Tell Me What You Want

  My sister’s face says it all.

  Me . . . , her little sister, has just basically told her that nothing she’s confessing is a surprise to me.

  “But wait—since when do you use things like that?”

  “It’s been a while,” I lie.

  “And why haven’t you told me?”

  I wave her away. “Raquel, if you’ve realized they excite you, they provoke you, or however you want to describe it, then enjoy the moment. Those ‘things,’ as you call them, are sex toys, and there’s nothing wrong in using them,” I whisper, giving in to laughter again. “And yes . . . I play with them too. I think about ninety percent of the planet does.”

  My sister bursts out laughing, and I do the same. I still can’t believe I’m talking about vibrators and “playing” with my sister. But just then, my niece strolls back into the kitchen.

  “What are you guys laughing about?”

  Against all expectations, my sister winks at me (I’m still laughing) and says, “About how much we like to play!”

  After an afternoon of more laughter and more exchanged confidences with my now sex-crazed sister, I turn on my laptop after the two of them leave, and I cannot believe my eyes—Eric has written!

  From: Eric Zimmerman

  Date: July 21, 2012, 8:31 p.m.

  To: Judith Flores

  Subject: Beautiful when you dance

  Friends tell me they’ve seen you out and about, and it makes me happy to know you’re keeping your promise.

  Regards,

  Eric Zimmerman (Dickhead)

  My blood boils. Knowing that he’s keeping tabs on me, that he’s read the email in which I insulted him, and didn’t answer, infuriates me. Why doesn’t he call? Why doesn’t he answer my emails?

  I consider responding. I call him every name in the book. Then no . . . I refuse to engage him, to give him that satisfaction, and I delete it with one swift push of a button. I turn off my computer, and fuming, I go to bed.

  30

  I decide to go out with my friends again on Sunday evening. We have a few beers at Asencio’s Bar and dinner at a pizzeria; and after dinner, we go drinking at Amnesia. About an hour later and still at Amnesia, Fernando appears out of nowhere. I’m quite taken aback, but he just grins.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Jerez is very boring without you.”

  A little freaked out by his sudden cameo, I just stare at him.

  “Fernando . . . I’ve never lied to you and . . .”

  He puts a finger to my mouth to shut me up.

  “I know, but I can’t help it. C’mon . . . let’s go to my hotel. We have to talk.”

  I say goodbye to my friends and tell Azu I’ll be back soon. I already know what I have to do. The conversation with Fernando will be short and, surely, not very pleasant.

  When we get to his hotel, the tension is high. I refuse to go up to his room. We go to the bar instead and order something to drink. We talk for an hour, we argue, and we make our feelings known. And when I think everything’s clear and I’m getting ready to leave, he grabs my arm and brings his face close to mine.

  “Give me a chance, please. You just said yourself that you don’t know if you want something more. Let me show you once and for all what I can give you. You’re beautiful and I care about you. I love your determination to do whatever you want, and I want you to know that, for you, I’m willing to do whatever it takes too.”

  Since I need tenderness, in the moment his words are a balm for my wounds. But I can’t stop thinking about my damned boss. When I close my eyes, Zimmerman’s possessive and intriguing gaze always appears. Without knowing why, I kiss Fernando. I kiss him with so much desire and need that I surprise myself.

  Without a word, Fernando drags me to the elevator. I know what he wants. I know where he’s taking me, and I let him. We go up to his room without exchanging a word. For a few minutes, we kiss while I let his hands run all over my body. But I feel like a traitor, because I can’t stop thinking about Eric. When I sense Fernando raising my denim skirt up to my waist, I sigh and, surprising him, take his hand and make him touch me.

  Excited by my effusiveness, Fernando pushes me onto the bed, climbs on top of me, and rubs himself against me. He’s cautious. It’s the way he’s always been. Sexually speaking, Fernando is measured and delicate. Eric, on the other hand, is possessive and rude.

  Two different men for me, with two different ways of making love.

