After a marvelous Saturday together, I’m awakened around six o’clock on Sunday morning by strange noises coming from the bathroom. I get up and am surprised to find Eric vomiting. When he sees me, he gets angry and tells me to leave and wait in the other room. When he finally comes out, grimacing, he sits on the couch and closes his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Something must not have gone down right last night.”
“Do you want some chamomile to settle your stomach?”
With his eyes closed, Eric shakes his head. “Please . . . turn off the light and go to sleep,” he says.
“But . . .”
“Jude . . . ,” he whispers. He’s upset.
Without another word, I vanish and lie down in bed. I try to understand that he’s not feeling well, and the last thing he wants is to have me beside him, asking questions. I go to sleep and wake up around ten o’clock. As soon as I open my eyes, I see Eric by my side. He smiles and seems in a good mood.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning . . . Are you feeling better?”
“Perfect. Like I said, something must not have gone down right.” I’m about to say something, when he interrupts. “Look what I made for you.”
There’s a breakfast tray near my feet. It’s decorated with a paper flower. I take it and smile. He kisses me.
At noon, after making love, he looks so much better that I propose we go to the Madrid flea market, a place that, it turns out, Eric has never visited.
“I’m first at something,” I say, which makes him laugh. “The first person to take you to the flea market!”
When we get off the Metro at La Latina, he is quite surprised. Seeing so many different kinds of people startles him. He insists on buying me some silver pendants from a little stand. In return, I buy him a T-shirt that says “The Best of Madrid,” from another stand. I make him take his shirt off right there in the middle of the flea market and put it on. We take some pictures with my cell, and I keep them as if they were treasures.
Delighted, we stroll hand in hand like any other couple until we get to a stand selling hippie lamps. He wants to buy two to take back with him to Germany, a souvenir to remember his visit to the flea market. He makes me choose, and I pick out two lilac-colored ones. After he pays, he tells me one is for me. That touches me. We will each have one in our homes, and whenever we look at them, we’ll remember.
After that, we walk around the flea market for a while until Eric refuses to take another step. People accidentally bump up against my arm, and he doesn’t want anyone to hurt me. Finally, so I don’t have to listen to him anymore, I agree, and we leave in a taxi.
I propose a couple of different restaurants; he says he wants whichever is the coziest. We peek inside three places, but none of them seems cozy enough. In the end, I settle for buying a couple of slices of Spanish omelet, and we sit on a soft lawn to eat while we laugh and check out our pretty lamps.
“They’re beautiful—I love them.”
“Yes, they’re very pretty. Do you have lipstick in your bag?”
“What kind of lipstick do you mean? I’ll remind you we’re in a public park, and I’d rather not end up in jail on public-indecency charges.”
He laughs heartily, which lifts my soul, and he responds to my laughter with an impulsive kiss on the tip of my nose.
“I’m not referring to what you’re thinking, you kink queen. I mean a simple lipstick. Do you have one on you?”
I pull out a small makeup bag and show him.
“Do your lips,” he says.
Surprised, I start, then stop halfway.
“Wait, why am I doing this?”
“Just do it.”
“No, I want to know why first.”
He shrugs and sighs.
“I want your lips on my lampshade, right next to your name.”
“Wow, I love the idea! But then I want the same on mine.”
“You want me to put lipstick on?”
“Yes!” I respond mischievously.
“No way!”
“C’mon,” I protest. “I want your lips on my lampshade, next to your name, too.”
For a few minutes, we joke around. We laugh. But in the end, we both do our lips and plant them on our respective lampshades. We wipe the red off our mouths with tissues, and Eric hands me a pen. Under my lips, I write, Judith. And under his, he writes, Eric.
“Whenever I look at it in Germany, I’ll think of you.”
This makes me sad. He’ll return to Germany in his private jet and be far away from me. I miss him already, and he hasn’t even left yet.
When we finish lunch, I lie back on the grass, and so does he.
“Will you come back?” I ask.
“Of course, sweetness. Part of my business is in Spain.”
“So what’s so important that it’s made you interrupt your stay?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“It’s a woman,” I say, “isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I have obligations I can’t ignore, so I have to go back.”
I look up at the treetops. It’s windy, and I love how they move. They relax me. Eric’s head interrupts my line of vision. He kisses me.
“Jude . . . ,” he says as he pulls away.
“It’s OK. I know I ask too many questions.”
“Jude, listen to me, please.”
His tone makes me look at him anew.
“Promise me you’re going to go on with your life like it was before I showed up.”
I’m about to respond, but he puts his hand over my mouth to stop me.
“I need you to promise me you’ll go out with your friends and have a grand time. And that includes getting together with that guy you disappeared with into the bathroom at that bar, and with the guy from Jerez, Fernando. I want what’s happened between us to be just that, something that happened and nothing more. I don’t want you to give it importance and . . .”
“Wait a minute,” I say. I take his hand brusquely off my mouth. “Where’s all this coming from?”
“It’s part of the conversation we had at your apartment.”
When I recall our talk, my anger rises.
