“But then you went to see her last weekend and she wasn’t around,” Maite said.
“Yes. That’s when I realized she’d gone to see Lara after all. She must have obtained a ride from someone else.”
“You came for a camera. Did you know it had compromising photos?”
Emilio nodded gravely. “That’s why I wanted it. Because I was afraid of what Leonora might do with it. I was afraid she’d change her mind and visit Lara.”
“And she did.”
“She must have.”
“What’s so terrible about the pictures?”
“I haven’t seen them, she wouldn’t let me, and she was cryptic about them, but what she did mention worried me. It’s a dangerous climate out there, and Leonora…Leonora doesn’t understand how dangerous it is, and those friends of hers…well, they’re very dangerous too.”
“You mean Jackie?”
“You know her?” Emilio asked.
Maite traced the rim of the glass with her index finger. “No. I haven’t met her. But I know she’s an activist.”
“An activist. That’s a nice way of putting it. We have a problem in Mexico. You only have to look around for five minutes to see that. Poverty, instability, corruption. I agree with that. A lot of people do. We need change. Jackie and people like her want to solve these problems through an armed revolution. She’s read Guevara and Marighella. You remember a few months ago, they captured those terrorists who attacked a bank in Morelia? That’s what Jackie wants to do.”
“I’m not sure what that has to do with Leonora.”
“Leonora idolizes Jackie. It’s Jackie this and Jackie that. Leonora has an uncle who was in the military. He’s a well-connected guy. And I think through him she got those compromising pictures of the Hawks and wanted to give them to a journalist, to Lara. But I told her to reconsider.”
“Why?”
“Because it could get her into a lot of trouble. What if someone came after her? What if she was painting herself into a target? I said she needed to be ready for this. I actually worry about her. Unlike Jackie. She’d have Leonora go into a ring with an angry bull.”
She didn’t know what to say. She gulped down her water instead. Finally, she managed a few words. “Sounds like you don’t believe in Jackie’s cause…in…in this change.”
Emilio smiled charmingly and shook his head. He stood up and took her empty glass from her hands. Their fingers touched for a moment, then he was placing the glass back on the side table.
“Change should come peacefully. We need a more educated nation, we need to come to agreements. President Echeverría has said he is willing to have conversations. He’s different from Ordaz, he’s more open. Conversations can’t take place when you have folks like Jackie trying to kidnap businesspeople and rob banks. I don’t trust Jackie.”
Emilio leaned back against the table and crossed his arms, grimacing. “God knows what she might have told Leonora to do,” he muttered.
“You care a lot about her?” Maite asked softly. She wondered if she disappeared, if anyone except her pet bird would care. Her mother would probably shrug and say she must have done something wrong. Her sister would be equally unmoved.
“Yes,” Emilio said. “I do.”
How she wanted someone to care about her! A thick, destructive yearning flamed inside her chest, and a flicker of emotion must have shown on Maite’s face because he chuckled and quickly added, “It’s not love. Not like that. We broke up.”
“Yes, I heard,” Maite said, playing with the bow on her neck, trying to seem nonchalant even as she felt herself blushing. “What…may I ask, what happened there?”
“Nothing special, diverging interests. She’s young, I’m not.”
“But you’re not old,” she protested.
“I’m twenty-eight, Leonora is twenty-one. When you’re twenty-eight you begin to get serious about life, you begin to think about things like a family, to plan for a real future. She wasn’t ready for any of that. I mean, I was a founder of that art collective she’s a member of, so I understand the impulse to want to leave your mark. But there’s more to life than that, don’t you think?”
“I’m not an artist,” Maite said, smoothing down the bow at her neck.
“You should consider yourself lucky. Art is a constant torment. I still take a few pictures, but my business takes up most of my time now,” he said and pointed at one of the photographs on the walls.
“Antiques?”
“Yes. I own a beautiful shop. Not flea market merchandise, either. Genuinely enchanting pieces. I have gorgeous Chinese porcelains and a Louis XV chair right now. Leonora is not much for antiques. That was the other thing. New, new, new. Everything had to be new.”
“I can’t say I know much about antiques, but I do appreciate the value of an old heirloom. It seems to me something that has been preserved for a long time acquires a certain gravitas.”
“I’d agree. It’s the same with people: age refines us.”
She liked that thought. That she was refined. It was like an alchemical process. From coarse lead one could bring forth precious gold. A man of the world, such as Emilio Lomelí, would be able to discern that. She observed him carefully, taking in the curve of his smile.
“It’s very good of you to worry about Leonora, you know?” Emilio said. “Some people wouldn’t care if their neighbors lived or died in this city.”
She remembered the money the girl owed her and how she desperately needed to fix her car, plus the delight she obtained from her thieving escapades, the delight she was feeling now sitting in this living room.
“I suppose I’m old-fashioned. Always have a cup of sugar handy and all that,” she told him and looked down at the floor. She’d heard you can tell a liar by their gaze, and for a minute she thought maybe he’d look into her heart and discern all her untruths.
He sighed. “I wish we knew where she’s gone.”
“Would that journalist, Lara, know?” she asked.
“I could phone and ask. Would you let me know if you hear anything?”
“Of course,” she said, raising her head and looking at him again.
“I’d also like to ask you…if by any chance you do happen to find those photos, please, bring them to me. I don’t want anyone else getting in trouble because of them.”