Angel: Born Made

By Jess Shaw

Naive innocence is shattered with a young girl waking up into the cruel world of Mafioso. Used as a pawn in the games of men, her life takes on an unlikely significance connecting Mafioso and the South American cartel. Her true love denied, her world spirals into an intolerable nightmare. She reclaims her life with brutal finality, but she is then judged as becoming everything she wants to leave behind. She bounds on in a privileged, reckless, and empty life until she finds love with one that holds only esteem for her story of triumph. Far from a fairytale, even the ‘happy ever after’ is challenged, yet again.

“Show me the peace to accept what I cannot change, the power to change the things I cannot accept, and the wisdom to hide the bodies of those that stand in my way!”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781698707983

Book preview

Copyright 2021 Jess Shaw.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by

any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or

otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0799-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6987-0798-3 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Trafford rev.  07/01/2021

21816.png www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 844-688-6899 (USA & Canada)

fax: [phone]

CONTENTS

Home

Miami

Debut

New York

Goodbye Argentina

Proposal

Death

Owned

Mother

Wife

Unlikely Project

Tempting Fate

Still Standing

New Beginning

Premeditation

Therapy

Treading Water

Suicide

Broken Promise

Reckless Therapy

Overdue Mistakes

A Home

Found

Surprise

Party

Hooker

Intervention

London

Retaliation

Out

Dedication

A Beautiful Place

Rio

Fate

Hawaii

Born Again

Broken Promises

No Respite

Rescue

Recovery

Coming Out

Goodbye

Miracles

The End

My life has been rich in choices. Moreover, I chose badly.

I’ve been reckless, used as pawn in a game of men, fallen to seduction, and I’ve believed where perhaps I should not.

I can’t blame others; my choices reveal me as nothing other than a fool in that perfect landscape of hindsight.

I won’t blame anyone at all, nobody that lives….

HOME

I sat on the corner of the veranda swinging one leg, daydreaming. The soft voices of my mother and uncle were soothing as they sat nearby enjoying the morning sun. I glanced across to the corner of the house where they sat, Paulo, feigning interest in his morning paper and mother resting her needlepoint on her lap. Their banter was light, and I wasn’t really listening. The weather had been horrible, but today the sun had broken through. It was one of those rare peaceful moments, chores done and absolutely nothing to do until evening. I snapped out of my trance-like state as I heard Paulo’s tone rise. Now his words were easily discernible as he insisted to my mother, She should not be estranged from her father!.

I don’t know how their conversation got to that point, and I didn’t need to hear any more. I slipped off the veranda and walked around the house, away from them so they wouldn’t notice me. It was not a conversation I wanted to join. I quietly walked out to the western fields, the mare’s pasture. I swung over the fence and wandered out to sit under a shady tree, far from the house. The mares ignored me, but I could see the foals, three of them eyeing me quizzically already. They were so curious, it made me smile. I settled down on the grass in the shade.

I didn’t need to know how they got onto the topic of my father, and I didn’t want to hear any more. I knew how it would end. It has been years since I spent any real time with my father, he lived in the North, in New York with my older sister. My mother and I lived on my Uncle’s estancia north of Buenos Aires. I loved it here, but clearly, now we would be leaving. If that were Paulo’s wish, then it would be. I wondered for how long.

As a child, I had lived in New York. That’s where I was born and where I lived up to the end of middle school. There was nothing fond about those memories, I didn’t like the city, it never really felt like home, not like here. As a teenager my life had been quite nomadic. I guess that’s why I didn’t really have many friends. We would escape the New York winters and holiday in Florida – mother and father had friends in Miami, and we would stay for months at a time. After Florida, Mother and I would travel to Argentina or Spain, spending time with her family, before returning to the city. It was a couple of years ago on one such trip to Argentina that my mother decided to stay.

So, I didn’t get much of a chance to make many friends and apparently, I was ‘socially awkward’ anyway, or at least that’s what I’d overheard my mother laughing about. I smiled, I didn’t disagree, I didn’t really care! I thought more about my friends. I did have one friend – Elias. Eli lived in Miami, he was the son of my mother’s best friend, and we had played together since I was a toddler. I hadn’t seen him in three years.

I thought about my life here in Argentina, of course I had friends! But then I had to concede, my friends here were my cousins. Miguel and Santos were everything in my life here. But I had to admit that they weren’t really ‘friends,’ they were family. There was Nic too. We weren’t related, we were close although sometimes I thought maybe his role was intended to be some kind of minder. He weas hugely protective. I know that I was never allowed in the city alone, Nic often my escort. I shrugged this off. He was my age and a lot of fun.

