AN: Spanish and English versions. For the "Ball" challenge at fan_flashworks. Also for the "AU: Fairy tale or Myth" square of my trope_bingo card.
Felix Aranda leans dramatically against the door frame and smiles at Sira. "I have news!" he announces.
Sira smiles back, amused. "What news?"
"Pour me a whisky and I'll tell you everything," Felix promises, walking in and heading for his favourite armchair.
"So that's the price of your information? How cheap!" Sira jokes, as she pours a measure for each of them.
Giving Felix his glass, she sits down across from him and looks at him expectantly. He simply smiles back and takes a small sip, savouring it as slowly as possible, until Sira grows impatient.
"Come on, then! What news?"
Felix decides he's made her wait enough. "The best sort, my dear. There's to be a masked ball at the Hotel Nacional, and all Tetuán is expected to attend."
Just as Felix expected, his friend's face lights up. "How wonderful! Surely lots of my clients will want new dresses to show off."
"Dresses and matching masks," Felix adds, and Sira's expression changes.
"Masks? I've never made a mask..." she says doubtfully.
"I'm sure you'll make the most beautiful ones ever seen," Felix replies encouragingly. "And - thanks to your friend who brings you the news even before it's public, I might add - you have a whole month to practice." Seeing that Sira doesn't seem convinced, he leaves his empty glass and takes a sketchbook from the coffee table. "Come, let's work on some designs. The ones you like best I'll draw properly later, so you can show them to your clients."
Smiling again, Sira nods and picks up a pencil, sitting next to him so she can draw too. It's not the first time they've worked like this, combining Felix's artistic eye and deep knowledge of Tetuán's society with Sira's talent for sewing and fashion, and soon they have several sketches of potential masks.
Pausing to stretch her neck, Sira asks, "Are you thinking of going to the ball?"
Up to this moment, Felix hadn't thought about it, but he immediately decides he'll go - and more, if it's humanly possible to persuade her he'll take Sira with him. She could certainly do with getting out of the workshop, and meeting new people! With any luck, better people than her previous boyfriends... "Only if you come with me," he says out loud, with his most charming smile.
Sira laughs, thinking it's a joke. "What nonsense you talk! I'm asking seriously."
"And I'm answering seriously. Go on, come with me! You deserve a break, you work too hard... Do it for me at least, save me from another evening with my mother!"
She shakes her head, but Felix knows her well enough by now to know it's not a definitive refusal. He'll convince her soon enough.
.x.x.x.
"I'm going to kill my mother," Felix announces as soon as Jamila opens the door for him, and lets himself drop onto Sira's couch.
"Felix! Don't say that," Sira reproaches him, while Dolores Quiroga looks at him severely.
"But I'm not the one saying it, she is," Felix defends himself, then continues ironically, "I'm a terrible person and the worst son in the world, I never think of her, and now I want to leave her alone while I go off and have fun. I should be completely ashamed of myself... But at the same time I'm obligated to go, because I promised you I would - and don't you even think of saying you'll free me from that promise!" he interrupts himself. "It's the only thing saving me from having to promise her that I won't go, but she's still complaining, so I don't know what she expects me to do."
"I'm sorry," Sira says, coming over to lay a comforting hand on his arm. "But why are you so angry? You know that you always bring her round... And that you love her really and she loves you."
"Yes, I know..." Felix sighs. "Ignore me, I'm old and grumpy. Tell me about your day! Have you heard from Rosalinda?"
Sira follows his lead, and they begin to chat about other matters. Sira's mother, meanwhile, leaves the room silently, answering with a calming gesture to her daughter's inquisitive look. Felix assumes she simply doesn't feel like listening to their gossip, but he's wrong. A while later, she returns and addresses him.
"You needn't worry about what your mother will do the night of the ball, I've just arranged for us to dine together."
Felix jumps up and takes her hands. "Really? Mrs Quiroga, you're an angel on Earth! I can't thank you enough."
She gives him one of her rare smiles. "There's no need for such a fuss. You'll have fun in your way, and we in ours. But if you want to thank me so much, go and make peace with your mother. These senseless quarrels help no-one."
"Your wish is my command," Felix says, bowing to her and then making for the door. "I'll be back soon for the end of that story, Sira!"
.x.x.x.
