The Lion in the Library – By Amy Award
LEO
The conversation club met on Thursdays at seven in the evening. I was at the library twenty minutes early, pretending to browse the shelves while actually watching the entrance. I had the stuffed lion in my hand, turning it over and over like a talisman.
"Are you looking for something specific?"
I turned to find a librarian, different from the one who had directed Estrella and her children, watching me with a knowing smile.
"Just browsing," I said, pushing my glasses up my nose. The glasses were a recent addition, prescribed for reading but useful for maintaining a low profile in public. Few people expected to see The Lion Ramirez in spectacles, poring over books in a public library.
"The conversation club meets in Room 3B," she said, gesturing down the hall. "If that's what you're here for."
I smiled, caught. "Yes, thank you."
"You can head in. Some of the others are already there," she said with a wink.
Damn. I knew that wink. She knew who I was. But she hadn’t asked for an autograph, so at least she hadn’t blown my cover.
I thanked her, put the toy back into my bag, and made my way to the designated room, where a circle of chairs had been arranged.
Five people were already seated, chatting in various accents that betrayed their diverse origins.
I chose a seat near the door, positioning myself so I could see new arrivals.
More people trickled in as the minutes passed. At exactly seven, a cheerful woman with a name tag identifying her as "Susan - Conversation Leader" closed the door and welcomed everyone.
"Before we begin, I want to remind everyone that this is a safe space for practicing English. There are no mistakes here, only opportunities to learn. Let's start by introducing ourselves. Please share your name, where you're from, and one interesting fact about yourself."
My heart sank as I realized Estrella wasn't coming. I had built up this evening in my mind, imagining our conversation continuing, perhaps even extending to coffee after the session. My bag, with only the stuffed toy in it, weigh heavily on my arm, a reminder of my foolishness.
Just as a man named Hiroshi finished speaking, the door opened quietly, and Estrella slipped in, mouthing "Sorry" to Susan.
She wore a simple yellow dress that hugged her curves, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.
Her eyes met mine, and she smiled, a small, private smile that made my heart race.
"Perfect timing," Susan said warmly. "We were just doing introductions. Would you like to go next?"
Estrella nodded, taking the only empty seat, directly across from me.
"I am Estrella Flores," she began, her accent more pronounced than I remembered, perhaps because she was speaking to a room full of strangers.
"I am from Mexico City, Mexico. And I am an actress in telenovelas.
.. I mean, I was. Now I'm trying to be an actress in Hollywood. "
There were murmurs of appreciation and encouragement. A woman from Brazil mentioned that she had seen one of Estrella's shows, leading to a brief, excited exchange in Spanish before Susan gently redirected the conversation back to English.
The introductions reached me. "I'm Leo," I said, my English accent more pronounced than usual. "I'm from Madrid, Spain. And I..." I hesitated, torn between truth and fiction. "I like to play football, or soccer, I guess."
I waited for the recognition, the whispers, but they didn't come. But I caught the look of interest from Estrella. Good.
I wanted to be interesting to her.
The session continued with various speaking exercises. We were paired up to practice dialogues, and I tried to match up with Estrella. But Susan seemed determined to mix up the group as much as possible, and I was paired with an elderly Korean man named Mr. Park.
Throughout the evening, I found my gaze drawn repeatedly to Estrella.
She participated enthusiastically, her expressions animated, her laughter infectious.
Even when she struggled with a particular phrase or pronunciation, she approached it with a grace and humor that captivated everyone around her.
As the session wound down, Susan distributed handouts for the next week's meeting. "And remember," she said, "practice makes perfect. Try to have at least one conversation in English each day before our next meeting."
As people began to gather their belongings, I made my way to Estrella.
"You came," I said, unable to keep the pleasure from my voice.
"I almost didn't," she admitted. "My dialect coach ran late, and then I had to rush to pick up the children and drop them at the crafts program."
"Dialect coach?"
She rolled her eyes. "My agent insists. Apparently, my accent is too... Mexican... for Hollywood."
I frowned. "That's ridiculous. Your accent is beautiful."
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Thank you. But Hollywood has its own ideas about what is beautiful."
"Hollywood is wrong," I said firmly.
She laughed, the sound warming me from the inside. "I wish my agent could hear you say that."
Remembering the toy, I reached into my pocket. "Your daughter left this the other day," I said, holding out the lion.
"Ay, Luz's favorite toy. She has been crying for it. Thank you." She took it, her fingers brushing mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm.
