22
When I wake up in my own bed on Friday, I take a glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It’s seven minutes after one. I’ve slept away the morning. Since my sister doesn’t know I’m back, she hasn’t come over, and for just a few seconds, I’m so relieved. I really don’t want to have to explain anything.
As soon as I get up, I look for my cell. Turns out it’s in my bag, on “Silent.” Two missed calls from my sister, two from Fernando, and twelve from Eric. Whoa!
I don’t answer any of them. I don’t want to talk to anybody.
My anger returns, and I decide to clean house. Whenever I’m really mad, housecleaning is my best therapy.
By three in the afternoon, my apartment is upside down. Clothes everywhere, bleach, furniture out of place . . . but I couldn’t care less. I’m the queen of the house. I’m the boss here. Suddenly, I feel an urge to iron. As I sing along with the radio, I put away all the trouble that’s been hammering in my head: Eric. I iron a dress, a skirt, two T-shirts, and as I’m pressing a polo, my eyes catch a glimpse of a red ball on the floor. I immediately think of Curro—my Curro—and my eyes blur with tears. I yelp. I’ve burned my forearm with the iron!
It’s as red as my soccer team’s shirts; I can even make out the iron’s shape and trademark. It hurts like hell! As I hop in pain around the house, I consider putting it under water or smearing toothpaste on it. I’ve always heard about those remedies, but I have no idea if they work. Eventually, I decide to go to the hospital.
At seven o’clock in the evening, I finally get in to see someone.
A charming doctor gently pours something on the burn, then dresses and bandages it. She gives me a script for some painkillers and sends me home.
Still in hellish agony, and with my arm bandaged, I go hunting for a pharmacy that might be open. As is always the case in these circumstances, the nearest one is somewhere in the next galaxy. After I get what I need, I make my way home. I’m still in pain, exhausted, and pissed. But no sooner do I get to the vestibule in my building than I hear someone behind me.
“Don’t ever leave again without letting me know first.”
That voice paralyzes me.
It enrages but also comforts me.
I turn and see the man who’s been driving me out of my mind. He’s very serious. Without knowing why, exactly, I raise my arm.
“I burned myself with the iron,” I say as I show him. My eyes fill with tears. “It really hurts.”
When he sees the bandage on my arm, he loses all his bravado. Iceman exits and Eric comes back. The Eric I like.
“Oh, sweetness, come here.”
I go to him and he hugs me, being careful not to touch my arm. I smell him, and I feel like the most content woman in the world. We stay like that for a few minutes, until I move, and then he brings his mouth to mine and gives me a short, sweet, and tender kiss.
He’s never kissed me quite like that, and my face surely shows my surprise.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I smile to myself.
I give him my keys so he can open the door. He takes my hand, and we go up together in the elevator.
“What’s happened here?” he asks when he opens my apartment door and sees the mess.
“I was cleaning,” I say as I survey the shambles. “When I’m upset, it helps relax me.”
He chuckles, and then I hear the door close behind me. As soon as I put my shoulder bag down on the couch, I forget my pain and turn toward him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was worried. You left without warning and . . .”
“I left you a note. Let’s not forget, you were in good company.”
Eric looks at me. I can see the tension returning to his jaw.
“I don’t ever want to hear you repeat what you said yesterday, about being my whore. It’s humiliating. Of course you’re not my whore, Jude. For the love of God, you’ve never been and never will be. All right?”
I nod.
“But, Jude,” he continues, “don’t you understand that sex is a game to me, and you’re my most important piece?”
“Well, you said it: your ‘piece’!”
“What I mean by ‘piece’ . . . what I mean is you’re the most important woman to me right now. Without you, the game loses its value. Goddamn it, I thought I’d made that clear.”
For a few minutes, neither of us says a word. The tension could be cut with a knife.
“Look, Eric, that’s not going to work. Let’s just be friends. I think we can still work together, but . . .”
“Jude, I’ve never lied to you about anything.”
“I know,” I say, agreeing with him. “The problem here is me, not you. It’s that I don’t recognize myself in the game. I’m not a girl you move around like a piece on a game board. I can’t be. I won’t be. I think . . . I think it’s best if we both go back to our lives and . . .”
“I agree,” he says.
His concession throws me off.
I suddenly want to reconsider everything. I don’t want him to agree with me, at least not so quickly. Am I going crazy?
I see the pain and the anger in his eyes, but I try to underscore what I’ve just said and not hug him. My will vanishes whenever I’m near him, and I need to be strong.
