Authors: Manuel Rivas
‘Can I put on Casta Diva?’ she asked.
‘Of course you can. It’s there until it breaks.’
IN THE MIDDLE
of the Vaudeville’s stage was a Cadillac Eldorado. Víctor Rumbo had bought it in Cuba. Seen it in Miramar, contacted the owner and not stopped until, when Brinco said it was his last day on the island, the owner had gestured to him to get in the car and take it for a drive. ‘Let’s go for a
paseíto
!’ He always told this story. And whenever he got mad, this was what he said, ‘Let’s go for a
paseíto
!’ He was terrifying when he said it. Because the business with the Cadillac got complicated. When it was finally unloaded in Vigo, Brinco’s expression changed. He spat out curses so foul they wounded the clouds. All that had arrived was the Eldorado’s bodywork. It wasn’t that he minded so much, despite all the administrative headaches. He only wanted the sedan for decoration. What bothered him was that the emblem on the bonnet was missing.
‘Where’s the lark? Where’s the fucking skylark?’
The package had been sealed, they explained in customs. Encased in wood. This was how it had travelled. Víctor Rumbo was spewing smoke. In his rage he’d forgotten the owner’s name. Called him ‘Let’s Go’. Shouted it out. Across the sea. A raving lunatic. ‘Let’s Go’ and ‘Skylark’.
‘Don’t get so upset over a steel bird,’ commented Óscar Mendoza. ‘I’ll get you one from a Rolls-Royce. The Spirit of Ecstasy. Now there’s an emblem!’
‘You don’t understand,’ shouted Brinco. ‘This one was mine. My own fucking skylark! I didn’t know what it was. And that bastard went and told me it was a lark.’
So he sent Inverno to Havana with the details, Let’s Go’s address and the instructions, ‘Don’t come back until you’ve got the emblem.’
In the middle of the stage was the Cadillac with its emblem.
Víctor Rumbo wanted to turn the Vaudeville into something straight out of a film. A before and afterwards in Noitía’s history. Till then, most singles clubs on coastal roads had been run-down, sinister places with depressing architecture oozing neon pus. The Vaudeville was going to be different. Unforgettable. A club that would cause stylish scandal among the jet set after a wild night out. Mendoza, Rocha and the increasingly active and enterprising Estela Oza were partners, with the corresponding front. For his part, Brinco wanted the Vaudeville to be an outrageous present for Leda. He went so far as to imagine her as the great madam reigning over her kingdom, controlling everything from an office with screens relaying what was going on in every corner. In the public and private rooms, but also in the bedrooms. She had character, ambition and style. Come on. She had more style, a savage attraction, than Estela Oza ever would. But things turned out otherwise. As expected, he did his bit. Went and found the women. Because this is how it works. People think prostitutes travel around like tourists. Well, no. You have to attend the auction. Check their teeth. Compete with other buyers. Tame them. Protect them. So to speak. This was Brinco’s business. And he did what he had to. He bought the meat.
The inauguration was unbelievable. There were some surprising guests in attendance, some of the jet set, those Brinco knew looked the other way to avoid greeting him. And, above all, amazement, exclamations, when they entered the covered terrace with its large transparent column full of hummingbirds in suspended flight around the serpent of a bougainvillea flower. In the back room, where there was a place for playing cards, another exotic surprise that caused consternation among men and women. An aquarium in which warrior fish fought each other. Red dragons. A kind of host dressed in a shimmery satin jacket replaced the severed fish and sang the bets. On the main stage, with the Eldorado in the background, its bodywork glistening more than the host’s satin, a show billed as the real Tropicana.
But in the midst of all this uproar something was missing. Brinco kept asking after Leda and eventually sent Inverno to fetch her from the Ultramar. She came. Apologised for being late. Domestic matters. Her arrival did not pass unnoticed, she had a genuine air of dangerous elegance, and Brinco lost the face of someone searching for a fallen tooth. One absence was mentioned, especially among the less well informed. Where was Mariscal? But neither Víctor nor his circle asked themselves this question. The Old Man didn’t like large groups of people. He’d be floating around, with his panoptic eye, working out the moment when the void would demand his voice.
Leda would never come back to the Vaudeville. Brinco soon understood she avoided ever mentioning the subject. She’d decided it didn’t exist. On him, however, the large blue neon sign, with its pink skylark blinking in an arc above the letters, had a hypnotic effect. It stood on the hill, visible from the whole valley, defying the dark and the sea.