I leaned my head against the tree trunk and thought about Eli. I couldn’t picture his face in my mind anymore; I knew he would be different. Our lives were very different now. Over time as I stopped going north, we fell out of touch. The phone calls became stilted with awkward silences, the conversations one-way as we grew apart and had less and less in common, and in time the calls just stopped.

The last significant conversation we had, I’d pronounced that I wanted to play Polo, real Polo – the Open. Living in Argentina on my Uncle’s estancia I watched my cousins and the other riders climb steadily to these heights while it was painfully obvious my talent and ambition went without a patron. I was, after all, a girl. My mother’s soft advice told me I could make anything happen, but I began to understand and accept the audacity of my dream.

Even Eli, so far removed from my life, had barely acknowledged my plan, trivial to his announcement that he was going to be a ‘pop star.’

I remember he made my dream seem inconsequential, even to me. He was going to be a pop star. Damn, that could happen! His father had a hugely successful career in a Latin American genre. I believed him even though I had never heard him sing.

For me, I knew there was no chance with my ambition. I was privileged in my life in the South, but my ambitions were clearly capped – call it a glass ceiling I guess but maybe not in the conventional sense. Still I seemed to hold a place of esteem and opportunity I saw denied every day to the girls that grew in the small community around me. I suffered their scorn for that, but it never really bothered me. I had little in common with their lives and I couldn’t understand the triviality of their ambitions. Boys to men, marriage to children. What was that all about?

So, my hopeless dream of playing polo was clearly fantasy against the reality that Eli’s dream was ‘possible’. This was part of the disassociation, the distance between us and the disappointment. That was the beginning of me just missing him.

I gazed out across the valley. The foals had lost interest in me and lay in the pampas, escaping the heat of the day. The mares stood over them protectively, tails swishing at the flies.

I continued to dissect my own life of the last years leading up to my fast approaching seventeenth birthday. It was only months away and I felt somehow things would be different, should be different. My life here was simple, peaceful, but I could feel a change coming, it was almost prophetic, Paulo speaking out about my relationship with my father.

I quickly diverted my thoughts away from my father and back to Eli. My life in Argentina was different, so different to his world. He was my best friend, and he had been since we were five. My eyes wandered to the scene of the perfectly manicured house gardens, the white house sprawling out behind the painted fences, it was like a post card. I felt a building sense of estrangement, but I reminded myself I was always a little nervous about going North. I could understand feeling estranged there, but not here. I was fine here; I had the most loving and carefree life I could wish for. My mother made that concrete, she was my rock.

I laughed at myself for falling on the word ‘carefree’ to describe my life here. Expectations in my schooling were high and adding that to the work on the estancia and the physical training which could be gruelling, the discipline was absolute. But still this regime made life easy, simply and .......carefree! I understood who I was and what was expected of me. Well for the moment anyway. This returned me to my musing on the future.

I did a quick review. School was nearly done but had failed to inspire any academic ambition in me. Horses were my first love and I rode well. Polo was my first choice, but show jumping came a close second. Paulo ran one of Argentina’s most successful breeding operations for Polo ponies, but he had many business interests. It was never discussed but I knew his ‘other’ business was, … well a little on the wrong side of the law. To that end, he ran a strict training regime, skilling his sons and a crew of men in weaponry and defence. For some reason, this training regime included me. The foundations of his training centred around Capoeira. I thought it strange that I had been allowed, no I think ‘expected’ to learn Capoeira and weapons. I wasn’t sure why I was taught this, why I was included in the training with the boys. Paulo only had sons. I guess I just went along and learned with them. I knew why the boys were taught; a different set of life skills was expected in his world. I didn’t really fit in ‘his world’, it was strange that he taught me.

My Uncle had been wonderful, he treated me like his own and while I was encouraged to work and learn alongside my cousins, his approach to me was somewhat, .….softer. Well it had been until recently. I still held the highest respect for Paulo and loved him dearly, but I pondered again what might have triggered a radical change in his attitude to me in the last few months. For some reason, and without warning, his outlook to me had hardened. He began to grow less tolerant, almost impatient with me. I was training hard, working hard to appease him but it didn’t seem to help. All this culminated in a broken leg some months ago. In training he entered the Roda and I was terrified; he rarely entered the game. I was easily a match for Santos and close to Miguel, but everyone was awed his Paulo’s talent, even for a man in his fifties. Short story, I left my defence open and he captured my leg from a head high kick, I was defenceless, and he smashed my leg. It was only a spiral fracture of my femur, but it hurt, maybe emotionally more than physically. Most certainly my dignity that suffered more. So, Paulo had gone from my loving patron to being, well just a prick to be honest!

