Damas, Dramas, and Ana Ruiz

Home > Other > Damas, Dramas, and Ana Ruiz > Page 24
Damas, Dramas, and Ana Ruiz Page 24

by Belinda Acosta


  “Hey, what’s up?” El Rey asked. They all looked at Bianca, who looked at Carmen, who looked at Ana.

  “Well?” Ana said while on hold with the caterer. Carmen turned to El Rey.

  “You’re with me.”

  El Rey smiled and in his flattened Spanish exclaimed, “Órale!”

  Bianca taught them the dance they would do at the reception. It was really nothing more than walking with the music, but she made it interesting, with the couples lacing through each other, hands clasped and arms turned into arches for the couples to walk under and around, couple by couple. The cousin shaped like an apple was bien agile, and her partner clapped when he got to twirl her. The other couples managed to hold their own, going through the steps following Bianca’s orders. She knew the dance from her own quinceañera that wasn’t, but no one remembered.

  Ana was running down her to-do list as she wrote a check and listened to the caterer on the phone go over the final details. The waltz music was playing in the background and Ana was soothed by it until she came across something on her list that struck her as odd. She finished her call and called to Bianca over the music.

  “Don’t stop!” Bianca ordered.

  “Bianca, what did the photographer say about the deposit?”

  “What deposit?”

  “The deposit. Didn’t he want a deposit?”

  Bianca looked at Ana blankly.

  “I don’t know, Tía. I wasn’t in charge of the photographer.” Qué coraje! Ana quickly called the photographer and when she heard a message saying he was taking the month off and wouldn’t be taking appointments until next month, she couldn’t stand it. How had this huge detail been overlooked?

  “Don’t worry, Tía. We’ll just put disposable cameras on the tables and let everyone take pictures.”

  “But what about at the church?” Ana said. “Crap…”

  Ideas to fix the situation were racing through their heads when the two of them were startled by a squeal and a thud. They both turned to look at where the noise had come from.

  “Dang!” Rafa said. The girls were frozen. El Rey was standing with his arms apart, standing over Rafa, who was rolling on the floor, a bright pop mark blooming under his eye. “Dang!” Rafa said again and again. “Dang!”

  “What the hell is going on?” Ana asked, as she bent down to look at Rafa. “Mi’jo, are you all right?”

  “Dang!”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ana stood up.

  “What happened?”

  “I was aiming for him!” the apple-shaped girl sputtered, pointing at El Rey before she ran off, shaking the smart from her hand.

  Her partner tried to explain. “She’s really hungry,” he said with a tsk.

  “Dang!” Rafa said. “Give her a freaking taco or something!”

  “And this gabacho was saying pendejadas about—I don’t even know what—and her mom?” the boy said, tossing his hand in the direction the apple-shaped girl ran off. “She is too much, you know, with the dieting? And when we got to that part in the dance where we make the bridge, así?” (He demonstrated.) “I really like that part, by the way. Anyway. I think this one might of, accidentally on purpose—I don’t know, I’m just saying—I think he touched one of her girls, and you know, she went off.”

  Everyone was stunned, trying to decide what was more crazy: the fact that this boy was the apple-shaped girl’s best ally, that she had a mean right cross, or that Rafa got popped good. The boy kneeled down to talk into Rafa’s face.

  “She’s really a doll, once you get to know her.”

  The kids burst out laughing.

  When Ana’s phone rang she answered it quickly. “You better be on your way,” she said, thinking it was Esteban.

  “Ana Ruiz?” Ana didn’t recognize the voice on the other end of the phone. “I am calling from St. Ignatius Hospital. Mr. Carlos Montalvo is here, and you are listed as his emergency contact.” The color drained from Ana’s face.

  “Was there an accident?”

  The kids helped Rafa to his feet and were loudly discussing how bright his shiner might be, but they fell silent when they heard Ana’s serious tone.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t share that information with you on the phone. If you could get here as quickly and safely as possible, I can fill you in.”

