Chapter 2 #2
This was of course a lie, and they both knew it.
The entire town was aware that Miss Perla Inclán had begun to correspond with a man from Mexico City through one of those “lonely hearts mailboxes” they had in magazines like Conmovedor.
At first her aunt had been discreet about the man, but once she received a snapshot of him, she proudly showed it to Sarita Novo, her best friend, who couldn’t keep a secret and quickly informed everyone from the postman to the stock boy at Mr. Hurtado’s grocery store that Miss Inclán was being romanced by a handsome, sophisticated gentleman from the capital.
Inés, however, had not been able to take a peek at the photo—her aunt locked it away in her huge, ornate desk—and therefore she’d had no idea what the man looked like until he stood at the gates of their home.
Behind Inés a woman cleared her throat. The baker, who had emerged from the back of the store and was wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, immediately glared at Marisol.
“You’re as slow as a turtle and as chatty as a parrot,” he said. “Hurry up, we have more than one client to serve.”
Marisol rolled her eyes and finally finished tallying the bread.
Inés paid her, carrying the paper bag with bread in one arm and looping the bag with the groceries over her shoulder.
When she reached the entrance to the bakery, Cándido Sotomayor, who’d been standing in line, rushed to hold the door open for her.
She thanked him with a nod of the head, but he walked next to her.
“Let me help you, Inés,” he said. “You can’t carry this home all by yourself.”
“I’m fine, Mr. Sotomayor, it’s not heavy.”
“No, no, I insist,” he said, which was surprising, because Cándido Sotomayor was the town’s lawyer and notary public, and he gave himself many airs on account of that and the fact that his father had been a colonel in the army who died when Villa blew up a train.
A damn snob was what he was, and he’d never paused to ask Inés if she needed help, no matter if she was dragging home a sack of flour and three kilos of tortillas, although on occasion the randy pig had paused to pat her buttocks when no one was looking.
These liberties were common when it came to household maids, and she knew Cándido did not consider her anything other than a poor relation who was essentially a glorified servant.
Therefore, Inés immediately realized something was afoot, that his courtesy was false, but she smiled blankly at him and nodded.
They hadn’t taken more than three steps when he began to talk.
“Inesita, I need to ask you for a favor. It’s something important.
I think you’re aware that I’m fond of your aunt Perla.
Very fond of her. I would never want her to come to any harm.
Anyhow, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking to Marisol, and I’m curious and a little concerned about that man who’s arrived from the city today. ”
She supposed he should be concerned. Cándido had been Aunt Perla’s suitor for two years now, since her father died. During that time, he’d had no rivals of note. Yes, the widowed butcher had made a few attempts at getting her attention, but Perla ignored him.
Cándido was an eternal bachelor. His hypochondriac sister, Lulú, suffered from every malady known to mankind, but she kept a tidy home, and he’d never felt the need for either a housekeeper or a wife, although he had pursued the widow Carvajal with a certain zest. However, soon after Don Osorio Inclán’s funeral, Cándido began courting Perla instead.
Inés suspected that this change of heart corresponded not so much to a recently discovered romantic longing for her aunt as to the fact that Osorio Inclán had always said that his daughter would not inherit his money if she married while he was still alive.
This provision had kept suitors at bay until the old man was laid to rest.
Everyone assumed Cándido would propose at some point and Perla would accept. It seemed logical, preordained. It seemed so preordained that Inés suspected her aunt had invited the man from Mexico City with the express purpose of making Cándido jealous, or to force his hand.
For the past nine or ten months the relationship between Perla and Cándido had been at an impasse.
Perla had made certain allusions and comments that indicated she was unwilling to marry Cándido unless his sister went to live in another town and Cándido sold his house.
Perla wanted to be mistress of her own home, but Cándido said Lulú would panic at being ordered to vacate the premises and he could not imagine living without Lulú’s cooking, which was part of the problem, since Perla found Lulú’s culinary skills execrable.
Lulú’s high doctor’s bills, fondness for miracle cures, and demands to be tended and babied made Perla frown.
It was clear that having cared for her parents until their death, she would not be made the nurse of her sister-in-law.
Other matters also divided them. Cándido was of the belief that husbands should naturally handle women’s financial and legal affairs, and that upon marriage the wife’s and husband’s estates should become joint property.
Perla disagreed. She believed the property and goods of each spouse should remain separate and the wife who should control all financial matters, seeing as she would oversee the upkeep of the household.
Neither party seemed likely to budge at this point. Except Inés thought her aunt might have found a way to extract concessions from Cándido. He already seemed uneasy about the thought of a rival, and he hadn’t even laid eyes on Mr. Linares.
“What do you know about him?” Cándido asked.
“Nothing, really. He’s from Mexico City.”
“Precisely. We need to find out more about that fellow.”
“I’m sure my aunt will introduce you to him.”
“I’m sure she will. I’m also sure, living under the same roof as the man, you’ll learn a thing or two about him.”
“Possibly.”
“Now, Inés, how can I put it…if you were to discover anything of interest about this Mr. Linares, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“My aunt doesn’t like gossip, sir.”
“It’s not gossip. Think of it as a social service.”
“A social service that’ll get me a slap in the face if my aunt hears I’ve been blabbing to you. Then she’ll cut off my allowance, which is almost nothing already.”
“You greedy snake, what do you expect? Money?”
Inés shrugged. They’d reached the alleyway and the back door, and she pretended to look for the keys while Cándido tapped his foot.
“How much?”
“I don’t know, sir. My aunt gives me ten pesos a week,” she said as she turned the key in the lock and swung the door open. “If she cuts my allowance it’ll take a while to get it back. A month to be back in her good graces, maybe.”
“That’s an outrage.”
“Possibly. Good evening, sir.”
“Wait!”
Cándido grunted irritably, but he reached into his pockets and pulled out a bill, handing it to her.
“Have your money. You tell me everything you hear.”
“I will.”
She carefully folded the money and tucked it away. Then she retrieved her bags from Cándido’s grasp, dodged him before he could pinch her buttocks, and walked into the back patio, the door swinging closed behind her.
She smiled as she headed back toward the house.
Her aunt didn’t give her ten pesos a week.
She didn’t give her ten pesos a month, and this even though Inés helped with the washing, mended clothes, even made dresses for Aunt Perla.
She doled out any money haphazardly, at whim, sometimes during festivities, although for Inés’s twenty-second birthday two months before the only present she received had been a greeting card.
It was one way Aunt Perla controlled her. If Inés had received a regular allowance, or if she’d been able to make a steady profit from her stitching and her sewing, she might have been able to save enough money to leave Puerco Ahogado, and her aunt had no intention of allowing her to do that.
She’d heard that in Mexico City a chauffeur could earn two hundred and fifty pesos a month, and a general maid could make a hundred. But that was Mexico City, where men bought jackets made of imported tweed and women owned mink coats.
She looked up at Mr. Linares’s window. His soiled suit jacket was lovely, made to order, not off the rack, and seemed to have been strategically chosen to complement his complexion.
He didn’t really look like Tyrone Power.
He reminded her of Arturo de Córdova, or of Errol Flynn.
She’d seen him in The Sea Hawk, that time she went with Salvador and Marisol and some others to the pictures.
That day, they rode the train to the city and caught a matinée, the motley group of six young people giggling and loudly chatting in the company of their chaperone.
After the film was over, they took the tram to Villa del Mar, which had a large wooden dance hall.
From one to four the wealthier young men and women of the area gathered there as the band played swing.
But later in the evening, they played danzón.
When Salvador took off his jacket, sweat stained his shirt and he rolled up his shirtsleeves. She’d been unable to take her eyes off him as they danced.