"Oye, Ernesto, dónde has estado?"
It was early morning when Hector woke up. When he went into the kitchen to make himself a chocolate drink, he was surprised to see his best friend sitting at the table and reading a newspaper. Annoyance appeared Hector's countenance.
It was about time his friend finally came home! The songwriter had to worry fretfully about his belongings!
Ernesto smiled sheepishly at his friend's question. "Oh you know, just out and partying at a party that was held at Sol Inn."
"Well, did you get my luggage?" Hector demanded, frowning that Ernesto carried nothing. And what party?
"Luggage?" The bulky man seemed distracted. Before his friend could remind me, Ernesto's eyes brightened with life. "Oh yes! It's by the door!" He nodded his head there where Hector's suitcase had been lying. It looked as if someone had dropped it unceremoniously late at night.
"I thought I heard a bumping sound last night," Hector grumbled. Although he was relieved that he and his belongings are no longer separate, he wished that Ernesto retrieved it for him sooner than later. He put the suitcase in his guest room and came back to the kitchen. He checked on the chocolate drink, which was ready. He poured it into two cups. "Would you like some?"
"No gracias," said Ernesto. "I don't like sweets!" He straightened up as if he were giving a speech. "Like I said earlier, I went to the hotel and saw there was a grand party! Ah, you hound have seen it! There was food, dancing, and wine! And lots of pretty girls-"
"Pretty girls?" Hector raised an eyebrow.
"For you! Uh, I mean I saw some girls that I thought would make a nice wife for you! Uh, anyway, I found your suitcase but I was so tired from partying that I had no choice but to sleep for the night!"
The songwriter had a strange feeling that something was not adding up. He knew that his friend was a party animal, that was true. But it shouldn't have taken that long to get his suitcase. "Well, it shouldn't take you that omg to get my belongings! I had feared that someone may have stolen it!" The songwriter took a sip of his chocolate drink, enjoying the savory taste.
"Oh, nonsense!" Ernesto spoke, carelessly. "There was nothing in your suitcase worth stealing! Who would want to steal pink underwear?"
"Oye!" Héctor jolted at that comment, almost spilling his drink.
"Just saying," Ernesto responded colorlessly.
"Anyway, let's get ready to meet the boys. We have a rehearsal to do!"
"Yes, let's go!" Hector nodded in agreement. After drinking the remains of his chocolate drink, he wrote a quick note by the second cup that had been untouched. Perhaps Imelda can have the second cup. Last, the songwriter grabbed his guitar. "I have the song ready for you and it has a great melody!"
At the plaza, Hector pulled out his new and improved song. "Here it is, amigos!" He announced and tuned his guitar. "I think you are going to like it!"
He strummed the guitar and began to sing.
"Señoras y señores
Buenas tardes, buenas noches
Buenas tardes, buenas noches
Señoritas y señores
To be here with you tonight brings me joy, que alegria
For this music is my language, and the world es mi familia
For this music is my language, and the world es mi familia
For this music is my language
And the world es mi familia
For this music is my language...,"
When Hector finished the song, he asked the astonished men, "So, what do you think?"
Butterflies filled his stomach. Usually, whenever he writes a song, Ernesto would always tell him to redo it about five times until it becomes "marketable," as his friend put it.
"I think this song is...Spectacular! Haha, Hector, you did it again!" Ernesto boomed. He and the guys jumped in the air and let out a bunch of gritos. The muscled man gave Hector a big man hug, which was a relief to the lanky man. "As I told you before, everything you touch turns into gold!"
"This song will help us win the show's prize!" Gustavo cheered, twirling his violin.
"How did you come up with the melody?" Antonio beseeched. "Last time we worked on this song, we all struggled with it-even you!"
"Oh glad you asked!" Hector beamed. "I received a lot of help from someone. And let me tell you, she had great ideas!"
"Oh, and who is the name of this muse of yours?" Ernesto inquired.
"Imelda!" said Hector, innocently.
"My...wife!?" Ernesto raised an eyebrow.
"No manches!" Antonio and Gustavo exclaimed.
"She does sound brilliant!" Antonio added.
"Maybe she should be the leader of the band, instead of her husband!" Gustavo teased Ernesto.
"Didn't you know Imelda knew how to write music?" Hector asked. He noticed that his friend did not share the same pride and joy that he and the others did. Did his face look agitated?
"No," Ernesto frowned. "And I don't care!" he muttered the last part underneath his breath.