  My heart beats mightily. I think of Eric, and that gets me excited. I’m sure if he could see what I’m doing, he’d be as or even more excited than I am. His game has become my game. Right now, though it’s Fernando who’s touching me, it’s Eric who owns me.

  I discreetly pull out my cell and take a couple of pictures while we’re kissing.

  Crazy because of the surrender he senses, Fernando slides down my panties. I can tell he’s surprised when I open my legs for him. Without a pause, he plants his mouth on my vagina; an instant later, my panting echoes in the room as I let him eat me, suck me, and penetrate me with his fingers.

  My eyes are closed, but I feel Eric’s eyes on me. His blazing gaze reproaches me for my behavior, even as his desire rises. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to see Fernando. I want to keep my eyes closed and to feel Eric soaring over me.

  Suddenly, Fernando stops and I open my eyes. He unzips his jeans and begins to roll on a condom.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  I nod. I can’t talk.

  He smiles, wordlessly. An instant later, he very carefully enters me. But impatience overtakes me, and so I’m the one who goes hunting for what I want. I lift my hips and hook onto him, wanting him to use all his sexual prowess. My assault surprises him. I hear him huff. He grabs my hips and begins to plow into me over and over again. I like it, but I need more. My muscles tighten in anticipation of a deeper attack, a greater dominance, but after several more thrusts, he comes and drops on top of me.

  I close my eyes. I feel like crying. I want Eric. I want it to be him who takes me and makes me tremble. What I was doing a month ago with Fernando or any other man was marvelous, but now, after Eric, it’s dull and boring.

  I feel Fernando’s head on my neck. I hear him panting from the effort. When he pulls himself up, he asks if everything’s all right. I lie and say yes. I don’t want to hurt him.

  He helps me up, and I go to the bathroom. I close the door and splash water on my face. I examine myself in the mirror.

  “What have you done to me, dickhead?” I whisper.

  Once I’ve freshened up, I go back to the room and find Fernando sitting in a chair.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  His face tightens.

  “No, Judith . . . don’t leave.”

  Aware that I’m being a bitch, the worst of the worst, I go up to him and give him a quick peck on the lips.

  “Please, Fernando, go on with your life and let me go on with mine. We’ll see each other in Jerez.”

  I turn and leave. Once I’m on the other side of the door, I close my eyes and sigh. I feel so bad. I call my friend Azu. She tells me where they are, and I head there. I need to get drunk and forget about what just happened.

  31

  When I get to Amnesia, my friends ask about Fernando. I let them know I don’t want to talk about it; they respect my silence and don’t inquire again. My good friend Nacho orders a Coke for me.

  “Drink . . . It’ll do you good.”

  An hour later, I’m much more relaxed. Nacho has taken care of making me laugh and has only let me drink Coke. According to him, liquor isn’t a good idea when somebody’s down. While we’re all hanging around and talking, I notice his arm. His tattoo gives me an idea. I grab his elbow and pull him close to me.

  “Is that new?”

  “Yes, do you like it?”

  I nod.

  I’ve always liked tattoos, and men with tattoos.

  Eric, of course, has nothi
ng remotely resembling a tattoo. His skin is soft and clean. Nacho, on the other hand, is a tattoo artist and is committed to illustrating his entire body. Suddenly, I have an idea.

  “Nacho, would you give me a tattoo?”

  His almond eyes brighten.

  “Of course. Whenever you want, Judith.”

  “How much would you charge me?”

  Nacho smiles.

  “Nothing, baby. For you, it’s free.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, you firecracker.”

  “Would you do it right now?”

  “Now?” he says, flummoxed, and places his beer on the counter.

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s five o’clock in the morning.”

  I smile at him. I’m determined to get what I want.

  “Don’t you think it’s a splendid time to do it?”

  Nacho takes me by the hand, and we leave the bar. We get on his scooter and ride to his tattoo shop. He turns on the lights when we enter, and I look around me. There are hundreds of drawings on the walls—Nacho’s work over many years. Tribal designs, names, caricatures, dragons . . .

