She glanced round the room once more, at the bowl of glass fruit, the cutwork place mats, the glossy surface of the table. She frowned as she looked in my direction and I moved aside, so that she could complete her inspection. ‘Things have got a little tired over time,’ she said, ‘but do what you can. And put out the best china, Joseph.’ And with that she left, pulling her pañuelo round her shoulders as if she was cold and the thin silk might provide any warmth.
I polished the dining table again and checked that everything was straight and lined up. Lola Lovely wasn’t in the room — she’d gone to check on America — but the sensation of her scrutiny persisted. When I’d finished, the room looked no different so I was glad she’d seen me get to work, for she nodded, pleased, when she came in again. I doubted either Father Mulrooney or Pastor Levi would take in the state of the room; the dinner invitation was hardly a social one anyway, more to discuss what could be done to halt Eddie Casama’s scheme.
Lola Lovely, assured that all preparations would be carried out to her satisfaction, went to take her siesta and I found myself in the sala with Aunt Mary, who had managed to avoid her mother most of the morning. We sat together, in silence, Aunt Mary on the piano stool, me on the rug polishing the boys’ shoes. I liked these moments; there were fewer of them now. More often these days, Aunt Mary left me to maintain the house without her direction, closing the door of her study softly behind her.
The blinds had been lowered part-way and the windows of the sala thrown open. Through them came the fragrance of the jasmine that was in full flower, mingled with the scent of the hot street and, somewhere, faintly, an open gutter. The noise of the street felt close and intrusive but it was too hot to close the windows again.
Aunt Mary sat with her back to the keyboard, a pile of sheet music on her lap. The piano lid was open, but Aunt Mary hadn’t been playing. She frowned as she ran her hand over each sheet, as if the texture of the paper or the music it described might ignite some lost memory. The sheet music had been ordered and reordered countless times: alphabetically by composer, or categorised by style, genre, era. It was a kind of meditation for her. I’d never heard her play. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, saw her hands pause over the pile and then, without warning, she exclaimed, ‘Damn it, Joseph.’ Startled, I jumped to my feet, uncertain what I’d done wrong. She waved me down again, apologising. Then she marched into the hallway straight to the telephone. I heard her exclaim, ‘Constanza! Mary Morelos here. Oh! Connie, then. I was wondering if you and Edgar are free this evening. I know it’s very last minute.’
Dub and Benny, called by their mother, came down just as the doorbell rang at seven. They kidded around with each other as they walked down the stairs. They were uncomfortable to be dressed smartly, in shirts chosen by their mother that I’d pressed for them that afternoon. They stood awkwardly side by side in the sala, like acquaintances waiting to be introduced at a wedding.
Father Mulrooney and Pastor Levi were punctual. I was conscious of the slightest throb of disappointment as I opened the door to them, but only because I’d steeled myself for the arrival of Eddie Casama. Aunt Mary stood behind me as I opened the door, to direct the men into the sala. Father Mulrooney, less crumpled than usual, was wearing a shirt and slacks. I’d expected him to come in his robes. Perhaps Lola Lovely had too, for she said as he entered, ‘How fashions change, Padre.’ He smiled at her and she held her hand out as if expecting him to kiss it. He hesitated and then took her hand in his, bending his face only slightly towards it, an abbreviated but polite gesture. Lola Lovely held her hand out to Pastor Levi and said, ‘I’m sure I remember you as a boy. Why, nothing really changes.’
Mulrooney smiled again and Pastor Levi said, ‘I was born in Esperanza, ma’am.’
‘Of course you were,’ Lola Lovely said. ‘I probably knew your mother.’
Pastor Levi introduced his wife. Eveline didn’t possess the kind of effortless beauty that BabyLu had, or that Lola Lovely had once exulted in, but she’d taken some trouble for the evening. Her dress, long and plain in cut and the colour of an afternoon sky, flattered her. She’d applied a little colour to her face and, though it seemed obvious, inexpert somehow, the effect was agreeable, like a high-school teacher chaperoning at a prom. Lola Lovely’s eyes sparkled as she took her in and, beaming, she reached out and squeezed Eveline’s hand, pulling her gently towards the piano, where earlier I’d laid out a selection of drinks.
The priests turned to speak to Aunt Mary but only for a moment, for now Lola Lovely drew away the shawl that she’d draped over her cast so that Eveline exclaimed and the men turned to look. Mulrooney said, as Cesar had several days before, ‘I hope it’s nothing serious.’
Lola Lovely’s cast drew a nonchalant arc. ‘An inconvenience,’ she said serenely. I started towards the piano but she waved me away. She lifted a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label, her cast dismissing Mulrooney’s mild objections without even turning to look at him. She poured the priests a tumbler each. Neither man’s protest was sustained. Lola Lovely poured slightly more modest glasses for herself and Eveline and then raised her eyebrows at her daughter. ‘Fizzy drink?’ she said.
Dub stepped forward, smiled disarmingly at his grandmother. ‘I’ll get ours,’ he said. Lola Lovely moved to the settee and sat down. She looked for a moment as if she might commandeer the centre of it, leaving the men with too few seats, doomed to stand, but then she sat on one side and patted the seat next to her for Benny to join her. He shot me a look as he sat down. Lola Lovely arranged herself with more than her usual care, her feet neatly turned like a dancer. I saw Benny glance down at her feet and wondered if he too saw the artificiality of it. I knew from America that Lola Lovely had never been a dancer, though after she started courting she took to affecting a certain gait and poise when walking or sitting. She was always pleased, America said, when later, in those circles, people often asked if she was, though she never quite confessed, admitting only to loving the ballet. I imagined Lola Lovely’s disappointment when her daughter, despite being sent to the most expensive dance academies, showed neither aptitude nor interest.
Aunt Mary left for the kitchen and it was while she was out of the room that the doorbell rang again. I expected her to come out into the hall as I opened the door to Eddie Casama and his wife but she did not. I showed them both into the sala. My eyes were drawn to Dub as I followed them in. Dub had got home late and, kept occupied by America in the kitchen as she doubled up on ingredients and grumbled good-naturedly about stretching the chicken, I hadn’t had a chance to warn him. I saw now how his easy manner wavered when Eddie’s eyes levelled with his and appraised him for longer than they might have. If the older man was troubled in his turn by Dub’s height, his beauty, he showed no sign.