barroom at the Castellana Hilton sounds like roundup time in the Panhandle.
A notation added in the margin says, And some boys from Dallas are “getting lost” in the basement .
He laughs, looking at the feminine handwriting. Ana’s pretty and clever. It’s his turn to reply. He grabs a magazine from the table and begins to search.
----
The elevator doors open to the lobby. The seemingly ever-present Paco Lobo, the man who adopted a village, stands in the corner, chatting with staff. Upon seeing Daniel, he waves.
Carlitos appears and points to the envelope in Daniel’s hand. “Shall I mail your letter for you, señor ?”
“You can deliver it for me. What is Ana’s last name?”
“Ana here at the hotel? She is Ana Torres Moreno.”
Daniel retrieves a pen from his camera bag. He adds Ana’s last name to the envelope adorned with the hotel crest.
“How long have you been speaking English?” asks Daniel, as he hands the letter to Carlitos.
“Over a year.” He waves Daniel forward with a conspiratorial grin. “There’s a classroom in the basement of the hotel. Señor Hilton is very good to his employees.”
Daniel nods, furthering the covert conversation. “I saw the classroom. I was down there last night. You must also study courtesy. Everyone here is so polite. They insist on calling me señor .”
“But of course! We must refer to everyone in that manner.”
Everyone. So apparently to Ana, Nick is not “everyone”?
“Say, Buttons, if you can deliver this letter privately, I’ll give you a good tip when I return.”
Carlitos clutches Daniel’s sleeve and pulls him close. “Of course, señor . Privacy is one of the first words we learned in the classroom. After all, a hotel is a house of secrets.”
Daniel hates secrets, but his are quickly multiplying. The photo of the nun with the baby, the breakup with Laura Beth, his plan for J-School, and now, the opened telegram.
He takes a breath, acknowledging the reality:
A secret never stays secret for long.
28
Carlitos makes his way into the basements in search of Ana. His cheery whistle dances off the walls as he winds through the underground maze. She is nowhere to be found. He heads to the staff break room. Lorenza stands in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. Women in Spain don’t smoke, especially not in public. It’s considered vulgar and indelicate. But while working at the hotel, some employees exploit American customs. Lorenza seems to exploit all of them.
“Have you seen Ana?” he asks.
Lorenza exhales a scarf of smoke, leaving a lipstick print the color of murder on the cigarette. “ Sí , she was requested upstairs in the Placita . Why?”
“No reason. If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”
Lorenza snaps the envelope from his hand. “Who’s it from?”
“ Ay , Lorenza, give it back.”
She lifts the envelope to the light, trying to peer into it. “Don’t worry, pequeñín , I’ll give it to her.”
“No, the guest asked me to deliver it myself.”
Lorenza pulls the envelope to her chest and lowers her voice. “It’s from a guest? Which one? Is it Max Factor?”
The boy’s face wrinkles with concern, as if he’s committed a grave error. “It’s private, Lorenza. If you interfere I might not get a tip.” He clasps his hands together in a begging plead.
“Fine, chico . I’m just trying to help Ana. We don’t want her to get into trouble again.”
The boy’s eyes widen. “Ana was in trouble?”
Lorenza pulls another drag on her cigarette. “ Uy , you didn’t hear that from me. But let’s just say that Ana’s sweet smile might not be so sweet after all.”
“ Ay , stop.” Carlitos grabs the envelope and leaves Lorenza to her cigarette.
He takes the service elevator up two levels to the shopping Placita . The Placita is a large cobblestone rotunda, surrounded by a circle of expensive stores. Originally a palace courtyard, the shopping area now features a men’s hat shop, a hair
A notation added in the margin says, And some boys from Dallas are “getting lost” in the basement .
He laughs, looking at the feminine handwriting. Ana’s pretty and clever. It’s his turn to reply. He grabs a magazine from the table and begins to search.
----
The elevator doors open to the lobby. The seemingly ever-present Paco Lobo, the man who adopted a village, stands in the corner, chatting with staff. Upon seeing Daniel, he waves.
Carlitos appears and points to the envelope in Daniel’s hand. “Shall I mail your letter for you, señor ?”
“You can deliver it for me. What is Ana’s last name?”
“Ana here at the hotel? She is Ana Torres Moreno.”
Daniel retrieves a pen from his camera bag. He adds Ana’s last name to the envelope adorned with the hotel crest.
“How long have you been speaking English?” asks Daniel, as he hands the letter to Carlitos.
“Over a year.” He waves Daniel forward with a conspiratorial grin. “There’s a classroom in the basement of the hotel. Señor Hilton is very good to his employees.”
Daniel nods, furthering the covert conversation. “I saw the classroom. I was down there last night. You must also study courtesy. Everyone here is so polite. They insist on calling me señor .”
“But of course! We must refer to everyone in that manner.”
Everyone. So apparently to Ana, Nick is not “everyone”?
“Say, Buttons, if you can deliver this letter privately, I’ll give you a good tip when I return.”
Carlitos clutches Daniel’s sleeve and pulls him close. “Of course, señor . Privacy is one of the first words we learned in the classroom. After all, a hotel is a house of secrets.”
Daniel hates secrets, but his are quickly multiplying. The photo of the nun with the baby, the breakup with Laura Beth, his plan for J-School, and now, the opened telegram.
He takes a breath, acknowledging the reality:
A secret never stays secret for long.
28
Carlitos makes his way into the basements in search of Ana. His cheery whistle dances off the walls as he winds through the underground maze. She is nowhere to be found. He heads to the staff break room. Lorenza stands in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. Women in Spain don’t smoke, especially not in public. It’s considered vulgar and indelicate. But while working at the hotel, some employees exploit American customs. Lorenza seems to exploit all of them.
“Have you seen Ana?” he asks.
Lorenza exhales a scarf of smoke, leaving a lipstick print the color of murder on the cigarette. “ Sí , she was requested upstairs in the Placita . Why?”
“No reason. If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”
Lorenza snaps the envelope from his hand. “Who’s it from?”
“ Ay , Lorenza, give it back.”
She lifts the envelope to the light, trying to peer into it. “Don’t worry, pequeñín , I’ll give it to her.”
“No, the guest asked me to deliver it myself.”
Lorenza pulls the envelope to her chest and lowers her voice. “It’s from a guest? Which one? Is it Max Factor?”
The boy’s face wrinkles with concern, as if he’s committed a grave error. “It’s private, Lorenza. If you interfere I might not get a tip.” He clasps his hands together in a begging plead.
“Fine, chico . I’m just trying to help Ana. We don’t want her to get into trouble again.”
The boy’s eyes widen. “Ana was in trouble?”
Lorenza pulls another drag on her cigarette. “ Uy , you didn’t hear that from me. But let’s just say that Ana’s sweet smile might not be so sweet after all.”
“ Ay , stop.” Carlitos grabs the envelope and leaves Lorenza to her cigarette.
He takes the service elevator up two levels to the shopping Placita . The Placita is a large cobblestone rotunda, surrounded by a circle of expensive stores. Originally a palace courtyard, the shopping area now features a men’s hat shop, a hair
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