Silver Nitrate(68)
She turned her head, glancing at the window of the subway car. Everyone’s reflections were smudged in the glass; she was nothing but a blurry shape surrounded by other shapes. There was a guy a head taller than her standing behind her, looking down. She could see the muddled reflection of his head in the glass. Sometimes pervs tried to cop a feel or look down a lady’s shirt, and she stood with her elbow at the ready in case he got close. She’d jab him in the ribs. Her leg still ached, and she closed her eyes and snapped them open when the train reached her station.
Nando used to exhibit his wares at El Chopo, selling videotapes to darketos, punks, and other alternative types until internal strife with the civil association that controlled the vendors forced him to look for another place to hawk his wares. He decided he didn’t want to rent a storefront and settled on selling items from his apartment.
Nando sold cassette tapes and records that his cousin from Tijuana purchased in the USA and mailed to him, but when Betamax and later VHS hit the market, he settled on movies as his item of choice. Later, he concentrated on memorabilia, which fetched a higher price.
Nando lived on Fresno, three blocks from the Moorish Kiosk, in an ugly building that had been once painted “Mexican pink” and now looked like it was caked in dirt. The colonia had once aimed for a French look, with its Art Nouveau museum of glass and iron standing as a witness to great expectations that had long been dashed as the area grew grayer and more impoverished. Nando’s apartment building did not have that old European flair some buildings sported, with mansard roofs and iron work. Instead, it looked like a box of tissues with squares carved to form windows.
She stood in front of his building and yelled out his name until Nando opened a window on the third floor and lowered a basket with the key. There was no intercom, and inside there was no elevator. You either yelled for someone to open or pounded the door until the super deigned to let you in, if she was around. Montserrat climbed the staircase cursing the cold weather and her aching leg.
Nando received her with a kiss on the cheek and a big smile. He made a show of walking her to the living room, which was clear of junk. The rest of his apartment was filled with carefully labeled boxes containing his merchandise and rolled-up movie posters, or else remained the domain of his mother.
“You want a beer?” he asked, offering an open bottle of Sol that was on the coffee table.
The room was wallpapered with a pattern of flowers, in the style of Nando’s mother, who was the one who paid the rent. The old lady didn’t allow any redecoration. She did permit Nando to cram a huge TV and a stereo into the living room, although, at this time of the year, the TV was half blocked by a plastic Christmas tree with blinking lights and an excessive amount of tinsel.
“It’s a bit early for me.”
“I wouldn’t know. I was at a tocada in Santa Fe until four a.m. I just woke up.”
Nando was only two years younger than Montserrat, but acted like he was fifteen and looked fifty.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Off to the market. It’s the two of us in the apartment,” Nando said with a wink.
A painting of the Santo Ni?o de Atocha surveyed her from above the couch, where Nando had plopped himself, patting the space next to him. Montserrat pulled up a chair instead.
“How’s the job?” he asked.
“Same old story. It’s a bit slow this month. I want to pick up my bonus tomorrow, and I’ll enjoy the quiet weeks until it picks up again.”
What she wanted was for Mario to open the vault and let her grab the film she’d stored there, but the bonus would be as good an excuse as any. She might also be able to guilt Mario into throwing her a bunch of shifts in January. This whole magic business was leaving her life in disarray.
“I heard Mario was cutting hours at Antares, and he chopped a bunch of yours.”
“Who told you about the hours at Antares?”
“Lalo Podesta was here a few days ago. We were playing cards. He says Samuel is bringing in a friend to replace you.”
“How does he know what Samuel is doing?”
“Lalo loves to gossip.”
If Lalo was flapping his mouth there might be some truth to it, but she didn’t want to think about that right now, so she shook her head and glared at Nando. “Lalo should mind his own business and so should you. Anyway, I’m not here to discuss my job.”
“Why are you here? You’re looking nice, Montserrat. I love the thing you did with your hair.”
The only thing Montserrat had done with her hair was tie it into a ponytail, but Nando was a horny dog trying to butter her up like a succulent lobster. She’d dodged enough creeps to know how to deal with this one.
“A while back you had a script for sale. It was by Romeo Donderis, and you said it could be authenticated by the writer himself because it was pricey.”
“Sure, but that was a while back. It’s long gone.”
“I’m not interested in the script. I want to know about Donderis. Do you have his phone number or home address?”
“You’re going to go see him? Are you trying to cut out the middleman in these transactions? I won’t have that. How am I supposed to make a living?” Nando asked, spilling a little of his beer as he set the bottle down.
“What? No. I’m doing research on something.”
“Oh? What are you working on?”