Thinking about all this, I connected my thoughts again to Eli. Clearly, I didn’t have a lot in common anymore with the ‘normal’ life he lived, he was in college now and I smiled to myself that I considered he would be ‘soft’. Dismissively I thought to myself - so what if my life wasn’t entirely normal, even for here. I had never craved anything normal. Shopping malls, dating, fashion, makeup; no thanks. I guess this answered why I didn’t have any girlfriends.

So where was life taking me? What conclusion; what was I going to be? I was nearly 17, I guess I should have some idea. Inspiration failed me as I was distracted again and again with thoughts of my ‘other’ life in the North and the prospect that I was going to be expected to resume that – whatever that was.

Emerging from my strangely cotton wool state I heard my cousin Miguel whistle and spotted him leaning on the fence near the house, impatiently gesturing for me to come.

I watched his face breach a smile as I walked over to the fence, to him. He told me, I’ve been looking for you. Leave your fairy tales, get your butt up and help bring the two-year old colts in, Alejandro is coming to look them over in the morning. He turned on his heel and marched off in the direction of the stables. I smiled at the retreating figure of my cousin. He was older than me, but I was never sure by how much.

I wandered out to the yards to look for Miguel but still deep in thought. I snapped to attention with the harsh voice of my eldest cousin, Sandro. For some reason we had never become close, he always seemed intolerant and resentful. As usual he was short, Move it Ange, I’ve got to go away. Try to be useful.

I glanced at his face, no expression, no animation even in chastise. I turned to the yards and noticed the boys, well men now, that stood around the outer yards. One man sat high on the fence and his gaze seemed to burn. Not company I was encouraged to keep. That was a laugh. Company I was forbidden to keep. They weren’t really part of the farm but Paulo’s ‘other’ businesses. I had overheard my mother once jibbing Paulo about his band of murderous thieves. They didn’t look like murderous thieves to me. I dropped my head and walked on to find Miguel.

Miguel had saddled my horse. As he rode past me, he threw my reins at me and I mounted, and we set offside by side. He led Bess, the oldest mare, the matriarch. She would bring the young stock home with us.

I remembered questioning Miguel in the past, again I reflected I had learned so much. He told me then, The youth are guided by strength and leadership. He smiled at me, It is the mare that leads the herd.

We rode past the men at the yards. There was an undertone of jesting as we rode past. This was silenced with a glance from Miguel. They dropped their heads deferring to his authority, all except the man seated high on the wooden rail.

He smiled and spoke our names in salutation, Miguel, Angelique.

I was caught in his face, it was beautiful. It could be my mother’s face but certainly nothing feminine. He was beautiful except for the taunting smile and the empty chasm of his black eyes. Miguel’s ankle kicked mine and he set his horse off in canter. I followed instinctively.

We rode through the low land toward a ridge that would take us to the fields we expected to find the horses. Miguel broke the silence. What’s up with you today?

I smiled to him, Just thinking about going north.

He looked away, I thought you didn’t like it in the North. Why would you plan to go there now?

It’s not me making plans, trust me. I was quiet for a moment. So many mixed emotions about my ‘other’ life. Not even sure we’re going.

He looked at me, If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I thought you hated the North. I was a little surprised that he would try and instil any form of rebellion in me. He smiled again, You just want to see your little Spanish boyfriend don’t you little princess!

I wanted to frown at him and chastise his inaccuracy, Eli was never and would never be my boyfriend. But when I saw the huge teasing smile, I could only smile back. We rode over the ridge, and we were immediately distracted by one of the most beautiful sights I can recount in my life. The horses were in a group, only a few on the outer. They were grazing quietly by the river. The land was lush, and the horses were all sleek and shining. Beth let out a nicker inaudible to them yet.

Miguel beamed, Great, we’ll be back in a couple of hours, I’ve got a date.

He leaned forward and gently unclipped Bess’ head collar. We watched from the ridge as she galloped down to join the group. We laughed at the squealing and postulating of some of the older colts. This is where Bess did her job. She settled among them, the pecking order being decided, then she’d help bring them back with us. It saved a lot of chasing and anxiety for the young stock.

