What You See in the Dark - Manuel Munoz [47]
“We can get a burger,” he said, “since you don’t have a lot of time.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she answered. He flicked the signal to turn left. “But could you take me home first?” she asked. “To leave my package?”
“It’ll be safe in the truck.”
“I’m sure it will. But I don’t want to have to carry it home later. And I don’t want to bother you with keeping it for me.”
“It’s not a bother,” he said.
“No, really … ,” she said, and already she could feel the heat of her own protest, as if he would immediately suspect what she had done, what she was willing to do.
“Sure thing,” he said, flicking the signal to turn right instead.
Dan drove along the streets at a comfortable pace, Teresa nervously clutching the bag. I know you. I know about you. People went about their business the way they did every day. She looked out at them as the truck eased on by. She couldn’t get to the apartment fast enough. It would be one thing to get inside her room with the package from Carson’s, but this panic was going to be much harder to shake.
“I hope this isn’t going to be a quiet lunch,” Dan said. “You’re like a mouse.”
She clutched the bag handles one more time, took a deep breath, and then eased her hands, letting go. “It’s been a long morning,” she said.
The truck stopped at an intersection, and into the crosswalk came a woman in a brilliant yellow blouse and fitted gray skirt, elegant and unhurried. She was escorted by a tall man in a crisp white shirt, though he wasn’t holding her arm. They crossed in front of the truck, the woman turning to acknowledge Dan’s patience, and Teresa saw him give the woman the slightest nod. Teresa watched them go. How easy it was for a woman like that: the lack of complication in her life was almost an air around her. Someday, Teresa thought, the beauty of a marriage like that would come to her as well, like opening a window, and there would never be a feeling of being watched or judged, stared at in envy or suspicion or even desire. If anyone looked at her, it would be from admiration.
Such a grand plan to dream like this. Why wouldn’t love come easily? They eased onto her street. The Mexican men on the corner spotted her in the truck, though Cheno was nowhere in sight. Something inside her stirred at the thought of him, the inevitable moment when she would have to tell Cheno how things had changed.
The Mexican men stared at her as Dan parked the truck, and she realized they would be the ones to tell Cheno, even if it wasn’t the truth the way she would tell it. Dan kept the motor running and she went to the door, package in one hand, key in the other. They followed her with their eyes. They knew her. They knew about her. They knew all about her.
Seven
By the time the Director and the small crew reached Bakersfield at two in the afternoon, even the Actress knew that the day was wasted. A flat tire had delayed them on the drive over from Los Angeles, and the whole reason for coming—a quick day trip for rear-projection road shots and site scouting—had to be rethought. They would have to shoot the scene first thing in the morning and, if time allowed, have the photographer set out on his own with specific instructions about what to look for.
The Director phoned her room. “Would you have an early dinner with me, say about five thirty or so?”
She agreed, and when she met the Director downstairs, she was surprised when the clerk stepped from behind the desk and showed them to a small room off the lobby—a meeting room, she realized, for the oilmen who came through town. A few round tables sat unadorned, but one was covered with a simple tablecloth and place settings, and the clerk led them to the chairs, pulling one out for the Actress.
“You can take away the third setting,” said the Director. “My wife decided to rest instead.”
“We can have a plate sent upstairs if you’d like.”
“Just soup,” said the Director. “And salad and bread. Very light. She’s not feeling well from the trip.”
“Is she all right?” asked the Actress.