  “St. Ignatius Hospital, you said? I’m on my way.”

  Ana’s heart was pounding. She talked to the kids as quickly and calmly as possible.

  “We have this hall for another hour. Does everyone have a ride home? Good. Rafa? Are you sure you’re all right? Tell me now!”

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  “’Amá?” Carmen asked.

  “What happened?” Diego said over her.

  “This doesn’t involve you.”

  “’Amá?” Diego pressed.

  “I’ve got to go now!” Ana said. “After this, you all go straight home. You hear me? Straight home!”

  She left the building, forgetting that her children would assume the worst: that their construction worker father had been injured on the job.

  “Why else wouldn’t he be here?” Carmen asked her brother, as they jumped into the truck. “Something must have happened. Something bad.”

  “Don’t go there. You don’t know. You don’t know anything,” Diego said.

  “It’s just like her to not tell us anything, like we’re stupid or something.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Like when she kicked ’Apá out? There was no warning; she just opened the door and ya, he was gone!”

  “Stop it, Carmen. You always go back to that, like that explains it all!”

  “That’s how she is. He could be dead and she wouldn’t tell us until it was time to go to the funeral!”

  “Shut up, Carmen! You don’t know anything!”

  “I know what I saw! I saw how it happened! That’s how she does everything!”

  “Yeah? Well what about him ditching you at Mass that one time? Did she do that to you, too?”

  “He told me he had a flat tire!”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Why not?”

  Diego bit his tongue.

  “Why not?” Carmen repeated. When her brother would not answer she leaned in and pulled on his arm, scaring him and making him almost hit the car in front of him. He slammed on the brakes and the truck made a long screech on the street, the back end of the truck swaying out and nearly hitting another car. When the truck came to a full stop, the drivers around them honked and yelled curses out their windows.

  “Shit, Carmen! Stop talking and let me drive!”

  Carmen’s mind began to race. If her father said he had a flat tire, he had a flat tire, didn’t he? Why would he lie to her? It was beyond her ability to believe that he could ever lie to her. He wouldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t. What would he lie about?

  The light turned green and traffic started moving again. Diego leaned forward into the large steering wheel, putting all his attention on the traffic around him. He felt bad. His anger toward his father had been churning since he heard of “la otra.” He was tormented with thoughts of how he wished he could stand up to him and tell him to his face what he thought about him, tell him what he thought about what he’d done to his mother and to their family. For a brief moment, he even thought of what it would feel like to pop his father in the face, like his apple-shaped cousin did to pobre Rafa, only he wouldn’t do it by accident. His blow would be deliberate, his fist carrying all of his anger.

  But all of that evaporated like a puff of smoke when the thought of his father being hurt or worse became real. Suddenly, all the unspoken words of affection and pride came to him. There’s something about thinking you’ve lost a person you love that makes all the stupid things they’ve done fall by the wayside, especially if that person is the one you most want to please but have no idea of how to do it. Diego wouldn’t find out until
he was well into middle age how honored Esteban was to have a son like him. And he would be shocked to find out when Esteban was most proud of his son.

  At the intersection where Diego should have turned toward their house, he turned in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?” Carmen asked.

  “To the hospital.”

  When Ana arrived at the hospital, she was ready for the worst. She marched through the emergency room doors as they parted and walked toward the main desk. Then she saw Montalvo through the glass wall of an exam room, sitting on a gurney. His left arm was tightly wrapped to his bare torso. A young nurse was smiling as she helped pull a hospital gown over his shoulders. Montalvo was all smiles, and even in his painful condition, he managed to be charming. Ana walked into the exam room as the nurse at the main desk called to her.

  “Ma’am! Ma’am! May I help you?”

  Ana ignored her.

  “Ma’am!”

  When Montalvo saw Ana, he was embarrassed, relieved, and—how they say?—a little loopy.