My forearm suddenly pinches, and my face twists; I jerk from the pain and stand up.
“Fuck! It hurts!”
His face mirrors my pain, and he gets up too. He doesn’t know what to do as I continue stringing together complaints and profanities.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad, and I need to take something for it, or I swear I’m going to die.”
“Sit down,” he says. “I’m going to call a friend.”
“Who are you going to call?”
“A doctor friend who’ll look at your arm.”
“I already had it looked at at the hospital . . .”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll feel better if Andrés examines it.”
I’m in so much pain that I don’t really want to talk. Twenty minutes later, my bell rings. Eric answers it, and in a minute, there’s a stranger in my home. They greet each other, but the stranger just stares at the state of my apartment.
“Judith was cleaning,” Eric says, and chuckles.
But I’m miserable from the pain. “Listen, if it’s too messy for you, it’s fine by me if you want to clean up and put it in order,” I say. “The broom and mop are at your disposal.”
My bad mood charms them.
Finally, the stranger comes over to me.
“Hi, Judith, I’m Andrés Villa. Let’s see. What happened?”
“I burned myself with the iron, and it hurts like the devil.”
He nods and takes out a pair of scissors.
“Let me see.”
Eric sits beside me.
I feel his protective hand on my back. The doctor carefully cuts my bandage. He checks my injury, then pours some kind of saline solution on it. Temporary relief makes me sigh. He soaks some bandages in the solution, then rewraps my arm.
“It hurts a lot, doesn’t it?”
I nod.
“I’m going to give you something that will help. It’s the quickest thing for pain. These types of injuries, they hurt a lot. But don’t worry; they heal fast.”
He can shoot me up with whatever he wants; I just want this horrible pain to go away.
I watch as he injects me. He looks at me and winks. He must be maybe thirty years old. He’s tall, dark, and has a nice smile. When he’s finished, we all stand. He closes his bag and takes out a card for me.
“Call anytime, for anything at all.”
I check out the card: “Dr. Andrés Villa” and a cell number.
“I’ll do that,” I say.
At that moment, Eric puts his hand on my waist in a way that can only be described as proprietary.
“If she needs you, I’ll call you,” he says, his other hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Andrés is amused. Eric lets me go and walks him to the door. I hear them whispering for a few minutes, but I can’t understand a thing. All that interests me right now is getting rid of this pain.
I sit down on the couch again. The pain’s intensity is decreasing. I see Tomás, Eric’s driver, hand him some bags. Eric looks over at me after the door closes.
“I ordered dinner. Don’t move—I’ll take care of everything.”
Without getting up, I hear Eric rattling around in the kitchen. After a few minutes, he comes back with a tray and a full complement of plates, forks, knives, and glasses, and a bunch of take-out boxes.
“I asked Tomás to get us Chinese. If I remember correctly, you like Chinese food.”
“I love it,” I say.
“Has the pain eased any?”
“Yes.”
My answer seems to grant him some relief.
“Since I didn’t know what you might like, I had Tomás bring a little of everything: rice pudding, Chinese pastries, sweet spring rolls, soy noodles, Chinese salad, beef and bamboo sprouts, pork and mushrooms, noodles with greens, fried crayfish, lemon chicken. For dessert, truffles. I hope there’s something here you like!”
“Mother of God, Eric, there’s enough food here for an army,” I say. “You could have asked Andrés to stay for dinner.”
He shakes his head.
“No.”
“Why not? He seems nice . . .”
“He is. But I wanted to be alone with you. We have to have a serious talk.”
“You rat,” I say with a sigh. “I’m doped up and easy prey.”
He just smiles for an answer.
“Eat.”
I check out all the little boxes and serve myself what looks good. Everything smells delish, and when I put it in my mouth, it’s sublime.
“Where did Tomás get this?”
“Xao-Li, one of the chefs at the Villa Magna, cooked it up.”
I stare at him, incredulous.
“You’re eating authentic Chinese food. Not, I suspect, what you usually eat, which just pretends to be Chinese.”
I nod, amused by what he’s just said. Eric and his ideas about exclusivity.
He’s in a good mood, and I’m glad. Hanging out with him like this, when he’s at ease, is wonderful. When dessert time arrives, Eric brings out some truffles and sets them before me.
He picks up a spoon, splits one of the truffles, and brings half of it to my mouth. I roll my eyes in ecstasy.
“Oh my God! This is delicious!”
Eric grins and feeds me another truffle. I savor it.
