I’ve been doing it all wrong, she thought.
They showered and eventually ventured out, to a café where Rubén wolfed down a sandwich and she rested her chin on her hand, watching him and wondering if Leonora was ever coming back, and if it mattered at this point.
They stayed out for a while doing nothing of importance and went up the stairs arm in arm. It was dusk, and the apartment lay in shadows. They headed straight to the bedroom. Rubén took off his jacket and tossed it away. He had removed his shoes, unbuckled his jeans, and taken off his shirt before they even reached the bedroom’s doorway. She thought they might end up fucking on the floor again.
Maite laughed, her palm against the wall, trying to find the light switch. Instead, Rubén caught her face between his hands and kissed her, and she bumped into her vanity, and there was the noise of things being knocked down as his tongue found her mouth.
Laughing again, she turned on the light and there, on the floor, was the broken statue of San Judas Tadeo. It had cracked neatly in half, and two film canisters had spilled out of it, like treasure from a galleon run aground.
Maite bent down and picked them up, holding them in the palm of her hand. She looked at Rubén. “It’s the film,” she whispered.
“What?”
She held the canisters up, for him to see. “The film…Leonora’s photos. You couldn’t find them because they were in here.”
“You had them all this time?”
“I…I took the statue from her apartment. I didn’t know.”
Rubén stared at her, and then he launched himself into the kitchen. He was in his underwear and socks. Maite watched as he grabbed the telephone and dialed a number. He tapped his foot impatiently and cursed under his breath.
“Jackie? Yeah, that’s right. Listen, I need you to get Néstor over to Asterisk,” Rubén said. “What do you mean he’s not around? Fine. Then get any photographer. I don’t know! Anyone who knows their way around a darkroom.”
Rubén checked his watch. “Forty minutes. Yeah. Bye.”
Rubén hung up, and then he was rushing back to the bedroom scooping up his jacket from the floor. Maite was still carrying the film canisters in her hands.
“We’ve got to get the film developed.”
“Now?”
“It’s what I’m going to try to do. Put those in a purse or something, will you? Where’s my shoe?” he asked, his voice like sandpaper.
“Oh…oh, yes.” Maite grabbed her purse, which she’d dropped in their dash to the bedroom. “I had no idea,” she added. “I thought it was garbage she’d thrown out.”
It was true. It was not like she ever stole anything that mattered. And even if she did, even if she was a consummate thief, he didn’t have to know that. But the way he was looking at her, the way he frowned, she didn’t like it.
Maybe he could tell she was dishonest. Maybe it was the way her voice trembled.
But he shook his head. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. But we’ve got to see what’s in those pictures.”
He found his shoes, found his belt, and she watched him as he sat on the bed and dressed again; watched him as he inspected the gun he’d borrowed from Jackie before tucking it in his jacket’s pocket. She ran a hand through her hair.
“What happens after we develop the film?”
“We take it to the papers. Not every journalist is a coward. And even if they are…I don’t know, we’ll figure something out.”
“Will Leonora come back if we do that?”
Rubén tied his shoelaces. “I’d like to think so.”
Maite didn’t know if she agreed. The thought of returning to the dull normality of days past suddenly frightened her. Rubén looked at her. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I guess I was getting used to you being around.”
“Are you looking for a new roommate, Maite?”
“Don’t tease me.”
