Evenings at the Argentine Club (15 page)

“I’m here. I was just thinking that if he hadn’t chosen our career paths for us, maybe he wouldn’t be hurt.”

“If he starts to struggle or it looks like he’s going to lose what he’s invested, I’m going to have to step back in.”

“Vic, maybe instead of thinking you can go back and help him out of a financial bind doing something you hate and you’re not
good at—and I’m only repeating what you’ve told me; I’m not being critical—you should start building your own career.”

“I know. I’ve been thinking that, too. I want to have the money to save their house if Dad’s new restaurants don’t do well
and he can’t pay the banks.”

“I hate to say this, but I wasn’t implying you do that to save Dad, but yourself.”

Victoria was the one who was quiet this time. “Let’s just see how it all works out.”

“Love you, Vic.”

“I love you, too.”

Jaqueline couldn’t dwell on the lack of connection with Victor forever. He made his feelings clear, and sadly, she couldn’t
say his words were a surprise. His mind had always been occupied with plans that rarely included her. So why let it bother
her now? In the past, she’d focused on her daughters and the truth had been easy to bury. Today it wasn’t as easy, but she
tried. She called Hugo.

He answered his cell but seemed distracted. “Jaqueline, it’s so good to hear from you.”

“Bad time?” she asked. A child cried loudly in the background.

“No,” he said. “Well, I have my children with me and I’m having one of those days,” he admitted. “But it’s still good to hear
from you.”

She smiled, remembering what “one of those days” felt like. “Are you driving?” Sounded like he was in a cave of sorts, and
she heard the children.

“Yes, I’m in traffic—missed my son’s soccer practice while they cleared an accident. He’s pouting. And now my daughter is
crying, because I won’t take her to buy a dress for her piano recital tomorrow. She didn’t tell me in time, and it’s too late
now. As it is, it’s probably going to be McDonald’s again tonight, because I don’t have time to cook.”

Whew, he really is overwhelmed right now
, Jaqueline thought.

She didn’t know why he was a single father, but she felt for him. “Hang in there, Hugo. I just wanted to let you know that
I put in a good word for you at the club. We’re going to try to work something out for your band.”

“Ah, gracias, Jaqueline. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

He cursed. “Damn it, I missed my exit.”

“I’d better let you go.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. And Hugo?”

“What?”

“If you’re close to a mall, pull over and buy your daughter that dress. Then take lots of pictures at the recital. You won’t
regret it.”

He sighed, obviously distraught. “Okay. If you think I should.”

“Trust me. Buy the dress. Eat at McDonald’s. Let the world go by, and enjoy your kids.”

“Okay, Jaqueline. Thanks.”

She ended the call and smiled. “Goodness.” She didn’t envy him. Well, maybe she did, a little. And she asked herself—what
would she do to have that again?

T
aking the next step toward her new life, Victoria checked out the interior design degree offered at the institute Douglas
recommended. She’d laid in bed a long time after she’d gotten off the phone with Carmen last night, thinking about what they’d
talked about. She couldn’t go into the designing idea halfheartedly. If she was going to do it, she had to be prepared to
succeed. The institute had a campus right in Burbank, so she wouldn’t have to fight LA traffic or move out of town to attend.
That was a plus.

She asked to speak to a counselor, but the size of the university allowed them to be much less formal than a major university
that specialized in everything from plant reproduction to granting medical degrees. Instead, she was introduced to a facilitator,
who walked her through the curriculum that the university offered for Interior Architecture. Fancy name for a designer. They
had courses like color, lighting, fabrics and textiles, presentation boards. She had to be honest with herself. It all sounded
interesting and exciting.

“You’d be coming in as a transfer student,” the woman told her.

“Yes. I’ve completed all my general division classes.”

“Wonderful. Then you can jump right into the design courses.” She stood. “Let me walk you around campus.”

Victoria followed her as she pointed out the various modern buildings and showed off the green grounds. That was all nice,
but Victoria had little interest in university life. “I don’t want to spend years completing this degree. To be honest, I’m
not sure I want to put in a bunch of time to do something that I already do without a degree.”

“We have an accelerated program,” she said, “created for working adults like yourself, and we even offer weekend classes.
There are those, Victoria, who present themselves as designers when they have no training. But if you’re thinking of making
interior design a career—a profession—you owe it to yourself to invest in the proper education. Our graduates are competent
design experts who have been hired by top firms and won prestigious awards. You couldn’t do better for your future than to
post a degree from our university on your office wall.”

Victoria nodded, still not sure she wanted to invest the time. She completed her tour and left the university with a folder
full of forms and brochures. As she drove down Glen Oaks Boulevard, she had to fight the desire to go straight to La Parrilla
and give up all these insane ideas. Working in the back office of the restaurant, unnoticed and with minimal responsibility,
held an appeal that was hard to explain to people like that facilitator, who probably spent most of her day talking to starry-eyed
eighteen-year-olds. Or even Eric, who was never really handed anything and had to work to create his own destiny. Victoria
could simply sit back and accept what her father was building and do nothing.

But that was where the problem rested. She had to do nothing, and in return she felt like nothing.

She made a few turns and headed to Eric’s property.

She found him in the backyard, covered with sweat. He had a bandana—though it looked more like an old rag—tied around his
head and wore long shorts and a sleeveless tee. Involved in a heated discussion with a couple of guys who were standing around
the pool, he didn’t notice her.