“Can I try?”
I nod. He puts the truffle up to my mouth, then comes close with his for a few seconds. With care, he wraps his tongue around the truffle before taking it into his mouth.
“Scrumptious,” he says.
We look at each other, beaming.
I don’t want to be just his friend; I want more. But before I can launch myself at him, he interrupts me.
“Jude, a bit ago you said . . .”
“I know what I said. Forget it.”
Eric looks at me, thinking, and finally, without changing his expression, he says, “Please, Jude, don’t say that again about being my whore. It kills me that you might believe I think like that.”
His fingers touch my lips tenderly.
“Jude . . . you’re special to me, very special.” Again, our eyes meet for a few intense seconds. “You can’t leave my side without an explanation and expect me not to lose my mind with worry. I’d rather you just come to my door and say goodbye than to think you’re there and discover you’re not. Are we in agreement here?”
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to call you a dickhead, or worse.”
“Well, if it’s necessary, call me a dickhead.”
“Don’t give me any ideas,” I say, joking.
His mouth relaxes.
“Please, don’t ever leave again without telling me first.”
“Fine. Anyway, I was going to go back to finish our work.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Why not?”
“Something’s come up.”
“Have you fired me? I haven’t even called you a dickhead yet.”
Eric grins and shoves another truffle into my mouth, to shut me up, I suppose.
“I’ve canceled next week’s meetings. I’ll reschedule them for another time. I’m going back to Germany. There’s something I need to take care of that can’t wait.”
The truffle and the news upset my stomach.
He’s leaving.
“Are you going back with Amanda?” I ask, again unable to keep my mouth shut.
“No, I believe she flew back today. And as far as Amanda is concerned, she’s a work colleague and a friend. That’s all. This morning she told me about her visit to your room and . . .”
“Have you ever spent the night with her?”
“No.”
His answer doesn’t convince me.
“Have you played around with her?”
He leans back on the couch and nods.
“That, yes.”
I copy him and lean back too. But now my mood is very different.
“Did you have a good time?”
“I would have had a better time with you.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m incredibly curious about you, and you bring me great joy. Right now, you’re the woman I want the most. Don’t doubt it, sweetness.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, Jude.”
I like that, but it irritates me at the same time.
“Among all the women you play with,” I ask, “is there someone special?”
Eric stares at me.
He knows perfectly well what I’m asking. He puts his hand on my thigh.
“No,” he says.
“There’s never been?”
“There was once.”
“And?”
He looks right through me.
“She’s not in my life anymore.”
“Why?”
“Jude . . . I don’t want to talk about that . . . But I do want you to know that only you have managed to get me on a plane, desperately looking for you.”
I don’t know what to say.
After an uncomfortable silence, my cell buzzes. It’s Miriam, my Barcelona friend. I get up and tell her that I’m in Madrid and I’ll call her back. Eric’s just staring at me, barely blinking.
“You’re a good woman who deserves someone better,” he says finally.
“Someone better?”
“Yes.”
I know what he’s getting at, but I want him to say it clearly.
“When you refer to someone . . .”
“I mean someone who can take care of you and treat you like you deserve. Maybe Fernando?”
“Don’t mix him up in this, OK?”
Eric nods. “You deserve someone who can offer you words of love. You deserve that.”
“Eric, you already do that.”
“No, Jude, don’t lie. I don’t do that.”
I try to ease the situation a little, because it’s getting pretty heavy.
“True . . . you never say loving things per se, but you treat me well and worry about me. Why are you saying these things to me now?”
“Jude . . . be realistic,” he says, his voice hardening.
“Look, I know sex is what brought us together. When two people get to know each other and are attracted to each other, the first thing between them is chemistry. And you and I have chemistry.”
“And with that Fernando guy, is there chemistry there too?”
Again with Fernando?
“I’m waiting for your answer, Jude,” he says, insisting when he notices my lack of response.
“Listen, can you just forget about Fernando once and for all? I don’t know where you’re going with all this, but I don’t think I’ve ever asked you for anything—”
“I won’t give you anything other than sex.”
I’m startled by his abrupt response. I don’t understand his mood swings. One minute, he’s looking at me with such devotion; and the next, he’s telling me there is and never will be anything between us but sex.
“Fine, Eric. I’m old enough to choose who I sleep with.”
“Of course. And I hope you do. But I haven’t given you an option.”
“Oh no?”
“No, Jude. Simply put, I liked you and I went for it. Which is what I do whenever I’m attracted to someone.”
