48
I woke up suddenly, startled by a terrible commotion under my window.
I wrapped myself in a floral robe and thought of Pedro, who had, the previous evening, offered me the dream I had been longing for on a platter.
The noise didn’t let up. In the background, I heard a car alarm, and expletives rained down from my cultured neighbors on the balcony above, who didn’t seem to be enjoying the morning cacophony. I knotted my belt and leaned over the tiny French balcony, yawning.
Downstairs in my dark and narrow working-class street, a huge new Audi with foreign license plates blocked the way, illuminating everything with its four flashing lights. The burglar alarm reverberated unrelentingly on the facades of the tired-looking apartment blocks. Behind the vehicle, a build-up of traffic had begun to form, and the honking of angry drivers who were late to work joined in with the Audi”s repetitive beeping.
“Vesna!”
From the street, someone shouted my name, although it was barely audible amidst the ruckus. The next-door neighbor put half her body out the window and pointed at me.
“You, on the third floor! He”s calling for you!”
It was Max, standing next to the car, trying to ring the doorbell. Of course, he couldn”t know it wasn”t working, and it never had. None of the owners had any interest―or budget―to repair it. People usually texted me, and I would go downstairs to greet them.
“Vesna, open the door,” Max shouted from below.
People began to stare at me, whispering. I pulled my robe as tight as possible, covering my chest, and hastily raked my fingers through my fingers: I had just become part of the show.
“What are you doing here with a car that isn”t even yours?” I called down, leaning over the railing.
“It belongs to Lana’s father! He lent it to me!” Max yelled, pointing the key fob to try and stop the alarm.
“Lana”s father? What the hell?”
A woman peered out of the window below, looking from me to Max.
“Who is Lana?” she called to another lady across the street. “Is she the one in apartment B?”
“Shut up, Madam, I can”t hear anything!” I said, pointing my index finger at her. I had to decide what to do about Max before those two ladies decided it for themselves at the next neighborhood meeting.
“Lana is my ex-wife,” Max explained, turning around and addressing the unexpected audience with open arms. Then he raised his eyes, looking only at me. “But my daughter”s name is Lana, too!”
Max had a daughter?
I leaned against the window frame, regretting not having made a pot of coffee before joining this madness.
“I know you read her message,” Max continued, raising his voice over the car alarm, “but it was from my daughter! I can explain!”
“Give him a chance! Give him a chance!“ chorused a group of kids waiting for the bus, cheering us on with their backpacks in the air.
I shook my head, confused and unable to believe what was happening. It was eight in the morning, and I had twenty minutes to catch the subway. Otherwise, I’d be late for the office on my first day back from vacation. I threw on a denim jacket over my robe, slipped on a pair of sneakers, and took giant strides down the three flights of stairs that separated me from the street.
“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Max, coming over to the door to meet me as if an angel had appeared in front of him.
I snatched the car keys from him and pressed the lock/unlock button. The alarm was instantly silenced, much to my relief and that of the entire neighborhood.
“I”ve been driving for two days, almost without sleep,” he said, pulling me to him. I needed to see you...”
“Max, you”re crazy...”
“I am,” he admitted and kissed me hungrily before I could say anything else. He lifted me up in his arms, and the belt of my floral gown fluttered in the breeze as loud applause echoed from the balconies. He put me back on the floor, and I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.
“Come on, get this car out of here and come up to my house,” I said, ruffling his hair in disbelief, “before that woman in apartment B asks you out.”
***
Max walked down the hallway of my apartment in silence, his eyes wide. I noticed that he studied every detail with extreme attention and even stopped to touch the leaves of a particularly fleshy and hairy echeveria plant.
“It feels strange to see you here,” I commented, putting two slices of bread in the toaster.
“I”m sorry for showing up like this,” he said, sitting down at my very narrow kitchen table. “But...”
“How did you find me?”
“Drago Krivec called me. He still remembered your address in Valencia and gave me your neighbor”s phone number. I called her, and she told me where you lived.”
“Normal people call instead of showing up in person,” I said, pushing a jar of jam towards him.
“You blocked my number, remember?” he replied, intercepting the jar just before it flew over the edge of the table. “Besides, I had to do this in person. Otherwise, I know you wouldn”t have taken me seriously.”
I watched him silently for a moment, butter knife raised in the air.
“I still think you”re crazy,” I finally declared, shaking my head and spreading butter on my toast.
“I came because of your father. It was urgent.”
“My father has been dead for twenty years.”
“No, Vesna. This is important. Your father had a heart attack two days ago, the morning you went to see him. He called me soon after from the ambulance, but he was in a very bad way. He told me about a will. He wanted to tell you something in private. It seems you parted on bad terms.”
I sighed. First, my mother. And now him.
“What did he want from me?”
“You have to go see him. He doesn”t have much time left.”