  “Ana! You are here! I was afraid you would not come! Please, meet my lovely nurses. They have treated me so well. I feel like a new man. I know I feel like a younger man.” He winked at the young nurse, who whinnied like a pony. An older nurse stood in the corner of the small room, scribbling notes in a chart. Montalvo’s way did not amuse her.

  “Are you his next of kin?” the older nurse asked.

  “That is my Ana!” Montalvo cheered.

  “Has he been drinking?” Ana asked.

  “No, it’s the painkiller we gave him.”

  “I mean, she is my girl, friend, my friend who happens to be a girl,” Montalvo said. “Pero, look at her! She is more than a girl, verdad?! But you, you can be my new novia, no?” he said to the younger nurse.

  “Ay, tú,” the older nurse said plainly. “You, go back to the nurses’ station,” she said to the young nurse. “Romeo, you wait here while I talk to your friend.”

  The older nurse helped Montalvo lay back onto the gurney and he closed his eyes, a todo dopey grin still on his face.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Ana asked, as the older nurse led her to the main desk.

  “He wrenched his arm good and tore his rotator cuff. We thought there might be some nerve damage, but I think he’s clear on that. The doctor can explain more when he comes back.” The nurse at the main desk handed Ana a clipboard with several forms to fill out.

  “You can go in and keep him company,” the older nurse said. “He’s not making much sense. When we asked him what happened, he said he hurt himself flying.”

  Ana explained who Montalvo was and the work he did.

  “Oh. Well, then I guess it wasn’t the painkillers talking. But he won’t be doing that for a while,” the older nurse said.

  When Ana walked back into the examination room, she thought Montalvo was sleeping. She sat down and began to fill out the forms the best she could.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with his eyes still closed. “I thought about what you said about me leaving and the students being disappointed and I tried to go back to work. I pushed when I should have pulled, or I pulled when I should have—I do not know. I began to fall and I thought I could stop myself but, well, here I am.”

  The pen Ana was using scratched the paper until it ran dry. She set the clipboard on the edge of his gurney.

  “Someone else will have to fill this out for you. I have to go back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You told me.”

  “No. I did not tell you enough. I did not tell you I wanted there to be more. I did not tell you that your husband is a fool for leaving you, but I … I know how to get women, but I do not know how to keep them. And you are a woman who deserves to be kept.”

  “I don’t think that’s what you mean to say, but thank you,” Ana said. “Oye, I have to get back. There’s the small disaster of not having hired a photographer and the quinceañera is Saturday.”

  “Ay! Perdóneme!” Montalvo said. “What a nuisance I am! Perdóneme!”

  “No te preocupes. I’ll call the dean. I’m sure he can help you.”

  “Ana, I want to help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “I … I thought I might make a portrait of your daughter in her quince dress. I am very good with pen and ink. I had wanted to tell you that before the offer from the Dalí Museum came, but after that, I …” Montalvo’s voice trailed off.

  “You were going to do that for me?”

  “I wanted to. I wanted to do something to help with your celebration without being in the way.”

  Ana suddenly felt bad that she had not invited Montalvo to the quinceañera.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go. I really have to go, but I’ll call the dean for you.” Ana patted Montalvo’s free arm, then hesitated and leaned over to give Montalvo a kiss on the cheek. “You don’t know what you’ve done for me already,” she said. He took her hand with his free hand and kissed it tenderly.

  “I’ve got to go,” Ana said. When she turned to leave, she saw Esteban through the glass, staring at her with a pained expression. (Híjole! Could this day get any stranger?) His hands were shoved into his pockets and he wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat. Everything about him was off. When she reached him, his eyes were red and full with tears.

  “Quién es?” he asked, pointing to Montalvo with his chin.

  Ana wasn’t sure if he was asking or interrogating. “Someone from work,” she said.

  “You act like that with everyone from work?”

  “He’s a friend. He’s a visiting artist I helped bring in—” Before she could finish, Esteban began to weep. Ana pulled him by the arm to the wall. She wanted to believe his tears were for her, but she knew they were not.

