Humiliation. Paulina Flores
to show off. After so many reprimands from her mother, Simona had eventually learned that being extroverted was a kind of defect. A flaw that she’d been born with, like the original sin inherited from the first disobedient parents, but without the possibility of redemption. She was a girl who attracted attention and it made her feel small, minuscule. That’s why she tried to imitate her little sister, who tended to be quieter and more enigmatic. When Pía wasn’t whining she had the gift of seeming simply uninterested, letting herself be loved, never feeling the need to seek out affection. Pía’s personality seemed much more appropriate. But it was almost impossible for Simona to be like her; she couldn’t help the way she was. And although it had been painful to bear that burden, now, as she walked beside her father, it was something that honored her and filled her with happiness. Because being extroverted was a quality she shared with him. Something that brought them closer, that could destroy any obstacle that came between them.
“We have arrived,” said Simona ceremoniously, and she bowed toward the enormous house that stood before them.
“Finally!” said Pía, still in her father’s arms.
He set her down with a sigh and asked Simona for the map. He looked it over nervously and then peered at the house, doubtful. It was a big, old three-story mansion, with all the darkness and cold typical of an aging construction, but painted a modern, strident green. A getup that inspired distrust.
Simona saw the hesitation in her father’s eyes. It hadn’t been easy to convince him about the GREAT OPPORTUNITY. She couldn’t let him get cold feet now that they were almost there; she took his hand and tugged on it, saying, “Let’s go in, let’s go in. They’re waiting for us. They’re waiting.”
“Are you sure it’s here? There’s not even a sign. What’s the production company called?”
“It’s just so they won’t get so many people bothering them,” said Simona quickly. “Can you imagine all the people who would come if they knew the casting calls happened here?” And she pulled harder on her father’s hand. “Let’s go,” she insisted, practically begging.
“Yeah, let’s go in, Dad, it’s really hot out here,” said Pía, not so much excited as imploring a resolution.
“Okay,” said their father. “We’ve come this far, what’ve we got to lose?”
They rang the bell on the intercom, and there was no Who is it? or Can I help you? from inside; the door simply opened.
After so many hours in the sun, the darkness inside blinded and disoriented the father for a moment. When he could see better, he realized right away that the inside of the house was also suspicious. Its original structure had clearly been altered. Where the living or dining room should surely start, there was a wall, a thin partition put up to create more offices. He felt ill at ease in the gloom of a small false foyer that allowed a steep staircase as the only possible path. The floor was of gray stone, the only element that seemed to have resisted the changes. The worst part was the silence. Too much silence. Not like a place where people were working. And there he was, cornered, with his daughters. Halfway between the front door and the staircase, with no one to receive them or to ask what they wanted.
The father lifted the girls onto the second step and knelt down in front of them. He took a deep breath, looked up at them. They both smiled back at him.
He immediately looked away. Poor things, he thought. He could never meet their eyes; that’s why he had to “act the clown,” as his wife said. All this time that he’d been forced to spend with them lately, it had been overwhelming. They were always there, wandering around the house, waiting for him, demanding things from him, depending on him. Nothing ever seemed to disappoint them, but he hid in his room because he couldn’t even meet their eyes. The truth is, he didn’t know who they were: Who was the better student in school? Which one didn’t like salad? Which one hated taking baths? Who was afraid of the dark? His wife talked about them in bed, but he couldn’t retain anything. He’d become a father very young. Too young. Accidentally and without preparation. And he had responded by going along with it. Doing his supposed duty: face up to it and forget about himself for a time. Leave aside his plans and projects like a half-eaten apple. Work. He’d spent all his youthful energy on working, without questioning it much. Leaving a great unknown between him and what his life could have been if he’d invested time in his own dreams. Without ever finding out if he could have conquered the world.
It was true that, at first, the most important thing had been financial security. But he also knew that all that time, as his daughters were growing up, he’d been hiding. Limiting his contribution to an exhausting job from Monday to Saturday. And now that he had nothing material to contribute, he felt useless and excluded. His wife was much better than him, and she was right when she threw his lack of resolve in his face. It was logical for her to be tired of taking charge of everything. And all he could do was crack jokes and play games with his daughters. He couldn’t think of anything to do but act like a playmate, one you casually and miraculously meet in a park but don’t know if you’ll see again the next day.
“How do I look? Not too formal?” he asked, adjusting his tie. He was wearing the blue suit, white shirt, and brown tie that he always wore to work interviews. He felt suffocated, and he wanted to run away. Every time he had to go into an office he felt the same thing: the urge to flee.
Simona smoothed his eyebrows with a thumb, the way her mother did whenever they were tangled.
“You look so handsome,” she blurted, so effusively that she turned red.
“My little monkey,” he said, tousling her hair with one hand.
He stood up and started to climb the stairs. At the top, another door awaited them.
“How do I look?” asked Pía.
“You don’t matter,” Simona told her. “Dad’s the one who matters.”
They rang the second bell. They waited for a few seconds and a man appeared, ushering them in with effusive politeness. Simona watched him with surprised interest. He was a very handsome man, like her father. But his beauty was different. He had dark hair, a sparse beard, and an earring in one ear.
“Casting?” the man asked her father, who replied with an uncertain “Yes.”
“Come in, come in,” he said, leading them to his desk.
The place itself caught Simona’s attention, too. No doors leading to offices, no secretaries. It was just a room in an old house. Enormous and open, with a very high ceiling. Beyond the desk hung a white cloth, and tripods, cameras, and spotlights were set up in front of it. It didn’t look anything like the other companies they had visited, but, Simona thought, that must mean something good.
The man settled into an executive chair lined in white leather, and the three of them sat in some plastic chairs that were modern and uncomfortable. He pressed his hands together as if he were about to pray, and began: “Well, then, let me explain how this works . . .”
He told them about the agency, its trajectory and reputation. He said that they operated in partnership with other publicity agencies. That they handled important brands. That now they needed people for a specific campaign, but that they were always looking for new faces. He talked nonstop, eloquently and naturally, about a ton of things Simona didn’t entirely understand but pretended to follow, nodding her head just like her father did.
The man paused and smiled. “Now,” he went on, and his excited tone switched to a more reserved one. “We need photographs of people so we can show them to the company. They’re the ones who give the green light in the end,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and showing his palms, as though to say “I am innocent, see ye to it.” “The photos,” he went on, “are for what’s called a portfolio. Everyone in this business needs one, and if a person doesn’t have one, we make it for them. The photography session has a cost, obviously, which is fifteen thousand pesos. You can also have it done at another studio.” He paused and raised his hands. “Of course, our prices, considering that in general we end up working