I’m about to get up, when he sits on top of me, legs on either side, and pulls my hands above my head to immobilize me.
“I need you to promise.”
“But, Eric, I . . .”
“Promise!”
I don’t understand what’s going on. But there’s an incredible determination in his eyes.
“Fine,” I say. “I promise.”
His face relaxes. He lowers himself to me and tries to kiss me. I move my face away.
Eric lets me go and lies down beside me. We don’t talk. Instead, we look at the treetops. A few minutes later, he takes my hand and squeezes it.
An hour later, his cell buzzes. It’s Tomás. He’s waiting for us at El Retiro, in front of the Alcalá Gate. We walk through the park, holding hands, mute, until we reach the car. When he sees us, Tomás opens the door and we climb in. Inside, I notice Eric’s pensive. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t want to ask. When we get to my apartment, he takes my lamp out of the bag, hands it to me, and gives me a soft kiss on the lips as he moves the hair from my face.
“Whenever I look at it, I’ll think of you, sweetness,” he whispers.
This is goodbye.
If I try to talk, I’ll cry, and I don’t want him to see me crying. I finally smile. He closes the door and drives off.
25
Monday
I listlessly make my way to the shower. I’m exhausted. I haven’t been able to sleep, thinking about Eric. As I’m getting dressed, my eyes fix on the little lamp. I sit down on the bed and touch the outline of his lips and his name on the shade. For a good while, I stay like that, just contemplating it while thinking about him.
I finally get moving. When I arrive at the office, I put my bag on
my desk and sense someone coming up behind me. It’s Miguel.
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
“Good morning.”
When he notices my lack of interest, he steps up to me and takes a closer look.
“What’s going on?” he whispers. “Did the Iceman overwork you? You look horrible.”
His comment animates me.
“Yes,” I say, “he’s a real slave driver. Otherwise, I’m fine.”
That’s when Miguel notices the bandage on my arm.
“What happened?”
“I burned myself with the iron,” I say, not offering more of an explanation.
Miguel nods. “When did you get back from the trip?”
“Thursday night. The rest of the meetings have been canceled for the time being because something came up and Mr. Zimmerman had to go back to Germany.”
Miguel nods. “C’mon,” he says, taking me by the arm. “Breakfast is on me, and you can tell me what’s going on with you.”
Over coffee and toast, I justify the bags under my eyes by telling him about Curro. It’s a good way to distract him from what’s really making me so sad. Twenty minutes later, our breakfasts finished, we go back to our workstations.
My supervisor greets me when she comes in, and asks me into her office. She wants me to tell her everything that went down on the business trip, and apparently, what I say pleases her. After that, she loads me down with more work. This is her way of telling me she’s mad the big boss took me instead of her. When I leave the office that afternoon, I feel like I’ve been beaten to a pulp, but I decide to go to the gym anyway. I need to lift this fog, and I can do that there.
26
Tuesday
I send Eric an email . . . No answer.
My supervisor is killing me with work. Any day now, I’ll tell her to go to hell and shoot myself.
Fernando calls. When I talk to him, he insists I move up my trip to Jerez.
27
Wednesday
I send Eric another email . . . He doesn’t respond, again.
Today I save my supervisor’s ass.
Gerardo, the chief of staff, pays us an unexpected visit, and I have to be pretty quick on my feet to keep him from catching my horny boss and Miguel in a not-quite-professional entanglement in her office.
28
Thursday
I refuse to write Eric any more emails. But in the end, I can’t help myself; I send him a one-word message: Dickhead!
29
Friday
My desperation is through the roof.
No news. No calls. Nada.
Clearly, I was just his plaything for a few days, and now all I can do is forget about him.
Plus, my supervisor is on the verge. Today she embarrasses me in front of several colleagues. I don’t tell her to stick it, because I need this job.
In the evening, my friend Azu calls, and we agree to go to the movies. We see I Want You, and I end up crying . . . I cry like a baby. It’s beautiful and sad at the same time. I feel just like Ginebra, a misunderstood but hardworking young woman who’s madly in love with a man who has lots of secrets.
As we leave, a group of friends who’ve been waiting for us tease me. Nobody quite gets how I could cry like this over a movie, and they suggest we go to Plaza Mayor for a bite to eat. They know that I’ll like that and it’ll lift my spirits.
Between edibles, there’s a river of beer, and I finally manage to get my smile back. After that, we go for more drinks, and by four o’clock in the morning, I’m myself again—I’m laughing, having a good time, and dancing like a maniac, although by then I’ve drunk Madrid’s entire supply of rum and Coke.
The next morning, I’m rudely awakened by my doorbell.
I cover my head with my pillow, but the ringing is persistent . . . Pissed, I get up and pick up the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“Hey, Auntie. It’s Mami and me.”
Oh God, this is all I need.
I open the door for them because I have no choice. My little niece hurls herself at my neck as soon as she sees me, and my sister, noting the state I’m in, walks past me without a word, plops down on the couch, and turns on the TV. As soon as my niece sees SpongeBob SquarePants on the screen, she disappears from my side.
