Tell Me What You Want

  “What we have is what we have. We’ve liked each other for years and . . .”

  “Oh God,” I whisper, horrified.

  “Judith, that man . . .”

  “Stop! I don’t want to hear you talk about my boss or about my private life, do you understand?”

  Fernando nods, and then we’re trapped in an uncomfortable silence.

  “Take me home or I’ll go on my own—you decide,” I say as I get up to leave. He stands up, swallows the last of his drink, and pulls the car keys from his pocket.

  “Let’s go.”

  He drives, and neither of us talks. When we get to my father’s, he cuts the engine.

  “Judith, think about what I said,” he says.

  He leans down and kisses me. When he touches my lips, it’s all sweetness, but I pull away. I get out and walk toward my father’s house, cursing under my breath.

  33

  Two days later, Fernando still hasn’t been back to the house, although he texts to ask how I’m doing and invites me to lunch or dinner. I turn down all his offers. I don’t want to see him. What is wrong with these guys?

  On the fifth day, I wake up in a better mood. My room is the same as always. My dad makes sure nothing changes, and when I hear his knuckles rapping at my door, I open it to reveal his happy face.

  “Good morning, little girl.”

  “Good morning, Papá,” I say.

  My dad has brought our breakfast, like he does every morning. It’s a little thing we do, our moment of the day to talk things over. We both enjoy it.

  “Fernando called. He wanted to talk to you and said he’d call later,” he says.

  I don’t like that, but I try not to change my expression. I don’t want my father to get the wrong idea. But he’s no fool either.

  “Is something going on with you and Fernando?”

  “No.”

  “Then why isn’t he coming by to see you as usual?”

  I know he wants the truth.

  “Look, Papá, let’s be honest, because we’re all grown-ups now. Fernando wants something from me I don’t want from him. And though he is a dear and true friend, there’ll never be anything more between us because my thoughts are on someone else. You understand, right?”

  My father says yes. “From this point on, my lips are sealed. But, my love, you’re not still going out with the boy I saw you with the last time I was in Madrid?”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Look,” he says before I can answer, “I know that in the city, things are different. But—oh!—I just couldn’t deal with that guy when I saw those rings hanging from his brow and nose.”

  “No worries, Papá . . . He is not who I’m thinking about.”

  “I’m glad to know that, little girl. That guy looked like he knew a thing or two.”

  That makes me crack up again, and my dad laughs too. We linger over breakfast for a good while, until he catches a glimpse of the time.

  “I’ve got to get going to the shop.”

  “OK, Papá, I’ll see you this evening then.”

  “Come by the track later. I’ll be there.”

  “The track? Why?”

  I see the gleam in his eye, and without giving anything away, he gets up.

  “You just come by around five. I have a little something for you.”

  My dad and his surprises.

  34

  At eleven thirty, my friend Rocío comes by, and together, we go visit her nephew. By one o’clock, we’re back home and in the pool. The water is fresh and cool. Rocío tells me about her life, but she also tries to interrogate me about Fernando. When she sees I don’t want to discuss it, she drops the subject and we talk about other things. At two thirty, my friend heads home, but I linger in the pool. My phone buzzes. It’s Fernando, asking me out to eat. I say no and go lie down in the hammock to listen to music.

  My cell buzzes again. I curse. I pick it up, but I gasp when I read the message: Would you come and have a drink with me? It’s Eric.

  My heart beats faster.

  Eric is in Madrid, and I’m way too flustered. My throat is dry. I take a drink of my Coke. The cell beeps once more.

  You know I’m not very patient.

  My hands are trembling so much, I can’t seem to text. Finally, I manage to string some words together: I’m on vacation.

  I send it, and my stomach gets tied up in knots until the cell beeps with his response: I know. The red door to your father’s house is very pretty.

  When I read that, I scream, drop my cell, and run like the devil to the front door. On my way, I hit my hip against the patio chairs and knock them over, but I don’t care.