Miguel dismounted and led his horse to the shade of a nearby tree. I knew we would let the horses settle with Bess in their midst. It wouldn’t be long, we didn’t have to corral the horses, just move them to pasture closer to the house so this wasn’t going to be complicated.

We both sat back in the shade, comfortable in the pampas. Miguel smiled watching the new dynamic in the group of youngsters.

I smiled and we sat silently for a while. I was so relaxed here. Life was so simple, simple to me anyway. Every time I tried to get back to comparing my life in the North, to Eli’s, I was awed at the difference. He had college and shopping malls, I had horses and Capoeira. Miguel seemed to hijack my thoughts as I mused on the impact Capoeira had on my life, most recently a bone shattering impact. He broke the silence. You don’t train with us anymore?

I knew exactly what he was asking, I had withdrawn from training Capoeira with the boys since Paulo had broken my leg. I was well and truly mended now but I was still brooding on why he had done that. I hoped I could act dumb and divert his probing, I ride my share of youngsters.

Miguel smiled and shook his head, Capoeira, you have not come back.

I did train still, but not with the boys, not with Paulo. I couldn’t help but feel the tension through my body build as I considered the unanswered questions I harboured. Perhaps resentment but more confusion why suddenly my Uncle’s teaching had become so harsh. I pulled out of my brooding knowing Miguel wanted an answer.

I train. I train alone.

I know. Are you afraid?

I could talk freely with Miguel, I told him, No, Paulo is a prick, that’s all. Why would he do that to me? This was a stupid question really; I had watched this lesson dispensed to many of the boys and even to Miguel over the last years. I knew why he did it, just not why did it to me.

Miguel was smiling, this fell away a little as he told me, Ange, he didn’t do that ‘to you’

I was outraged and sat forward, twisting to face him, Yes he did. He broke my leg …..

Miguel sat forward to intervene, his tone becoming firm, You made the mistake!

I lay back brooding and let my thoughts go uncensored. I had left myself open, I did make a mistake, but I still didn’t understand, When did it come to the time that I cannot make a mistake?

Miguel raised his eyebrows, his expression softening, he shrugged, seemingly in agreement, I don’t know, it was harsh, you’re right. I never really understood why you would be taught. It seems to me he now wants you to learn more than the skill in a game. He wants you to fight.

I thought about this, about the reckoning in my mother allowing me to learn and train with the boys. Capoeira gave strength, balance, and awareness. It was like a ritual for me, I guess it was like a kind of meditation. It was certainly a powerful art, but fight? Fight who?

Miguel broke the silence, Paulo’s pissed you haven’t come back into the group. If I were you, I’d step up. You’re good enough. You have to trust him.

I smiled at the back-handed compliment ‘good enough’. I left it alone and now was drowning in trying to figure the change in my Uncle’s attitude, what was I to learn from this? What I didn’t understand was, unlike the others, my fight would never be life and death. I wasn’t even allowed to play in public Roda.

I relaxed as we watched Bess command the group quietly. Miguel got up and walked to his horse. Come on, or I’ll be late.

We rode quietly behind the herd of youngsters. Bess took the lead calmly and led them up the valley. We stayed far enough behind not to cause any panic but to keep any stragglers moving forward.

As we rode back, out of the blue Miguel told me, Antonio, that guy who spoke to us as we left; stay away from him.

My immediate reaction was to ask ‘why?’ but I took this as said.

We dismounted at the stables. Miguel threw his reins at me and turned to the house with playful urgency. Smiling broadly, he called back to me, I tacked up for you, now your turn, I’ve got to shower.

He was out of earshot before I could unload my frustration at him. I stood there, the horses jostling me; my lips pursed watching him run to the house. Great, now I had to do the cool down, clean the tack, feed, and water both horses!

Shaking my head, I tethered them both and began untacking. Emerging from the tack room with a towel I halted in my tracks. Antonio sat on a rail three boxes down. Again, with that knowing smile. He said nothing and I dropped my eyes quickly to avoid resuming my earlier gaze at his face. He said nothing as I worked over each horse.

I put Miguel’s horse in its box with fresh hay and water. I realised as I untied my horse that I would have to walk right by him. For some reason I was intimidated by this man. I stepped out with my head down and then almost shocking myself, I stopped and demanded, What are you doing here?

He smiled and I nearly gasped at the brilliance of his face, his smile wide, perfect white teeth glowing. Nothing, I live here.

I was annoyed now, Very funny, so do I.

He maintained his smile and gestured to the loft over the stables, emphasis on the last word, No, I actually live here.

