Searching for Pilar, page 2
Passing through Pilar’s office, the man stopped. “You are obviously a talented young businesswoman,” he said. “You should consider moving to Mexico City, where the companies value someone with your skills. You could make a lot more money.”
Pilar was surprised that a man she had just met would speak to her so familiarly about such a personal matter. It made her feel a little uneasy. She didn’t know how to respond, so she looked down and didn’t reply.
The stranger put his briefcase on a chair, opened it, and took out a folded newspaper. “I have finished reading this. If you are ever interested, this paper is a good source to find out what jobs are available in the capital. My wife’s cousin is looking for a job, and I noticed a good secretarial position. I was going to give this to her for her cousin, but you take it.” Removing a silver pen from his jacket pocket, he casually circled a small ad, gave Pilar the paper, and started to walk to the door. Then he stopped and turned toward her.
“Oh, but please pardon me, señora, I forgot you are a married woman. I meant no impropriety, and of course you would not be interested. I will look forward to seeing you here again on my next visit.” The man smiled.
Pilar examined his face. He seemed sincere. He had made an innocent mistake but corrected it. “Buenas tardes,” Pilar said, bidding him goodbye.
“Hasta luego,” the man replied, implying he would see her again.
For a second, Pilar thought it was odd he seemed so sure they’d meet again. But a new customer was certainly a good thing, and this probably meant he intended to become a customer. Absently, she placed the newspaper on top of her bookshelf.
• • •
Two weeks passed. Concepción needed a pair of shoes—her first—but there was no money to buy them. Pilar was a proud young woman and hated to ask her parents for money, but she didn’t know what else to do. On the day she was about to ask, she was surprised to find Concepción in her mother’s arms at the end of the workday, wearing new baby shoes.
“These shoes were so pretty, Pilar, I just had to buy them for our little princess. I hope you don’t mind,” Yolanda said.
Pilar and Alejandro ate beans and rice for every meal, except when they couldn’t afford beans. Every evening Pilar watched Alejandro, unshaven, slumping on the couch in front of the television, numbly watching a fútbol game, a cerveza in hand. Before the factory closed, he’d been a hard worker who only drank at parties. Now, she hardly recognized her husband. His eyes were dull; the energy and creativity she so loved about him had disappeared.
Two weeks after the stranger visited the Mendoza Pottery Factory, Pilar arrived early for work. She picked up the newspaper she had set aside and read the ad the man had checked.
EXECUTIVE SECRETARIAL POSITION—Established company seeks executive secretary. Excellent salary, paid vacation, and other benefits. Call Señora Diaz at xxxx to schedule an interview.
Señor Mendoza said the man who gave me the paper could have been an angel sent by God. What if he was? Pilar asked herself. Maybe this is God showing me the way. If the salary is enough, it could hold us over until Alejandro finds a job. Surely, there are many jobs in the city. Pilar’s mind raced. Maybe Alejandro will snap out of the sad state he is in! I will light a candle at church and pray on applying for the Mexico City job.
The idea of leaving San José, working for strangers, and living in a big city terrified Pilar. But she was more terrified about her family’s future in San José and was desperate for a solution.
I know Alejandro will not want his wife becoming the breadwinner—although I already am. Maybe I should not tell him, she concluded. After all, it is just an interview. If I do not get the job, he will never need to know.
The next day she arrived early at the office. Her hands shook as she took the newspaper off the bookshelf and folded the page with the ad on it.
Since I was a child, I have always told Alejandro everything, even the silliest little things I was doing. Ay Diós, do not strike me dead for my pride in thinking I have the answer, she thought, twisting her crucifix.
She dialed the ad’s telephone number. After one ring, a woman answered.
“Hola, Corazón Company, Alma Diaz speaking,” she said.
Taking a deep breath, Pilar answered: “Hello, I am calling about the executive secretary position.”
“Sí,” the woman answered. “Can you tell me about yourself?”
