She shook her head no.
Diana and two secretaries walked in, laughing. Anaya released her hand and stood up, snatching his jacket and placing it under his arm.
“That better be the truth,” he said. “If you’re holding out on me, I’ll know. See you around, Maite.”
He walked out of the office. Diana and the others secretaries gave her curious looks. Maite stood up and with shaky legs managed to make it into the bathroom, where she sat on top of the toilet seat and waited for a good ten minutes. When she returned to her desk she fiddled with a stack of papers. She couldn’t concentrate. She was famished and anxious.
“I’m not feeling well,” she told Diana, after she gathered her things. “I’m going to head home.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“My stomach,” she lied. “Can you cover for me? Just in case Costa phones and needs something, could you? I’ll see you Monday.”
“Sure.”
Maite smiled and left before Diana could ask about the fellow who had been speaking to her earlier. On Monday, if Diana still remembered him, she’d invent a lie.
When she reached the street, Maite looked everywhere, fearing Anaya might be around, watching her. But she saw no one suspicious. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. Surely secret agents didn’t dress like in the James Bond movies, with a full tuxedo. Anaya certainly didn’t resemble Sean Connery. An agent could look like practically anyone.
What nonsense is that Leonora mixed up in?Maite wondered. It had to be something bad if DFS agents were looking for her.
She needed to hide somewhere in case they were following her. She needed to think. She went into a café de chinos and ordered a bistec and a soda. She rubbed her wrist, feeling the place where the man had dug his fingers into her skin, and wondered if she’d have bruises in the morning.
There, seated at a table and with the soothing noise of a radio playing “Bésame Mucho” softly in the background, she was able to calm her nerves. Maite took out the issue ofSecret Romanceshe was carrying in her purse and flipped through it, looking at all those lovely faces and the sentences suspended in speech bubbles. She’d already read the issue, but she read it again.
She gazed at the face of Pablo, the playboy with a heart, and folded and refolded a paper napkin a dozen times absentmindedly. She needed to do something with her hands when she was like this.
A long time passed before she tucked the comic book back in her purse and paid the bill. When she opened the door to her apartment the telephone was ringing. She grabbed it and spoke loudly into the receiver. “Yes? What is it?”
“Miss Jaramillo?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Emilio Lomelí. Sorry to bother you at home, but I called your office and they said you were gone for the day.”
She dumped her purse on the kitchen counter and opened her mouth, not knowing what to say. It was him! With Anaya’s intrusion and the excitement of the day she’d forgotten about Emilio. She’d hoped he’d call, and now he had. It was such a wonderful moment; she closed her eyes.
“It’s no bother, Mr. Lomelí.”
“It’s nice of you to say that. Anyway, I got your message, and I’m phoning you back. You needed to speak to me?”
“Yes. I was hoping in person, but if you’re busy I can understand. I’m sure you—”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, interrupting her, and she could feel him smiling through the phone line. “Why don’t you stop by my place tomorrow? Say around noon?”
Maite’s breath was a ball of fire, caught in her throat, burning bright. She held it there until her tongue felt as though it had been scalded and she spoke. “Yes, yes, of course.”
“Do you have a pen?”
She grabbed the pad by the refrigerator and the pen, scribbling the address. When she was done he said a polite goodbye and hung up. She stood there with the receiver in her trembling hand and slowly returned it to its place.
12
EL GÜERO ANDthe Antelope were not too pleased to learn they had to tail a woman. They had been blissfully enjoying their downtime at the apartment, and now it turned out they needed to do real work, and it wasn’t even fun work, like breaking bones. It was the tiresome old watch and report.
“I got a molar aching and need to visit the dentist,” the Antelope said. “Was hoping I could go soon.”
“You always have a tooth aching when there’s surveillance to be done,” El Güero muttered. “Take an aspirin and fuck off.” Then he turned to Elvis. “Who’s this bitch, anyway?”
