“Relax. Order whatever you want. Mr. Zimmerman will pay for it.”
“Is that Eric’s last name?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The dude is rich?”
“Let’s say, he can afford a lot of things.”
“Is he married?”
“No, but the restaurant people don’t know that.”
Nacho grins and shakes his head.
I take a swallow of my Coke. “You don’t know the half of it,” I whisper.
The waiter comes back and takes our order. For a first course, we’re having lobster-and-ox carpaccio with fines herbes, and for our second, sirloin in bourbon sauce. As expected, everything is exquisite. At nine thirty, I look at my watch and imagine that Eric, my supervisor, and their guests have finally arrived. Eric is very punctual, and that makes me nervous. Knowing he’s just a few yards from me throws me a little off balance, but I still manage to enjoy my dinner with Nacho. For dessert, we order a strawberry-and-chocolate fondue. We laugh and eat, and at ten o’clock, we conclude our meal.
“Has Mr. Zimmerman arrived yet?” I ask the waiter when he comes around next.
The waiter says yes and my stomach jumps; however, sure about what I’m doing, I ask for a pen and paper.
When the waiter goes to get them, Nacho leans over. “What are you doing now?” he asks.
“Thanking him for dinner.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Probably, but I’m sure he’ll be interested.”
When the waiter comes back, I take the paper and write:
Dear Mr. Zimmerman,
Thank you for introducing me to such a fantastic place and for the dinner for two we’ve just had in your honor. It was delicious, and the dessert, as always, superb. Of course, happy birthday—dickhead!
The girl who writes the unanswered emails
As soon as I finish writing, I stick the note in the envelope, seal it, and hand it back to the waiter.
“Could you please give this to my husband, along with the chocolate-and-strawberry cake, whenever they’re ready to order dessert?”
And with that, Nacho gets up, takes my arm, and we disappear like souls possessed. I smile, but I wish I could see Eric’s face—I’d really love that!
50
At eleven, I make Nacho take me home. Surely, Eric is about to see the note accompanying the cake, and I want to wait for his reaction.
At eleven thirty, I’m pacing my house, my heels still on. I’m convinced he’ll respond and be over any minute.
At midnight, my desperation is rising. Are they playing around and not ordering dessert?
At one o’clock in the morning, frustrated because my plan didn’t work, I throw my heels against the couch; and in that same moment, my cell buzzes. I leap for it. A text. Eric. My hands are shaking.
Thank you for the birthday greetings, Mrs. Zimmerman.
Mouth agape, I read it again. That’s it. He’s not going to say or do anything else?
Now in a rotten mood, I drop my phone and get a Coke. What I want to do is grab my cell, call him back, and read him the riot act. But I won’t. There’s no doubt I have to close the book on Eric.
Drained, I take off my pretty dress, let down my elegant bun, and strip off the suggestive undergarments I bought this afternoon. I put on my blue-cloud pj’s and head to the bathroom to wash off my makeup, and I accidentally smudge one of my eyes. I can’t see what I’m doing, so I just rub my washcloth in circles while I ponder Eric.
Suddenly, I hear a hard knock at my door. My heart leaps. I drop the washcloth and run to look through the peephole. I’m stunned to see Eric standing there, on the other side of the door. Without considering what I look like, I open it and find myself face to face with him.
“Mrs. Zimmerman?”
He’s pretty impressive in that dark suit, with his open-collar white shirt. His attitude, like always, is a little intimidating, boyish, and his face . . . oh, his face! That sour face I love.
“Oh God . . . I’m the worst,” I say helplessly.
“You had the nerve to say you’re Mrs. Zimmerman at Moroccio?”
I step back. He steps up.
“Yes . . . I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . I just needed to get you mad.”
“To get me mad?”
He steps forward again. I step back again.
“Eric, listen,” I say, moving the hair from my face, “I know what I did wasn’t right. I took advantage of your generosity, and I made fools of the restaurant. I promise I’ll reimburse you for the dinner. But I only did it so you’d get mad and come over and then . . .”
