After the high of the previous evening she could already feel herself sinking into an unpleasant low. It went like that for her, up and down like a roller coaster. Why did the world have to be like this, she wondered as she waited for her bus. Gray, unpleasant. In the comic books everything had a certain cheer, even if the pages were all in black-and-white. And the next day was Monday. The thought of the office with the dull clacking of the typewriters made her grimace. Two days of rest were not enough to wash away the tedium of her work week.
Maybe she should look for another job. Check the help wanted ads, actually make it to interviews. There were better firms out there. She didn’t even have to limit herself to working for a law office. Perhaps there was a more exciting position available somewhere else. A publishing company. That sounded classy. Surely all her reading would come in handy there. True, she mostly read comics, but they counted as something, and she did have several classics from the Sepan Cuantos collection. Furthermore, she had gleaned enough about sophisticated fashions from the magazines that she wouldn’t stand out in such an environment. Oh, she’d chuck away the sensible shoes and the brown jackets for something with a little more pizzazz. At a place like that some glamour wouldn’t be unexpected, would it? Just a smidgen of it.
Or she would look at those Learn English at Home records she hadn’t touched in a while and really get into the lessons this time. She could be a bilingual secretary and command more money. She might even work for a diplomat. An ambassador! Weren’t all the nice embassies in Polanco? This, too, would require sophistication and perhaps even a bit of travel, but Maite was willing to fly wherever she was needed to support the important work of her bosses.
Wouldn’t her sister die of envy then?
She was eager to put her plan into action. As soon as she got home she checked the paper for suitable jobs, but after a little while she grew discouraged by the many times the phrase “twenty to twenty-eight years old” appeared. Even when she was within the specified age range, all the very best jobs seemed to want more than she had to offer, and there was that other phrase too: “excellent presentation.”
Pretty. That’s what they meant. Everyone wanted pretty girls, or at the very least, put-together girls. It wasn’t that Maite looked like a slob, but her clothes never quite fit her right. Her mother said it was because she didn’t have proper undergarments and explained that in her day you wore a good quality long-leg girdle, not just pantyhose. But it wasn’t that. It was that the clothes were cheap, they weren’t tailored for her, a seam came apart here and there, and the colors were wrong. But she never seemed to be able to pick the right thing. Like that time she’d saved and saved and bought the cream-colored blouse with the frilly high collar at the neck only to get home and realize that she looked ridiculous, like a no-neck monster.
That was the problem. Maite was ridiculous and worse. She was pusillanimous, dull, utterly mediocre. Once you added all that together coupled with her lack of initiative, there really wasn’t any reason to consider another job.
She stared out the window as the rain fell.
She should make herself a cup of coffee, that’s what she should do. She should read her old comic books and listen to tangos. Play Carlos Gardel and songs about love and heartbreak. But as Maite sat there, with the rain falling, crumpling the newspaper in her hands, she felt no desire to do any of that.
Maite grabbed her coat and decided to go out. She’d walk. That’s what was best. Go for a walk, flee her hideous little apartment. The air was stale in this room, and she didn’t want to think about jobs or requirements or anything of the sort.
As soon as she stepped into the hallway she saw the man standing in front of Leonora’s door. He turned his head quickly and looked at her. She recognized him as the man in the picture she had been admiring before, but his hair was a little longer and he was wearing a red jacket.
“Oh, it’s you,” she blurted out stupidly, and the man frowned.
“Have we met?” he asked, looking surprised.
“No, no,” she said quickly shaking her head, trying to fix her blunder. “I’ve seen you in a picture with Leonora.”
“You know Leonora?”
“Sort of. I’m watching her cat for her. She’ll be back tomorrow. Were you looking for her?”
He nodded.
Well, of course he is, you dummy, she thought. Why else would he be here?
She wondered who had let him in. The tenants were supposed to be careful about letting strangers into the building, and there was the superintendent on the first floor who gossiped about everyone, but she supposed someone must have been lax about the entrance policy. People were always doing that, holding doors open even if they shouldn’t.
“She said she’d be around.”
“I don’t think she’ll be back today,” Maite said, reaching into her purse, pretending to look for her keys so she could lock her door. She looked slowly, as if she couldn’t find them, hoping he’d say something else.
He did.
“If you’re watching her cat then you must have the key to her apartment. I was supposed to pick something up from her. I think she left it inside for me.”
“You really should ask the super about that.”
“She borrowed my camera, and it must be inside her apartment. Maybe you could open the door for me? It would take a minute.”
“Well…”
“Forty-five seconds. If it’s not on the table I’ll zip right out. You can come in with me if you want.” There was an edge of anxiety to his words, but also a heavy dose of charm.
“I don’t even know your name,” Maite said, and congratulated herself on being crafty enough to come up with that line.
The man smiled. He stretched out a hand. “Emilio Lomelí.”
“I’m Maite.”
“I realize you were headed somewhere, but it would take a minute.”
“I’m not in a rush.”
She took out Leonora’s keys and opened the door, and they walked into the apartment. He seemed to know his way around the place and went into the bedroom, opening the drawer of a tall white dresser. Leonora observed him from the doorway, trying to think of something else she might say, something witty and interesting.
“What type of camera is it?”
“It’s a Canon F-1. Are you interested in photography?”
“No, not really,” Maite admitted.
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.