No. I know he’s seriously considering it, though.”

  “Really? And how do you know that?” Beatriz teased.

  “Oh, stop. We’re just friends.”

  “I don’t know if Montalvo is the kind of man you can be just friends with,” Beatriz said. “At least I don’t know why you’d want to be,” she added under her breath. “Crap!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I got the zipper stuck. Can you help me?”

  Ana joined Beatriz in the small dressing room, and the two of them faced the mirror as Ana figured out the best way to unstick the zipper without tearing the cloth.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Beatriz began. “I like how you are since he’s been around.”

  “Oh? And how’s that?”

  “Happier, lighter.”

  Ana lost her grip on the zipper.

  “I’m still married,” she hissed.

  “I know, but you’re not dead!” Beatriz hissed back. “Look, I’m not saying you should do anything you don’t think is right, but just don’t—just don’t let life pass you by because you’re trying to be noble. I’m serious.”

  “I know you are. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Oye! I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Beatriz spun around to face Ana. “It’s coming down to the wire and the whole, big honking machine is finally going to produce. I think they’re going to offer Prince Charming an endowed professorship with some travel money, sabbatical time, and, if he’s lucky, a housing allowance.”

  “Really? Where’s the funding coming from?”

  “Most of it from Gruber. The city is pitching in the first year, the state arts council the second, and the rest thanks to a deal made through the state legislature—but I don’t know how you know that and you didn’t hear it from me,” Beatriz said in a low voice. “Getting all these people to two-step together in time to the music—híjole! I think the final word is coming down next week.”

  Ana returned to working on the zipper and smiled to herself.

  “So, are you bringing him to the quinceañera?”

  “Who? Montalvo? No!”

  “Oh, come on! Invite him.”

  “I could, but it would be weird, with Esteban there.”

  “But I thought you were just friends?” Beatriz said.

  “We are, but … I think it would be better if he didn’t come. He knows about it. He’s busy. Plus, I think he’d rather be working in his studio than stuffed in a tuxedo.”

  “Ay, but he looks so nice in a tuxedo,” Beatriz said dreamily.

  “Stop! I told you what Carmen thought about him and me, right? I don’t want to replay that drama. And it’s her day. I don’t want anything to make her think otherwise.”

  What Ana really meant to say was she wanted to keep Montalvo to
herself. She made another tug on the zipper, finally loosening the cloth from its teeth, when her cell phone rang.

  “Ana, qué onda?” Montalvo said.

  “Oh, just shopping. What’s going on?”

  “I was wondering if you were open for lunch. I have some big news to share.”

  “News? Really? What?” Ana asked, signaling to Beatriz that she was talking to Montalvo.

  “Come over. I need your opinion—and I’m starving. Do you mind bringing tacos from that place I like?”

  When Ana told Beatriz what Montalvo wanted, she muffled a shriek.

  “Maybe he’s decided! Ana! You’ve got to call me right away, as soon as you know something, okay?”

  Ana was singing along with her Stevie Wonder tape as she drove up to Montalvo’s studio.

  “Isn’t she lovely?” Stevie crooned, and Ana had to agree. She felt lovely and happy.

  She told herself she was excited her friend was going to stay in San Antonio. She was looking forward to helping him find a permanent home and settling into life in the city.

  As she entered the studio, she found Montalvo staring at the piece he’d been working on since the beginning of the school year. It wasn’t coming together as he had hoped. Mocte and another student were there, tired and bien haggard, waiting for instructions. Montalvo was walking back and forth in front of it, stopping and thinking. He then turned to the students and told them to go with a rough wave of his hand. They would have run for the door if they weren’t half dead.

  “Hola, Mocte,” Ana said, as he passed her.

  “Hola, miss.”

  “You look like you had a long morning.”

  “Long night,” he said, looking back at Montalvo. “I got to go, miss.” The fog around Mocte worried Ana as she continued toward Montalvo.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “They’re tired.”

  “How long have you all been at it?”

  “Since ten.”

  “Well, that’s not so—ten o’clock, last night?”

  Montalvo nodded. Ana quietly set the food on the table and handed him a soft drink cup. “If you told me, I would have brought food for them, too.” Montalvo shrugged, sat at the table, and drank from the cup. She was disappointed in his response but decided to get to what she thought was the root of the issue. “I’m sure if you give it some time—”

  “I’m running out of time,” he said, pulling the bag of food toward him and digging in. “The semester, the year is almost over, and this is all I have to show for it.”

  “No one said you had to have the piece or anything finished by the end of the school year. And I’m sure the students, some students, will want to stay involved.”

  “And then, there’s another school year, with more students, and they’ll want to start a new project, not continue with this. Why should they? It is a mess! It is going nowhere.”

  Montalvo threw a partially unwrapped taco onto the table and leaned back in his chair.

  “Oye, Ana, tell me: what do you know of Girona?”

  “Girona? Where is that? In Spain?”

  “Sí, sixty-five miles from Barcelona, más o menos! That’s less than from here to Austin!” he said. “Barcelona is one of the great cities of the world. Art, architecture, fashion, the beach—”

  “What does that have to do with Girona?” Ana asked.

  “I want to go to there.”

  “To visit?”

  “To work.”

  Ana imagined the look on Beatriz’s face, the dean’s face, Mrs. Gruber’s face, everyone’s faces when they found out what she was afraid Montalvo was saying.

  “What’s in Girona?”

  “The Salvador Dalí Museum. Really, it is to the north, but Girona would be a good place to live and still be close to the museum and to Barcelona.”