The wave of high rollers soon washed away from the Vaudeville. Among the partners, only Mendoza the lawyer continued to visit. He liked the girls and could fuck for free. That was the reason for his loyalty. Though there were more of them, the Vaudeville’s customers ended up being the usual clientele of a singles club. Lads on a night out. Old men with money. And
flour
people. Especially those glorious days after a shipment.
‘Who’s that? Belvís? You’re joking. Didn’t he lose his mind or something?’
It was Belvís, the ventriloquist, the orchestra man, with his friend the Kid. Víctor Rumbo carried on organising programmes for the weekends. Not the spectacular stuff he’d done to begin with. Now the most frequent event was a lazy singer followed by an erotic act. But one day Belvís arrived. He got off the bus at Chafariz Cross with a suitcase. Brinco stopped the Alfa Romeo and told him to hop in. Belvís was happy, he’d always liked novelties.
‘What happened to Charlie?’ asked Brinco.
Belvís looked at him in surprise. To tell the truth, Belvís always looked in surprise. ‘The Kid? The Kid’s here, in my suitcase. He likes it better in Conxo. More people to talk to. But you have to get out a bit.’
That was when Brinco announced, in that solemn tone he had, ‘Well, get ready. Tonight you’re going to perform at the Vaudeville.’
Belvís entered the stage with his suitcase. Cast an admiring glance at the Eldorado. Not because he was acting, but because it struck him as a magnificent ship with a skylark on its lips. He opened the suitcase. Took out the Kid. Sat down on the stool. Looked out for the first time. Realised there was a lot of noise since most people weren’t looking at him. At either of them. There was a long bar at the back where customers stood on their own, holding a glass. Checking out the terrain. With a hawk’s eyes. Another group was talking and laughing out loud, completely oblivious to Belvís and the Kid’s stellar presence. The only couples paying attention were those at the second row of tables, closest to the stage. Belvís searched for Brinco. He’d been there, in the corner, when he brought him in. Had introduced him to a girl with big eyes, whose name was Cora. He was searching for those big eyes in order to start looking around. But there was no one there. Neither Brinco nor Big Eyes. Only Inverno. The eternal lookout.
‘Thank you for your indifference,’ began Belvís. ‘I’d like to introduce you all to Charlie the Kid. An intellectual.’
‘Can I tell a story, Che?’
‘Course you can, Charlie. It’s what everyone expects . . . Just make sure you finish quickly. They’re important people and haven’t time to waste on your intelligence.’
‘OK. The other day I overheard a conversation. You know I’m always overhearing conversations. It was right here in Noitía, or maybe not. The point is, one girl said to another, “Listen, I’m in a quandary. The judge said I could choose between a million pesetas and a year in prison.” So the other said, “I don’t know why you’re even wondering. Take the money!”’
‘People are amazing, Charlie. I remember a bar like this, full of lowlife . . .’
‘Do you realise what you just said?’
‘Have I offended somebody?’ asked Belvís.
‘Course you have! Apologise to the owner. This isn’t a bar. It’s a . . . club!’
‘Pay attention to me, Charlie.’
‘No, I’d prefer not to,’ said the puppet, glancing at the ventriloquist and giving a jump. ‘Your hand’s enough. You won’t let go of me!’
And that was when the Kid looked around, very slowly, at the audience finally beginning to laugh.
‘Well, would you believe it? Look at them. Created in his image and likeness. Just imagine! That supreme being was a funny man. He must have been delighted!’
‘That’s right. Man was created in his own image and likeness. That’s what the Bible says.’
The Kid searched around for someone special to look at. A guy with a classic grumpy face. Bushels of hair in each nostril serving as a moustache. Projecting eyebrows over a pair of rodent eyes. Each wrinkle resembling a scar. He clenched his teeth and seemed to growl. Next to him, wearing a serious expression, was a girl.
It was her the Kid addressed. ‘Tell me, darling. What’s it like to sit so close to God, the divine grace?’
The couple reacted well and laughed. But in the group at the back, who hadn’t been paying much attention, there was a drunken scuffle. Inverno knew them. The first was Lelé Toén, one of Carburo’s men. The other, Flores, nicknamed the Graduate. He’d been in Noitía for a couple of days. A Mexican guest of Macro Gamboa. He knew he should leave them alone. They’d soon grow tired.
