The Fountains of Silence (18 page)

39

Daniel leaves his seat before the lights return. The models thread through a door at the front of the room, and he trails their exit. Others have beaten him there. Shep Van Dorn, the U.S. public affairs officer, corrals the media for photos. A designer poses with the women in front of an official photographer.

“Wish you had your camera?” asks Nick, stepping in beside him.

You have no idea, thinks Daniel.

“You know they won’t kiss you,” says Nick.

“What?”

“Here in Spain, the girls won’t kiss you. Proper Spanish girls kiss only on the cheek until they’re married. All dates are chaperoned. They grow up slow here,” explains Nick. “My mom thinks it’s great. Seems strange to me. But don’t worry. There are plenty of eager American girls here to choose from.” Nick drains the glass of sherry, noting Daniel’s gaze. “Do you recognize her?” he asks.

Daniel nods.

“Apparently the model was sick. The dress fit Ana, so they had her wear it. C’mon, let’s get ourselves in a picture.” Nick strolls confidently toward Ana.

“Hey, pretty girl. Well done,” says Nick, giving a well-oiled smile to the camera. The photographer snaps a photo of the three of them.

“
Gracias
,” says Ana. She gives Daniel a polite smile.
“Buenas noches, señor.”

“
Hola
, Ana. You look lovely.”

“It was all last minute. The dress, the makeup—I was very nervous.”

“You didn’t look nervous,” says Daniel.

“Really?” asks Ana. Her smile widens.

“Really, you looked very comfortable,” agrees Nick.

Shep Van Dorn steers a gaggle of people toward them. “And this showstopper, she’s just a maid at the Hilton, can you believe that?” says Nick’s father.

Just a maid. Ana’s smile retreats.

“What we can believe, Shep, is that sometimes you’re an ass,” says Nick.

The silence is instant, uncomfortable.

Shep Van Dorn gives an exaggerated laugh. “Don’t mind my son. I think Nicky’s sweet on her. But, holy smokes, how could we blame him?” The adults laugh.

Nick glares at his father and shakes his head. He storms off.

“Want some fresh air?” asks Daniel.

“Please,” says Ana quickly. Daniel leads her through a tall glass door into a quiet inner courtyard.

Ana looks at the darkened sky. “I’ve found the answer,” she says quietly.

“What’s that?”

“Why Americans love ice. Here in Spain, we drink wine. But Americans have fancy cocktails that require ice. Gin and tonic, scotch and soda—”

“Ana.”

She turns to him.

“I’m sorry I asked you to work on the photography project. I could tell you were upset. I’ve felt awful about it since yesterday.”

“Don’t feel badly,
señor
. Your photographs are beautiful. It’s just difficult because—”

“There he is.” Shep Van Dorn leads Daniel’s parents into the courtyard.

“We’re heading back to the hotel, Dan,” says his father. “We have to be up early.”

“
Querida
, you are simply stunning,” breathes Daniel’s mother, rushing to Ana’s side. “I’m María Matheson.”

Daniel looks from Ana to his mother. “Mom, it’s Ana.”

“So nice to meet you, Ana,” effuses his mother, clearly unaware that Ana is the employee assigned to her at the hotel. “I see you’ve met my son.”

Daniel and Ana exchange looks.

“Nice to meet you,
señor
,” says Ana to Daniel. He smiles, stifling a laugh.

“And what a shame you don’t have your camera,” says his mother. “I’d love a photo of this gown.”

Mr. Matheson touches his wife’s elbow, eager to depart.

“You were just lovely this evening. So pleased to make your acquaintance, Ana,” says Daniel’s mother. She gives an approving nod before exiting.

How embarrassing. He can only imagine how Ana feels. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry,
señor
. I’m not in uniform . . . I don’t look like myself.”

“You look exactly like yourself. I’m the one who looks different,” says Daniel, loosening his tie.

She scans his expensive suit. “I think I prefer the jeans.”

