Demonstrations were quite common in Spain and entirely peaceful, mostly. Ophelia had even been to several with her family. This one that she wanted to attend with her boyfriend, however, was different, according to her father. He said that the pro-life rallies were big crowds, but they were families, who would look out for her and respect the police. Justice, Now was a bunch of trouble-makers who would not care about her safety and preferred to antagonize the police.
“Where’s my bus pass?” she said to her maid. Ophelia’s head was still half inside her cubby-hole of junk in the kitchen.
“In your backpack,” suggested Paula, unhelpfully. She was wearing an apron and cooking something Guatemalan. “You know your Dad will be very angry if you go to the demonstration.”
“Oh,” said Ophelia with a guilty start. “Do you think so?” She drooped a little, seeming to be genuinely saddened by the idea. “He didn’t tell me NOT to go.” She pulled everything out of the cubby and looked behind and under. She sat back on her hells and then went to see what was cooking.
“He shouldn’t have to!” said the maid, exasperated. But she she put a sisterly arm around her young charge. Paula was wrapped around Ophelia’s finger, as was the whole family, and all the more so because Ophelia was completely unaware of it. In front of them on the counter was a cookbook, Amalia’s Guatemalan Kitchen.
“This is my mom’s cookbook. Why do you need a Guatemalan cookbook at all, never mind in English? You are Guatemalan and cook all the time.”
“Well,” said Paula, “the recipes are nicer than what I had as a kid, you know, corn and beans if we were lucky, and I am learning English. Your mom pays for my classes.” She added with a dramatic flourish, “When I grow up, I am going to be a flight attendant for Iberia Airways.”
“What! You can’t be a flight attendant. You’re… You’re so old!”
Paula was 28, and half her years she had spent in Spain, working. According to her papers, she was 32, because at 14, she would not have been allowed to emigrate. She was eight years older than Ophelia.
Paula went on, “I will get myself assigned to the Guatemala route and meet a rich politician to marry.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very good retirement plan.”
“Why not? Being rich is the best retirement plan.”
“But he will fall out of favor and get, you know, knocked off.”
“Good girl! You paid attention in History and Social Studies. I’m joking, but it still won’t hurt to learn English and fancy cooking.” She’d be a good wife to a nice man, if she got the opportunity, and she hoped to have the resources to keep using her ever-active brain.
“And speaking of Social Studies,” said Ophelia, “I need to go to this demonstration.” From half a meter, looking down into Paula’s apron pockets, she saw a square shape the size of her bus pass. The other pocket had the lumpy form of the lemon candy that had always been there for her. It was her bus pass! She could reach over and grab it, but she didn’t.
“I know you think it’s all push and shove, but Ricardo does look out for people. He isn’t like some of the other organizers who want a big mess for the publicity. He told the newcomers to stay in the back till they got an idea of how things worked. He doesn’t want any hothead doing anything unprofessional and making us all look bad. If I go with Ricardo, it will be fine. I really want to go.”
“I know it will and I know you do.” Paula shut off the burners and cracked open the lids to the pots. She hung the apron on the back of the door and selected a set of keys from a hanger. “How about if I go with you.”
Ophelia narrowed her eyes as she watched her maid, realizing that the bus pass was the tip of the iceberg. Paula had been obstructing her social activities for quite some time. “I don’t think so. The last time you offered to go with me, we stopped at the hardware store to get a key copied, and my dad showed up. You both did a very convincing tap dance about who was supposed to have gotten the key copied. You called him, didn’t you?” Paula did not deny it. “And look at these pots pushed back in a semicircle around the burner. I was going out and you were cooking, but then suddenly my mom said that we had a family dinner with Tia. You left everything half-finished, just like now. And what about that time you encouraged me to go even though it was raining, but then later ran after me with an umbrella and talked me out of it? You were really careful to seem supportive. I can’t believe how sneaky you are! And what about my bus pass? It’s there in your apron pocket, isn’t it? You know that I can quite easily buy a ticket.”
“I knew you would figure it out at some point. But this time I really will go with you.” Paula was smiling as if Ophelia had just won a race, or played a concert, or taken her first baby steps. Paula opened her phone and started typing.
“Don’t call my dad!”
Paula scowled. “Who’s the sneaky one? You have to face him sometime. But I won’t tell him. Not right now. You understand what I’m saying to you? If you don’t tell him, I will have to eventually. But no, I’m not calling your father. I will ask Sebastian to come down and meet us. The demonstration is at Cibeles? He works right there. He’s a banker. Your father would approve.”
Ophelia was suddenly very curious about Sebastian the banker, who would drop work at a word from Paula. And, Paula would meet Ricardo and have to tell her father what a gentleman he was.
Author’s note: I am really struggling with antagonists! Mine are too bad and insufferable or not bad enough and really on the protagonist’s side after all. What do you think of this one?
