Across The Pond, page 7
And with that as an opening, Mrs. Abramovitz and I settle down to a lovely brunch with freshly-baked biscuits. When she finally goes about an hour later, she leaves behind her phone number, ordering me to call her if I ever need someone to talk to.
As I watch her walk away, I vaguely wonder where Fritz is. The two are almost inseparable. I make a note to myself to get her a gift for having been so comforting, and chastise myself for being so foolish.
Two hours later, the men arrive, to my relief. To my surprise, however, Rob is with them.
~Rigoberto
I nearly kissed Danny! Man, what was I thinking!? This is not how I do business! It’s just that she looked so sad and vulnerable! I only meant to comfort her. Nothing more!
But man, did she feel so good in my arms, pressed up against my body. And the smell of her. Sweet! I drive home still feeling her body against mine, and the feel of her soft, sunshine-colored hair against my face.
I can still feel the heat of her against my skin. Even though I have the air-conditioner on.
I try to be present at dinner with my mother and Catalina, but my mind is elsewhere. My daughter thinks I’m some sort of saint, that I avoid women like the plague. She and my mother are probably beginning to wonder if I’m gay.
I’m not. I do go out. It’s just that I’m not looking for anything serious. Still not. I don’t know what it is about the Sorensen woman, but ever since I laid eyes on her, I can’t stop thinking about her.
It can’t possibly be love, though. You only ever get one of those in your life, d. Don’t you?
As Catalina and I walk my mother to her car, she waves Catalina back into the house, and I brace myself. She gives me that old look, and I know I’m about to be subjected to a third degree. I wonder who she has in mind for me, this time. She and Catalina are old allies in this ancient game.
“Diga me,” she says quietly as soon as Catalina enters the house.
“Tell you what?”
“Ai Roberto,” she sighs. “You’ve never been able to hide anything from me. You’re too much like your father. But whatever you’ve got on your mind, you’ve got to tell someone.”
“It’s nothing, ma. Just a lot of work, is all.”
“I wish your brother never moved away. I think he’s the only friend you’ve got.”
“That’s not true! I have lots of friends.”
“You have a lot of people you hang out with, i. Including the men who work for you. But they’re not friends. Neither are those pussies you go out with occasionally.”
“Ma!” I splutter., sSo much for her thinking I was gay.
“You think I don’t know? I understand these things, I was young once, you know. You think your father was my first? That I was his? Tchah!”
“Ma! I don’t think I wanna hear this!”
“You have to! You have to! How long has it been, eh? How long? Rosaria, God bless her soul, died seven years ago.”
“What does this have to…”
“Diga me! Listen to me! I’m an old woman, my time here on earth is limited, I don’t know how much longer…”
“Ma! Stop it! You’re not dying!”
“Of course not. Did I say that!? I just had my check up last week! I’m fitter than most kids these days, mostly ‘cuz I avoid McDonald's and Coca Cola. But you’re still not listening. Diga me!”
“I’m listening!”
“The lLord didn’t make you outlive Rosaria, Ggod bless her eternal soul, so you could live in a limbo! You’re a great father, and thank goodness you spend so much quality time with your mother. But you’re not getting any younger! It’s good you go out with women, and better still that you tend to do it out of state, but how much longer are you gonna keep this up, eh? Out of all those women out there, none have captured your soul, yet?”
“Ma! You know that Rosaria…”
“Is dead, gGod bless her. You think when she looks down on you from heaven, she likes the idea of you being lonely? When was the last time you went on a date?”
“Ma, that’s not…”
“I asked you a question. When was the last time you went out on a date. And pussy-trawling doesn’t count!”
“Ma!”
“Well? Shall I repeat that question in Spanish?”
“I don’t go pussy-trawling, ma. When did you start talking like this?”
“I thought it’d get your attention. When?”
“I went out on a date earlier this year! Alright!?”
“It’s now August.”
“Your point?”
“For a healthy man, that’s not healthy.”
“Ma!”
“Diga me! You’re almost thirty-eight, mijo. Catalina is no longer a baby, and I’m not getting any younger. You’re not getting any younger, yourself. It’s time to look for that special someone, already. Are you telling me that in all this time, no one has… eh, captured your heart yet? You’re not that heartless, mijo. I didn’t raise no heartless boys.”
“No,” I sigh. “There’s… there’s no…” but I can’t complete that sentence.