  “Well, Miss Impatience, what would you like your tattoo to look like?”

  I look at the photos until I see exactly what I want. He’s taken aback when I tell him, but he still looks through his stencils for what I’ve requested. We decide on the size. Not too big, but noticeable. Once that is decided, he works on the stencil. Twenty minutes later, he shows it to me.

  “It’s done, beautiful.”

  Nervous, I check out the design and give him my approval. He invites me to lie on the cot where he does his work.

  “Where would you like the tattoo?”

  For an instant, I’m not sure. I want this to be something very intimate, visible only to someone who loves me. I want it to be something . . . something that always reminds me of him. Of Eric. Finally sure, I point to just above my smooth mons.

  “Here,” I whisper. “I want you to tattoo it here.”

  Nacho grins. I do too.

  “Baby, it’s going to be a very sexy tattoo. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, I know,” I respond.

  As he picks up the needle, Nacho asks, “Are you sure, Judith?”

  “Yes,” I say confidently.

  “Cool, beautiful, then lie down.”

  While we chat and listen to Bon Jovi, Nacho works on my body. The needle stings, but it is nothing compared to the pain in my heart. At about seven o’clock in the morning, Nacho puts down the needle and cleans me up.

  “It’s ready, beautiful.”

  I stand up, eager to see the results.

  Still in my panties, I walk over to a mirror, and my heart clenches when I read the lettering over my pubis: Tell me what you want.

  When I get home about an hour later, I’m exhausted and also a little sore from the tattoo. I open my laptop. I download the photos from my cell and decide which one I want to send. Then I open my mail and write.

  From: Judith Flores

  Date: July 22, 2012, 8:11 a.m.

  To: Eric Zimmerman

  Subject: A satisfying night

  So you can see I’m keeping the promise I made you, and enjoying it.

  Regards,

  Judith Flores

  I attach a photo in which I’m in bed with Fernando and he’s kissing me. I don’t even mention the tattoo. Eric doesn’t deserve it. I want him to feel like crap. To see that without him, life still goes on. After I read the brief message a hundred times, I send it. I close my laptop and go off to sleep.

  32

  Monday marks the beginning of the workweek. I haven’t heard from Fernando, and I’m almost grateful. Every time I think about what I did, I’m ashamed of myself. I’m a bitch. I took advantage of his weakness because he has feelings for me, and when I got what I wanted, I left him without consideration.

  I look at my email a thousand times, but Eric does not answer. His silence is his response, and that upsets me even more. I’m such an idiot.

  My supervisor comes in, and she is especially annoying today. Miguel tries to get her away from me and manages to distract her in the best way he knows how. I keep playing the fool and pretending I don’t know what’s going on. Deep down, I’m grateful Miguel is keeping her busy today.

  The days pass, and my tattoo barely bothers me. I have followed all of Nacho’s instructions: it’s still under the plastic shield he gave me.

  There’s still no news from Eric.

  My supervisor, like always, continues dumping all manner of work on my desk, and I just deal with it. On Thursday, I go out for a beer with my friends. Nacho is with us, and he asks about my tattoo. He’s the only one who knows about it. We agree that I’ll come by his shop so he can see it.

  Finally, it’s Friday, and in just a few hours, I’ll be on vacation.

  There’s still no news from Eric, and though I try not to think about it, it pops into my head a thousand times a day.

  I can hardly believe it when I turn off my computer and say goodbye to my colleagues. I’m going to be gone from that office for almost a month, away from it all, and that invigorates me more than I can say. After I leave the office, I go straight to Nacho’s. He examines the tattoo and tells me I can remove the protective plastic.

  I have a message from my sister on my answering machine when I get home. She asks if my niece can stay with me for a couple of nights. She has plans with Jesús.