“Good. Me too. Do you need an escort home?”

Ana looks at Daniel. She opens her mouth to speak but stops.

“Such a gentleman.” Mr. Van Dorn slaps Daniel on the back. “Kind of you to offer, Dan, but we’ve arranged for the embassy car to take all the girls home.”

Ana stands, motionless. Daniel tries to decipher her odd expression, her eyes.

“So, see you tomorrow?” he asks, hoping she’ll say yes.

She takes a single, deep breath. The way Ana looks at him, it makes him want to reach for her. She turns and hurries away.

Daniel watches her retreat, stares at her beautiful back, and curses himself. He knows he’s just made a mistake but he’s not sure what it is.

40

Ana sees the note, but pretends she doesn’t. The white corner peeks out of her purse pocket, a small arrow purposefully left to call her attention. She tries to determine when it was placed. Was the note already in her purse when she left the hotel?

Her hand runs a path over the green skirt of her hotel uniform. The uniform is the nicest piece of clothing she owns. But suddenly the fabric feels coarse and stiff, so different from the silky dress. The model was sick. The boutique was desperate. They begged Ana’s manager for permission.

It was a fluke. Nothing more. Like Mr. Van Dorn said, she is just a maid. She pulls a faded handkerchief from her pocket and wipes her mouth, careful to remove all traces of the expensive lipstick.

But despite her sister’s warnings, Ana does not regret the evening. She wore a beautiful dress, a dress she could never own. She spoke to a handsome boy alone in a courtyard and was respected by his mother. For a few hours, she felt beautiful. And for that brief moment, beautiful felt possible.

The pavement ends and the car continues onto the dirt road.

“Pull over, please,” says Ana.

“Are you sure?” asks the driver. “It’s dark. It’s no trouble to drive you in.”

“
Gracias
, but I’d like some air. I’d prefer to walk the rest of the way,” says Ana.

The driver pulls over and Ana exits the vehicle.

A shiny diplomatic car would draw too much attention in Vallecas.
Small children would chase it, men would become suspicious, and the women—Ana thinks specifically of the women—the women would run to Julia with questions and opinions.

She wishes she could tell Julia about her evening. Needlework is Julia’s passion. She’s spent years studying the designs and patterns of Spanish designers like Pedro Rodríguez and Cristóbal Balenciaga. Ana would love nothing more than to give her sister every detail of the beautiful gown. But it’s not possible. The event was at the American embassy. Julia will worry.

The black sedan pulls away. Ana walks alone down the dirt road, and when the sound of the engine has entirely left her ears, she grabs the note from her purse.

This will be the end of you.

Ana rips the note to shreds, scattering pieces as she walks. She blinks back the oncoming tears and looks over her shoulder, making certain no one is there. Making certain no one sees the trail of threat crumbs, leading straight to her door.

41

Two thirty in the morning.

Daniel sits at a table in the corner with his camera, observing the crowd. The hotel nightclub pulses with music, conversation, and cigarette smoke. Dead bottles of champagne, with their foil collars wrinkled and torn, laze in sterling coolers. Ben Stahl is tomato-faced with perspiration. He shambles around the dance floor, flaming cigarette in one hand, scotch in the other. His rhythmic moves are disjointed from the music, as if he hears a different song entirely. Ben’s having a grand time, seemingly unaware that he’s dancing by himself. Daniel snaps a picture.

Nick drops into the chair next to him.

“Don’t want to dance, Danny boy?”

“I’m having a fine time with the camera. Lots of great shots here.”

“In Texas do you have formal dance classes like we do in New York?”

“Two full years,” nods Daniel.

“Do you dance those crazy Texas dances?”

“Best kind. If I have to dance, I’m most comfortable dancing in boots.”

Nick takes a swig from his glass. “So, what happened with your gal in Dallas? Was it serious?”

“She was very serious . . . about trying to change me.”

