The Legend of Zorro

by Scott Ciencin

  Suddenly, Fray Felipe burst from the crowd. Clamping both hands on Alejandro’s arms, the padre roughly dragged his friend back with unexpected strength. This time, it was Alejandro’s turn to chuckle.

  “A blessing on your vineyard, Count,” declared Felipe, “thanks so much for having us—”

  “Don’t be rude, Felipe,” said Alejandro, expertly twisting out of the padre’s grasp as an escape artist might from the stifling confines of a straightjacket. He wobbled, then planted his feet firmly. “I’m just dying to know how the lovebirds met.”

  Alejandro saw Elena’s gaze nervously flicker to a balcony above, where a pair of dark-suited men—one slight in build, the other a bit broad—glanced their way, then faded into the crowd.

  Always worried about appearances, eh, darling? Nice to know some things never change.

  Elena placed her hand on Armand’s arm and attempted to urge him ahead. “Another time, we have many guests to greet.”

  The crowd was suddenly alive with a chorus of murmurs and excited whispering. Alejandro craned his head over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow as a man he—no, Zorro—had met on election day swept toward his host. Governor Bennett Riley beamed at Armand and Elena, his beautiful wife beside him, a silver-haired Southern colonel in full-dress uniform preening at his back. Alejandro allowed Felipe to ease him off to one side, but he refused to go much further.

  “Ah, Governor Riley, you honor me with your presence,” Armand said with a slight bow.

  Governor Riley returned the gesture and swept out his hand in a proud flourish. “May I present my wife, Mary.”

  “Your speech was incredibly moving, Count,” stated Mary as she cooled herself with an expensive French fan purchased just for this event. She was a smiling, rosy-cheeked grande dame who had been the belle of many a ball. “I’m glad you’re not running for office against my husband.”

  Armand laughed good-naturedly at her flattery. “I wouldn’t dare challenge the man who’s going to lead California into the Union.”

  “I fear there may not be much of a union left to join, Governor,” grumbled the southern colonel sweeping up beside the governor as he ruefully stroked his neatly trimmed Van Dyke.

  “Everyone,” announced Armand with a gentle smile, “may I introduce Colonel R.S. Beauregard, of the First Georgia Infantry.”

  “What brings you here, Colonel?” asked Elena, who fidgeted with her own fan as she kept a baleful eye on the stewing—and stewed—Alejandro.

  Don’t everyone rush to introduce me at once, he thought darkly. Alejandro saw the governor take notice of him out of the corner of his eye, his brow crinkling in confusion over why this Spanish don was being excluded from the conversation. Still, it was the host’s place to address such matters and Armand was in no hurry to do so.

  “Why am I here?” spat Colonel Beauregard. “The threat of Civil War, my dear, of course. Once California joins the Union, the Confederate States will be outnumbered. My countrymen find that troubling.”

  Alejandro cleared his throat—catching the colonel’s eye. His scowl was enough to let the man know that he didn’t appreciate the condescending way the man had spoken to Elena. That woman knows more about politics than anyone I know. If anyone’s going to be disrespectful to her tonight, it will be me!

  Elena rolled her eyes and rubbed her temple, unable to ignore the unspoken war of words between Alejandro and the colonel. He was always doing this…

  “I was just assuring the colonel here that we’re committed to peace,” explained Governor Riley, picking up on the growing tension and attempting to steer the conversation to a less volatile subject. He smiled at the colonel. “In fact, I invite you to be my guest at our statehood ceremony next week.”

  A woman’s startled cry sprang up from a clutch of elegantly attired partygoers standing to one side of the governor—and what happened next unfolded very quickly. A young, dark-haired swarthy-skinned servant—a droopy-eyed boy who appeared only a handful of years older than Joaquin—deftly picked his way around the outer perimeter of the gossipy group, a tray of wine glasses expertly balanced on his palm. A tall, thin, blond-haired man wearing spectacles leaped back without warning, his shoulder smashing into the servant’s arm. A glass of wine the young man was about to offer to Colonel Beauregard was flung from his grasp, its sparkling crimson contents splattering all over the front of the colonel’s pristine uniform.