The masked ball is every bit as fun as Felix was expecting, and Sira - beautiful in her blue gown and matching mask - is a huge success with the young men, who cluster to ask for a dance. Felix willingly gives up his place to all those his friend seems to like. However, he stays alert in case any bother her, and asks her for a dance himself every so often to check all is well, despite Sira's laughing assurance that she can take care of herself. For his part, he dances with several friends he recognises; and in the intervals of dancing, observes the room with interest, trying to guess who is hiding behind the varied masks. Some are unmistakable - the tall secretary from the German embassy, the old Spanish baroness with her last-century gowns - and of course he can easily make out Sira's clients. Others are harder, and he's so busy that he doesn't notice the man approaching him until he speaks.
"Excuse me, do you have a light?" a voice asks next to him.
Felix turns rapidly, hunting for his lighter, and his jaw almost drops with surprise. It's a stranger, of that he's completely sure; he'd remember if he'd seen this man before. Even if he's wearing a mask, he'd recognise that jaw, that greek statue profile… He knows his own weaknesses, and this man fits every one.
Mechanically, trying not to show his perturbation, Feliz takes out his lighter and holds out the flame to the man, who lights his cigar and smiles at him.
"Thank you, mister… Forgive me, I haven't asked your name."
"One doesn't ask that in a masked ball," Felix replies with a wicked smile.
The stranger chuckles. "You're quite right. But may I ask where you got that mask? It's a design I haven't seen before."
"My friend made it," Felix replies, and looks around to point her out. "I can't see her right now…"
"Your friend is very talented."
"She is indeed! Sira is the best seamstress in all Tetuán," Felix says with pride, and continues deliberately, "If you know a woman who needs one, I recommend her."
"I'm afraid I won't be of much use, there isn't a woman in my life," the man says, and Felix's heart skips a beat. Is it possible?
To hide his confusion, he looks around the ballroom again, and this time finds Sira, dancing the foxtrot with - if he's not mistaken - a young officer of the High Commissary.
"There's my friend," he says, pointing. "That girl in the blue dress in the corner."
"She's very pretty!" the stranger replies admiringly.
Felix feels his spirits sink to the floor. It was too much to expect, wasn't it?
"If you want I'll introduce you," he says as lightly as he can. 'And don't you ever say I don't do anything for you, Sira,' he thinks to himself. 'If I end up having to pass the most handsome man I've seen in my life every day on the stairs, I'll have a stroke eventually!'
To his surprise and relief, the other shakes his head. "Thank you, but the foxtrot isn't my dance. If you don't mind, I'd rather keep talking with you…" For the first time, he seems a little uncertain, as if - Felix thinks hopefully - he's said more than he wished to in expressing that desire. Quickly, he continues, "Do you know Tetuán well? I'm new here."
"I've lived in this city all my life, and think I may fairly say I know it from end to end. Ask me whatever you want to know!"
"I've met just the man I need, then," the stranger says, smiling. "What is it you do, to know the city so well?"
"I'm an artist, but the knowledge of the city comes from watching its people - which is something every artist should do, of course."
"An artist! How interesting," the man says with sincerity.
"Well, I say I'm an artist," Felix replies maliciously, "but really that depends who you ask. According to my dear mother, my first and only work should be taking care of her! If it weren't for Sira, I don't know how I'd have escaped to come here." Then, feeling a little guilty, he clarifies, "It's not that I'm some sort of Cinderella and she my fairy godmother, of course, or my mother evil like stepmothers in fairy tales… But you know, elderly people have their routines and get obsessed with them."
"Fairy godmother or not, I think I'm indebted to your friend," the other man says. "I'm glad you were able to come… But you were going to tell me about Tetuán?"
"Of course, I've gone off topic. Forgive me, it's a bad habit of mine." He pauses to gather courage, and asks, "Shall we go out onto the balcony to talk? It's too noisy in here."
To Felix's great joy, the other man accepts his invitation with flattering speed, and follows him to a small balcony which Felix picks precisely for its small size and isolation, which tend to leave it empty. There's nobody there, and they talk for a long time, first about Tetuán, but after about Spain, about art… About a thousand things and none, with occasional comments - careful at first, more daring as the conversation progresses - that seek to gauge the other's interest. And, as important as the comments or more, the long gazes, the gestures, the grazing touches that are too careful to be by chance… By the time the stranger excuses himself for a moment, Felix is certain. At least, certain enough to decide he can dispense with the small anonymity his mask gives him. Removing it, he leaves it on the balcony's railing, and turns to watch the French window, awaiting the other man's return.
But it's not he who enters in a rush, but Sira, followed by - of all the people in Tetuán! - superintendent Vazquez.
"Felix! Thank God I've found you," she exclaims, as Felix looks at her in astonishment. "There's been a shooting near home, my mother's terribly upset, we have to go back now!"