“Ouch. Good riddance.” Nick laughs.

“Doesn’t matter. There were other problems.” Daniel seizes the opportunity. “And what about you? Your dad said you’re sweet on Ana. Are you guys an item?”

“Nah. I don’t like to be tied down. Diplomats move around every couple years. Why get attached when I’ll just have to leave? Besides, she’s not exactly an accepted girl on the Social Register.”

“So you and Ana never dated?”

Nick sets down his glass. “Why are you so curious about Ana?”

“No reason. She’s assigned to help my family here at the hotel. She seems interesting.”

Nick stares into his emptied glass. A smile suddenly curls at the corners of his mouth. “She is interesting. Actually, Ana lives in a very unique part of Madrid. It’s a great place to take pictures. You should stop by her house.”

“Really? Wouldn’t that be an imposition?”

“Nah, she’d love it. She can’t really socialize at work. There’s always someone looking over her shoulder, you know?”

Daniel thinks back to his exchange with Ana. Maybe Nick is right. She said the hotel keeps her busy. She can’t enter his room without an assigned task.

“Do you have a pen?” asks Nick. “I’ll give you directions.”

Nick scratches information on a cocktail napkin and tosses the pen on the table. “I’m thirsty. You thirsty?”

Daniel looks at the cocktail napkin. “Nah, I think I’ll turn in soon.”

Nick nods and disappears into the crowd. Daniel spends another fifteen minutes snapping photos and declining invitations to dance. He’s making his way to the door when Ben grabs him.

“Dan, hurry. It’s Nick.” Ben pulls Daniel through a back door into an alley behind the hotel. Nick writhes on the cobbled ground while two men hover above kicking and punching.

“Hey!” yells Ben, approaching. “Knock it off.”

“Not your business,
culón
. Go back inside.”

The assailant, charged with adrenaline, shoves Ben while the
other continues to punch Nick. His fist makes an awful cracking noise across Nick’s jaw.

“Oh Christ,” says Ben, stumbling, “they’re gonna kill the kid. I said, knock it off!”

Nick has clearly surrendered, overpowered by the two men. Daniel hands Ben his camera. “Come on. That’s enough,” he says, advancing between them. He pulls the man off Nick. As soon as he does, they both turn their attention to Daniel.

“Look, I have no problem with you,” says Daniel. “You should leave.”

One man nods to the other.
“Nenaza.”

The word creates a strange pulse at the base of Daniel’s throat. He doesn’t want trouble with his father. He doesn’t want trouble with the guards. But, no, he’s no sissy. Daniel’s feet move into stance.

The men lunge toward him, fists swinging. His coach’s voice is in his ear.

Hands up. Elbows low. Move your head
.

Left-hand jab to the face, right-hand punch to the body.
Dodge. Breathe out when you punch.
They’re brawlers, not boxers.

Broken nose. First man down.
Keep your feet moving. Always look at your target. Pivot. Stay alert but stay calm
.

Throw the hard punch when you’re sure you can land it
.

He lands it.

Ben grumbles from the back seat of the taxi. “Jiminy Christmas, Nicky. What did you get yourself into this time? What a pounding. And the night was just getting started. It’s barely three a.m.” Ben lights a cigarette. “Hey, Dan. Dan! You okay up there?”

Daniel turns around from the front seat. His face is streaked with sweat. “I’m fine, but will they call the police?”

“Don’t worry, the hotel knows to call Shep with Americans, not the police,” says Ben.

“Really, they can’t call the police,” stresses Daniel.

“You got a rap sheet, cowboy? Relax, they won’t call the cops,” says Ben.

Nick groans. He’s slumped next to Ben in a heap of bloody towels. His face is battered and swelling. Daniel raises his camera and looks through the viewfinder.

Ben nods. “It’s a good shot. He won’t mind. Not after what you did, Matheson.”

Daniel snaps a picture as they speed to the hospital.