  Eric is here!

  I quickly open the door, but I’m so blind, I can’t see a single car that could possibly be his. Then I hear a honk to my right, and I see a man on a monstrous bike. He dismounts, takes off his helmet, and reveals his smiling face. His eyes are sparkling.

  Not really caring about anyone or anything, I race toward him and leap into his arms. I hug him and shiver when I hear his voice in my ear.

  “Sweetness . . . I’ve missed you.”

  Eric, my Eric! He’s in my arms. In Jerez. At my father’s door. He looked for me. He’s found me, and that’s the only thing I care about.

  When I pull away from him, I sense his eyes all over me. That’s when I realize the state I’m in.

  “Eric, you could have let me know you were coming. Look at me!”

  He doesn’t answer. He just puts his hand on my neck and brings me to him so he can give me an impassioned kiss that will make all of Jerez tremble!

  “You’re beautiful, love.”

  Oh my God! He called me “love”!

  “How’s your arm?” he asks abruptly.

  I raise it and show him the mark the iron left.

  “Perfect.”

  He makes an approving gesture, and I invite him into the house.

  He follows me, and I offer him a beer. He turns it down and asks for water. I make him wait near the pool while I get dressed. He resists but agrees to wait. I take all of five minutes to dress. Jeans, a top, and I’m ready to rock.

  When I join him again, Eric draws me to him and kisses me in a very proprietary way. His kisses me and tells me he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him, and I like that (although he still has about a thousand things to explain). Between kisses, we step back into the kitchen. Eric sits me on the table and squeezes me to him.

  I’m hot . . . especially when he lowers his head and bites my breasts through my top. Longing has brought us both to life, and it finally consumes us. Forgetful of where I am and oblivious to my father and the Virgin of Triana who overlooks the kitchen, I unzip his jeans and shove my hands into his briefs to touch him. But I need more.

  Eric undoes my jeans, pulls them down, and takes them off me. He pulls off my panties too, and I feel the cold of the table under my butt. I wait, still sitting on the table, while he hurries to put on a condom. I see my tattoo, but he doesn’t, not yet.

  He brings me to him. Our breathing rapid, he guides his penis to the threshold of my vagina and pushes it in just a little. Then he grabs me by the ass, and with one sure movement, he slams all the way inside me. I notice he’s biting his lip.

  Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . I needed to feel Eric.

  Without a word, he picks me up so we’re both at the same height, and he leans me up against the fridge. I kiss him . . . He kisses me back with a certain desperation as his deep, hard strokes make me want to scream. My skin burns, my sex throbs, and I gasp and come in his arms. I’m happy now, and I don’t want to think about anything else while he’s taking me.

  After several powerful lunges that make me feel like I’m going to shatter, Eric leans back and grunts. He lets his head fall on my shoulder, and for a few minutes, we both stay like that.

  “What are you doing here, Eric?”

  “I was dying to see you again.”

  I close my eyes when I h
ear that. I love hearing it, but I don’t understand why he didn’t come earlier. He finally kisses me, puts me down, and then we step into the bathroom to clean up. We leave my father’s house between kisses and laughter. He asks if we can go somewhere for a bite to eat.

  “Is it yours?” I ask when we reach that spectacular motorcycle he rode in on.

  He doesn’t respond, just shrugs and hands me another helmet.

  “Are you afraid?”

  I put on the helmet.

  “Afraid, no. I just really respect these things.”

  He grins. Then he climbs on and turns the ignition.

  “Better hang on tight. If at any moment you get scared, you tell me, OK?”

  I nod and we take off.

  I tell him where to go as we ride through the streets of Jerez. We have lunch at Pachuca’s restaurant (she’s a friend of my dad’s). When we arrive and she sees my companion, she winks at me and gives us the best table in the place. Later, as she smooches me and scolds me because I visit so rarely, Eric texts something on his cell. It’s only after the kisses and the scolding that Pachuca lets us see the menu.