I was immediately embarrassed and feeling awkward. Oh right, sorry.

I walked past and settled my horse. Rather than walk back through the stable alley I took the long way back to the house.

My mother and Paulo were sitting on the veranda as they so often did in the twilight. I relished the warm smile of my mother and walked to hug her. As usual she was concerned about how I had survived another day, such a worrier. I bent to hug her in reassurance. That she allowed me to play Capoeira, ride unruly horses, and shoot an armoury of weapons mystified me – she worried so much.

Paulo was silent beside her and held his gaze to the valley. I wondered if he was about to announce my travel north. In an emotionless voice he surprised me asking, Did you count?

I straightened to answer him. 26, eight colts and 18 fillies.

Without look up he just told me, Good.

I stood for a moment holding my mother’s hand, suddenly for some reason I craved Paulo’s approval. Paulo, I would like to start training again, if that’s….. My mother’s hand squeezed mine hard and I wasn’t sure what her expression was as she looked up to me. It could have been surprise, but then it could almost be shock or fear. I stopped talking because I couldn’t understand her reaction; I couldn’t hurt her, ever.

Paulo was simple in his response, and with a small smile he simply said, Good.

My mother stood now and took my face in her hands; I was still no closer to reading her emotions. Perhaps when we return, we go north in a week. Now go and get ready for dinner.

I walked off smiling. That was obviously all I was going to be told about her plans. I smiled wider thinking about how my Mother had chosen to start talking to me in English again. I presumed to prepare for our trip north. It was strange here. Climbing the stairs, a weight flooded over me, English was going to be the least of my challenges - Italian.

I spoke it so rarely and held that part of life in such disdain I was really bad at it. That was only going to make this so much more painful. I’d done it now, allowed him back into my thoughts - my father, my very very Italian father.

This foreboding I felt about him was strange. There was nothing in this, no event or occasion to lament. Well it was no feeling at all. I didn’t like him, and he didn’t like me. I’d tried to work this out often in my life but in the end, left it alone. We were just like polar magnets.

It made it easier to dismiss when my mother chose to come and live here. I remember her pleas to him based on her health, New York was a harsh place to live and my father refused to move. The winters seemed to cripple her and finally my father agreed. It was a given I would go with her. My mother was still his wife and she openly held respect, almost esteem for him.

At least that hag of a grandmother was dead.

I gasped at my own audacity, I felt guilty for thinking that way about anyone or anything. I shrugged it off, I could forgive myself for this one, she was a horrible old thing.

My mind bounced now to one I did love but was as comfortable away as I was with her. My sister, Laura. I hadn’t seen her for a year; she rarely came to Argentina, preferring life in New York.

My thoughts were interrupted as mother came upstairs and into my room. She explained, we were all to meet in Florida, the families reunited. Of course, she was talking about Eli’s family and I was immediately excited, or maybe relieved was a better way to put it. Our families shared a holiday estate by the beach and had met there for the summer months each year as far back as I could remember. These were cherished times for me; my only reservation was the months we had to spend in New York afterward. This year would be a special celebration. My mother and Eli’s father shared a birthday; they would both be forty.

Buenos Aeries airport was a bustle. I was resigned that when we travelled, we moved like royalty. I had stopped wondering about this, Paulo expected it and my father was much the same. Far too much fuss for me. I guess that’s why I liked life on the estancia, simple.

People would look at us, with our escort, the drivers. My mother, for a woman that lived such a simple life in Argentina, had so many cases and when in public she was just so glamourous which was strange, I had always admired her ‘earthy’ beauty at home. I smiled as I watched them watch us. I’m sure they were looking for celebrity, trying to recognise us. Of course, they couldn’t, I would have to be one of the plainest uninteresting people in the world.

The flight was boring; I watched a sap romantic comedy before retreating to my book. Mother chastised that I was reading the volumes of fantasy yet again. It didn’t matter much. She seemed resigned that at least it was in English. My mother smiled up to the attendant and he handed her a second glass of champagne, she passed this over to me.

I was surprised, she reassured, You’ll be seventeen soon, you’re growing up, celebrate this with me.

I took the drink and sat closer against her, nestling into her side. She started to try and coax me to talk of my plans, my ambitions. I’m afraid I disappointed her, not intentionally I simple did not have the answers she was seeking. That fact alone was a little disturbing, I felt myself drifting off to sleep. I woke vaguely as she took the glass from my hand and fell back to sleep with her spreading the blanket across me.