“And then what?”
His gaze is fierce. But I still go on. It’s my only chance. He’s here, in front of me, and I can’t blow it.
“I need to ask your forgiveness for how foolishly I acted the day I left Zahara.” I sigh and shrug. He’s dead silent. “I miss you, Eric. I love you.”
His face changes. He softens.
My heart leaps with joy, and he steps up again and hugs me. He lifts me up, and I put my arms around his neck. I circle his waist with my legs, and without a word, I close the door to my apartment. I’m ready to never again in my life let go of him.
For a few minutes, neither of us speaks. We just hug and enjoy being close until Eric kisses my neck and squeezes me.
“I love you, and in the face of that, sweetness, there’s nothing I can do.”
Did I hear him right?
Did he just say he loves me?
I laugh in happiness and kiss him greedily on the lips.
“If what you’re saying is true, don’t ever leave me again,” I whisper.
“You’re the one who left.”
“You kicked me out.”
“I told you to stay.”
“You kicked me out! I’ve apologized every day, and you didn’t deign to respond.”
He smiles sweetly, and then he licks my upper lip and then my lower.
“I’d forgiven you before you even left the house,” he says before kissing me.
“Really?”
“Yes, little panda.”
“‘Little panda’? ‘Sweetness,’ ‘little girl,’ and ‘Jude’ aren’t enough . . . so now you’re going to call me ‘little panda’?”
Having fun, he leads me to a mirror, and once I see myself, I crack up. One of my eyes is smeared black with mascara. He’s laughing too.
“What were you doing to make that happen?”
“Wiping off my makeup. And to think I’d gotten so cute for your birthday. And now here you go and show up at my least glamorous moment.”
Eric grins.
“To me, you’re always beautiful, love.”
He carries me in his arms all the way to my room. He lets go of me on the bed and then throws himself on top of me.
“God, babe, I love how you smell.”
Carefully, I take off his jacket and begin to unbutton his white shirt. Eric’s hands traverse my body as he kisses my chin and neck. His fingertips on my ribs give me shivers, and I’m beaming. When I finish unbuttoning his shirt, I touch his abs: hard and strong, like always.
“I have a gift for you.”
“You’re my gift, sweetness.”
Kisses . . . caresses . . . words of love.
“I have to talk to you, Jude.”
“Later . . . later . . .”
When I get his shirt off and he’s left with just his pants, my hands fly to the zipper. Eric’s skin is burning, and so am I. And when I stick my hand in his briefs and finally have what I’ve been longing for, I gasp.
Eric moves. His erection escapes from my hands, and he kisses me again.
“If you keep touching me, I’m not going to last two seconds . . . Are you still on the pill?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good.”
I laugh as he takes off my pajama pants. Then he stands me up in front of him, brings his mouth to my mons, and bites me through my thong. I take off my pajama top as Eric watche
s. His fingers go under the thong strap, and he pulls until it snaps free.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers.
He touches me gently and carefully, and brings one of my breasts to his mouth, sucking on the areola. He does the same to the other one. He sucks and licks and suckles until I whimper from pleasure.
“Sweetness . . . I’ve missed you so much . . .”
He kisses me again, and then his tongue starts down my body. Over my neck, then my breasts again, he continues his travels down to my navel, and when he gets to my vulva, this time he’s the one who gasps.
Determined to enjoy this, I open my legs for him before he even asks, and his tongue goes straight to my sex. His fingers separate my labia, and his wet tongue hits my clit. I jerk from the electricity.
“Oh, Eric . . . yes . . . like that . . .”
He gets onto the bed to be more comfortable and places my legs on his shoulders. What he’s doing to my clit gets more and more intense, and my moans accelerate until an orgasm takes over my body. I grab his head and crush him to me.
“I’m going to fuck you, love.”
Yes!