The men began practicing their new song. They had so much fun, that it drew several people who were passing by. Nobody noticed that Ernesto had been scowling the whole time-even when many girls showed up and swooned over him and Hector.
After cooking lunch, Imelda had been spending time reading her favorite book, Anna Karenina, when she heard the door knocking.
When she opened it, she yelled when her handsome guest swept her into his arms.
"Imelda, they loved it!"
It took a while for Imelda to process what he was talking about. "Do you mean your song?"
"Yes, yes!" Hector laughed, putting Imelda gently as if she were made of glass. "I played it for the band and they loved it! During the rehearsal we drew a crowd, didn't we Ernesto?" He turned to his silent friend at the last part. "Oh, we are so going to win! I can smell the prize money already-OW!" Hector yelled at the last word and rubbed the back of his head.
"Don't get so cocky yet, músico," Imelda smirked, holding her shoe. "You guys still need to practice!"
The lanky songwriter turned to his beautiful hostess with a sheepish smile. "I know but I am very excited about this song! Aren't you excited too, Ernesto?"
"Sí," the bulky man had a very big smile plastered on his face. "Very excited. Imelda, may I talk to you alone?"
Dread filled in Imelda's stomach. What did she do this time?
"Whatever you want to say to Imelda, you can say it in front of me," Hector spoke kindly.
"It's my house and I do what I want, Hector," Ernesto said through clenched teeth.
Hector frowned and raised an eyebrow at Ernesto's reaction. "Um all right...whatever you say," he sighed. He stood awkwardly in the kitchen as Ernesto took his wife aside and dragged her to his bedroom.
When Ernesto closed the door shut, the bulky man turned to Imelda. His face was very hardened and turning pink.
"Listen, Imelda," he growled. "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?"
"What are you talking about?" the young woman spoke angrily. She was frightened but she tried to be angry so that Ernesto wouldn't see how scared she truly was.
"HOW DARE YOU PUT YOUR NOSE IN THINGS WHERE THEY DO NOT BELONG!" Ernesto bellowed. "I WANT TO BE KNOWN AS THE GUY THAT HELPED HECTOR WITH THE SONG, NOT SOME BRAINLESS HOUSEWIFE!"
"Rubbish!" Imelda huffed. "Hector asked me for help! Otherwise, I wouldn't 'put my nose in things where they don't belong!'"
"YOU ARE NOT A MUSICIAN! I AM! THE MEN LAUGHED AT ME FOR LETTING YOU HELP! YOU MADE ME LOOK BAD! I DO NOT WANT TO BE KNOWN AS THE GUY WHOSE WIFE DID ALL THE WORK! HECTOR AND I ARE THE MUSICIANS, NOT YOU!"
"What's going on?" Hector was still standing there awkwardly wondering what was going on upstairs. He thought he and Ernesto were going to have lunch with Imelda and later practice in the afternoon until 4:30 pm. So what's the hold-up? The songwriter became concerned when he heard loud voices. The loud voices went on for a long time. Thirty minutes later, Ernesto stomped out of the door and down the steps. "I'm getting a drink!"
"Ernesto, what-"
"CÁLLATE HÉCTOR!" The man screamed, opening the door. He slammed the door so loud that a nearby painting fell off the wall. Hector cringed at the noise of the door and of the painting crashing to the floor.
"What just happened?"
Héctor walked upstairs to check on Imelda. She was still in the bedroom, with her arms crossed and looking at the floor.
"Imelda?" the lanky man implored nervously. "Que pasó?"
Imelda kept her eyes on the floor. She blinked her eyes continuously. "Nada."
Héctor was not fooled by Imelda's reply. Her tone suggested that there was something that bothered her.
"Are you sure?"
Imelda whipped her head with glistening eyes narrowed at him. "I SAID NOTHING!"
"All right, all right!" Héctor yelped. He jumped back from her, holding his hands up in defense. "I am sorry." He didn't mean to push her.
Imelda's eyes softened a bit at his apology. "That's okay." She moved past the songwriter and headed to her bedroom. "I am going to clean my bed. Your lunch is on the table." Then she locked the door.
Now that she was all alone, sitting on her bed, Imelda can release tears from her eyes.
"Nobody cares about me," she mumbled. "Not one."
Does nobody care about her?
Unbeknownst to her, Hector had heard her weeping. He felt his heart sinking at Imelda's self-defeating words. The songwriter wished he really knew what happened behind doors. His best friend was angry and his new friend sounded hurt. He should get to the bottom of this problem. That is if they're willing to talk to him.