Page 177 of The Moon Sister
‘We can only pray,’ Meñique shrugged as they both ordered yet another tasteless hamburger. Meñique glanced at Pepe reading the articles, and thought how genetics had weaved their trickery by giving Pepe the temperament of his mother and the looks of his father. Despite the amount of admiring glances from the female members of the audience, Pepe seemed not to notice. Which was more than Meñique could say about José . . .
María came over to their table. ‘Pepe,querido, Juana wishes to talk through how many bars you play for the introduction to herbulerías.’
‘Sí, Mamá.’ Pepe stood up and left, while María slipped into the booth opposite Meñique.
‘Your playing tonight was beautiful.’ María smiled. ‘You had a longer solo than usual.’
‘I had to beg for it,’ Meñique replied, lighting a cigarette.
‘I didn’t know you smoked.’
‘I normally don’t, it’s just another bad habit I’ve picked up from Lucía. She is smoking two packs a day at least.’
He watched María lean over the back of the red plastic banquette, her eyes searching the diner for her husband. Meñique could see he was sitting next to Martina in a neighbouring booth, an arm resting carelessly on the seat behind her.
‘Really, María, since we came on this tour, I swear I have seen nothing beyond talk and drink.’
‘Maybe.’ María smiled grimly. ‘But you do not see everything; there is a catch. Many nights on this long tour I fall asleep alone. José is a rich man now. Famous too, and talented.’
‘And you, María, are still a very beautiful woman. José loves you, I’m sure.’
‘Not as I love him. Don’t try to be kind, Meñique. Can you not see how this tortures me? Being with him, but knowing now for certain I can never be enough.’
‘I can, and this tour has felt interminable. It was exciting when we were in South America. There was so much to see, wonderful food to eat and wines to drink. They spoke our language, they understood us – but here –’ Meñique gazed miserably out of the window into blackness – ‘the best they can offer us is a hotdog.’
‘Yes, I miss South America too, but Lucía is happy. She has conquered America. She has beaten La Argentinita at her own game. Maybe now she can slow down and relax a little.’
‘No, María.’ Meñique shook his head. ‘We both know that will never happen. There will be another La Argentinita, another country to conquer . . . Can I tell you a secret?’
‘Of course, yes.’
‘I have been asked to perform in Mexico as a solo artist at a well-known flamenco café. They saw the reviews in theNew York Timesand the other newspapers.’
‘I see. What will you do?’
‘I’m not sure. We only have another few weeks of the tour, then who knows what is next? Perhaps I will ask Lucía if she will come with me.’
‘What about everyone else in thecuadro?’
‘They are not invited.’ Meñique picked up his glass of beer and took a swig.
‘She will not come, Meñique. You know that. She cannot leave everything she knows behind.’
‘Well–’ he drained the glass – ‘it is her choice.’
‘And yours,’ María countered.
*
Back in New York, the company was offered a contract to perform at the 46th Street Theatre, but on arrival at the Waldorf Astoria, were told that it was fully booked.
‘Fully booked!’ Lucía cried as they had been ushered back across the marble reception hall by hotel staff. ‘Ay!Half these rooms are empty! You should be so lucky to have us here.’
As they stood outside waiting for taxis, a paltry umbrella protecting them from the spring showers, Meñique put an arm around her to calm her down.
‘Lucía, they might not be so happy about what you did to their expensive wooden cabinets when we were last here.’
‘Well, how else was I supposed to grill my sardines? I needed wood for fire!’ she insisted.