I make myself some coffee. My sister’s face is serious, and I know she’s going to come at me with a deluge of questions at any moment.
“What the hell happened to you that you look so utterly wrecked?”
“Raquel, I was out partying last night, and I didn’t get to bed until seven this morning. I’m dead.”
“Well, the party must have been something. Your condition speaks volumes.”
“It was,” I murmur, reaching for an aspirin. I need it.
“Were you with that dreamboat you’ve been going out with?”
“No.”
Her face kind of slumps, and mine must have too at the mere thought of Eric.
“What’s going on with Eric? That’s his name, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still seeing him?”
“No.”
“I have to say, Judith, I don’t understand you. Fernando would die for you, and you pass on him. Then you find another interesting man who’s interested in you, and you lose him!”
“Fuck a duck, Raquel, could you please shut up?”
“Well, no, I’m not going to shut up. I haven’t seen you in way too many days, and when I call, you don’t pick up the phone. Today I come and see you, and you’re a disaster after a night out. And to top it off, you broke up with Eric.”
“Look, Raquel, I don’t want to talk about Eric, or my friends, or Fernando. I could give three shits about any of that. I’ve had a hellish week at work, and I went out last night because I needed to have some fun and forget about everything. And now here you are, yelling at me like a heartless lunatic, without realizing my head is about to explode . . .”
My sister stirs her coffee, takes a sip, and begins to cry.
This is perfect! Just what I need!
I leave my seat to go hug her.
“C’mon, I’m sorry, Raquel. I’m sorry for yelling at you. But you know I can’t stand it when you stick your nose in my life . . .”
“I have something to tell you, and I don’t know how to do it, hon.”
This sudden twist throws me off.
“OK, are we still talking about how Jesús cheats on you?”
My sister dries her eyes. She looks out the kitchen door to make sure my niece is entertained, and then turns back to me.
“Judith, I called you a million times to tell you.”
I nod. I’ve seen all the calls I’ve missed, but I never got back to her. I feel like utter crap.
“I . . . I don’t even know where to start,” she whispers. “Everything is so . . . so . . .”
This is giving me goose bumps, and my neck has begun to itch. Could it be true that my fool of a brother-in-law is cheating on her?
“So . . . what is it?”
My sister covers her face with her hands. I’m the worst. I know her well, and I know she’s really suffering right now.
“It’s just that I’m so ashamed.”
“Ashamed? Please, I’m your sister.”
“Jesús says he doesn’t have a lover and that he loves me, but . . .”
“But?”
“On Thursday, as soon as Luz went to sleep, he closed the living room door and . . . and . . . he put on one of those smutty movies.”
“A porn film?”
“Yes. Oh my God, it was so vile!”
I laugh. I can’t help myself.
“I admit that watching it got my libido going and . . . well . . . ,” she whispers. “One thing led to another, and we ended up making love in the living room . . . on the floor!”
Amused that for my sister, having sex on the living room floor is a singular experience, I whisper, “Well, how was it?”
She grin
s. But she’s dying of shame and can’t even look at me.
“Oh, Judith,” she whispers back, “it was like when we were dating! It was pure passion!”
I grab her hands and make her look at me.
“That’s fantastic. Isn’t that what you wanted? Passion?”
“Yes.”
“So, what’s wrong? Why are you making that face?”
“Because that’s not the end of the story. On Saturday, I wanted to surprise him. I prepared dinner, went to the beauty shop, and . . . and . . .”
“And?”
“Judith . . . we didn’t just do it on the couch and on the floor. We did it on the washing machine and in the hallway.”
“Go, Jesús!”
Finally, my sister gives a loud and hearty laugh and comes close to me.
“He bought me red lingerie, very sexy, and had me put it on.”
“That’s terrific, Raquel.”
“And then, when I was least expecting it, he gave me another gift . . .”
Raquel takes a swallow from her coffee.
“He gave me a . . . a . . . a . . . vibrator. There, I said it! He said he wants us to play in bed, that our relationship needs it, and then we shared fantasies.”
I start laughing again.
I can’t help it!
“I don’t know what you find so funny. I’m telling you that . . .”
“Sorry . . . sorry, Raquel.” I get serious and lower my voice, like she’s doing. “I think it’s stupendous that Jesús gave you a vibrator and that you’re fantasizing.”
She nods, though she’s still embarrassed.
“Oh, Jude . . . I blush just thinking about some of the things Jesús said.”
“Listen . . . don’t tell me what Jesús said, but how’d it go with ol’ Mr. Vibe?”
“Judith!”
“C’mon . . . did you like it or not?”
“Oh, Judith, it was fantastic. I never thought my imagination and a little gadget like that could be so much fun. All I can say is we haven’t stopped since Saturday. I’m terrified. Do you think so much sex could be bad? I mean, even my inner thighs are sore . . .”
I cannot help myself: I laugh because I’m dying over my sister’s confidences.
“Tell him to give you a vibrator for your clit,” I whisper in her ear. “It’s mind blowing!”