MIAMI

F ather and Laura hadn’t arrived yet. I tossed my bags into my room and ran across the grounds to the other villa. I had a warm reunion with Manuela, Eli’s stepmother. She told me he was on the beach. She called out to me, but I ran on calling back, I’ll find him. I ran straight down the path from the garden.

As I got closer, I could see him lying on his side, leaning on his elbow. He was caramel brown all over, his hair longer than I’d ever seen it. I pushed forward and wasn’t until I got closer that I could see what he was leaning over. I slowed; he hadn’t seen me yet. As I prepared to retreat, he looked up. He jumped up and ran across the sand, coming to me with a warm smile. He hugged me.

It was strange that I looked at him so differently. His hair was longer, tousled and sun bleached. My mind flashed back to the man on the fence, Antonio. I now glanced to Eli and admired him in the same way. Beautiful. I shrugged this off, a bit weird to be thinking about Eli that way.

He took my hand and led me to where he had been sitting, telling me all the way how good it was to see me again. He had really changed in the past three years. He’d lost the boyish look; he’d matured; even his voice was different.

He introduced me to the girl, Cindy, saying I was like his kid sister. She didn’t seem particularly pleased to meet me. Her smile was broad, but her crystal blue eyes said nothing. I couldn’t help but think, ‘how could you wear all that makeup on the beach?’

I sat on the other side of Eli, my knees gathered to my chest, staring down at my cut-off shorts and baggy shirt, tied at the waist. I glanced across at Cindy, platinum blonde, sparkling white bikini, a perfect tan, and so many curves. I sat for a while, as Eli seemed to struggle to encourage small talk between us.

He asked me what I’d been up to but halted me on my first words. He seemed a little impatient and asked me to speak English. I blushed; we had always comfortably interchanged languages. It was natural depending on the mood or the topic. Of course, it was rude; obviously Cindy was a one language kinda girl.

I swallowed my embarrassment and went on, for the first time in my life, I was super conscious of my accent. Any talk of the horses, the breeding season, polo or just about anything in my life was met my squirms of disapproval from the fragile blonde lavishing beside Eli.

I had never felt so uncomfortable and to be true, a little pissed off; this was my friend I hadn’t seen for years, and he was blowing me off. I got up and left them, making excuses about needing to unpack.

I walked back to the house, kicking stones and breaking branches, and found Manuela and my mother on the patio. Mother made a remark about being surprised to see me come back alone. Over the years they had become accustomed to Eli and I disappearing all day, exploring the reefs and rock pools, fishing, swimming, and surfing; inseparable. She could see my disappointment and said no more. I excused myself and went upstairs. She warned me to dress; my father would be here soon.

Great! As I had counted the days to come, I now counted the days until I could go home. I gave up, three months in days was too daunting to even consider.

Alone in my room, I undressed and stood in front of the mirror. Mum had called me a late bloomer. I was about to turn seventeen. My legs were long—lanky, I thought—and my hips stuck out no matter what I ate. Compared to Cindy’s curves, I was muscled and kinda skinny. My breasts were there now, but I generally just wore large shirts and rarely a bra, despite Mother’s pleading. I pulled my hair out of the ponytail; it was long now, as Mother insisted, I not cut it. It was the one concession I granted her. I flicked the dark curly locks behind my back and, staring at the mirror through dark eyes, I thought again about Cindy.

Eli had never been my boyfriend. I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter. I didn’t want a boyfriend; I just wanted my boy friend. I was mad that we would only be here for a short time before we left for New York. He was obviously going to spend that time gazing at her. I lay back on the bed, still in my underwear, staring at the ceiling. New York; what was I going to do there?

I heard her gentle footsteps in the hall and my door slowly slipped open a little. Gently my mother whispered, May I come in?

I lay still, a little mad that she asked, of course she could come in. Did everyone have to be different here? It appears Manuela had explained to her about Eli’s new friend. She sat with me. She lovingly stroked the hair from my face. It’s getting long, very beautiful.

I looked at her with less than adoring eyes and softened this immediately with the fear I would upset her. It’s hardly practical ma, I wish you would let me cut it.

No, it’s beautiful, you’re beautiful. She spoke this in French. I started to laugh before I knew what I was doing.

Are you trying to make me language nimble mama?

She lay her hand on my cheek, and spoke now in English, It is not bad to know, to understand and be resourceful with language. When I see beauty, I think in French.

I sat up and launched myself into her arms. You’re so funny mama. I love you.

