Page 34 of The Night We Became Strangers

Marisa

The two of them had officially been dating for about three months now.

I’d ran into him occasionally in the building but barely exchanged greetings and pleasantries.

A couple of times, he attempted to have a conversation with me, but I had found excuses to leave immediately.

He had also stopped sending me poems, which I had been looking forward to every workday before, and now I missed them terribly.

You would think that now, with my brother was working at Crónicas as an illustrator, I could come and go as I pleased in the newsroom, which was right next to the advertising department.

But I didn’t. The second floor was forbidden to me, and if Gabo wanted to talk to me, he knew he had to come upstairs.

Apparently, Gabo, Raúl, and Agustín had become good friends, and through my brother, I found out bits and pieces about Agustín’s life.

For example, I learned that everyone admired him at the paper, and several secretaries were in love with him.

Gabo had also met Agustín’s parents: The mom was apparently a sophisticated socialite and the father a bald, chunky man who carried around a pipe and was always throwing orders around.

I nodded at Alicia, signaling it wouldn’t be long, that I would be there for her, as usual.

Leopoldo Anzures turned toward her to see what was demanding my attention.

The transformation on his face upon seeing my friend was undeniable.

His frown released and his mouth gaped a little.

This was the effect Alicia often had on the opposite sex.

When we walked down the street, men were always turning their heads, assessing her from head to toe, some would whistle, throw compliments at her, or attempt some feeble pickup line.

It was exhausting. But somehow, I didn’t expect this animalistic reaction from Anzures, who was intellectually superior to the majority of men and whose pursuits were definitely more refined.

With me, Beatriz, and Sandra, he had been nothing but professional, even though I had noticed Beatriz’s attempts to flirt.

Thus, this display of male admiration over my friend’s good looks bothered me—in spite of his attempt to compose himself and return his attention back to us as we concluded tonight’s episode.

After we finished and he gave us the last instructions for tomorrow’s episode, I stepped outside, where Alicia didn’t seem aware at all that she had disturbed every man I worked with.

As they walked outside the booth, they all nodded or tipped their hats at her.

Anzures stayed inside the booth for a moment, arranging the pages of the script, grabbing his jacket from the coat hanger.

It didn’t escape my notice, though, how he kept gazing at us—at Alicia in particular.

She held my hands in her gloved ones.

“What happened?” I inquired.

“Something terrible.”

Dared I dream that Agustín and her had broken up?

“What? You’re making me nervous.”

“My dad is getting married. He told me tonight over dinner.”

“Well, that’s not so unexpected. He’s been a widower for years.”

“Marisa, she’s only five years older than me. She’s a witch.”

At that moment, Anzures stepped out of the booth.

“Good evening.” He lingered by our side, pretending to check the locks of his briefcase. “Good job tonight, Senorita del Valle.”

I supposed he was idling around so I would introduce him to Alicia.

“Thanks,” I said. “This is my friend Alicia Sotomayor.”

He extended his hand to shake hers, who responded somewhat mechanically.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Sotomayor. Any relation with Don Manolo Sotomayor, the owner of Naranjada?”

She sighed. “He’s my father.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Agustín Montero recently talked to me about the possibility of Naranjada becoming one of our advertisers.”

She gave him a polite nod, but I could tell she was eager to continue her conversation with me.

“Are you also an actress?” he said. This was the first time I’d heard him talk about anything other than our play.

“No. I’m about to graduate from upper school in accounting.”

“Excellent. We’re always in need of people who can keep track of our money.”

One thing Alicia’s dad had done was insist that she finish her high school education. He had high hopes that she would either run his company one day or marry someone who would. The way he saw it, the more educated she was, the better the chances of being able to work or find a good husband.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand again.

Then Reinaldo came up in haste. “Mr. Anzures, can I speak to you for a moment?” His show was about to start in the auditorium.

I looked after Anzures as he rushed behind Reinaldo.

A fleeting thought came to me. If he was so interested in Alicia, who was to say she couldn’t be interested in him?

It was well-established that she changed her mind about men frequently, and she hadn’t said anything about Agustín in the last couple of weeks.

Perhaps Leopoldo Anzures was the solution to my problem.

I perked up.