  Beauregard bellowed in rage, oblivious to the tiny little lizard that scurried about his boots, the very creature that sparked the accident and caused the uproar next to him.

  “Señor, I beg your apology…’’ stammered the fearful servant as he set down his tray with its remaining unspilled drinks. Advancing anxiously with a white towel, the servant frantically swept it toward the growing stain on the colonel’s jacket. His eyes seething, the military man snatched the towel from the servant’s hand and scrubbed the stain himself.

  Smiling desperately, fear rising off him in waves, the servant whirled and faced Armand. His imploring gaze sought out that of the count—and Armand delivered a quick reassuring smile and a wave indicating he should go about his business. Trembling with gratitude, the young man swiped up his tray and was about to steal off into the crowd when the very people who had caused his mishap waved him over.

  “We don’t have this sort of problem with our help down in Atlanta,” Colonel Beauregard said with chilling deliberateness, a frightening weight falling on each of his words.

  Alejandro hated to admit it, but he had been impressed with Armand’s handling of the situation. His eyes narrowed, however, as he faced the southerner. “And why’s that, Colonel?”

  “Well, sir,” the colonel said savagely, “we own ’em.”

  Silence fell upon the small ring of people within earshot of the colonel’s nasty little remark. Beauregard beamed smugly, happy that his true feelings were out in the open.

  The young servant, still within arm’s reach of Armand and his special guests, glanced darkly at Alejandro.

  The angry don held Beauregard’s gaze and extended a beseeching hand toward the servant. “When you say such things, Colonel, perhaps you should have the courage to look this man in the eye—once California’s a state, he’ll be paying you the same courtesy.”

  Colonel Beauregard did not blink. “Indeed. ’Til then, however, he’s just the help.”

  A great withering sigh of frustration left Armand.

  “Colonel, I ask that while you’re in my home, you respect my staff,” demanded Armand, a shocking iron-like will tempering his steady tone. His hand eased in the direction of Alejandro and the servant. “…and my guests.”

  The colonel’s face grew rigid. “Naturally.” His eyes blazed murderously as he glared at Alejandro—then stormed off to another part of the courtyard where the crowd quickly swallowed him up.

  The governor shrugged. “There’s always one, isn’t there?”

  A gentle rain of laughter diffused the pulsing tension that had gripped all of them. Alejandro received his overdue introduction to the governor and his lovely wife, and played the part of a gracious guest to a tee, though Felipe continued his attempts to engineer a dignified exit for them both. Alejandro deftly sidestepped all his maneuvers.

  After a momentary respite, the band struck up a familiar favorite, and laughing couples sprang forward for a cotillion.

  The governor was in the midst of a genteel ramble about his plans for the statehood celebration when Elena flashed a joyous smile at her companion, playfully seizing Armand’s hand.

  “Governor, forgive me but…” She leaned close to Armand. “Darling, you know how boring I find politics,” Elena murmured invitingly, her hand delicately gliding over Armand’s shoulder, her sensuously parting lips brushing his ear with fiery promise. “Let’s dance.”

  Alejandro blanched. Not interested in politics? This is muy loco. When you were with me, I couldn’t get you to shut up about it for five minutes!

  Armand’s dar
k eyes glinted with pleasure. He could refuse Elena nothing. His hand skimming the white flower she had given him, the token of her undying affection…the greatest insult of them all. He murmured, “Excuse us, my friends.”

  The breathtakingly beautiful couple withdrew, expertly navigating the treacherous reaches of a cloying crowd, one socialite after another attempting to draw near and engage them as if proximity might allow one to steal a bit of their starlight, glamour and allure.

  Alejandro guzzled more wine and reeled unsteadily on his feet.

  Fray Felipe waved a disparaging hand at his friend. “Perhaps you shouldn’t drink so much on an empty stomach.”

  Alejandro belched and sneered. “Perhaps you should wear lipstick if you want to act like my mother.”

  Grinning lopsidedly, Alejandro thought, And it’s not the worse thing in the world for a boy to dance with his mother, now is it?

  Alejandro’s hands shot out, seizing Felipe’s frock. He lugged his reluctant confidante to the makeshift “dance floor.”