  “But I thought you wanted to stay here?”

  “I do. I did, but … I am not very good at this, Ana,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not a very good teacher.”

  “What are you talking about? The students love you! Everyone loves you!”

  “You are lovely, always so lovely. Have I told you how lovely you are today?” Montalvo smiled, then took a deep breath. “Everyone has been very kind, but I should not be here. The students are wonderful, but the entire time I am with them, I am aware of the work I am not accomplishing. I work best alone. I did not think it would be that way, but … Barcelona! Ana, Barcelona! I’ve always wanted to be in Barcelona. Can you imagine?”

  “Just like that?” Ana said.

  “Yes! Of course, like that! Barcelona, Ana! Haven’t you ever wanted to go?”

  “Of course,” Ana said.

  “Then come with me!”

  “What?!”

  “Come! You can teach English or get a job in the university there! It’s all the same—bureaucrats are the same everywhere in the world. And when you get tired or have spent all your money, you can come back here.”

  If Montalvo was trying to sweep Ana off her feet, he was doing a bad job.

  “But what about my kids?”

  “They’re old enough to take care of themselves, aren’t they? Believe me, they like a little freedom at this age. If I hadn’t been stuck with Lili, I would have done this years ago,” Montalvo blurted.

  Ana’s face fell.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” he said. “You know what a burden children—and husbands and wives—can be!”

  Ana felt herself closing up like a flor de peñasco.

  “I can’t just pick up and leave. I have a family here, a life here,” she said.

  “But I thought you wanted something more?”

  “I do,” Ana said, “but I don’t—I can’t …” Now it was all becoming clear to her. Except for the time he spent “stuck” raising Lili, he flitted from woman to woman and place to place, leaving whatever headache had been created behind. Even Esteban had not been that cold, that self-centered.

  When Ana’s phone rang she didn’t hear it. She was too busy wondering: Where did that man I thought was so kind and elegant and exciting go? Ana felt as if she had been told Montalvo was dead, and this person in front of her was an imposter. But no, this was the real Montalvo after all.

  “Ana, your phone,” Montalvo said, picking up his drink and walking over to look at the partially assembled sculpture. She flipped open her phone and said hello.

  “Ana! Who is this boy?” Esteban asked in an urgent whisper. He was calling from the tuxedo shop, where he and the chambelanes were getting their final fitting.

  “Qué, qué, qué?”

  “The boy that looks like a rooster! He says he’s Carmen’s friend. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Ana said.

  “The boy with the tattoos and the rings on his face. He says he’s her friend. What kind of friend? Why is he trying on a tuxedo like the rest of them?”

  “He must be on the court,” Ana said, before it dawned on her that she might know who the boy was—the dangerous boy called El Rey that she first saw in the Castañeda garage.

  “He is not like the other boys,” Esteban said.

  “Can we talk about this when I see you later?”

  Ana hung up the phone, annoyed and still stunned from where she and Montalvo left off. She turned back to him to find him still staring at the structure. Suddenly, he threw his cup violently. It skidded across the cement floor, ice cubes gliding everywhere.

  “What a waste of time! It will have to be destroyed! That’s all there is to it,” he said.

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I can’t have my name on it!”

  “But the students have their hand in it, too. What will they think when they see it destroyed like it was nothing?”

  “They will think that life is unfair. The sooner they learn that, the better,” Montalvo said. “I cannot have this remain as my legacy. You understand, don’t you, Ana?”

  “I … no!
Thousands of dollars have been spent here, not to mention time and effort, and you just want to destroy it? There must be something to save.”

  “No, I think it’s better to bring the bulldozers in now! Ay, Ana! What was I thinking? I don’t belong here. I belong in Barcelona. An invitation was sent to me from the Dalí Museum to make an installation in conjunction with a festival, an anniversary—I don’t know the details, but I want to accept it.” Ana wondered if this was how Montalvo made his decision to come to San Antonio, because he was tired or frustrated with where he was before.

  Montalvo waited for Ana to congratulate him, to cheer for him, to tell him it was all right. When that didn’t come, he stood tall and said como el mero big shot, “I am not meant for this place. I am meant for bigger things.”

  “Well, then. It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.” Ana turned on her heel to leave.

  “Ana! Ana!” By the time Montalvo caught up to her, her face was stony.

  “Everyone has been working hard to keep you here,” she said. “Everyone thought you wanted to be here, make a life here. I thought you wanted to be here. I thought . . I thought you wanted me!”

  “I do! I did, I mean—what do you mean?” Montalvo asked.

  “You know what I mean!”

  “I—I wanted a companion, and that’s what I got. A very lovely companion and a good friend, I thought. You told me you were married! How long is a man supposed to wait?”

  He lunged at Ana, took her in his arms, and lifted her off the floor.

  “Ana, Ana, Ana! How long are you going to hang on to this anchor you call your family? Your kids are practically grown! They’ll make it the rest of the way on their own!”

  Ana was horrified. She pushed herself away from Montalvo and stumbled to the floor. She ran to her car and Montalvo stood there, feeling very worried. It was not like Ana to not support him. But he knew she’d be fine. She had to be fine. She would be fine, wouldn’t she? Ana Ruiz, after all, was a strong woman.

  By the time Ana got to the taquería where she usually met Esteban, she was in no mood for slanted conversation or any other communication without words. She wanted words. Concrete words to tell her exactly what she needed to know, what she deserved to know. No more of this talking around the truth—she wanted to pull back the cover that hung over it and face it.