Crimes of August: A Novel

Seven

[85] seven “I’m not going to be able to see you today. I’m going on a trip,” said Luiz Magalhães. “Where are you going?” “Uruguay. Business. But I’ll be back on Tuesday. What’re you going to do this weekend?” “Don’t know.” “You don’t know? You’d better not do anything foolish.” Could he suspect something? thought Salete. Luiz was very jealous. He had once told her he’d kill her if she betrayed him with another man. “I think I’m going to go see that American dancer, Katherine Dunham. Or Carmelia Alves. The Queen of the Baião.” “You’re too influenced by what you read in those idiotic magazines. The baião is for hicks.” “It’s good for dancing.” “What?!” “I’m not going to dance with anybody, don’t worry.” “You need any money?” “I still haven’t spent what you gave me last month.” “Behave, you hear?” said Luiz, hanging up the phone. Salete took off her clothes, put a Carmelia Alves record on the turntable, and danced the baião in front of the mirror, her arms raised, the right arm a bit higher, as if embracing a partner. In mid-dance she started to cry; her face damp with tears, reflected in the mirror, seemed less vulgar to her, [86] more romantic—but was still ugly. She sighed, pensive: all she did in life was cry. She was interrupted by the maid knocking at the door.The pedicurist had arrived. She wrapped a towel around herself and opened the door. “I’m going to do the pedicure in the bedroom, Cida. Come on in. Bring the ottoman, Maria de Lourdes.” The maid brought a small cushioned stool and placed it in front of a large armchair near the window. Cida did Salete’s feet every week. There wasn’t that much to do, and the pedicurist quickly finished her work. Cida hadn’t brought nail polish that matched that of Salete’s fingernails; that was that problem. The pedicurist had used one shade and the manicurist another,and the two professionals did not always have the same shades in their kits. Cida removed the polish from Salete’s hands and painted all the nails, both feet and hands, with a polish exactly the same color, bright red. Afterward they drank coffee that Maria de Lourdes had made. “And Malvino? How’s he doing?” “Three days ago he showed up with a big bottle of wine, saying he’s not drinking hard liquor anymore. He said that from now on he’s drinking wine, which is the blood of Christ.But he hasn’t changed at all.I even think getting drunk on the blood of Christ is worse.” “He’s a drunk but he’s yours, isn’t he? He lives at your house, he’s there when you need him.And me, with two men, one married and the other who doesn’t care about me? There’s a time at night when I look beside me in bed, and there’s no one there; I get up and the apartment is empty.My apartment, like you can see, has the best furniture there is, in the living room and the bedroom,it’s full of things,refrigerator,floor polisher,vacuum cleaner,blender, coffeemaker, a china set, I’ve even got pictures on the wall, sculptures, silver things, but a good man—zero.” “I’d like to have the things you have. I love the old black man smoking a pipe, on the living room wall.” “The one who did that is a famous painter, I forget his name. That porcelain ballerina is French, authentic. It was Luiz who gave it to me. But what good does it do?” “Maybe someday he’ll leave his wife.” [87] “But I don’t want Luiz, I want the other one. He’s sick, has an ulcer in his stomach. If he came to live with me, I’d cure him.” “Does he drink?” “No. He’s just got an ulcer.” “A sick man usually wants a woman to take care of him.” “Not Alberto. When he gets sick, he hides and doesn’t want to see me.” “Strange . . .” “He’s a policeman.” “That explains it. But look, don’t get involved with a policeman. Stay with that rich guy who gives you everything.” “I think...