Habilla is a large man, but still refined. I would almost call him elegant, except that word is appropriate for someone of slighter frame. He is a well-groomed bull.
“You don’t visit for six years and you expect me to concentrate on a sale?” He claps my upper arm and looks me up and down. “You’ve gotten heavy.”
My arm stings.
“One of the curses of academic life.”
He turns but leaves a hand on my arm, directing me toward a doorway on the other side of the showroom.
“Yes, I heard you were teaching. At first I didn’t believe it, but then I pulled up the Web page of your university and there’s your picture.” He squeezes my elbow and adds, “It’s not a very good picture.”
Romero’s office is a mirror of the man in its understated sophistication. It is small and sparsely furnished but the few items in it are high-end. There is no true desk, but rather an immaculate teakwood table on which sits a dual-monitor computer, a phone, and a single notepad and pen. A comfortable-looking leather chair is behind the desk, and there are two smaller matching ones on the opposite side.
Romero leads me to one of the guest chairs and lowers himself into the other.
“It’s good to see you,” he says.
“It’s nice to be back. A little strange, but nice.”
“Yes, we’re cosmopolitan now. Courting the world.” He gives a dismissive wave. “It’s veneer, my friend. The city is no different.”
“That’s not really what I mean.”
He looks at me in silence for a moment before grunting and leaning forward.
“I’m sorry about Will. When Esperanza told me, I . . .”
He trails off and I give him a small smile—one that tells him I appreciate the sentiment. I think he feels guilty about not getting hold of me after it happened, but then I didn’t make it easy for anyone to find me.
“My mom appreciated the flowers.”
“It was the very least I could do. If I’d had more notice, I would have made the trip.”
“Me too,” I say, then wave off his questioning look. My body was there for my brother’s funeral, but my mind was a world away. It’s almost like trying to remember a dream. I see flashes of the people who filed into the church, the blue of the sky at the grave site, my mom in her black dress for the second time in four years. It’s the scenes from the Valley of the Kings that are as vivid as the shots from a digital camera, and I’ve advanced frame by frame through them often enough that I see no reason to do it again, even for the purpose of commiserating with an old friend.
“Your store still looks like it belongs in one of those back alleys off of Red Square.”
Romero takes the cue and plays along. “When you’ve got a good thing going.”
I laugh at that, because it’s just what I said to Angie a few days ago. Was it only a few days ago? “How’s your sister?” I ask him.
It’s the only sore spot between us and I immediately want to kick myself for mentioning her. But what choice do I have? I need to see her, or else my trip here will be handicapped by a factor of ten. Still, it bothers me to see Romero’s face darken.
“What do you need?” he asks after a measured moment.
There is no hint of irritation in his voice—just an acceptance that something beyond the pleasure of his company has brought me here from North Carolina.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. It depends on what my subject-matter expert can tell me.”
It hangs in the air between us while I watch his face. It darkens a shade more.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
He lets out a long sigh—one that denotes a weighing of undesirable responses. Finally he says, “She may kill you.”
“I wouldn’t blame her.”
C HAPTER 5
I ’ve always appreciated that Romero did not sever ties with me when I left his sister. He would have had every right to, regardless of our long friendship and our mutually profitable trade partnership. I know his loyalties must be divided, that he has to weigh
“You don’t visit for six years and you expect me to concentrate on a sale?” He claps my upper arm and looks me up and down. “You’ve gotten heavy.”
My arm stings.
“One of the curses of academic life.”
He turns but leaves a hand on my arm, directing me toward a doorway on the other side of the showroom.
“Yes, I heard you were teaching. At first I didn’t believe it, but then I pulled up the Web page of your university and there’s your picture.” He squeezes my elbow and adds, “It’s not a very good picture.”
Romero’s office is a mirror of the man in its understated sophistication. It is small and sparsely furnished but the few items in it are high-end. There is no true desk, but rather an immaculate teakwood table on which sits a dual-monitor computer, a phone, and a single notepad and pen. A comfortable-looking leather chair is behind the desk, and there are two smaller matching ones on the opposite side.
Romero leads me to one of the guest chairs and lowers himself into the other.
“It’s good to see you,” he says.
“It’s nice to be back. A little strange, but nice.”
“Yes, we’re cosmopolitan now. Courting the world.” He gives a dismissive wave. “It’s veneer, my friend. The city is no different.”
“That’s not really what I mean.”
He looks at me in silence for a moment before grunting and leaning forward.
“I’m sorry about Will. When Esperanza told me, I . . .”
He trails off and I give him a small smile—one that tells him I appreciate the sentiment. I think he feels guilty about not getting hold of me after it happened, but then I didn’t make it easy for anyone to find me.
“My mom appreciated the flowers.”
“It was the very least I could do. If I’d had more notice, I would have made the trip.”
“Me too,” I say, then wave off his questioning look. My body was there for my brother’s funeral, but my mind was a world away. It’s almost like trying to remember a dream. I see flashes of the people who filed into the church, the blue of the sky at the grave site, my mom in her black dress for the second time in four years. It’s the scenes from the Valley of the Kings that are as vivid as the shots from a digital camera, and I’ve advanced frame by frame through them often enough that I see no reason to do it again, even for the purpose of commiserating with an old friend.
“Your store still looks like it belongs in one of those back alleys off of Red Square.”
Romero takes the cue and plays along. “When you’ve got a good thing going.”
I laugh at that, because it’s just what I said to Angie a few days ago. Was it only a few days ago? “How’s your sister?” I ask him.
It’s the only sore spot between us and I immediately want to kick myself for mentioning her. But what choice do I have? I need to see her, or else my trip here will be handicapped by a factor of ten. Still, it bothers me to see Romero’s face darken.
“What do you need?” he asks after a measured moment.
There is no hint of irritation in his voice—just an acceptance that something beyond the pleasure of his company has brought me here from North Carolina.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. It depends on what my subject-matter expert can tell me.”
It hangs in the air between us while I watch his face. It darkens a shade more.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
He lets out a long sigh—one that denotes a weighing of undesirable responses. Finally he says, “She may kill you.”
“I wouldn’t blame her.”
C HAPTER 5
I ’ve always appreciated that Romero did not sever ties with me when I left his sister. He would have had every right to, regardless of our long friendship and our mutually profitable trade partnership. I know his loyalties must be divided, that he has to weigh
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