Free Miami Midnight by Maggie; Davis Page B

profound.
    “Mrs. Fernandez?” Gaby asked.
    After a long moment Alicia Fernandez said in a low, obviously strained voice, “Gabrielle, do you want to know about Jimmy Santo Marin? Is that what you’re calling about?”
    Who else could she have been calling about? “Well, yes. I have some material in front of me from a feature we did a few years ago that gives some—”
    “Wait.” Alicia had obviously left the telephone. When the line was picked up again she said with the same tense, almost labored politeness, “Yes, Gabrielle, what was it you wanted to know?”
    In a few words Gaby explained what she needed.
    “I’ll tell you what I can,” Alicia said with the same measured tenseness. “They’re such private people, especially Estancia. She’s Spanish-born, altaclase . There’s still that Castilian wall of reserva , especially since what happened last year. That poor, foolish girl Pilar.” Alicia hesitated. “They’ve had their problems, Gabrielle, I guess I can tell you that. In spite of all the money it’s been a struggle. The daughter had a terrible experience. Her engagement to one of the Dodges from Palm Beach was called off. He jilted her because I think his family wasn’t happy with—with Latins. Estancia took it particularly hard.”
    “Oh,” Gaby said, not knowing what else to say.
    “Yes, but, Gabrielle,” the other woman went on quickly, “people don’t realize what something like that means to a girl from Pilar’s background, to be dumped by a man. Even in these days.”
    Gaby crossed out what she had written. A broken engagement, even with a Palm Beach socialite, probably didn’t go into the sidebar Jack Carty wanted. “Mrs. Fernandez, actually what I need is something about James Santo Marin. We’re using a photograph of him from the fashion show, when he pulled the model out of the pond. For instance, what do people in Miami’s Latin community think of him, his leadership now, his ... uh, position socially?” Gaby was having difficulty even talking about James Santo Marin. She was strangely breathless again. “I heard they—why do they call him the Prince of Coral Gables?”
    “Oh, Jimmy ,” Alicia’s voice altered, “Don’t call him the prince thing, Gabrielle, he hates it. As for leadership in the Latin community...” She hesitated again. “Of course Jimmy’s been fantastically successful, but then he’s something of a genius with all those businesses and the bank. But I couldn’t say that he’s a community leader actually, so much as, well, the community is ... that is, many people are sort of— protective . No, I’m sure I don’t mean ‘protective’ exactly. Gabrielle. It’s so hard to talk about the Latin community in Miami when there are so many different parts of it. And really, I can’t speak for any of them!”
    “Well, how does the community,” Gaby asked, anxious about getting any information for the sidebar, “feel about James Santo Marin?”
    There was another silence. “Well, he’s—popular. I guess James Santo Marin is very popular. You could call it that.”
    Sort of popular but sort of protected. Gaby was following something that eluded her. As did, actually, the whole subject of James Santo Marin. It was crazy. “You said his leadership—”
    “Gabrielle,” Alicia interrupted, “you’re not going to print any of this, are you? Estancia Santo Marin would strangle me! Besides, I’m not saying the right things. Oh, darling, you picked the wrong person to call. Look, honey, contact the Santo Marins. If they want to talk to you, they’ll tell you everything you have to know!”
    The click on the other end said the conversation was over.
    Gaby sat looking at the microfilm machine without really seeing it. Protective? Popular? The words didn’t make any sense. Not when applied to what she already knew about James Santo Marin. Not the personality that went with that tense, arrogant scowl, that electric machismo in an Armani suit,