  At nine that evening, my wonderful niece is dropped off and takes control of the TV while my sister—between sighs and wild gesticulations—tells me about her latest sexual escapades. When her mother leaves, my niece asks me to order pizza, and we stuff ourselves while watching the absurd Adventures of SpongeBob SquarePants. At midnight, we go to bed. Luz insists on sleeping with me; charmed, I give in.

  On Sunday morning, my sister shows up, happy as a clam. “I can’t wait to tell you all about it!” she says as she hurries my niece out the door. My brother-in-law is waiting for them, double parked.

  After a day lazing around on the couch, I find myself staring at my suitcase when evening rolls in. Tomorrow I’ll go to Jerez to spend a few days with my father. I get into bed and contemplate Eric’s lip print on the shade. I turn off the light and decide to sleep. I really need it.

  My arrival at my father’s house in Jerez is, like always, cause for much celebration in the neighborhood. Lola, the local drunk, hugs me; Pepi, from the grocery, smooches me. When Bicharrón and Lucena see me, they greet me joyfully. They all love me because they all love my father. My father’s shop here is Flores Auto Body, where he’s worked most of his life. He is well known and well respected in the community.

  Later that afternoon, while I’m taking a dip in the pool, Fernando comes by. I swim toward the edge and notice he’s wearing white slacks and an orange linen shirt. He’s as handsome as ever, and those colors complement his skin tones phenomenally well. He grins. This is a good sign.

  “Hey, Jerez girl.”

  “Hey!”

  “It’s about time you came home, you ingrate!”

  With his words and easy demeanor, he lets me know right away that everything’s OK and what happened between us is in the past. That’s comforting.

  “Look who has come to visit, little girl. Do you want a beer, Fernando?”

  “Thanks, Manuel, I’d love one.”

  My father steps away, leaving us alone. We keep looking at each other and laughing.

  “What?”

  “You’re looking really good.”

  “Thanks,” I say as I dry my face with the towel. “You too.”

  I give him two quick kisses. His hands go to my waist.

  “You’d better let me go,” I say, “or my father will tell your father, and they’ll organize a wedding in a matter of days.”

  “If that’s the only way I get to see you more often, I accept!”

  I laugh and he lets me go. We sit down.

  “How’s
everything going?”

  “Well. And you?”

  Fernando nods. He doesn’t want to go over what happened. At that exact moment, my father comes back with two beers, and a Coke for me.

  For a good while, the three of us hang out by the pool. At eight, Fernando invites me to dinner. I’m going to say no, that I’m not in the mood, but my father quickly accepts for me.

  Fernando takes me to a new restaurant, and we enjoy a very nice dinner. Fernando is engaging, and he can talk about anything. Afterward, we go to a little place for drinks.

  “Judith,” he says when I least expect it, “if I invited you to go with me to Algarve for a few days, would you go?”

  I almost choke.

  “Where did that come from?”

  Fernando leans on the table and pushes back a lock of hair that has fallen in my eyes.

  “You know.”

  I just stare at him, taken aback. The same thing, again? But before I can say anything, he throws himself at me and gives me a kiss.

  “Listen, your boss is not good for you,” he says out of nowhere.

  Is Fernando talking to me about Eric?

  “Eric Zimmerman is not the man you think he is,” he says.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Fernando traces the shape of my face with his finger.

  “Let’s say he moves in circles that aren’t good for you.”

  My blood thins when I realize Fernando has been snooping around in my life.

  “And what do you know about my boss and his circles?”

  “Judith, I’m a cop, and it’s easy for me to find out certain things. Eric Zimmerman is a rich German magnate who likes women. He moves in very select circles and likes to engage in much more than just friendship.”

  Knowing Fernando is aware of certain things about Eric disturbs me.

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care,” I say.

  “Judith, I don’t care about your boss, but I do care about you,” he says, trying to explain. “And I don’t want you to make the wrong decision. I know who you are, I care about you, and I don’t want anybody to screw up what we have.”

  “What we have? And what is it that we have?”