He nodded and opened another drawer. Maite rubbed her hands together, trying hard to imagine what else to say. A minute or two more and he would give up and step out of the apartment, but she didn’t want him to leave yet. He was such a distinguished man, and she seldom had the chance to talk to someone like him.
Maite licked her lips. “Are you a photographer? I imagine you are.”
“Yep.”
Silence again. He had opened the bottom and last drawer. By the way he hunched his shoulders she could guess he hadn’t found what he wanted.
“Do you want me to help you look?”
“No, it’s fine,” he said as he stood up and glanced around the room. “She keeps all the photo equipment in this dresser. If it’s not there I’m not sure where it could be, and I don’t want to keep you here forever.”
“It’s no bother,” Maite said. “Do you want to look somewhere else?”
“Let’s give the living room a try.”
He walked past her, back into the living room. He moved a few of the canvases aside and inspected the shelf with the photographs. It all seemed to be in vain. He turned to her finally with a shrug. The yellow light in the living room accented his amber-colored eyes, making them more vivid.
“I guess she took it with her. Hey, if by any chance you find it, can you give me a ring?” he asked.
“Sure. But Leonora is coming back tomorrow.”
“I don’t know about that. When Leonora takes off like this she can be gone for days. She gets restless. Needs inspiration,” he said, smiling again and reaching into his pocket. He took out a business card. “Here. This is my phone. Will you call me if you find the camera?”
Emilio Lomelí, Antiques. The card was embossed, the letters velvet-soft against her fingertips.
“If I see a camera, I’ll phone you. Are you her boyfriend, by the way?” she asked, hoping the question sounded indifferent, casual.
“No. It’s a bit hard to explain.”
Explain all you like, she wanted to say, but he was already headed toward the door, checking his watch, and she imagined that he had an important place to be. Important stuff to do. She followed him and locked the door, and they were standing in the hallway again. Maite remembered she was supposed to go out, so she headed toward the stairs and he did too.
She scrambled to come up with something to say to him. She dearly wished she had been wearing something nicer. She had on a shabby, shapeless gray coat and her comfy blue shoes. If she’d known she was going to be talking to a man like this, she would have taken the time to apply a bit of mascara and pick a more flattering outfit. She remembered seeing a shearling coat inside Leonora’s closet and wondered what she might look like in something like that.
“Thanks, Maite,” he said when they reached the front entrance.
“No problem,” she replied, ecstatic that he’d said her name. It sounded wonderful coming from a handsome man’s lips.
She closed the door and pretended to fiddle with the lock, sneaking a look in the direction he had gone and seeing him walk away. He went around the corner and was gone. Maite clutched her purse tight against her chest.
She thought about following him for a moment. Not with any nefarious intention, but simply because she wondered where he was headed, simply to prolong the moment between them. But she didn’t dare, afraid of what he might think if he should turn his head and see her walking behind him.
The next morning she arrived at work bright and early. She was eager to chat with Diana, but she didn’t get a chance until lunchtime, when they both hurried to the coffee shop across the street.
“I met somebody,” Maite said. “His name is Emilio.”
“Then that’s why you wouldn’t have dinner with me Friday,” Diana said, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Don’t be silly, no. I met him yesterday. He’s very handsome, very interesting. He sells antiques. Would you believe it? A mutual friend introduced us—there was a little reunion, I wasn’t even going to go—and we talked for hours. We have so much in common.”
“Well, that’s exciting. But what about Luis?”
Maite fibbed. Never big lies. Little things. It wasn’t malice. You simply couldn’t go through life being frank. When someone asked what she had done during the weekend, it wasn’t possible to always say “nothing.” “Nothing” sounded dry and sad. Therefore, once in a while, she embroidered her life with a little lie. She took the men from the comic books she read and fashioned them into imaginary dates, boyfriends.
Besides, it was nice to have someone to share her fantasies with, to see Diana’s eyes brighten with admiration when Maite regaled her with a story about her exciting weekend date. She didn’t do it all the time either. It had been weeks since she’d last mentioned Luis, who was obviously patterned after the hero ofSecret Romance. A dashing physician.
“I don’t know,” Maite said. “He’s too quiet.”
“You’re terrible, Maite,” Diana replied, but she spoke with admiration, and Maite felt that in the end she was doing Diana a favor by telling her these stories. They entertained both of them; they turned what might have been a gloomy lunch break into something magical.