“Well, my name is Pilar Carmen Chavez Gonzales. I am nineteen years old, and I have worked as the secretary to Señor Mendoza, the owner of the Mendoza Pottery Factory, for two years. I graduated from secondary school and studied business skills …”
When Pilar finished, she waited for the woman to say she was not qualified. Instead, she heard, “What is your availability? We need to fill the position quickly. The woman who had the job for ten years became ill and had to retire.”
“Well,” Pilar hesitated, “what exactly is the excellent salary?” Hearing the number, Pilar sucked in her breath. It was three times what she currently earned.
Pilar tried to take notes in her unintelligible style of shorthand on a piece of paper.
“Could you come in this week or next week for an interview? We are flexible on time,” Alma added. “Why don’t you give me a call back soon as to when we can expect you?”
“Muchas gracias, señora,” Pilar said.
Pilar sank in her chair. Should I go to Mexico City?
CHAPTER 3
MEXICO CITY
Pilar had never been to Mexico City. She had heard Diego say it was at least a two-hour drive without traffic. Even if I decide to go to Mexico City, how am I going to get there? she thought, and then it hit her: Diego!
Her older brother drove into Mexico City every week to pick up supplies for their papa’s store. Pilar knew that as soon as Diego finished, he drove to the Cruz Azul stadium, one of the places where the professional fútbol teams played.
Pilar set out to talk to Diego. She knew where to find him. When not at work in their father’s store, her brother was either at practice in León, where he played for a feeder fútbol club, or hanging around the local fútbol pitch, where he was the center of attraction. He was taller and had longer legs than any of the other players and was extraordinarily fast. By the time he was fourteen, everyone who followed fútbol had known Diego was special. They thought he was the best player to ever come out of San José. It was general knowledge he was destined to be a star someday, maybe even play for the Mexico national team. At eighteen, he’d started playing in the semi-pro league, where coaches and agents had thought he would stay briefly before moving up to a major pro team.
Because everything had come easy for him, however, Diego hadn’t wanted to work hard to advance to the next level of his game. His career had stalled. At twenty-one, he should have been playing in Mexico City, but he was still in León. His coaches were beginning to wonder if he had the necessary drive to play for a big-city professional team after all.
A local celebrity in San José and even León, Diego was somewhat arrogant about his natural abilities. All the young men wanted to be him and took every opportunity to play with him or drink with him in the local bars. All the young women wanted to be with him. They came to his games and made it plain they were available to him.
When Diego saw Pilar, he flashed the dazzling smile she loved.
“Diego, can I talk with you?”
“Sure, Pilar.” Diego put his arm around her shoulders and led her to sit on the bottom step of the bleachers.
“Diego, do you go alone on Wednesdays to Mexico City?”
“Sure. Do you need me to pick up something for you?”
Pilar hesitated. She knew lying was a sin, and it was a struggle to tell the lie she had practiced, even though she told herself it was for a good purpose. “I was thinking about going with you next week. It will be Alejandro’s birthday soon, and I want to buy him a new shirt or something as a surprise. It might cheer him up.” Pilar realized she was fidgeting with her hands. She put them behind her back. She didn’t want Diego to see how nervous she was.
“Sure,” replied Diego, silently calculating how much less time that would leave him to hang out at the Cruz Azul Stadium.
“This is a secret. You won’t tell anyone, right?”
“Right.” Diego grinned, amused at his little sister’s earnestness. “This is our secret mission. You know I love adventures.”
Now that it was possible for her to get to Mexico City, Pilar concluded that she was meant to go. The next day, Pilar called Alma Diaz back. “I could come in for an interview midday next Wednesday. How long will the interview last?”
Alma seemed delighted to hear from her. “Let’s make it 1:00 p.m.,” she said. “That will give you plenty of time to get here. The interview is approximately one hour. Is your husband bringing you?” Alma asked.
At first, Pilar thought this question was odd. But then she realized how far she was traveling. She didn’t want to tell a potential future employer she was doing something so important behind her husband’s back.
