Txema Rodríguez

Ava bought a house in La Moraleja. A house with a witch-shaped weathervane on the roof, called La Bruja. She paid 66.000 dollars for it in 1954. Then she moved to a flat in Oquendo and finally to a duplex in Doctor Arce, right above Peron’s apartment, while the argentinian ex-dictator was exiled in Madrid.
Against all popular sayings about housekeepers tendency to gossip, the janitor of her last residence in Spain -retired and old, but yet very clear minded- still refuses to reveal any secret about the rave bacchanals running upstairs, which made Peron go mad very often.
According Ava, Peron had one very disturbing trait. He would often march out onto his balcony, and make loud, arm-waving speeches to the empty street below. The speeches disturbed his next-door neighbor, who felt he let down the tone of the vicinity.
Ava had always been a potty mouth. She knew that the pejorative Spanish word for homosexual was maricón which rhymes nicely with Perón. So every time he step onto his balcony and began to demagogue his invisible supporters, she gathered her assistants and formed an opposition party by chanting in unison Perón es un maricón, Perón es un maricón.
He hated her wholeheartedly. Nevertheless, Ava attended secret teas with María Estela and loved her home made empanadas.
The Barefoot Comtessa would sleep all day and get up to go to Oliver, Riscal (Archy, nowadays) and Chicote after dark. Tequilas, Old Fashions, Mai Tais and Manhattans were served to her in a row until closing time. Most barmans were told never to charge her the drinks. A lady in waiting who always hanged around called the taxis and pushed her into them and then into bed, if she didn’t pick up a bailaor or a young torero to sleep with, in her futile attempts to forget Frank Sinatra.
A few witnesses of those post-war Hollywood years in Spain remember that she even drove fast cars across the city outskirts, completely drunk, landing herself in crashes no one but her could leave unharmed.
They also remember her whimsical exercise in abounding excess, her exuberance, her generosity, her magnificent audacity to make choices and face the consequences without a trace of pathos, sulks or self-pity.
She was really determined to fit in and would ask in her best Spanish, ¿Quieres una copita? or let the gypsies plop their babies on her lap to hold during flamenco dances.
Wild and innocent at the core, flamboyant and perpetually undone, she was even barred from the Ritz for peeing in the lobby, but if you ask the ones that shared those wild years with her, all of them will say she was larger than life and most of all, unforgettable.
Reportedly, a lone black limousine parked behind the crowd at Ava’s funeral.
No one left the vehicle, but everyone assumed that the anonymous mourner was Frank Sinatra. Later, a beautiful floral arrangement at the graveside simply read: “With My Love, Francis”.