“Don’t worry, amiga , we’ll figure something out. But first, you need to calm down. Why don’t we go watch the evening show for a little bit? I think they’re having a trio of boleros tonight, and you haven’t seen the auditorium. You can relax there, and then we’ll come up with a plan.”

She hesitated. “But what about your dad? Won’t he be upset that you didn’t come home immediately after work?”

Of course he would be angry—it was his habitual emotion. But I was willing to earn a slap or two if it meant Alicia would show interest in a man other than Agustín.

“I think he had a concert tonight. He’ll probably be home late.”

She produced a tentative smile. “You’re right, corazón , there’s no use in me being so upset over this.” She clung on to my arm. “Show me your famous radio station and let’s go watch the show.”

Something woke me up in the middle of the night. Did someone say my name?

“Marisa!” Tatiana said, knocking at my door.

I got up and opened it. She was in her salmon nightgown, her wavy head in disarray, a large crucifix—which had belonged to my mother—hanging from her neck.

“What is it?” I said.

“I think Agustín is outside, calling your name.”

I darted to my window. “What time is it?”

“One in the morning.”

So late? I slightly moved the lacy curtain. Tatiana was right—it was Agustín. Under my long gown, my legs trembled in anticipation.

“Is Papá home?”

“Not yet.”

I led out a sigh of relief.

Agustín was looking up, trying to find me, perhaps.

“Marisa!” he yelled.

“I’d better go talk to him before he wakes up all the neighbors.

” I turned on my lamp and looked inside the armoire for something decent to wear.

As his yelling continued, I grabbed the first dress I could find.

My hair must be a mess. I ran into the lavatory to brush my teeth and wrap a chiffon scarf around my head.

By the time I reached the street, I was out of breath.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“Oh, hi,” he said, smiling. “I wanted to talk to you.”

His speech came out slurred. Living with a dad who drank often, I’d learned to identify all the signs of excessive drinking.

“What is it?”

He gently lifted my chin. “You know I listen to you every night?”

Something fluttered inside me. “And you came all the way here to say that?”

“I’ve missed our notes.” He took a step closer. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

I didn’t like the effect his touch, his proximity, had on my body—it made me lose perspective.

“Are you drunk?” I said, trying to refocus.

“I may have had a few drinks, but I know exactly what I’m doing. You and I belong together.”

The intensity of his gaze was disarming me. “What about Alicia?”

“She’s not the one I want.” He slowly leaned over me and caressed my chin. “You’re so beautiful.”

Nobody had ever called me beautiful before.

He gave me a soft kiss, and I was unable or unwilling to push him away. I rested my hands on his neck, getting more comfortable with the deepening kiss when a voice—like thunder—shattered the stillness of the night.

“Marisa!” My father was marching toward us, cussing indistinctly. “What kind of spectacle is this? ?Casquivana! ”

I pushed Agustín away from me and scurried toward my dad, standing between the two men, chest heaving.

“You’re just like your mother!” he said, raising his arm to slap me. I shut my eyes, almost feeling his harsh palm against my cheek. But the blow didn’t come and when I opened my eyes, Agustín was holding his arm.

“Don’t you dare touch her!”

“Who the hell are you?”

They struggled; my dad attempting to punch Agustín, who kept dodging. Since he was significantly taller, my dad stood no chance. Agustín got hold of my dad’s arm again.

“Calm down,” he hissed, twisting my dad’s arm and shoving him against the wall.

“What’s going on here?” Gabo had just arrived and immediately held my dad down as he was about to lunge toward Agustín again.

“Your dad, hermano ,” Agustín said, fixing his jacket. “He tried to hit your sister.”

“That son of a bitch was disrespecting your sister!” my dad said, arms flailing.

“You should leave,” Gabo told Agustín, while forcing my dad into the house.

Agustín looked at me, inquisitive. Several lights in the street were now on and the neighbors—some more discreetly than others—were staring at us.

“Thanks,” I said, “but my brother is right. You should go.”

His expression changed from a somewhat hopeful expression to pain, masked by irritation.

With quick movements, he picked up his hat from the ground and adjusted it on his head.

I watched him leave, fighting the urge to follow him and continue where we’d left off.

But my feet were frozen. I didn’t know if there was any way of coming back from this.