He takes off his pants, then his briefs, and gives me a wolfish look that makes me groan. His face dark with desire, he gets on top of me and makes sure I’m comfortable. He puts the tip of his penis at my entrance and begins to gently slide it in, little by little. But I want more, and I give him a slap on the rear.
“What’s that for, sweetness?”
“I need you inside me now . . . You’re so big . . . It’s so good . . . C’mon . . .”
Eric grins and opens me up with a single lunge. I scream and groan while he thrusts over and over again, and I feel full and crazed. My breathing is out of control, and I’m insane with joy. And then, suddenly, he slows down.
“Has anyone touched you these last few days?”
His question takes me aback, and all I can do is blink. I don’t know what to say. Then he jabs me and makes me scream again.
“Tell me the truth. Who fucked you these last few days?”
His face tightens, and he jabs me again. Then he slaps me on the butt, hard enough that it stings.
“Who was it?”
I refuse to answer without knowing his answer too.
“And you?” I ask.
He looks at me, but I’m insistent.
“Have you played around these past few days?”
“Yes.”
“With Amanda?”
“Yes. And you?”
“With Fernando.”
For a few seconds, we just stare at each other. Jealousy swirls around us. Then he thrusts forcefully. We both cry out. He pushes me down by the shoulders and penetrates me again. I can see the darkness in his eyes and the rage caused by what I said, and which he didn’t want to hear.
“I saw you with Amanda at your hotel, and I decided to go on with my life. I went looking for Fernando, masturbated for him, and then gave myself to him.”
Eric is furious. I’m afraid he’s going to leave, but then I realize he’s also afraid I’ll disappear. He takes my hips and begins to fuck me with an infernal rhythm.
“You’re mine, and only who I say gets to touch you.”
He stares, waiting for my reaction while, barely holding on, I move under him. I’m well aware of what he’s asking me. I put my hand against his stomach and push off. His penis drops from inside me.
“The only way I’m yours is if you’re mine and only who I say gets to touch you.”
His response is immediate. He comes close and kisses me while his rock-hard penis bounces between my thighs, making me crazy. I reach down and guide it back home inside me.
With his mouth on mine, Eric says, “I’m yours, sweetness . . . yours.”
Eric pushes inside me carefully, and I have to raise my hips to get my fill. He moves his hips from side to side, and I feel how my muscles cling to him.
“Love . . . I’m going to come.”
The tone of his voice. His face. His eyes. They all make me hot.
“Faster, sweetheart . . . I need it.”
Eric slams into me once . . . twice . . . three times. He bites his lip and gives me what I want, and then we both arch our bodies and know we’ve reached the same magical moment together.
51
This Saturday, sex, kisses, and caresses reign over all. Every time we try to talk about our relationship, we end up naked and panting wildly. Eric is my addiction, and I realize I’m his. We can’t be together without touching, and since we want each other, we just let ourselves go and give in to our unfettered lust. Sunday, it’s more of the same.
But then, as we’re both making the bed, Eric says, “Jude . . . I need to talk to you, remember?”
“Yes.”
I’m really scared of whatever it is he feels he needs to clarify.
“It’s important; I owe you this explanation.”
“You owe it to me?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, love . . .”
His gaze is unsettled again. He’s having a hard time looking me in the eye, and that bothers me. Eric sits beside me at the foot of the bed.
“Listen, there’s something you need to know and which I haven’t shared with you yet. But I want you to know that if I haven’t told you, it’s because . . .”
“Oh Lord, you’re not married, are you?”
“No.”
“Are you marrying Betta? Marta?”
“No, love,” he says, surprised by my questions and the panic in my voice. “It’s nothing like that.”
I sigh, relieved. I wouldn’t have been able to take news like that.
“Who are they?”
Seeming resigned, Eric lets out a long breath.
