“Good. Historical, no?” Honestly, Marco could be so cute when he tried to understand things. After his admission that he’d never been to college, I found his need to know quite charming.
“Pardon me,” I said as I stepped around the woman who was a total mystery to me.
“Your face is very red,” Ama said with suspicion as I edged around her.
“Yes, it is so hot. I was asking Marco to have fans sent to the nursery.” And with that I left.
18
Greasehad always been one of my favorite movies and Lexi loved it too. I suspected that Gregorio had learned about the musical through my daughter. When I realized that Ama was not in Marco’s little theater, I felt only relief. Maybe she wasn’t here because Marco had scheduled this showing for the evening.
Marco’s mother seemed pretty strait-laced. What would she think of this film that depicted the rock and roll era of America’s past? Tonight the seating was different. Lexi quickly took the seat next to Gregorio on the other side of the narrow aisle. That left me next to Marco. Before I could make a switch, the movie began. I settled back to lose myself again in the story of a girl from Australia who comes to America one summer. In typical summer romance style, the innocent Sandy falls in love with a “greaser,” from his slicked back hair to his boots.
And then school starts, and she discovers that he’s really a hot-rodder with a reputation with the women. Reclining my seat, I looked forward to seeing the movie on this large screen. Our screen at home was tiny compared to the one in Marco’s theater.
And what else was there to do at night in the castle but watch movies? Although we’d taken a couple of trips into town, the village that had felt like a leap to freedom at the beginning of the summer began to feel provincial.
Sitting beside me, Marco seemed totally engrossed in the movie. To my amazement, popcorn appeared from somewhere. “What is this?” I asked Gregorio, who was handing out the small bowls heaped with popcorn that smelled wonderful.
He shushed me with a finger to his mouth. “I hope you like the butter,” he whispered. “I read there should be butter. Constanza gets ours from Ireland.”
Irish butter? The very best. “Absolutely.” I sank my fingers into the buttery mass. The salt made me lick my lips. Next to me, Marco followed suit.
During the classic film, I could feel him watching me, which was totally uncomfortable since I was wolfing down the popcorn. “Stop watching me,” I hissed, wiping off my buttery lips.
“Why?” Marco chuckled. “I like watching you eat.”
“That’s very weird.” My face flushed.
“Mom, be quiet.” But Lexi wore a smile, as if she enjoyed scolding me.
When we came to the final rendition of “You’re the One that I Want,” Gregorio hunched his shoulders and moved to the music. Next to me, Marco noticed. He pointed to Gregorio and chuckled. “Did you teach him that?”
“Should I add dancing to my curriculum?” The thought made me smile.
“If he should know that to study in America, yes.”
“I’ll think about it. He’s having fun,” I whispered.
We went back to watching the movie. “Yes, this does look like fun.” There was a plaintive note in Marco’s voice. Was he a little boy who had lost his childhood? Had he been pushed into the role of monarch way before his time?
The movie ended. Gregorio collected the empty bowls and pop bottles. After flipping my seat into an upright position, I stood up and stretched. To my surprise, Ama was sitting right behind us. Her face was set, as if frozen by botox.
“What did you think?” I asked Gregorio as we stood at the door.
“I think they have a lot of fun in American high school.” Was there a wistful note to his voice?
“Trust me, my high school is nothing like this.” Lexi gave his arm a playful sock.
Marco turned to me. “Will this be the kind of students Gregorio will know at Harvard?”
“Oh, no. No.” The idea of John Travolta walking down the paths at staid Harvard with slicked back hair and tight black jeans was ludicrous. “Greasewas very popular in America because many people remembered this time, probably around the 1950s. They enjoyed the cast and the music. But that time is gone. There are no more races down the culverts, if ever there were.”
“That is very good, no, Gregorio?” Reaching over, he ruffled Gregorio's hair as if he were four again. His son didn’t look happy.
“It looked like fun,” Gregorio said. “I would be happy to have such races.”
“Such crazy talk.” Behind me, Ama gave a disapproving huff.
