“Sí,”she said solemnly, seeing my doubt. “Obedience is a good daughter—that’s what the papas say.”
A good daughter. That’s what Penny was, and I wasn’t.
Lupita looked down and her lips curved in a soft smile. “Also, I think Oscar, maybe he likes my hair.” She flushed. “Oscar... he sees me just as a child still, but I am not.”
Now I followed. Lupita was a girl in love. But with dour-faced Oscar? That was too unbelievable.
“If I am an obedient daughter, and pretty also, then this year I will be crowned queen of thefestivales.” Her hopeful smile said it all. That then, perhaps, Oscar would notice she was all grown up.“Ay!Listen to me. You eat. And I find something you wear while we get you clean and pressed.”
She bounded out of the house. I took a look at the flat bread and what smelled like beans on the plate. My insides weren’t quite on the level, but with the old lady watching me with her disapproving black eyes, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of showing my discomfort. I couldn’t see any fork, so I rolled up the bread and nibbled a few bites. They threatened to come right back up. I put a hand on my stomach and swallowed the rest, hoping for the best.
Lupita slipped back in the door with a slew of bright clothes over her arm and a smile that I didn’t deserve. I fingered the perfect embroidery around the neck of the green cotton blouse. “It’s beautiful. Is it yours?”
Her smile dimmed. “No, this are not mine. But you may keep.”
She helped me out of my dress and stockings right there in the kitchen. As I pulled on a bright yellow skirt and the grass-green blouse, Sanchia took my pile of dirty clothes with a scowl and brought them outside. “She will wash, I press,” Lupita said as I cinched the sash around my waist. But when I went to the window to get a glimpse of my hair, I let out a squeal. There was Sanchia, shoving my good blue linen and my best stockings into the potbellied stove.
“Ay, ay!”Lupita cried out, throwing her hand over her mouth. “Lo siento,Mina. She is more angry than I know.”
It was too unbelievable. I tried not to think what that dress—now in ashes—had cost me. I looked down at the puffed blouse and full skirt that I’d have to wear until I could get to my clothes at the boardinghouse. I hope it made the old crow feel better, because she sure had got me where it hurt.
“Please, forgive her. She is—I don’t know how to say. You keepthese, please.” Lupita patted my arm. “I must go now. But I come back.” She kissed me on the cheek like a sister. “It is not you she no like. It is all this.” She waved a hand at the stack of newspapers on the table, as if I should know what she meant. “I do not believe what they say. She will see. Do not worry, Mina. All will be well.” Lupita left in a swirl of bright color.
All this?What did that mean?
I glanced down at the newspapers strewn over the table, then dropped into the chair like I’d been sucker-punched.
All thismeant my picture. On the front page.
POLICE HUNT FOR MURDERESS—Feb. 24—(AP) Police have named a prime suspect in the Roy Lester murder case, sources confirmed late last night. Miss Minerva Sinclaire of Los Angeles is said to be the last person with Mr. Lester on the night of his death, reported Sergeant Bryce Adams of the Los Angeles police. A fur coat, rented to Miss Sinclaire from Normandie Rental on Spring Street, was left at the party and led to discovery of the identity and address of the suspected killer.
I’d forgotten all about my rented fur and the receipt in the inside pocket with my name and address. Theseñora—Sanchia—stood in the doorway now, watching me with her black eyes. She probably believed I was a killer. Was she right? I thought about that night. What I’d told Oscar. How I could barely stand. How Roy carried me up the stairs.
I put my head in my hands. No. It didn’t make sense. That’s not what happened. But what did it matter when I was the only one who knew? It was all sewn up according to the papers. I’dgo to prison, maybe even execution. Did they execute women? Then, almost worse than the idea of prison, I thought of Papa. Would thePierre Dailyrun the story? Given how famous Roy was, they surely would. My stomach twisted like a June tornado. The whole town would know. Penny. Papa. How could I ever face him again?
I ran to the wastebasket and the little bit of breakfast I’d eaten came right back up.
Sanchia watched me but didn’t move a muscle to help. Then she muttered a few words, turned on her heel, and left. I can’t say I wasn’t glad to see her go. I wiped my mouth and went back to the newspapers. On page two, Louella’s column was pure venom. She called me a tramp and described me as some kind of lunatic. Was this the same woman who’d invited me to the party, who’d said,Couldn’t you just eat her up?andRoy’s going to love you?
I had to fix this. Please, Max, tell me we can fix this.
What could I do but wait for Oscar to come back?
I paced between the front windows and the back. I watched Sanchia and another woman wash what seemed like hundreds of sheets, crank them through a wringer and hang them to dry on ropes strung between the houses. I bit at my fingernails.
I read the article about me again. Then I read the rest of the newspaper, just to distract myself. On the third page, a headline blaredSEND THEM HOME!The article reported triumphantly that over two hundred aliens had been rounded up in one week in Los Angeles County. Some were Chinese and Japanese but the real “deportables,” as the paper called them, were the Mexicans. Disease-ridden, jobless, criminals. All of them either on assistance or taking jobs that should go to real Americans.
I looked around at the little house, spotless in the sunshine.A week ago, I’d have believed every word—if I’d bothered to read anything other than the film reviews and gossip page. I suppose that shows how self-centered I really was. Now, I thought of Roman and Angel, of Lupita and her brother, and it finally dawned on me.
This was why Oscar was so worried.
If I were found here—if he were connected to me in any way—it meant a one-way bus ticket to the border for Oscar, maybe for all of them. Or even prison, if they found out he’d helped me get away from the estate.
Oscar should have thrown me out of the auto the minute he saw me. He sure shouldn’t have got me out of the Montmartre. Here I’d been just thinking of myself—my studio contract, my big break—while he was risking his family, his very home. No wonder Sanchia looked at me like I was some kind of dirt on the bottom of her shoe. I guess I couldn’t blame her. If he ended up in jail... it would be my fault. If they all were deported... how could I live with that?
By the time the afternoon sun was sinking golden over the ravine, my nails were bitten to the quick and my nerves were shot. Either Oscar hadn’t found Max or Max had refused to come for me. That much was clear. I took myself up the stairs and into the little room, peered out the window to what I could see of the neighborhood. Women in kerchiefs, kids playing in the street, a donkey pulling a cart full of wood. I had to leave this place—Max or no Max. Not just for my sake, but for Oscar and Roman and Angel. For Lupita and even Señora. It was only right. I’d wait until dark, then with Oscar’s blessing or without it, I’d get as far away from the Dominguez family as I could.
I crossed the room, standing below the crucifix on the wall.The dark wood was nicked, and the silver figure hanging with outstretched arms must have been passed through generations of pious hands. I touched the naked foot with the tiny nail hole.