  “Girl, you should have the salmorejo; today’s is scandalously good.”

  I look over at Eric. “Do you like salmorejo?”

  “What is it?”

  “Look, it’s a kind of gazpacho,” explains Pachuca, “but more concentrated. If you like vegetables, I promise you’ll like Pachuca’s salmorejo.”

  “Salmorejo for two!” we say in unison.

  When Pachuca leaves us, Eric extends his hands across the table to take mine. We don’t speak. We just enjoy each other.

  “I am a dickhead,” he finally says.

  “Indeed. You are.”

  “I just want you to know, I almost lost my mind when I got that last email.”

  I let go of his hands.

  “You deserved it.”

  “I know . . .”

  “But I was only doing what you asked me to do.”

  His knuckles get white and tense.

  “I recognize my mistake. But I didn’t like it.”

  That surprises me. I lean back in my chair.

  “You didn’t like seeing me play with someone else?”

  Eric’s face turns somber.

  “No, not if I’m not playing too.”

  I won’t tell him that as far as I’m concerned, he was very much in the game.

  “You’ll forgive me?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it, Iceman.”

  “Iceman?”

  I won’t tell him it was Miguel who gave him the nickname.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call all this time,” he says.

  “Why couldn’t you call?”

  “I promise I’ll call next time.”

  He hasn’t answered, but I can’t get angry at him. I’m just so happy because he came searching for me and he’s here now, with me. I grin from ear to ear and let myself get carried away by this delightful turn of events. My cell buzzes. It’s Fernando. Eric sees his name on the screen.

  “Go ahead, if you want to.”

  “No . . . not now.” I turn off my cell.

  The meal is, as Pachuca promised, wonderful. The salmorejo is exquisite. I check the time as we leave the restaurant. Quarter after four. I remember I have a date with my father at five.

  “Would you be interested in seeing the Jerez racetrack?”

  Eric pulls me toward him.

  “Sweetness,” he whispers, “if interest is what we’re talking about, I’m interested in something else. I’ve rented a villa . . .”

  “You rented a villa?”

  “Yes, I wanted to be close to you.”

  For an instant, I consider running off to the villa. But no. I can’t no matter how much I may want to.

  “I agreed to meet my father at five at the racetrack. Would you like to come with me, and I’ll introduce you to him?”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes, my father. No worries—he doesn’t eat Germans or anything like that.”

  He grins again. And after a little slap on the butt, he hands me my helmet.

  “Then let’s go meet your father.”

  35

  When we get to the racetrack, we run into Roberto at the door. He says to wait for my father in the boxes area. I tell Eric how to get there, and he jokes around, accelerating and braking so that I scream and have to hold on to him.

  When we get to the boxes, there’s no one there. Once we’re off the motorcycle, I pause to admire it.

  “Do you want me to teach you to drive it?”

  “Um . . . I dunno.”

  “Are you afraid of motorcycles?”

  “No . . .”

  “Then?”

  The sun is hitting my eyes, and I squint to see him better.

  “I’m afraid of falling and wrecking it.”

  “I won’t let you fall,” he says quite confidently.

  That makes me laugh. This is Eric, and he’s just so sure of himself.

  Finally, he pressures me to get back on the motorcycle. I look around and see my father is still nowhere in sight. Eric explains that the brakes are by my left foot; he shows me which hand to use to accelerate, where the clutch is, and how to stop. Then he starts the engine.

  “Wow, that’s some power!”

  “Baby, all Ducatis sound like this. Powerful, like a roar. Now here, first . . .”

  I do as he says, but the Ducati dies.

  With a forgiving look, he starts it for me again.

  “This is like a car, love. If you release the clutch too quickly, it dies. Stay in first, let go slowly, then give it some gas.”

  He’s said “love” twice in two hours.