“No,” Pilar replied. “My brother has errands in Mexico City, and I am getting a ride with him. He will pick me up after he finishes.”
“Perfect,” said Alma. “Our building is in the Colonia Tabacalera, near the Monumento a la Revolución. Go one block west of the monument, turn left, and it is the second building on the right. Suite 435.”
Pilar tried to jot down the address but was so nervous she wrote down only the suite number.
• • •
Making excuses at work and with her husband turned out to be easier than Pilar expected, although she realized she was committing the sin of lying again and felt guilty. Alejandro seemed preoccupied when she told him her cousin Elena was ill and she was going to visit her next Wednesday.
“I have an idea, Pilar,” he said. “I could create and sell paintings of local life to tourists in San Miguel or Guanajuato. I can borrow money to buy canvases and paint.”
Though he was excited and it was the first initiative he’d shown in months, he was still rooted to his place on the couch, empty tequila bottle nearby. At least he has thought of something else he could do to make money, Pilar thought hopefully. My interview is next week. I will see if he acts on this idea, and maybe I won’t have to go to Mexico City.
But Alejandro had not taken any action to follow up on his idea as of the following Tuesday. So, on Wednesday morning, Pilar dressed in her best white blouse, black skirt, and a white jacket. She put on a small pair of silver earrings to match her crucifix and wore her Sunday black shoes. She fastened her hair with her silver barrette.
She held Concepción and kissed her repeatedly, telling her she would be back soon. The baby fussed, causing Pilar to have second thoughts. It was painful. Nevertheless, she told herself she was doing this for Concepción’s welfare.
Not telling her mother what she planned to do was difficult. She had always told her everything. But she was afraid Yolanda would talk her out of what she planned, and she didn’t want to embarrass Alejandro any more than she already had done by admitting he couldn’t take care of his family.
• • •
Pilar was waiting for Diego when he pulled up on the dirt road behind the bleachers.
“Very nice, Pilar,” he said admiringly when he saw her.
Pilar blushed and smiled, but the trip terrified her. She had never been more than fifty miles outside San José. She’d never been to a big city or gone anywhere alone.
“Listen to this song, Pilar,” Diego said as the truck raced along the road. He banged his fist on the steering wheel during a particularly soaring lyric in a Marc Anthony song.
“Oh, Diego,” Pilar said. “You are so adorable. But can you ever be serious?”
By ten thirty, they were traveling through the sprawling suburbs of Mexico City. Pilar felt awed by the vastness of the urban landscape. Pastel-painted houses on the outskirts of the city covered the hillsides. Many appeared unfinished, with metal bars sticking out of the concrete walls. Goats and dogs wandered along the side of the road.
As Diego drove farther into the center of the city, Pilar saw churches, schools, apartment buildings, and stores everywhere, seemingly one on top of another. Here and there she spotted Christmas decorations, but she did not feel in the mood for any kind of celebration. She choked on the dense industrial smog, an unpleasant change from the clean, dry, fragrant air in the country.
“How many people live in this city?” Pilar asked Diego. “It goes on forever! Do you ever get lost? It is overwhelming!”
“Almost twenty million. I had the same feeling when I came here the first time with Papa,” Diego said. “I felt confused and scared. But I know my way around now.”
Diego kept the windows of the truck open, which made the roar of the traffic deafening. Throngs of people filled the sidewalks. Pilar had never imagined there were so many people in the whole world. Pedestrians dodged cars as people tried to cross the congested streets. Taco stands competed with automobiles for parking spaces.
“I need to go to the Colonia Tabacalera, near the Monumento a la Revolución,” she told Diego.
“I know where it is. It’s on the western edge of downtown.”
Diego parked opposite the monument. “Um, do you need me to go with you, Pilar?” he offered, glancing at his watch.
Pilar could see he was worried about having time to watch the professionals. She said, “I have directions. You can drop me off and pick me up here. At 4:00 p.m.?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Diego asked, his face brightening.