Victoria paused, thinking maybe she should have called his cell first before showing up. There really wasn’t anything for
her to do here yet. In fact, she was supposed to choose the flooring this week. Then again, she didn’t know the measurements
of each room, so that might be a good place to start.

He turned his head when the other men watched her walk out to the back porch. “Hey, Victoria,” he said with no particular
emotion, though his voice maintained its rough edge.

“I, I came to measure the rooms, but… I don’t have a tape measure.”

He immediately unhooked a tape measure from his belt, took eight long steps toward her and handed her his.

She took it. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Then he went back to telling those guys that they either work their sorry, lazy asses off to complete the pool by
the end of the week or not come back at all.

Jeesh
, she thought, and went back into the house. Eric wanted to install the same flooring in the dining room, living room, and
hall. When she’d mentioned hardwood, he’d gotten excited, so wood it was. In the kitchen, she’d install hardy eighteen-inch
tile. The three bedrooms would be recarpeted.

Taking the tape measure in hand and dropping her purse in a corner, she got to work. She borrowed a notepad from a guy working
on the electrical in the kitchen.

“It’s Eric’s,” he said. “Sure, use it.”

She had to get her act together if she was going to do this. The electrician helped her measure the kitchen. She was able
to handle the living room and dining room on her own. Then she moved on to the bedrooms.

Eric strolled in while she worked. He crossed his arms and leaned on the wall. “Need help?”

“No, I got it.” She took notes. “Bad day?”

“Nah,” he said. “Just a tense last half hour.”

She walked past him to the other bedroom. “Wanna share?”

“The pool guys I hired were sent home by my dad and replaced by these jerks, who tell me I’m not only going to have to repaint
the pool but install a whole new pump.”

“Hmm.” She measured the room quickly, since it was almost identical to the previous room. “Don’t you plan for unexpected things
like that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I do.”

“So you’re not upset about the paint and the pump, but about what your dad did.”

“I found those guys sitting on their butts drinking beer, and it pissed me off, that’s all. They said it was too hot to work,
and they were waiting until the sun went down.”

“You didn’t believe them?”

He laughed. “I don’t care. I want them to finish today, if possible. It they don’t want to work in the heat, someone else
will.”

Victoria left and entered the master bedroom with a private bath. She still thought that what really bothered him was his
father’s interference, but if he didn’t want to acknowledge that, she wasn’t going to ask again.

He took the end of the tape measure and helped her hold it while she measured the room. They worked in silence. “Thanks,”
she said, then wrote down the last of her needed numbers. He let his end go, and it snapped back into the roll. “Okay, I’m
done.”

He smiled. “How was
your
day?”

She shrugged. “I checked out a university that offers interior design degrees. Felt completely incongruous walking around
the campus full of young, skinny kids. I’ll be the oldest and fattest student in the program, but I’m considering it.”

“Now why would those be the only things you noticed about the university?”

“Good question,” she said. “I’m insecure?”

He took the tape measure from her hand. “You’re not too old to finish your college degree. And you look good. You really do.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I’m not. I’m honest.” He held the tape measure under her own nose. “Get your own supplies from now on, and get the floors
ordered
mañana
. Okay?”

“And if I don’t, I shouldn’t come back. Right?”

“Oh no.” He grinned. “
You
I want back.”

For a second she wondered if there was a hidden meaning in there somewhere, but she ignored his words, wished him a good night,
and took off.

Jaqueline turned on her computer. A Christmas gift from Victoria last year, which she’d thought at the time to be an absurdly
expensive gift for an old woman. And here it was August and she couldn’t imagine what she’d do all day without it.

She pulled up the Google page and stared at it. Then out of curiosity, she typed in
lonely mom
. Everything from lonely women looking for sex to mommies wanting to chat about their babies popped up on the screen. Then
she saw a site on empty nesters and wondered if that was what she was. Her children were gone. Well, Victoria still lived
at home, but she was never around. And her husband… well, she saw him in bed at night, where they slept side by side like
strangers.

She clicked on the Web site. Read some interesting articles and took down notes on books they recommended. Books with titles
like
The Next Fifty Years: A Guide for Women at Mid-Life and Beyond
and
Awakening at Midlife
. She ordered them and a couple of others.

Then she read some of the messages in one of the chat rooms and sighed. Speaking to a bunch of strangers struck her as bizarre.
Why would she want to share her personal business with a bunch of people she didn’t know? Enough people knew about her personal
life at the Argentine Club. Besides, she had friends. It wasn’t new friends she was looking for, it was… a life.

With another sigh, she was about to exit when she got an instant message, saying simply,
hi
.

“What in the world?” She pushed some hair out of her face. The question
male or female?
flashed on the screen. Hesitating, she looked around the living room that she knew to be empty, but she still felt self-conscious
about spending time frivolously playing on the computer. She typed
female
.

Kids?

Yes,
she wrote.

I mean how old?

They’re both adults.

Married?

She blushed. Was this a man she was talking to? Silly as it was, she felt unfaithful. Regardless of the fact that Victor hadn’t
always been faithful to her, she’d respected him, her children, and herself enough to honor her marriage vows.
Yes,
she wrote.

Happily?

She fumbled with the mouse, ready to turn off the computer. She had no business in a chat room for lonely women. She might
not be happy with her husband, but that was no one’s business but her own.

I’ll take your silence as a no. Me neither. My husband and I hate each other.