  “Alejandro, wait!” cried Felipe, unsuccessfully attempting to dig in his own heels.

  Ahead, all the partners faced each other in two thrumming columns of anticipation. As the music surged, Elena swept into Armand’s arms, her smile radiant.

  “Say the word and I’ll escort you home,” offered Armand.

  Elena was stunned. “And leave your guests?”

  “In a heartbeat,” Armand murmured seductively into her ear. “I care for you too much to subject you to an evening of forced smiles, Elena.”

  Despite it all, her heart melted at that. She recovered and smiled appreciatively.

  The couples spun and Elena shifted to her next partner in line, gasping as she found herself staring up into the slightly muzzy face of her angry ex-husband.

  With pitiless hands, he jerked her close. “Won’t your boyfriend be jealous?”

  Elena turned her face from the sting of drink filtering from Alejandro’s flaring nostrils to see Armand thrashing about in the grasp of a blissfully oblivious woman whose pudgy arms had him pinned to her ample bosom.

  “I didn’t want you to find out like this,” explained Elena as she and Alejandro twirled in perfect rhythm, despite his inebriation.

  Alejandro’s lips quirked knowingly. “Ah, so that’s why you refused to see me these last few months, you were sparing my feelings—”

  “You’re drunk!” cried Elena, her features contorting in disgust as a full blast of his breath assailed her. She tried to pull away but his powerful arms held her fast—a part of her liked the rough feel of it.

  “You’re the one not acting like yourself,” Alejandro retorted petulantly, slurring his words slightly. “Since when do politics bore you?”

  Elena tensed. Even in his stupor, Alejandro had cut to the quick of it and might soon stumble onto the truth. She had been right to avoid him these long months. Raising an eyebrow, she laughed haughtily at her ex-husband’s childish behavior. “Since when did you start caring what I think?”

  Like musical chairs, the dancers shifted partners again, Elena elegantly drifting into Armand’s arms.

  “If you wish, I’ll have him escorted out,” Armand offered as he pressed close to her, breathing in the tantalizing array of scents from her perfume, soap, and hair oil: jasmine, cinnamon, a blend of Oriental spices. The flower he wore drooped and wilted, having been crushed by the meaty hands of that boorish big-chested lady.

  Batting her long black eyelashes at Armand, Elena demurely breathed, “I can handle him.”

  Alejandro and Felipe danced side-by-side, facing their respective partners.

  “For the love of God, let’s get out of this place!” begged Fray Felipe. His sandaled feet had been stepped on so many times that they screamed for release from a torment which could have been the work of Satan himself.

  Alejandro grinned cruelly. He simply would not hear of it. “I can handle her.”

  The line of dancers surged again, Elena flowing toward Alejandro.

  “You must tell me how you met,” said Alejandro in a bright mockery of cordiality, his hands gripping her roughly.

  Refusing to be baited, Elena said simply, “Years ago, in Spain. We went to finishing school together.”

  “How nice,” remarked Alejandro as he swept her along, pleasantly surprised that all the wine he’d “tasted” hadn’t generously provided him with two left feet to trip over. “You were reunited, so he could… finish.”

  Elena’s back stiffened. A warning darted from her pursed lips. “Don’t force me to embarrass you.”

  “Sorry, too late.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes—and was quickly replaced by intrigue, a hint of amusement, and hint of raw animal pleasure. He recognized her rhythms and understood that they were sparring, using words as weapons.

  A cue was given and the couples switched again, Alejandro and Armand now finding themselves side-by-side.

  Alejandro arched one eyebrow. “Tell me, Count, where does your title rank among noblemen? Is it higher than, say, a duke?”

  “It’s rather common, actually,” said Armand bitingly, “much like a don.”

  Touché, thought Alejandro, honestly appreciating the man’s perceptiveness. The count had already tipped to the nature and the rules of this particular game, and appeared well equipped to play.

  Flowing with the music, both men changed partners once more, Alejandro gliding into Elena’s arms.

  “He’s a delight,” observed Alejandro. “Rich, good looking—and royalty.”