“Betta is the woman with whom I shared my life for two years and with whom I ended it a while back,” he says. “Our relationship died the day I found her in bed with my father. That day, I severed ties with both of them. I hope that, without my having to get into it more than this, you’ll understand why I never want to talk about my marvelous father ever again.”
My composure just crumbles when I hear this. I could have never imagined a story like that.
“Betta’s never been able to accept our breakup and is always trying to get close to me. She’s asked my forgiveness in all sorts of ways, and though it’s cost me, I’ve forgiven her; but I don’t want anything to do with her ever again. That’s why she’s always texting. That day on the beach, when I got mad and went back to the chalet—insisting that you not go back with me—I was furious because she’d left me a message saying she was right outside Andrés and Frida’s door. I didn’t want you to go back with me because I didn’t want you to experience the inevitably disagreeable scene that would have no doubt ensued. But I wasn’t honest. I was trying to avoid a problem, but the way I handled it, I only made it worse.”
“You should have told me. I . . .”
He brings his finger to my mouth, so I’ll keep quiet, and then traces the shape of my face with his finger.
“You’re beautiful, Jude . . . I love only you.”
I lean into him and kiss him, but he pushes me back to where I was.
“Marta is my sister.”
His sister? That surprises me. Miguel told me Eric has only one sister.
“Remember I told you my sister Hannah died in an accident?”
I nod.
“Hannah had a son whom I take care of. She was a single mom. His name is Flyn, and he’s nine years old. Since Hannah died, he’s been increasingly difficult and is always causing us great worry. In July, when I had to return to Germany and put off the visits to the regional offices, it was because of something that came up with him. My sister and my mother can’t really exert control over him—that’s why Marta texts so much. I’m the only one whom Flyn respects, and so my sister needs me to go back to Germany.”
Hearing that, I’m on high alert.
“Listen, Jude, I love you, but I also love Flyn, and I can’t a
bandon him. I can be with you here for a few days, but sooner or later, I have to go back to my day-to-day life in Germany. I can’t change my residency. The counselors don’t think another change would be good for Flyn, so though it’s probably nuts and too early to talk about, I’d like it if you’d come live with me in Germany.”
My eyes open scandalously wide.
“I know, sweetness, I know,” Eric says. “I know it’s madness, but I love you, you love me, and I’d like you to think about it. OK?”
I attempt to process all this new information. When I try to say something, Eric again puts a finger to my lips.
“I’m not finished, Jude. I have more to explain.”
He surprises me.
“Jude . . . I have a problem, and even though I don’t want to think about it, it’s only going to get worse over time.”
“A problem?”
“Do you remember the meds you saw in my toiletry bag?”
I nod, scared.
“It’s related to something you like about me and which I’ve told you on several occasions I hate. It’s my eyes, and when I explain, I’m sure a lot of things will start to make more sense.”
“My God, Eric, what’s happening to you?”
“I have glaucoma. A condition inherited from my marvelous father, and even though I’m being treated, and I’m fine right now, it’ll get worse as time goes by. Unfortunately, it’s irreversible. Who knows, but it’s possible I could, sometime in the future, go blind.”
I blink. “What’s glaucoma?” I ask in a thin voice.
“It’s a chronic eye disease. It affects the optic nerve and sometimes produces blurry vision, pain in the eye, or a headache, nausea, or vomiting. Now that you know, I think you’ll understand a lot more about what’s going on with me.”
I’m paralyzed, except that I blink and blink. I don’t give a royal shit about Betta. The matter of his nephew and of my moving are things we’ll later have to talk out at length. But Eric’s just revealed he has a serious eye problem, and I can’t seem to react. I go back and reconstruct all the signs, over these past few months, that I didn’t know how to read. I suddenly understand many things. His hurry about everything. His fears. His trips. His mood swings. His headaches. But most of all, why he always demands I look at him when we make love. He’s observing me now. He wants me to say something, but I can’t. My breathing becomes irregular, and my hands let go of his: one goes to my heart and the other to my head.