Sometimes, after the Scuola Italiana, Laura and Patricia go to the movies. They’re so different! My beloved Bettini wants to go to Italy to visit the museums in Florence and to get to know Fellini in person. Amarcord drives her out of her mind. Instead, Laura … Laura wants to be on the cover of Vanidades or Fotogramas someday.
She’d like to play the role of femme fatale in a soap opera. But the funny thing is that she’s as nice as they come. If she were rich she would be sharing everything with her friends.
She’s the superfriend. But with her body, everyone wants to hook up with her.
Those dudes don’t want to be just friends with her. That’s why she came to me. Because she knows I’m neutralized by my love for Patricia Bettini. She knows I’m not going to cheat with her best friend.
I finally agreed to let her use my apartment so she could change. I didn’t ask her anything else. I’m fucked-up enough. I don’t need to start fucking up others.
And now she becomes very mysterious and tells me she wants to see me. She tells me she appreciates it but she doesn’t need the apartment anymore. She wants to give me back the keys. She has her own place now, in Mosqueto, near the Palace of Fine Arts. “Come with Patricia one of these days. She likes paintings.” Her parents shouldn’t find out. Patricia Bettini better keep quiet. If she says something at school, and Laura’s parents find out, they will kill her, literally. Anyway, by December, she’ll have to tell them the truth. She hasn’t been to school for a month.
I ring the doorbell. Apartment 3A. Third floor. Tiny elevator. Modern building. Only two people fit in it. Schindler. Weight should not exceed 300 pounds.
If …
I don’t even want to think about it.
Hmm … If the cops are looking for me because of the speech I gave at the cemetery, I could hide in Laura Yáñez’s apartment.
For reciprocity’s sake.
Would she agree?
Anyway. Nothing’s going to happen.
I read Uncle Bill’s entire speech in English.
English. My only B. My best grade.
Because I like rock music and Don Rafael liked me. He liked that I was in the drama club. They killed him. Just like that. Lieutenant Bruna did everything he could.
What in hell, then, is “to do everything I can”?
I bring the last issue of Caras in my backpack. It’s the kind of magazine that Laura likes. Shiny, with tons of ads, a lot of social life, and full-color fashion pages.
“You came, dude!” she says, kissing me on the left cheek and pulling me in.
“Why so much mystery?”
“I’ll tell you right away. How’s Patricia doing?”
I say, “Fine. Patricia’s fine.”
Although in fact I don’t know how she’s doing. I haven’t asked her. Her Professor Paredes was killed, and her father has had a crushing success with his campaign for the No. She must be feeling terribly bad, and probably also good. Everybody’s talking about the campaign for the No. Calls of congratulation until three in the morning. We heated up the pasta puttanesca and opened another bottle of red wine. Don Adrián gave me money for a cab. The subway wasn’t running that late.
“And you?”
“I don’t know, dude. But I called you because love is repaid with love.”
“Where did you get that?”
“I don’t know. My grandma used to say that.”
“What’s the matter? Here. I brought you the latest issue of Caras.”
“Wow! With Michelle Pfeiffer on the cover! A superwoman. Isn’t she?”
“She’s pretty.”
“Your type, right?”
“I don’t know, Laura. I’ve just become eighteen. I don’t know what my type is. And I don’t understand a thing.”
“But since Patricia Bettini …”
“What? What about her?”
“Since she’s so …”
“So what?”
“Elegant. On the other hand, me …”
“You’re different, Laura. No one is better than the other. You’re just very different.”
“Do you like me?”
“I think you’re gorgeous.”
“I have Coke, Bilz, Pap, and beer. Escudo beer only.”
“Coke.”
“With ice?”
“Three cubes.”
She goes to the kitchen and brings a Coke, family size. She had prepared a small plate with cubes of cheese and green olives. It’s noon, but it looks like an evening cocktail.
“Sit down or you’ll fall dead tired.”
“So, tell me,” I say, while obeying her.
She makes herself comfortable on the edge of a wicker sofa with brown cushions. Very ladylike, she brings her knees together, not to expose her thighs, matte and smooth.
“It’s about your father, Nico.”
Aha. That’s why she wanted me to come. No phone calls. I don’t want to know about it. I want to die in advance. To die right away.
“Do you know anything?”
Laura looks at the walls of her living room and at the door leading to the bedroom, and then at the one leading to the small balcony. There’s a reproduction of a painting of dancers, by Degas, and a huge photo of Travolta in a white satin suit, very tight, and an unbuttoned vest.
“Nico … I know how to get to him.”
“Is he alive? Professor Paredes was …”
“I know.”
Something holds her back. She wants and doesn’t want to tell me. Why did she make me come?
“Please.”
She shakes her shiny mop of hair, jet black and curly, and stares at me, steadily, in the eyes.
“What I’m going to tell you speaks badly of me. But I’m only going to tell you, because you gave me a hand.”
“Okay. Tell me.”
“I find you pretty childish, but I’ve always liked you. I’ll do it for you. And for Professor Paredes. He gave me a D. For the first stanza of Poe’s ‘Annabel Lee.’ Do you remember? ‘Your little D,’ he said to me.”
“I don’t get it.”
She rubs her nose and sniffles as if she had a cold.
“A guy got this apartment for me. D’ya get it?”
“Yep.”
“A married guy.”
“Okay.”
“An agent.”
“From the CNI, the intelligence agency?”
“You’re not that childish … Why? Are ya’ gonna lecture me now?”
I don’t know. I don’t know what to do or say. I wasn’t expecting this. I drink half the glass of Coke. I have a piece of ice in my mouth and I move it with my tongue from one side to the other.
“No, I’m not.”
“I believe that, through him, we can get to your dad.”
“Why?”
“I just know it, Nico.”
I’d like to be an adult. To understand more about life. To have read more books. To know the psychology of people.
“What do I have to do?”
Laura leans toward me and takes my hands. She then takes them to her mouth. She doesn’t kiss them. She just touches my fingers with her lips.
“D’ya have any money?”
I look at her. I look at her with all my soul poured into my awe.
“Where from, Laura? I haven’t even picked up my dad’s check from September. I’m terrified that they’ll take me.”
“D’ya know where to get a few bucks? Sell something?”