“You should know. He’s your hero, isn’t he?”
I drew in a breath as the screen came to life.City Lights, the film Mr. Charles Chaplin had labored over for almost three years—plagued by mishaps, cast changes, and debt, dismissed by critics before it had even been shown. A silent film when talkies were all the thing.
It was too unbelievable. “But... it won’t be out for weeks yet.”
“It’s not out. The premiere is in New York next month. This is just for a few people in the business. I pulled some strings—thought you’d like it.”
I flushed down to my sweetheart neckline and looked behind us, my pulse jumping. “Is he here?”
Max laughed, low and rumbling. “Settle down. We won’t see him.” He squeezed my hand. “Just enjoy,” he whispered.
The film was marvelous. Funny, of course. Max and I laughed out loud in all the same scenes, but it was also sweet and touching in the most wonderful ways. It was perfection and made me feel like a girl again, with no cares and no regrets. It didn’t hurt to have Max’s hand cupped over mine for the whole ninety minutes, either.
Max was true to his word. He didn’t comment on camera angles or lighting or music. At the last scene, he was completely still, as if holding his breath. I blinked tear-filled eyes at the Tramp’s angelic, perfect smile. As the score swelled and the picture faded to black, Max leaned over and plopped a kiss on my surprised mouth.
“That,” he said, his face still close to mine, his eyes glinting in the light coming off the screen, “is how a film should make you feel.”
I tried to catch my breath. “Like... what?” I could barely get a word out, still feeling the press of his lips on mine. The smell of his cigarettes and peppermint.
“Like kissing the person next to you.”
I managed to recover the power of speech. “You better make sure you always sit by a girl, then, buster.”
He laughed and didn’t move away. Around us, people were standing, shuffling to the aisle, but his face was still close to mine, his eyes half closed, as if considering another kiss. “You’re something else, Miss Sinclaire. Have I told you that?” His look made me a little breathless.
“Remember, I’m not your type, Mr. Clark.” I countered, hoping he couldn’t see my fluster, “and you really aren’t mine.”
He didn’t back off, but he looked at me thoughtfully from under those long lashes. “What is your type, Mina?”
“Not the handsome-and-knows-it type, if you follow my meaning.” I tried for flippant but my breath was doing funny things and caught in my throat.
He laughed. “I follow.” But he said it sweetly and helped me to my feet with a smile, standing back to let me out into the aisle.
By then I had my wits about me. I passed by him, resting my hand against his chest. I leaned up and kissed his cheek, letting mylashes flutter against his skin. “More’s the pity.” With Max, you had to be able to dish it out as well as he did.
We took our time leaving. Max introduced me to a producer for the new Fox studio and a stunning secretary at United Artists. “She makes the decisions. Don’t be fooled by her baby doll face,” he whispered in my ear. She flirted with him shamelessly, but it didn’t bother me. My lips still felt his kiss.
Silly, I know. It’s not like it meant anything, but I caught myself humming the score fromCity Lightsas Max drove me home. From his sideways glance, I think he caught me, too.
That was a good night—that night with Max. It helped to remember those good times with Max, later, when everything went wrong.
CHAPTER 3
OSCAR
Señor Lester’s party had roared in the small hours of the night and Oscar had slept a precious few hours in the gardener’s shed behind the garage. Now, bleary-eyed, he cranked the engine of his automobile for the third time.“Por favor, Dios mío.”Don’t choose today to give up the ghost.
He’d got the Model T—a 1926 with a box—for a good price, and most days he was proud to own his own automobile when most of his neighbors had to rely on the tram or the city bus. But what he wouldn’t give for the piece of junk to start on the first try. If he had to get under the hood again, he’d be late to pick up Angel and Roman. The Lord only knew what trouble Roman would get into if he left them with those rabble-rousers at the packing house.
The engine caught and he eased the choke,gracias a Dios, then went around to the door and hopped into the car. The sun glinted in the polished rear mirror, a good way above the horizon. He’d be a little late to pick up his brothers. It wasn’t good for them toloiter anywhere, especially now. Especially Roman. That boy drew trouble like stink drew flies. Once he got the boys home, he’d come back to do the watering and collect his extra pay for the party last night.
He pulled around the garage. The sun turned the windows over the back garden to gold, the long swimming pool to sapphire. Beauty wasted ongringoswho’d gone to bed so drunk they wouldn’t wake until afternoon. What had happened to the girl Max had argued with last night? Not that he cared, except it proved what he already knew about Max Perez. No Mexican man would let a girl he knew go off with a dog like Lester. But Max was anamericanonow, who only looked out for himself.
Max. He pushed down on the accelerator and the auto jerked. He wished he’d never seen him again. It had been close to four years, but that kind of betrayal didn’t fade with time. The gears ground as he shifted into high. If there were justice in the world, people would get what they deserved, Max included. They do good, they get good things, like a place to live and food on the table. If they do bad, they get bad in return. The engine moaned as he reached the main driveway. Instead,americanosdid bad and got good, and his people worked hard, took care of their women and children, and got back nothing but sorrow.
When Padre Ramirez had given him the inside line on the gardener job, he’d almost turned it down. He’d had all he could take of the film crowd. But Mamá had convinced him otherwise. He needed a steady job, one that didn’t ebb and flow with the seasons like everything else available to brown-skinned workers. And it was a good job when Roy Lester remembered to pay him.
He gained speed, passing the tennis courts and the box hedges. The sun glinted off the absurdly perfect lake and he blinked. Thenblinked again as a figure lurched from the shadows of the trimmed hedges and onto the road, directly in his path. He jammed on the brakes.“Qué rayos!”