  Elena faked a broad yawn, then did a double take, as if only now realizing that the foolish lump before her hadn’t yet departed. She shrugged, doing her best to seem bored with this little game. “Is there anything I can say that would make you leave?”

  Face twitching, Alejandro offered, “You could fall to your knees and beg me to take you back.”

  Tossing her head with a bold silvery laugh, Elena grinned and protested, “I wouldn’t want to ruin my dress.”

  Now it was his turn to deftly evade her riposte—and deliver one of his own. “It’s just as well, I’m enjoying single life.”

  “Is that supposed to make me jealous?” asked Elena sharply.

  Alejandro slyly raised one eyebrow. “Does it?”

  Her face reddened as if it did. “Never.”

  “Good, so tell me—who’s been looking after Joaquin while his mother spends her nights out?” Alejandro asked hotly.

  “I don’t spend my nights out,” she shrieked. Shuddering, she composed herself. “And I haven’t told Joaquin. Now I think you should go.”

  She sailed from him, but the music crested and his grip was like iron. He spun her back, crushing her against his hot flesh, cruelty dancing in his eyes.

  “I finally understand why you left me, Elena,” he hissed.

  Elena wrenched at his hand but could not free herself. “Let go!”

  Sneering, Alejandro breathed, “It was beneath you to marry a peasant like me in the first place.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Now I know you’re drunk.”

  Laughing, Alejandro chided, “Your step-father would be so proud to see you take your rightful place—”

  “Keep your voice down!” hissed Elena in warning.

  “On the arm of royalty. Well congratulations, your highness—”

  A violent thundercrack split Alejandro’s skull as his cheek throbbed with pain. The don stumbled back, his hand protectively covering the beet-red flesh where Elena had slapped him.

  Hard.

  Silence fell on the courtyard. The music—and every tittering strain of conversation—had ceased. All heads had turned to the warring couple, scores of darkly excited predatory gazes arrowing in on them.

  Alejandro could have cared less. He felt no shame, no embarrassment. Let them look. Let them all look. Let them see the true face of betrayal, let them see the unrepentant, self-righteous fury of the woman who had ripped out his heart. Let her be judged in all her t
wo-timing glory!

  Trembling, Elena stared at Alejandro for what seemed like an eternity. Then her venomous glare softened as her voice filled with pain. “If you don’t know me better than that…then you never knew me at all.”

  Alejandro stepped back, the blood draining from his face. He’d been in more fights than anyone he knew, suffered every near-deadly wound in the world, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer agony that flayed his every nerve in that moment. Regret pulsed within him, his heart turned to ash. The weight of understanding tumbled down on him, crushing him as he was pounded by waves of savage realization.

  It was over between them. Truly over.

  Armand mercifully gestured to the orchestra leader—and the music swelled once more, the sounds signaling the onlookers to speak among themselves once more, though many continued to cast their cruel curious gazes toward the heart-broken man and the exotic beauty who had once been his.

  Alejandro stiffly bowed to his host. “Thank you for your hospitality, Count,” said Alejandro, his voice a lifeless monotone.

  For a heart-rending moment, Alejandro turned to Elena and gazed at the love of his life, a dull empty ache gnawing at his soul as he wished with all his heart that he might take back his foolish, reckless words. His mute appeal might as well have been delivered to a grand portrait hanging in an art gallery. She gazed at him without emotion, her eyes dark impenetrable mirrors, her soul walled up protectively.

  Ignoring the stares of the well-dressed spectators, shrugging off the comforting hand of his well-meaning friend Felipe, Alejandro seized a bottle of tequila and stalked from the party into the empty arms of the night.

  Alejandro stared at the moon, but not because he particularly cared for its beauty. His head just happened to be tilted as far back as it would go, the long neck of his bottle reaching for his open, straining mouth, a fountain of bliss spilling out and stinging his waggling tongue. The strength left Alejandro’s hand and the bottle tumbled to the soft earth of the lush countryside, spilling its remaining contents as it rolled away. A glorious warm silence filled Alejandro as he leaned against a crumbling wall, Tornado leaning just as heavily beneath him. Both were blotto, the tequila boiling their blood, their brains, leaving them practically insensate, two more bits of harmless scenery upon the breathlessly serene landscape.