“Buenos días, señor,” greets the elevator operator. He waves a white glove to welcome them into the small compartment. His forest-green uniform features the gold Castellana Hilton crest between two rows of shiny brass buttons.
The elevator descends, stopping at the fifth floor. A corpulent, gray-haired gentleman with wire-rimmed glasses enters.
“¡Buenos días, Señor Lobo!” exclaims Ana. She quickly makes way for the guest, stepping back so far that she’s brushing against Daniel. In the mirrored walls of the elevator, Daniel sees multiple angles of Ana. He lifts his camera and takes a picture.
“Now, that will be a lovely photo, indeed,” says the man, giving Daniel a wink. The doors open and the lobby staff erupts in greeting when the bespectacled guest emerges from the elevator.
“Who is that?” whispers Daniel.
“Señor Paco Lobo,” replies Ana. “The hotel’s most cherished guest. He’s been here three years. Señor Lobo supports two orphan girls and recently adopted an entire village.”
“He adopted a village?” asks Daniel.
“Yes, he adopted the people of Navalperal de Tormes, in the Gredos mountains. He’s very generous and supports them financially.”
Of course. That’s what his parents are doing with the orphanage that Nick mentioned. They support all sorts of charities.
Daniel watches the beloved guest make his way through the lobby. Why would the man live in a hotel rather than a home or an apartment?
Ana signals to a young bellboy, dressed in a uniform similar to the elevator operator’s. A round green hat, like a small drum, sits askew on the left side of his head.
The small boy sprints across the lobby to her side.
“Hola, Ana.”
“Hola, Carlitos. Señora Matheson on the seventh floor is expecting an important telegram. When it arrives, deliver it to her directly.”
The boy nods enthusiastically and turns to Daniel. “¡Hola, señor!” He points to the image on Daniel’s belt buckle and bursts with excitement. “Tex-has!” He raises his fingers like guns. “Pow! Pow!”
“Yes, Texas,” says Daniel, laughing. “How old are you, Carlitos?”
“Twelve.” He beams, standing at attention. “Bellboys in Spain, we are called botones—buttons. Most guests, they call me Buttons, señor.”
“All right, then. May I take your picture, Buttons?” The boy obliges, striking a well-practiced pose.
“Carlitos, please tell the front desk that I am on task for the Matheson family,” instructs Ana. Carlitos nods and marches away.
“He is a sweet boy, and very eager,” says Ana.
A female employee appears, carrying a bucket of ice. Her lips are a shock of red against her pale skin and dark hair. Seeing Ana and Daniel, she raises her eyebrows and changes course toward them.
“Hola, Lorenza,” says Ana. “Lorenza, this is Señor Matheson. His family is visiting from Texas.”
Lorenza nods slowly, staring at Daniel. Her eyes travel south, taking in his jeans and cowboy boots. Her brows flash with interest. “Bienvenido a Madrid, caballero.” She grins and saunters away.
Lorenza’s self-confident swing reminds him of Laura Beth. Not worth the whiskey.
Summer heat swells and clings as they exit the building. Bellmen direct taxis collecting and delivering guests. Porters bustle, balancing stacks of colorful boxes and shiny bags from specialty shops in Madrid. Daniel scans quickly for the guards. They are nowhere in sight.
“Have you worked at the hotel long?” he asks.
“For nearly a year,” Ana says.
“And before?”
“I worked for a family.”
“Oh yeah? Which do you prefer?” asks Daniel.
“Actually, I’d prefer to hear about your camera. It looks very special.” Ana smiles.
Daniel follows Ana through the crowded sidewalks lined with acacia trees, sharing details of his camera. He stops to photograph an old brick archway.
“That is the entrance to the Sorolla Museum, señor. You must visit. It’s wonderful.”
They approach a café adorned with brightly painted tiles. A sunburned tourist sits alone at a sidewalk table. He dozes, clutching a glass containing a final sip of wine. As he surrenders to sleep, the glass and remaining liquid tip dangerously close to his pants.
Daniel pauses.
Ana grins and nods quickly. “Sí, sí.”
Just as Daniel snaps the picture, the man opens his eyes, catching them in the act. They hurry away, laughing.
“Think he was drunk or just sleepy?” smiles Daniel.
“Both!” laughs Ana. “But which was the better photo? The sleeping tourist or our faces when he opened his eyes?”
“Great question! Wish we could see the two together. It’s so easy to miss the good shots.” Daniel’s smile retreats as they pass two men in gray uniforms on the corner. They’re holding billy clubs and sour expressions.
“There are also some shots to avoid, señor,” says Ana, her voice dropping in volume. “The police corps in the gray uniforms—los grises—and of course the Guardia Civil.”
“Right. Gracias.” He nods. “Are there many Guardia Civil?”
Ana pauses, thinking. “Perhaps forty thousand?”
There’s a clutch to his throat. “Forty thousand?”
“Yes, but you probably won’t see them. They mainly patrol outside the city centers.”
But he has seen them, in the city center. Why were they following the nun with the baby? Somehow, losing his film to them makes him want the picture even more.
Horns hoot and engine radiators bubble through the hot, congested streets.
“How did you discover photography?” asks Ana.
“My art teacher, Mr. Douglas. He convinced me to join the school paper.”
Their conversation continues, alternating naturally between English and Spanish as they walk. Ana listens carefully, the first in a while to show interest in his photography.
“Sorry. I’m rambling about camera stuff,” he says.
“You’re not rambling. I asked, señor.”
Leading him down the wide cement stairs to the Metro, Ana explains how to purchase a ticket and which transit line they will take to cross the city. Although the glances aren’t overt, Daniel feels the eyes of the locals. He also feels the eyes of Ana. Is it the jeans, the large belt buckle, or the boots that draw attention?