"Would you..." I began, then faltered, suddenly nervous. "Would you like to get coffee? There's a café just down the street that stays open late."
She hesitated, and I immediately backtracked. "Or another time, perhaps. You probably need to get back to your children."
"The crafts program is over in another ten minutes.” Her smile was lighting up every part of my heart. “Perhaps you could walk us home?
“I’d love that. Should we get an ice cream for the kids along the way?”
She nodded and the way my heart pounded in my chest, you’d think I’d just scored a goal winning game.
After the kids got out of their workshop, and Luz had an extremely excited reunion with her lion, we strolled through the cool evening air, and I had to clench my fists at my side not to take a hold of her hand like we’d been a couple for years.
I could already imagine that with her, but I always was a jump in with both feet kind of guy.
Which scared too many women away. I was determined not to screw this up.
The ice cream shop was quiet, with just a few patrons scattered among the tables.
I got everyone a cone and the four of us slowly wandered back, the city lights glimmered like stars. "Tell me about these telenovelas you were in."
Her eyes lit up, and she launched into stories of dramatic storylines, passionate scenes, and behind-the-scenes drama and antics. She captivated me, not just by the tales themselves but by the way she told them, full of life and humor and self-awareness.
"And now you're here," I said when she paused for breath. "Starting over."
Her expression sobered. "Yes. It was... impulsive. After my second husband and I divorced, I needed a change. When my agent mentioned this small role in an American film, I jumped at it. Perhaps too quickly."
"Do you regret it?"
She considered the question, taking a few slow licks of her ice cream. I ran through every sports statistic known to man in my head to keep my libido at bay. She was so fucking sensual without any effort at all.
"No," she said finally. "It's hard, yes.
My English is not perfect, the role is small, the money is.
.." she made a dismissive gesture, "not what I am used to.
But my children are happy here. They are away from the gossip, the tabloids.
In Mexico, everyone knew about their mother's failed marriages, their father's infidelities. Here, they can just be children."
I nodded, understanding all too well the price of public scrutiny. "And what about you? Are you happy here?"
She met my gaze, her dark eyes thoughtful.
"I am... getting there. I miss my family, my friends.
I miss being recognized on the street," she added with a self-deprecating laugh.
"But there is something freeing about starting fresh.
About being just Stella, not 'Estrella Flores, the star of Pasión y Venganza or Corazón de Ceniza. '"
I felt a twinge of guilt at my continued omission. "I understand that feeling."
Her head tilted, curiosity in her eyes. "Your interesting fact... you said you play football. Do you play professionally?"
"Yes," I admitted.
She studied me, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Why do I feel like I should know this? Are you famous, Leo Ramirez? I have to admit, I don't follow sports very much."
I sighed, pushing my glasses up my nose. "Maybe a little, yes."
That was a huge exaggeration. But we weren't in Mexico, or Spain, and so far, Los Angeles couldn't give a shit who I was. "More so in Spain and Europe than here."
"Ah," she said, understanding dawning. "That's why you understand about public personas."
"Yes. It's... challenging, sometimes, to separate the person from the player."
"And which are you now?" she asked, her question piercing straight to the heart of my struggles. "The person or the player?"
I recognized that challenge for what it was. Of course, a beautiful woman like Estrella had likely dealt with her fair share of players.
"I'm trying to be just the person," I said honestly. "That's partly why I'm writing this book. To figure out who Leo Ramirez is when he's not on the field."
She nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Well, Leo Ramirez who is not on the field, I think I like him."
The warmth that spread through me was better than any rush from playing ball. "And I think I like Stella who is not on the telenovela."
Our eyes met, and something unspoken passed between us, a recognition, perhaps, of kindred spirits navigating the complicated waters of reinvention. But there was something so much more.
I wanted badly to lean down and kiss her, taste those ripe cherry lips, and feel those soft curves of her hips beneath my hands. I'd never had to wait or even woo a woman. Not since I kicked my first goal when I was six years old and Isabella López kissed me on the cheek.
But for sweet Stella, I would wait, I would woo, and I would... better not think much farther than that, because the next step was falling in love, and that was crazy talk.
We walked to the building where she and the children lived and I took her hand, lifting it to my mouth, kissing it like one of the heroes in her telenovelas. Her hand lingering in mine a moment longer than necessary, I dared to hope that this was just the beginning of our story.
I felt a sense of possibility that had been absent from my life for too long. In Estrella, I had found someone who was also seeking to redefine herself beyond the roles that had defined her.