But for some reason Flores decided this puppet had to stop talking. He started shouting, staring at the Kid, not Belvís. Calling him a son of a bitch, his bald mother, and so on. Inverno thought it might be time to call Brinco. He’d be busy with Big Eyes, but he’d better call him all the same.
‘Calm down,’ said Lelé to the Graduate. ‘It’s only a comedian with a puppet. A clown. A lunatic.’
‘A lunatic? Nobody calls me a dirty pig.’
Stay quiet, thought Brinco at the other end of the bar.
But Belvís opened his mouth. ‘Did you hear that, Charlie?’
‘We were talking about God and someone changed the subject. Anyone got a ribbon to tie around a pig?’
The Graduate bent down and pulled a weapon from under his trousers, strapped to his calf. A change of subject. He aimed at the puppet and shot it in the head. Another shot rang out. Now the Graduate was moaning, the hand that was previously armed having been wounded.
‘Go pluck this cock outside before the police turn up,’ Brinco ordered Lelé.
‘The boss won’t like it.’
‘Who cares? In the Vaudeville, I’m in charge.’
Belvís was holding the puppet in his lap. Caressing it. ‘Can you hear me, Charlie? Can you hear me, lad?’
‘You’re lucky you weren’t shot.’
Brinco picked up some fragments of wood from the ground.
‘If the cops turn up, don’t say anything. The mouth is for keeping quiet.’
‘
NOW THIS IS
what I’d call a tax haven,’ declared Óscar Mendoza as he arrived for the party. Everyone knew he was joking and being serious at the same time.
Romance Manor had access to the sea, as Leda had wanted, but also a brand-new swimming pool. The gate to the sea really did give way to an Eden. A cove of fine white sand with a gurgling brook creating its very own garden next to the dune-working wind. And an old stone embankment for mooring boats.
Víctor Rumbo clapped his hands to summon the guests in the garden. He was obviously excited and managed to thread together a discourse that was sealed by applause and laughter.
‘As you know, the manor belongs to Leda. I’ll have to make do with the bed . . . But for Santi there’s something special. Come with me!’
He lifted his son in the air, sat him on his shoulders and directed the guests to where the surprise was waiting. There was a large open space covered by a blue canvas. Brinco gestured with his hand and a violinist began to play a waltz. Another gesture told some workers it was time to remove the cover since the guests were now surrounding the large rectangle.
There was the swimming pool. But it wasn’t empty. Out of the depths emerged a dolphin. Followed by a murmur of appreciation. Brinco didn’t need to gesture any more. Everybody fell into astonished silence while the violin bow arched over the cetacean’s back.
‘You wanted a friend? There’s a friend for you!’
Chelín followed Leda with his gaze. Managed to attract her attention. Took the pendulum out of his pocket and placed it next to the ground. It began to swing. She nodded, laughing. It was true. Now she was the one leading her son around the swimming pool while a group of men, partners and friends, surrounded Brinco with their aperitifs.
‘Brinco, your friends also have a surprise for you,’ said the lawyer with more familiarity than usual. ‘Come on then! There are marvels of nature for you too!’
The group headed towards the main gate, Mendoza and Rocha ushering them on.
‘And Inverno? Where’s Inverno?’ asked Brinco.
The lawyer clapped his hands and the main gate opened. In came a limousine with tinted windows, moving at a snail’s pace, followed by a group of mariachis with Inverno at the front playing the Mexican ballad ‘Pero sigo siendo el rey’.
The doors of the limousine suddenly opened and out stepped three gorgeous girls in revealing evening dresses.
‘Your Vaudeville princesses!’
They acknowledged the reception. Twirled around like models and then kissed Brinco.
Leda heard the music. Recognised Inverno’s strong voice. Came to see what was happening. Santiago was playing with the other boys, so she went on her own. Or almost on her own. Chelín followed her at a short distance. Because he knew her, he realised she would turn around angrily as soon as she saw the limousine and the welcome given to the girls from the Vaudeville. And he was right. Leda spun around in a rage, rushed up the stairs leading to the terrace and first floor.
Chelín went after her. ‘Wait. Where are you going?’
She eyed him like a stranger. Like someone who’d lost touch with reality. ‘What do you care? To tart myself up!’
‘Leda, you know I always brought you good luck.’
Good luck? She was about to carry on. Another lunatic. But she set her eyes on him. Recognised him. It had been ages since she’d felt so much like crying. She didn’t cry. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips. He was very thin. A child’s gaze with steel spikes on his chin.