You are a difficult case my little one, you do not know what you are, but you will.

I leaned back to look at her face, Pardon mama, but what the hell does that mean?

I thought for a minute I saw a tear form in her eyes, but she took me closer back into the embrace and I lost the thought. She straightened herself and I lay back on the bed.

She assumed an almost business-like countenance. Are you upset with Eli’s girlfriend?

A little defensively, I answered, No. It’s fine he has a girlfriend. It’s just that they’re going to just sit there pawing at each other. Boring.

She smiled, Has he changed a lot?

Hell yeah, he’s boring.

She laughed and turned to leave. You’ve changed too baby.

Before I could argue she told me that my sister and father were here. I should dress and come downstairs. As she reached the door, she seemed to hesitate and then told me, Perhaps you can spend some time with your sister these holidays.

As she left, I couldn’t help but think, ‘Fat chance’. More likely, Laura would hit it off with Cindy. Laura was three years older than me. I had always thought of her as a sophisticated beauty. We were worlds apart, ‘chalk and cheese,’ my father would say. She was blonde, obviously taking advantage of the Italian genes to look so much like my father, only refined and beautiful. He had said of her proudly, and it stuck in my mind still, ‘You would not know there was any Spanish there at all.’

The last time I saw Laura was in Madrid, a little over a year ago. Mother’s family came from Madrid and we visited often. There was no family left that she spoke of, but she was known and welcome in many provinces. Laura was happy to join us there, it was Chic and bold – just perfect for her. She refused to come to Argentina, preferring to spend her time in New York. Laura went to finishing school; I practiced Capoeira and learned to ride and to shoot. Not really a foundation for lengthy conversations between us.

I paused again to look in the mirror at the gangly form. Why was I so tall and so dark? I shrugged it off and got dressed. I knew I was expected downstairs, but I stole a little more time and lay on the bed listening to music. The radio was so different here in the States.

Laura came straight into my room. Without any greeting she went on the assault. What are you doing indoors? Shouldn’t you be out running with your little boyfriend?

I know she didn’t mean anything, but this stung like a wasp. I spat back at her, He is not my boyfriend!

I was sorry immediately. I didn’t mean to be rude, and I apologized. We began to talk, the antagonism gone. She updated me on her life, so exciting but not too interesting to me. I knew better than to offer an account of my simple life. She really did make me feel like a peasant. I know that’s not what she meant, but she had always done it to me, and my father had too.

I couldn’t avoid it any longer; I would have to greet my father. I walked downstairs with Laura. The adults were drinking wine on the patio. Elias was there too—alone, thankfully. I watched his eyes as we walked out. They paused on Laura; everyone’s did. Only my mother held out her hands to me, pulling me closer and guiding me to my father.

I kissed him dutifully on the cheek. The greeting was perfunctory, neither of us caring much for the other. I was expected to greet my father in Italian, which was difficult, since I spoke it so rarely. He called me Teresa. It was only with him and in New York that I was Teresa. This was his mother’s name. I was Teresa Angelique to him; everyone else called me Angelique - Ange.

I sat quietly among the adults, listening to Father recount Laura’s achievements in college, the party invitations, the merits she was earning in society. I made the mistake of speaking to my mother in Spanish, and she counselled firmly, English, my love. I caught the look my father speared at me.

Eli breezed by and took my hand, pulling me away from the gathering. We walked down to the garden and sat on the grass, still in the view of the group. We chatted idly, updating each other on our lives. He seemed less dismissive, more attentive in the absence of his trophy blonde.

It seemed the years had been a long time. I knew we had little in common but now I actually felt lonely. I longed for Nic, for Miguel and Santos. I was like them now. Perhaps my father was right; I did spend too much time in South America. I just wanted to go back. I lay back on the grass and contemplated the months that I would still have to spend in New York after this.

There was to be a big party for our parents in a week. At least this gave Eli and I something to talk about, other than Cindy. We lay back on the grass, the conversation exhausted. It was not the same unspoken connection we had before. It was almost uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to making small talk with strangers and that’s what this felt like. My mind wandered and I almost began to burn physically that I’d skipped the Polo season for this. Not that I had a choice.

Desperately trying to regain some semblance of connection and hoping it might bring the conversation around to something we could share, I asked him, So how’s the ‘pop star’ thing going.

It worked to a degree, although a little one sided. He told me all about his plans and what he’d been doing. Apparently, Cindy was an essential accessory, a blonde on your arm at all the gigs.

