Chapter 15
R ENé LEANS AWAY FROM THE BALCONY, ONE HAND ON THE railing and the other holding what appears to be a high-tech wireless microphone.
“Come on,” he calls out, “cover it with that.” He eyes my clipboard, I assume because his fancy microphone isn’t waterproof.
Camila and James are standing by the sliding door and I’m waiting for someone to say something. It’s only the second floor, but with his whole body leaning out like that, it’s still dangerous. What is he even aiming his recorder at?
I look back at René, and his eyes are on me. He’s got this big, ecstatic smile on his face, encouraging me. Wondering why in the world I’m not out there yet.
I convince myself I can override the part of my brain that worries, and I thrust the clipboard at James. I lift a leg over the railing, and I’m over on the other side. Once I’ve got a grip on the railing, I take the clipboard back and lean out to join René.
I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid looking down, and stretch out my arm, covering his microphone with my clipboard.
When I open my eyes, I’m more aware of our proximity. René’s face is only a few inches away.
Co-kee, co-kee. There’s a tiny coquí frog on a leaf, his whole body smaller than a quarter. This is what René’s aiming his microphone at. He puffs up each time he makes a sound.
I look down. “If the railing gives,” I warn, “we’ll be impaled by that spiky palm tree down—”
René shushes me, just as the rain picks up. I turn my face one way and then another, hoping to find a way to get less wet. I love the rain when I’m nice and dry inside . I’ve never really seen the romance in purposefully stepping outside to dance in the rain.
I squeeze my shoulders in, crunch up my nose, and narrow my eyes as though it’s possible to create less surface area to get rain on. I’m frozen in this frowny defensive face, like someone’s about to slap me.
René watches me, holding in a laugh. Imagining what I must look like makes me want to laugh too.
Other coquis are heard not too far away at different intervals but the one we’re recording is quiet for a moment.
Over my shoulder, I see James on the balcony holding the camera now, recording us. I’m so close to René, I’ll be in the shot, but at least we’re getting something interesting. That is, if René’s recording this sound for the album. I hope I’m not risking my life for René’s random animal sound collection.
Co-kee, co-kee. Our tiny frog perks up again, his chin and belly taking turns inflating. René eyes me excitedly. I can’t help but feel excited too. And watch the rain drip down the bridge of his nose, and over his full lips.
René’s eyes dart down at my legs. I can feel my skirt is stuck somewhere high up on my thigh. At least the water isn’t stinging my knee the way it did in the shower. Probably due to the adrenaline of dangling from a balcony. I notice that the waves on the beach have gone quiet and I decide to embrace the feeling of defying death while being completely drenched.
“That’s good,” René says suddenly, pulling himself toward the railing. Camila’s waiting with a towel for him, but he turns and reaches for me instead.
With his help, I get back over the railing. Our eyes lock and I feel a warmness in my stomach. Then he winces, grabbing at his collar.
“Oh man, I’m sorry. Forgot about this.” He hands James the now-soaking microphone that was attached to his shirt.
A few minutes later, we’re both towel-dried and René settles against the railing again. It’s raining more gently now and he’s bathed in the warm last few minutes of light. I’m relieved he’s agreed to continue with the interview, since we really haven’t gotten much. He’s taken off his wet shirt, but I don’t think anyone will complain about a shirtless interview, and James has set up a new microphone over his head.
“You don’t want to change?” René asks. “I can wait.”
“I’m good,” I lie. Meri’s sweater-like dress feels like I’m wrapped in a drenched beach towel but we’re almost out of light and I don’t want to slow things down.
I take my spot by the camera James has set back up again for the interview and grab my clipboard. The pages are soaked and stuck together. I try to lift the top sheet and it peels right off, making René laugh.
“So, where were we? Oh, right,” he says, “you were telling me everything you love about reggaeton.”
“No, please,” I say without any edge in my voice. I push a strand of wet hair off my face. Surprisingly, I feel more relaxed than I’d expect after dangling from a balcony in the pouring rain. Like I’ve had a couple sips of a strong cocktail. “What was that all for?” I ask, motioning to the frog.
“For the album,” he admits. “I want to capture Puerto Rico. My culture.” His face brightens and something softens inside me. “I’m so incredibly lucky.” He takes in the view. “We used to come here all the time when I was a kid and camp on the beach. I just want to share it.”
Now that he’s loosened up, it’s the perfect time to ask the kinds of questions that make the most sense for press. “This album could catapult things for you.” I’m happily in a groove. “After all the duets, are you finally ready to be the leading man?”
He shakes his head disapprovingly. He grabs his cell, and after some quick typing, he looks back up at me and flashes a fake smile.
“How’d they turn out, by the way?” René asks provocatively. “The photos,” he adds, motioning to the chaise on the balcony next to us.
The blood slips away from my face, making me feel instantly pale.
“Oh, that. Ha.” I feign a nonchalant laugh. “Good.” I glance over at James and Camila, who are sitting on my bed, listening to every word.
“Just curious.” He’s flirting with me. Or pretending to. He leans back, rests his hands on the railing, and strikes a new pose.
I can’t help but size him up. I think everything he’s doing is some sort of tactic to disarm me. Moving the interview out here, bringing up last night. He did this in the few interviews I watched too. He’d be all sly and flirty so they wouldn’t even notice he wasn’t actually answering the questions.
I glance at James inside and wonder if he thinks René is flirting with me. He seems fine. I try to imagine how I’d feel if he were the one getting hit on and decide I’d feel fine too. I can hear Meri’s disapproving voice in my head. She’d say it’s too soon for either of us to feel that way. But I disagree. We should want our exes to move on and be happy. Shouldn’t we?
“You could have found a nice low-to-the-ground frog to record. Were you just avoiding my questions?”
He chuckles. “Why not? You’re avoiding mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“The waterfall,” he reminds me. “Your father’s song. I asked you what it was about.”
“Oh, that,” I respond, and René nods, satisfied. “Okay, fine. My father’s song… yeah. It’s about all of his favorite places here. And the waterfall we went to today was in it.” René leans forward. “I realized it when I was up there.”
It dawns on me, if I want him to open up, I may have to do it first. I’ll just do that thing where I pretend I’m talking about someone else, and not my dad. “He actually passed away six years ago.”
René’s leans back. “I thought… I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“What are the other places?”
“I don’t remember. I haven’t heard the song in a long time.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
“I actually have a recording of it.” I look off and notice the light has changed dramatically. I lose myself for a moment in the beautiful sight of the sun retreating and what it’s done to the sky and the ocean. “But it’s recorded on one of those old audio cassettes,” I say absently.
From the corner of my eye, I sense movement inside the room. “We need to get going; we have the call to discuss the photo shoot,” Camila barks.
“Sorry.” He stands, dodging the boom microphone set up just above him.
“Sure, okay.” I try to sound cool and like I’m not the least bit disappointed I opened up about all that for nothing. “Actually,” I shout after him, “we’d really like to get in the studio with James and a proper camera. If that’s okay.” I can feel Camila’s eyes on me. “I know you don’t want to be disturbed, but we’ll be discreet. You won’t even know we’re there.”
“Yeah, okay,” René says, “for a little bit.” He turns to go, then stops at the door. “Have that cassette shipped. There’s some old machines in the studio; there might be a cassette player.”
“I have it with me.” As soon as I say the words, there’s a pinch in my stomach.
He tilts his head back in relief. “Bring it tomorrow.”
“Okay, cool,” I say even though it’s not cool. It’s not anywhere near the vicinity of cool.