“I don’t mind,” Pilar said, although she was terrified of walking on the streets of Mexico City alone, and she hesitated before she got out of the truck.
“Bueno!” he said. “Nos vamos esta tarde. We will meet again this afternoon!”
Pilar stopped at a taco stand with a faded yellow umbrella for a quick bite to eat. The taco seller tried to start a conversation, but she just smiled. She kept checking her watch and fumbled for change to pay him.
Pilar surveyed the neighborhood. It was filled with centuries-old, once-elegant homes. Office and apartment buildings had replaced some of the houses, but everything looked run down. Salsa music blared from a cantina down the block where two women in very short skirts and high boots stood outside talking to a group of men. The people sitting at the other tables did not look like her mental picture of business people. A dark young man dressed in jeans, sunglasses, and a black leather jacket with tattoos on his neck and hands stared at her. It made her uneasy. She avoided making eye contact. She wished she had asked Diego to stay with her, but she had no way to contact him. She didn’t want to stay where she was with the dark man staring at her.
Pilar saw a shabbily dressed woman about her own age standing nearby, staring at the people eating at the tables. She looked hungry. A thin little boy was crying, holding tightly to her hand. The pair made her remember why she had taken the desperate steps she was taking. She wished she had some pesos to give the woman, but her purse was empty after buying lunch.
At 12:55, Pilar found the building. It was a nondescript old concrete office building with several coats of red and black graffiti on the outside of the ground-level floor. She had never ridden in an elevator, so she took the stairway, although it had an unpleasant smell. Telling herself to be strong, she finger-combed her hair, said a quick Hail Mary, and straightened her crucifix. She entered suite 435.
The only thing in the room was a row of five metal folding chairs lined up against the wall. Pilar hesitated, then took a seat and waited for something to happen.
Shortly the door to the hallway opened again, and a petite, pretty young girl with curly brown hair and hazel eyes came into the room. The girl smiled nervously as she sat down. Pilar guessed she was probably thirteen years old. I wonder why her mother is not with her?
The door to the inner office opened and a tall, attractive woman with a stylish black suit, high heels, and auburn hair pulled back into an upsweep stepped into the reception area. She was the most sophisticated woman Pilar had ever seen, straight out of a telenovela. She wore a thick silver chain around her neck. Big silver rings covered her fingers.
“Señora Chavez?” she asked.
“Sí, señora,” Pilar spoke up, standing quickly.
“Won’t you come into my office? I am Alma Diaz. It is good to meet you.” She motioned for Pilar to sit in a large overstuffed chair on the other side of her desk while she looked Pilar up and down, an approving smile on her face.
Looking around, Pilar observed two gray upholstered chairs, a small wooden side table, a bookcase, and a desk. Paper shades covered the windows. Picture frames sat on Alma’s desk, but they were turned the other way so Pilar could not see what she assumed was Alma’s family. The bookcase held few books. A framed map of Mexico City provided the only color on the wall. A small vase with red roses sat on the desk; their sweet smell helped calm her nerves.
“Perfect,” Alma said, smiling. “We are glad you came to see us. Can I get you something to drink? Café? Cocoa?”
“No, thank you. I just ate something.”
Alma’s brow wrinkled slightly. “Perhaps later,” she said. “Let’s get to know one another, shall we?” Alma moved to the chair next to Pilar’s. “That is a lovely crucifix.”
“Thank you,” Pilar replied.
“I can see you are a woman of faith. Do you have siblings?”
“Oh, sí, two brothers, Diego and Carlos. My older brother, Diego, drove me here today, and I am meeting him at the monument at four.”
“How perfect,” Alma said. “You have a big brother to watch out for you.”
Pilar decided that she liked Alma. She felt comfortable with her.
Just then, a door to a side room opened and a large man in a tight-fitting suit came into the room. He did not smile at her.
“This is Señor Jesús Cruz Ayala,” Alma explained. “He is the owner of the company that is hiring an executive secretary. He will sit in on the interview. Now tell us about what you have been doing at your current place of employment.”