  I go into first, let go very slowly, then—bam!—it dies again.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He laughs.

  He repeats the instructions, and this time, I concentrate. First, I let out the clutch ever so slowly and accelerate. The engine purrs, and he claps as I shriek. I brake quickly, and the back of the bike bucks. Eric comes running.

  “If you just use the front brake, you could fall.”

  “Got it.”

  We repeat the process twenty times; and each time, I get worse and worse. I brake badly, and I’m going to kill myself. Eric is not amused.

  “All right, c’mon, get off.”

  “No . . . I want to learn.”

  “We’ll continue the lessons another day,” he says.

  “C’mon, Eric . . . don’t be a party pooper.”

  “That’s enough, Jude. I don’t want you to crack your skull.”

  “One more time, OK? Just one more time.”

  Eric looks very serious, but he gives in.

  “OK, one more time, and then you get off, OK?”

  “Fine.” But his jaw is tensing, and he’s obviously uncomfortable. “Hey, why are you so worried?”

  “Because I need to know you’re all right and that nothing’s happened to you,” he says with a creased brow.

  I start the engine again. I go into first, then ease out the clutch and slowly press the accelerator. The bike inches forward, and he follows on foot by my side.

  “Eric!”

  “Yes?”

  “I just want you to know that the anguish you just felt doesn’t even begin to compare to what I’ve been feeling about you for two weeks. Now check this out!”

  I go into second, gun the engine, and the bike takes off. I push into third, then fourth, and then I shoot like a rocket out to the racetrack. I see him in the rearview mirror, his mouth agape. I’m delighted to be driving a motorcycle again. I’ve always loved them, always loved the freedom they offer. As I turn on the Jerez racetrack’s curve, I think about him. I think about that worried look of his, and I’m very pleased with myself. I imagine him waiting at the boxes, alone and flustered. I speed up.

  Finally, I exit the track and make my way to the boxes. I find him sitting on a step. When he sees me, he st
ands up. The Iceman has returned, but delighted to have made him suffer for a few minutes, I go right up to him before braking. Brusquely and without turning off the engine, I take off my helmet and give him a Charlie’s Angels look.

  “C’mon, Iceman, did you really think that I, a mechanic’s daughter, wouldn’t know how to ride a motorcycle?”

  Eric comes up to me. I think he’s going to tell me to go fuck myself, but instead, he puts his hands on my shoulders and gives me an impassioned kiss. I’m still on the bike, but I grab him back with equal fervor until I hear my father’s voice.

  “I knew that was my little girl riding out on the track.”

  I immediately pull away from Eric. I wink at him, which makes him smile, and I turn toward my dad.

  “Papá, let me introduce you to my friend, Eric Zimmerman.”

  My father smiles. He knows right away this is the man who has been in my thoughts. Eric steps up and confidently offers his hand. My father accepts it.

  “So glad to meet you, Mr. Flores.”

  “Call me Manuel, young man, or I’ll have to call you by that weird last name of yours.”

  They both grin, and I can tell they like each other. Then Eric looks over at me but addresses my father. “Manuel, your daughter is a bit of a liar. She told me she didn’t know how to ride a motorcycle, and after she had me show her how to use the clutch, she shot out of here like a bullet.”

  “You told him that? How could you be so shameless?” my father says in mock horror.

  I nod, feeling naughty.

  “Eric, my little girl was the Jerez motocross champion for several years, and she’s still winning prizes.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nod again, really enjoying myself.

  Eric and my dad joke around for a while, and I join them. Right now, I’m with the two men I love the most in my life, and I’m very happy. In a bit, my father turns to us as he starts off.

  “Follow me, kids.”

  When I’m about to go after my father, Eric grabs me by the waist and pulls me to him.

  “Little girl, you’re full of surprises.”

  I blink and blush and then pretend to give him a punch in the stomach, which makes him laugh.

  “Be careful, because she was also the regional karate champion.”