“Ahah!”
Dios mio. Sometimes, I can’t help wondering if the old rumors about my mother being a witch are true. All I know is that I’m in trouble now.
***
“How the hell could you have screwed up!?” yells the diminutive woman at the bigger man. “She’s almost never on the upper floors! You’ve had all this time and you’re telling me you’re still not closer to finding that collection!?”
“She wakes up early,” he whines.
“God damn it! You’re next to useless, you know that!? The hell do I keep you around for!?”
“Look,” he replies in a small voice, caving in upon himself. “In all this time, we haven’t found it yet. Did it ever occur to you that it’s not even in the house anymore? Maybe they put it in a safe, or something.”
“Those people never understood the value of that collection! If they did put it in a safe somewhere, it’d be mentioned in that inventory! It’s not! The fact that it isn’t even mentioned means it’s still in the house.”
“Or they sold it.”
“If so, then we’re both screwed.”
“So what now?” the man asks.
“We give it a bit more time. If we still can’t find it in that house, we go to plan B.”
He flinches at her suddenly calm tone.
***
~ Daniela
“Oh! You’re in early. Don’t you usually come in at one?”
“Needed to talk to you about something,” he says in such a matter-of-fact tone of voice I can’t tell if he’s doing it for the benefit of his men, or if I really did read far too much into yesterday.
The others make their way upstairs with a smile, and I turn to him with my blank, but polite mask. He leads me to the kitchen where I used to keep a pot of tea brewing for the men. I also used to keep snacks out for them on the informal kitchen table, but that didn’t turn out too well. Even after a fortnight of leaving those out and having them sit down with me for tea, they’re all still awfully shy about the refreshments, and never come in alone to pick at them.
Normally, they’ll make their way to my small office, knocking on the door, and asking for my permission to have some refreshments. Unless and until I give that permission, often many times a day, they won’t touch any.
I jokingly complained about this to Rob, but he told me that they were anxious to prove to me that they weren’t stealing anything. I solved the problem by having them bring up the refreshments to the upper floors. Ditto with the tea, which I keep warm by putting in a thermos bottle for them.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, dropping the casual tone of voice. “I don’t know what happened. It’s not something I do. I’m a professional guy, and… uh. Look,. I’m really sorry. I just want you to know that it won’t happen again.”
Habit is telling me to keep my blank mask of politeness on, and to perhaps chuckle and tell him it was nothing, a slight misunderstanding, perhaps, t. Then to move on.
I open my mouth to do just that, the smile at my lips perfunctory. I breathe in, but as I do so, the ache in my stomach reminds me of this morning, and I freeze. I spent my entire life being proper, doing the right thing, and hiding behind my façade of propriety. And where did it get me?
“I needed comforting,” I say instead. “And like the good man that you are, you gave it. I’d rather you did not apologize, because you won’t get any apologies from me. I needed that hug, and will always appreciate your act of kindness.”
Scarcely have the words died in my mouth than I regret the formality of how I said it. Unfortunately, old habits die hard. Still, it is the best I can do.
He looks at me uncertainly, searching my face with his gorgeous eyes to gauge my honesty. He must like what he sees, for an uncertain smile etches itself on his sensuous lips. I smile back, more genuinely, and he glows, moving from a tentative relief to a full-toothed grin.
I melt. Damn this man!
He is so beautiful. But it is more than just because of his appearance. He comes across to me as genuinely kind and caring.
He is staring at me, and I can see he wants to say something, is working up the courage to do so. I stare back, wanting to say something, anything, to break the silence that suddenly feels solid.
From upstairs, a loud crack breaks out, followed by the sound of many, heavy objects falling. Yells break out, and pandemonium ensues. Rob runs toward the stairs, moving so fast despite his massive bulk, that it surprises me into immobility. A and admiration. I follow suit.
The kind man who stood before me only moments ago is now a flurry of activity, first assessing that no one was hurt. I am impressed by the change that has come over him. While I do not understand Spanish, it is clear from his tone that he is asking questions, but it is also clear from the dangerous tone of his voice that there will be a reckoning once he gets to the bottom of this.
Assess first. Ask questions. Verify. Then react. Very impressive.
A portion of a wall on the first floor has collapsed. Diego, the youngest of the lot who’s a mere teenager (nineteen, I believe), is looking very scared. Rob calms down as he continues his questioning, and the young man begins sounding more coherent, or at least, he starts speaking slower.