  “How—how did you know I was here?” she asked.

  “I didn’t,” Esteban said, wiping his nose with a kerchief he pulled from his back pocket. “I’m here because the baby—the baby might die. There was blood everywhere.” Esteban pulled himself together, but his eyes were swollen with anguish. “At first, I didn’t believe she was pregnant. I didn’t want to believe it. I told her I didn’t want the baby. God help me, I even thought of giving her money to get rid of it. But she didn’t, and now …”

  “’Apá!” Carmen yelled from the door, relieved to see her father standing upright.

  Qué horror! Ana thought when she saw Carmen and then Diego walk through the door.

  “I can’t,” Esteban said, turning his back to his children and pleading with Ana. “I can’t. Ana, por favor?” He stomped off as Carmen and Diego reached their mother.

  “What’s going on?” Carmen asked. “Is he okay? What happened?”

  “I told you to go home. How come you didn’t go home?” Ana asked.

  “We thought something had happened to ’Apá,” Diego explained. Something had happened to their father, but not what they had imagined. They looked to Ana for answers.

  “Did one of the men at his worksite get hurt?” Carmen asked.

  “No, it’s not from work,” Diego said. He didn’t know what had happened, but he knew it had nothing to do with work. If that were the case, more of the men would be there keeping vigil, the way men who watch each other’s backs in the course of a workday do, because when one goes down, they all go down.

  “How do you know?” Carmen asked her brother. When he didn’t answer, she turned to see a doctor approach Esteban and take him by the arm down the hall and out of sight. Carmen followed and Ana called for her. Carmen pushed by anyone who was in her way. It was like he disappeared into the air, and Carmen panicked.

  When she finally found him, he was in a small room, sitting on the edge of a chair, one knee on the floor. The doctor was bent over Esteban with his hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. The words tripped something in Esteban that made him let loose a sound that didn’t make sense coming from him—a cry that was ugly and frail.r />
  Ana and Diego reached Carmen and the three of them saw Esteban. The doctor tried to help Esteban to his feet, but he waved him away as if he couldn’t stand to be touched. The doctor decided to give Esteban his privacy. As he left the small room, he saw Ana and her children.

  “Are you with him?”

  Diego nodded for the three of them.

  “Give him a moment.”

  Carmen and Diego had never seen their father cry. When their father left, they felt as if the house had collapsed on top of them, but this—this was far worse. They could see that their father was in misery, and that in itself made their heated anger and confusion seem puny. Neither of them knew what to do. They looked to Ana, again, for guidance. She had no idea of what to say or do, but she knew she had to try.

  “He lost someone. Someone he loved very much,” she said. “That’s all I can tell you right now.”

  “Who?” Carmen asked.

  “Let’s go home,” Ana said.

  “Who?!” Carmen demanded.

  “Nobody we know,” Diego said. Ana looked at her son and felt sick. Ay, qué desgracia! He knew more than she thought he knew. That knowledge brought her some relief, but mostly heartache, knowing that her son carried burning disappointment. That hurt her more than anything Esteban had done to her.

  “Carmen, please—let’s go home,” Ana said.

  “I want to stay with him,” Carmen said, as she moved toward her father.

  “Carmen!” Diego pleaded.

  “’Apá?” Carmen said gently. Her face was bright and expectant, like a little girl’s. Ana’s heart twinged. Her girl had no idea what she was approaching, the howl of grief that Esteban must be feeling. Carmen wanted to make it better, and no matter how hard she tried, Ana knew it would never happen.

  Esteban stared down at the floor. He was now standing on both knees, seated on his haunches, his hands gripping his thighs. He refused to look at his daughter. His cry was now reduced to snorts and pants.

  “Go home,” he barked.

  “I want to stay with you,” Carmen said tenderly.

  “Go home!”

  “’Apá …”

  “Go home with your mother where you belong.”

  TWENTY-TWO

 

‹ Prev