Page 5 of The Lion in the Library

LEO

The conversation club met on Thursdays at seven in the evening. I was at the library twenty minutes early, pretending to browse the shelves while actually watching the entrance. I had the stuffed lion in my hand, turning it over and over like a talisman.

“Are you looking for something specific?”

I turned to find a librarian, different from the one who had directed Estrella and her children, watching me with a knowing smile.

“Just browsing,” I said, pushing my glasses up my nose. The glasses were a recent addition, prescribed for reading but useful for maintaining a low profile in public. Few people expected to see The Lion Ramirez in spectacles, poring over books in a public library.

“The conversation club meets in Room 3B,” she said, gesturing down the hall. “If that’s what you’re here for.”

I smiled, caught. “Yes, thank you.”

“You can head in. Some of the others are already there,” she said with a wink.

Damn. I knew that wink. She knew who I was. But she hadn’t asked for an autograph, so at least she hadn’t blown my cover.

I thanked her, put the toy back into my bag, and made my way to the designated room, where a circle of chairs had been arranged. Five people were already seated, chatting in various accents that betrayed their diverse origins. I chose a seat near the door, positioning myself so I could see new arrivals.

More people trickled in as the minutes passed. At exactly seven, a cheerful woman with a name tag identifying her as “Susan - Conversation Leader” closed the door and welcomed everyone.

“Before we begin, I want to remind everyone that this is a safe space for practicing English. There are no mistakes here, only opportunities to learn. Let’s start by introducing ourselves. Please share your name, where you’re from, and one interesting fact about yourself.”

My heart sank as I realized Estrella wasn’t coming. I had built up this evening in my mind, imagining our conversation continuing, perhaps even extending to coffee after the session. My bag, with only the stuffed toy in it, weighed heavily on my arm, a reminder of my foolishness.

Just as a man named Hiroshi finished speaking, the door opened quietly, and Estrella slipped in, mouthing “Sorry” to Susan. She wore a simple yellow dress that hugged her curves, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled, a small, private smile that made my heart race.

“Perfect timing,” Susan said warmly. “We were just doing introductions. Would you like to go next?”

Estrella nodded, taking the only empty seat, directly across from me. “I am Estrella Flores,” she began, her accent more pronounced than I remembered, perhaps because she was speaking to a room full of strangers. “I am from Mexico City, Mexico. And I am an actress in telenovelas... I mean, I was. Now I’m trying to be an actress in Hollywood.”

There were murmurs of appreciation and encouragement. A woman from Brazil mentioned that she had seen one of Estrella’s shows, leading to a brief, excited exchange in Spanish before Susan gently redirected the conversation back to English.

The introductions reached me. “I’m Leo,” I said, my English accent more pronounced than usual. “I’m from Madrid, Spain. And I...” I hesitated, torn between truth and fiction. “I like to play football, or soccer, I guess.”

I waited for the recognition, the whispers, but they didn’t come. But I caught the look of interest from Estrella. Good.

I wanted to be interesting to her.

The session continued with various speaking exercises. We were paired up to practice dialogues, and I tried to match up with Estrella. But Susan seemed determined to mix up the group as much as possible, and I was paired with an elderly Korean man named Mr. Park.

Throughout the evening, I found my gaze drawn repeatedly to Estrella. She participated enthusiastically, her expressions animated, her laughter infectious. Even when she struggled with a particular phrase or pronunciation, she approached it with a grace and humor that captivated everyone around her.

As the session wound down, Susan distributed handouts for the next week’s meeting. “And remember,” she said, “practice makes perfect. Try to have at least one conversation in English each day before our next meeting.”

As people began to gather their belongings, I made my way to Estrella.

“You came,” I said, unable to keep the pleasure from my voice.

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “My dialect coach ran late, and then I had to rush to pick up the children and drop them at the crafts program.”

“Dialect coach?”

She rolled her eyes. “My agent insists. Apparently, my accent is too... Mexican... for Hollywood.”

I frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Your accent is beautiful.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks. “Thank you. But Hollywood has its own ideas about what is beautiful.”