I was frozen in my mind. He spoke so closely about a world I couldn’t conceive. It wasn’t daunting at all in facing all the people he spoke of but just the falseness of it all. Surely if you were good, you just did what you wanted to do.

He asked me innocently, So what about you?

I was too deep in my own reckoning to take the question in context. What about me?

He laughed at me, Have you heard anything? Are you part of this conversation?

A moment of panic gripped me, what had we been talking about? I retrieved myself to answer, Nothin much happening. Not sure what to do with school. Or in fact why I’d bother.

What are you going to do next year?

Next year? I was having problems with next week. I tried to play this one cool and told him I didn’t know. This took me away again into my own thoughts. ‘What you want to do’, what the hell did I want to do?

Out of the blue he told me, You should move back here, go to college.

I just nodded, again drowning in my own thoughts. I mumbled back to him that there were colleges in Buenos Aires.

The next morning, he called me over to his house. As children we had run through each other’s house without any distinction. I didn’t feel this freedom anymore. We lounged around watching MTV, he looked a little pained, like he had better places to be, and I wondered whether he had been ‘spoken to’. Great, now he was babysitting. As I began to formulate my exit strategy, he seemed to strike on an idea and tugged me to my feet.

Come on, I want to show you something.

I followed him into the media room. He’d found a tape of my mother singing with his father. It was old now, and they looked so young. Alexandre had made a life for himself in music. Mother sang with Alex for a long time, that is, until she met Father. He had decided that this was not a fitting profession for his wife. Despite that, this was how the two families became so close.

The song was beautiful, a duet, so much expression. I was sure it would be a hit today; it was just a classic ballad and their voices seemed to rise together. Eli was looking at me smiling, Do you think you can sing?

Was he mad? No, of course I can’t sing.

He insisted, Have you ever tried? You’re so like your mother in every other way, maybe you can.

I didn’t answer him, I was thinking about what he had said - that I was like my mother. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the entire world.

Leaning into my face trying to regain my attention he said, Hey, hello; Come on let’s try. It might be fun. We could sing it for them on their birthday.

Reluctantly I followed him down to the basement studio. Alex had built it years before for rehearsal and recording. It wasn’t used much anymore, but when I saw Eli moving around the equipment, I could see he had spent some time down here. He pushed me into the booth and followed. Now all you need to do is copy your mother on the video.

He played it back a couple more times. I watched, and I thought. It was just the two of us here. I had never been shy of trying anything before, but I didn’t think I could survive making a fool of myself with him now. I felt clumsy and awkward around him and his girlfriend already, now I would be embarrassed trying to sing. It was too late to back out now, as the music began, he instructed me, Now I go first and then you come in on the second verse.

I listened to him sing. I was shocked, his voice was beautiful. He had all the merit of his father’s voice, but with a different quality. I was so preoccupied I missed my cue. He was laughing at me, What are you doing, you look like you’re in another world?

I just shrugged and thought again to myself, ‘I wish I was’.

This time I came in, he stopped me at the end of the chorus, That wasn’t bad.

I felt like I could bleed through the eyes, ‘not bad’ he told me. How could I get myself into something so not me? He began coaching me on breathing and projection. We spent hours down there until he seemed content that we had something to work on. In the end I was happy that he seemed to be OK with me, but I just wanted to get out of there, I wanted to go back to my room. It seemed this trip I was less lonely when I was alone.

I said goodbye and headed to the door. He grabbed my arm, turning me back to him. I looked at him now and saw again the change. I guess in three years he really was a man. His face was rough shaved, his eyes seemed deeper and through his shirt it was obvious that his body had matured. Looking at him made me feel even more like a child. Again, I longed for the shelter of Argentina.

We’re going to a concert tonight; you want to come?

I hesitated at the thought of spending an evening with him and Cindy.

He was insistent, There’ll be a few of us going, why don’t you come, I’ll come and get you about seven.

I was searching for an excuse and failing. All I could think of was to say that I would have to speak to my father.

Do it, come on it’ll be fun. It’s time you came out in the real world, Ange; you’ve been hiding too long.

I walked back across the grounds slowly. I wanted so badly to sit down and cry, I thought about it at every tree, every open space of lawn. ‘Wasted energy, shameful emotion, weakness.’ Paulo echoed in my head, but it was all I wanted to do.

I clenched my teeth, what really was it that made me feel like crying? What was wrong with me that I felt so …..so devastated, so drained.

I was tired, the travel, home sick. I stopped in the garden and looked up to the stars. I was alone,