The other men have joined us, exclaiming at the damage. One of them, Miguel, the oldest, and the one who acts as the foreman when Rob isn’t around, comes up to me and looks satisfied that I’m not hurt. I smile at him to let him know I’m alright, and he walks off to investigate the destruction.
Rob lets Diego be, and the men gather to examine the gap. We are standing in the master bedroom, and a portion of the wall that separates it from the toilet has collapsed. Diego was working in the bathroom, since we had determined that the pipes were all rusted up and needed replacing.
The first time I had turned a tap on in that toilet, brown water came out. Though it would eventually clear, the same did not apply to the flush, causing rust-colored water to settle at the bottom of the bowl. Since my grandmother’s move to the ground floor, her neglect of it was understandable.
I, on the other hand, cannot, as what tenant would want a toilet bowl in the master bath that only flushes out rust-colored water? Long gouges had already been removed from the wall where the pipe fittings lay, closely following the floor plans Mr. Chase had provided. Standing where I was, however, I could already see what the problem was.
There was a hidden pocket in the wall that was not included in the floor plans. In that pocket was a metal box. When Diego had hit one side of the thin wall to get at more old pipes, the box had knocked out the other half of the wall.
“Is that part of the electrical?” I ask no one in particular.
Rob leans down to pick the box up, turning one end to me, “It’s not SOP to put electrical wiring in a lock box. Does this look familiar?”
I shake my head. The damn thing is a safe. Complete with a combination lock in front. I reach out for it, but he cautions me, telling me it’s heavy. He’s right.
The other men inspect the wall. It was deliberately concealed, the opening to it so well- crafted that it wasn’t immediately apparent. It was also located so close to the main piping, that anyone knocking at this portion of wall would have mistaken the slight hollow sound for the plumbing.
Diego breathes a sigh of relief. It wasn’t his fault. I smile at him comfortingly to show I’m not angry, and he smiles back gratefully. Rob grabs his shoulder, shaking him a little to show that everything’s well.
I am incredibly impressed with the way he handled the situation. He orders Diego to carry the box for me below. I run ahead to get a thick, terry cloth, placing it on my desk so as not to scratch it. The teenager is nowhere near as bulky as his boss, though his musculature is very well-developed, despite his age. Still, the way he strains at the box gives an idea of just how heavy it is.
I have no idea how long it had remained in that small wall pocket, but it is hardly dusty. The teenager runs back upstairs to be helpful, so I settle down to try and open it. It is useless, however. The lock doesn’t accept the combinations I try, which I base on my grandparents’ birthdays, their wedding anniversary, my dad’s birthday, and so forth. I even try variations of this address, and even their social security numbers. No luck.
“Any luck?” Rob’s voice comes from behind me, making me jump.
“No. I’m afraid not.”
“That’s not a very big box. Since it’s very heavy, it’s obviously solid metal. We could always blowtorch the thing, if you want.”
I stare at the box a little longer, wondering what could be so important that my grandparents would have wanted to hide it so well. Wordlessly, I push it toward him, and he comes back with the item.
“The good news is that the pitted wall’s weakness is something we can easily fix. After that’s done, we can scrub off the varnish on the floor, sand the pits out, thenand then re-varnish the entire thing,” he says as the torch comes to life. “Other than that, it makes it a lot easier to put in the new pipes.”
“Just glad that no one’s hurt. Do you think there could be more such pockets throughout the house?”
“Hard to tell. We looked at the thing more closely while you were down here. It wasn’t a pocket you could open and close. This lock box was put in, then bricked up. Your grandparents had no intention of accessing it except with a sledgehammer.”
“That’s rather odd.”
“Sure you still want this thing opened? Skeletons in the closet, and all?”
“More so than ever,” I reply.
The top portion of the box has finally been burned away, and like a gentleman, he gives me a smile and a bow.
“Wait a few minutes,” he says. “It’ll still be hot,” then he turns around and walks out, closing the glass doors behind him
Despite my earlier statement, I am suddenly wary. What could possibly be so important that it warrants being stuffed into a metal safe, then sealed inside a wall and forgotten?
Inside is a thick envelope, and several small, dark, wooden boxes, each about half the size of a cigarette pack. Fortunately, the latter requires no keys to open them, only a brass latch. There are about thirty of them. Opening the nearest one, I gasp in shock.