Seeing Felix's complete bafflement, the superintendent steps forward to explain more clearly. "There's been an argument between your neighbours, Mister Aranda, and I'm afraid they turned to guns to solve it. Your mother and Mrs Quiroga were very scared by the disturbance. I came here to look for the relatives of the victims, but it seems they've already left, so I took a moment to inform you. I can take you to your house; I must return there, and you'll go faster in my car."
"Felix, come on!" Sira says impatiently, taking his arm to hurry him along, and he remembers that her mother lived through the horrors of the Civil War in Madrid. She must be in a terrible state.
He looks around as they hurriedly cross the ballroom, but there's no trace of the stranger, and with Vazquez there he can't explain to Sira why he'd wish to fall back for a moment. How he regrets now the theatricality that led him to refuse to say his name in order to preserve the spirit of the bal masqué!
.x.x.x.
By the time his mother finally decides that yes, she's recovered enough to attend her bridge party, Felix is practically climbing the walls. He'd been worried when he arrived the previous night and found her genuinely scared, but today he knows it's simply his mother's histrionism prolonging the situation as long as she can. She kept him busy all morning; only during the siesta was he able to escape a few minutes to discuss the party with Sira, who is fascinated by the story of the mysterious masked stranger, and insists he needs to look for him.
Now, back home after leaving his mother with her friends, Felix finally has time to think of taking up the search. But where to start? He knows the stranger was staying at the Nacional, but thanks to the varied recommendations that Felix himself gave him, it's not likely he'll have tea there… And it's precisely that variety of recommendations that also stops him guessing where he might find him. With a sigh of frustration, he decides he'll start with the Nacional; perhaps by some miracle of luck he'll run into him there, and it seems more likely - and more sensible - than hunting at random through all of Tetuán.
He's pulling on his jacket when the doorbell rings. Praying it isn't anyone who'll keep him long, he hurries to open the door… And nearly faints from surprise. The man he's looking for is standing on the other side, even more handsome without the mask that hid his face.
The man's face lights up when he sees him. "So it is you… I'm glad to find you, mister Felix Aranda."
"How… how did you find me?" Felix asks, astonished.
The other takes from his pocket the mask that Felix left behind on the balcony. "Fortunately you forgot this, and there aren't many seamstresses called Sira in Tetuán! She told me where to find you… Though you had said you weren't Cinderella," he teases.
"Forgive me for disappearing like that, I had to return home unexpectedly," Felix replies. "But please, come in!" He doesn't know how this conversation will end, but if it comes close to what he dreams, he knows he doesn't want to have it in a busy corridor.
He steps aside to let the other man in, and closes the door behind him. At any other time, Felix would never have forgiven himself the discourtesy of keeping a guest standing in the hall, but right now he's too preoccupied with finding out something more about the man before something interrupts them again, to even think of taking him through to the sitting room.
"Now you have an advantage over me, you know my name but I don't know yours."
"Manuel de Aguilar, at your service," the man says with a small bow.
Once again, Felix's jaw almost drops with his surprise. He recognises the name from the lists of passengers arrived in Morocco. The name, and the count's title that goes with it. Manuel's expression changes, and Felix realises he must have noticed his shock.
"Well, I may have told you I wasn't Cinderella, but you didn't tell me you were practically the prince," he jokes, trying to lighten the situation.
It works; the other man laughs cheerfully. "If I'm the prince, I should have tried this mask on every man in the city, shouldn't I? I think I'd have shocked quite a few! But let's see…"
He extends the mask and lays it gently on Felix's face. For a second, his long fingers caress him, and Felix breathes in deeply. Suddenly, the mood has changed, from light jokes to something more intense and expectant. Manuel drops his hands brusquely and gives a step back, seeming nervous.
"Well, I - I just wanted to know your name, and - and if you'd perhaps like to have a drink or something - some day, when you have time…" he says, faltering, his gaze switching between Felix and the floor.
"I'm free now," Felix says, with a small smile that widens on seeing Manuel's evident happiness at his answer. "How about a coffee? It's on me."
"I'd love that," Manuel replies, with the widest grin Felix has seen from him.
Manuel starts to move closer, then hesitates and stops short, biting his lip. It's time to be brave, Felix decides. With a small movement, he closes the distance between them. Cupping Manuel's face gently with his hands, he softly kisses his lips. Then, surprised by his own daring, he essays a retreat, but Manuel clasps his waist and prolongs the kiss a few moments more.
Separating at last, they look at each other with renewed shyness. Finally, Felix asks, "Coffee, then?" with a voice that's less steady than he'd have liked.
Manuel nods, and they leave the apartment walking very close to each other, the backs of their hands brushing.