Nina Berry - City Of Spies

The huge, open square narrowed to a broad, busy avenue lined with tall, European-style buildings and bustling with sharply dressed pedestrians. The warm summer air was filled with dust, and the scent of grilled meat wafted out of the restaurants and cafés as they passed.

Pagan’s stomach growled. She really was hungry. And cranky.

A cranky, hungry alcoholic. That pretty much made her the worst person in the world.

“God, I want a drink,” she said. “I just... Holy hell, M. I’m ready to jump that street vendor for a beer.”

Mercedes’s face cleared. “Yeah,” she said. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Pagan said. “I do think food will help, though. Just don’t let me order a rum and Coke.”

“We’ll eat soon,” Mercedes said. “It’s not far. And don’t feel guilty. About Tony.”

Dang, M was savvy, changing the subject from drinking to the crap underlying her need to drink. Pagan’s shrink had told her that while she was out of town and unable to go to an AA meeting or contact her sponsor, she should to talk to her friend. She’d almost forgotten that advice.

“Tony thinks I’ll put out because that’s what everybody thinks about a girl who isn’t pure,” Pagan said, head down staring at the sidewalk moving slowly under her feet. “No one’s ever going to want to date me properly if they know my history. I’m ruined.”

“Pure?” Mercedes looked her over from her brown oxfords to her pink flowered sundress to the ribbon holding her ponytail. “It’s strange that I hadn’t noticed you were ‘ruined.’”

“Mama would be ashamed of me if she knew,” Pagan said, her voice small.

“Your mother—the Nazi sympathizer?”

Pagan swiveled her head to stare at her.

Mercedes shook her head, not backing down. “Your mother had plenty to be ashamed of herself. You remember the Nazis—people who thought those with blood that didn’t fit their definition of pure should be wiped out.”

Mercedes had an irritating way of making sense that clashed with Pagan’s self-pity.

“Okay, so much for pure,” Pagan said. “And maybe Mama’s opinion would be questionable. But everyone thinks girls who don’t wait for marriage are dirty.”

“Well, everyone can get bent,” Mercedes said.

She talked tough, but she had to know as well as Pagan that the mixed messages were everywhere. Society loved it when you were sexy, like Marilyn Monroe, but they thought you were morally bankrupt if you fooled around, like Marilyn Monroe. So you had to keep the fooling around very quiet.

They walked in silence for a few moments. “Do you think Devin knows?” Pagan asked. “About me and Nicky?”

“Ah,” Mercedes said in a tone that said, So that’s what this is about. “What does it matter? He said no monkey business during this trip.”

“He knows everything else. Why wouldn’t he know that?” Pagan’s heart was made of lead. “Maybe that’s really why he said no monkey business.”

“You think Devin’s the same kind of guy as Tango Tony?”

A small laugh escaped Pagan in spite of herself. “Yeah, no. They’re nothing alike.”

“Your past is nobody’s business but yours,” Mercedes said.

“What about your past?” Pagan glanced over at her friend. “Is that none of my business?”

Mercedes wrinkled her nose, suddenly a little shy. “What do you want to know?”

“Have you ever...?” Pagan didn’t know how to say it. She and Mercedes had shared their worst deeds and fears during their months as roommates in reform school. But M had never talked about a boyfriend, or dating, or any kind of romantic interest. “Did you ever get really serious with a boy?”

Mercedes took her time, the way she did, pondering the question, as Pagan’s heart beat hard and fast, hoping she hadn’t offended her. “I thought about it,” Mercedes said, her eyes screwed up tight, like she was wincing. “I had a few chances. Cute boys, too.”

“But you had more self-control than I did.” Pagan tried not to feel disappointed that she was the only one with a stained reputation. “Figures. You weren’t a drunk.”

“No, I just didn’t want to.” She looked over at Pagan as if she’d said something dirty or wrong.

Pagan bumped her shoulder into her friend’s. “Very funny.”

“No, it’s true. So...” She swallowed hard and seemed to force herself to keep talking. “I went to a bar where women go to meet women. To see if that’s what I wanted.”

Pagan stopped in her tracks. Mercedes glanced back, but she kept walking. Her cheeks were pink. Was she actually blushing? Pagan hustled to catch up. “Was it?”

Mercedes shook her head, staring down at her feet as she walked. “Nope. Girls are nice and pretty and all, but I didn’t feel a thing.”

“But then...” Pagan didn’t know where to go from here. “You probably haven’t found the right person.”

“Maybe.” Mercedes frowned. She actually looked worried. “So far no one’s tempted me. All I want to do is read the next issue of Fantastic Four and study astrophysics.”

“So—you don’t want to get married? Have children?” Pagan was trying to wrap her head around this.

“It just never occurred to me. Do you?” Mercedes asked.

“Of course!” Pagan said automatically, then thought more. “But I’m not sure why.”

“Everybody says that’s what makes women happy,” Mercedes said. Her voice was unusually uncertain for her. “So if I don’t want it, what does that make me?”

Pagan frowned. “You’re still a girl! You’re still a woman. What else would you be?”

Mercedes said nothing, staring fixedly off into the distance. A couple of young men lounging in a doorway pursed their lips and made kissing noises at them as they walked past. Pagan resisted the urge to throw them a rude gesture.

“Well, nobody’s going to want to marry me, so we can be spinster old ladies together,” she said.

Mercedes thought that over as they passed a shop filled with colorful glass bottles, and another selling shiny leather goods.

Mercedes glanced over her shoulder, then back at Pagan, her expression softening. “As long as I do the cooking.”

Pagan laughed. “Deal.”

Mercedes squinted at her thoughtfully. “Except, you like kids.”

Kids. Ava. Her little sister, dead for more than a year now.

How Pagan missed pressing her cheek against that soft head of blond hair, missed making crazy faces to turn that that serious, frowning expression into a laugh. Pagan’s and Ava’s fingers had warred over the piano keys in furious duets. Their voices had meshed and clashed as they read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe out loud in tandem. They were so different yet so close.

What would Ava be like now if she had survived the accident Pagan had caused? What would Ava say about Pagan’s quest to find the mysterious Dr. Someone who had visited them so many years ago?

“I wouldn’t mind having kids if they were like Ava,” Pagan said. It was getting easier to say her sister’s name, but still it made her throat close, her fists clench.

“You’d be a fun mom,” Mercedes said.

“I’m still figuring out how to go a day without drinking,” Pagan said. “One thing at a time, please. Mostly I wish I didn’t have to go back to the movie shoot tomorrow. I used to think the tango was wonderful, but now...”

“Maybe you haven’t found the right partner,” Mercedes said tartly. She glanced over her shoulder again and a frown had creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows. Her almond eyes flicked briefly over her shoulder again. But she kept walking.

“What?” Pagan said.

“Don’t look. But the same man that’s behind us now was behind us before, in front of the Casa Rosada.”