That response really hits a raw nerve.
“Right now, you’re acting like a dickhead.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything.
He just sits there and absorbs my insults.
“Jude . . . insult me if you like, but you know it’s the truth. Just a bit ago, you said you didn’t want to get involved in my games, remember?”
“I like everything I do with you,” I say, losing all the sensibility he claims I have. “I’m intrigued by your games and . . .”
“I know, sweetness, I know,” he says, his hand on my leg. “Which doesn’t change that I’m not the man you deserve and that another will probably make you happier.” It’s clear whom he’s talking about even though, this time, he’s not using his name. “Look, Jude, I like sex, I like experimenting, and I love to see a woman enjoying herself. Right now, that woman is you, but there’s something in me that tells me to stop, that I shouldn’t bring you any further into my game, or . . .”
“I’m not the saint you think I am. I’ve had several relationships and—”
“Jude,” he says, interrupting me, “whatever you’ve done with your previous relationships has nothing to do with what I want you to do with me.”
My stomach tightens. Thinking about what he wants me to do with him makes my mouth dry.
“What do you want me to do with you?”
“Everything, Jude, I want you to do everything with me.”
“And we’re still strictly talking about sex?”
The question throws him off.
His eyes don’t deceive me. I know there’s something he’s keeping to himself, and I need to know what it is.
“No. And that’s the problem. I can’t let you grow fond of me.”
“But why not?”
He doesn’t respond.
He brings his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to look at me. He doesn’t want to answer. He feels something more for me, but he doesn’t want to accept it.
We stay that way for a few minutes, until I bring my mouth close to his.
“I want you.”
Eric keeps his eyes closed. He suddenly seems very tired.
“Not today, sweetness. One bad move and I could hurt your arm.”
“It doesn’t hurt right now . . . ,” I say.
“Jude . . .”
“I want you, and I want to make love with you. Is that so much to ask? You’re leaving soon, and from what you’ve said, I don’t know if we’ll be together again when you come back.”
My words move him.
I can see it in his face. Finally, he brings his mouth to mine and gives me a sweet kiss, a kiss full of emotion.
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
I nod. I want him to stay forever.
But his words, and especially his gaze, feel like a farewell, and inexplicably, my eyes moisten. Eric dries them without a word. Then he stands up and offers me his hand. I take it, and together we make our way to my room.
There, he undresses while I watch.
Eric is big, strong, and sensual. As soon as he’s nude, he takes my Tasmanian Devil pj’s out from under my pillow. He sits on the bed, and I join him. I let him undress me. He does it slowly and tenderly, without once taking his eyes off mine. When I’m finally naked, he stands up and embraces me.
We’re skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
He leans his head down, hungry for my mouth. I offer it to him. I’m his without his even asking.
His lips hover over mine, and he does something that surprises me. He takes my head in his hands and kisses me. Once his long, sweet kiss has left me short winded, he steps back and sits down on the bed again. He never stops looking at me, and attracted as if by a magnet, I straddle him.
“Sweetness . . . ,” he says hoarsely. “Be careful with your arm.”
I nod, but I’m hypnotized as his fingertips trace my spine and draw circles on my skin. I close my eyes and enjoy our close contact and the tenderness of his hands. When I finally lift my lids, his mouth searches for mine, and he lovingly kisses me as he presses me against him. Calm and easy, we let a good ten minutes go by as we continue our caresses, until my impatience pushes me to lift up and introduce his hard and exacting penis inside me.
My flesh opens to receive him, and I gasp when he penetrates me. Eric closes his eyes tightly, and I feel his muscles clench so he can keep control. I move my hips slowly, back and forth, working toward our mutual bliss. I’m waiting for a little slap, a hard pinch, but nothing. Eric just looks at me and lets himself ride my movements like a gentle wave.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, anxious. “What’s going on?”
“I’m tired, love.”
His amorous voice when he calls me “love,” his words, and the softness of his fingers as they run all over my body reawaken me.
He’s trying to give me what I’ve asked for. He’s making love to me. No slaps. No hard thrusts. No demands. But in that moment, that’s not what I want.
Moved by the control I see him attempting, I give in to my own urgency; I decide to take advantage of what he’s doing to convince him to change his mind and take me how I want him to take me. I bring his mouth to my breasts. Eric accepts and gently licks and kisses them. But the heat is rising in me, even though he’s left the moment all up to me. I move in circles in a quest for my own gratification, and I find it. I gasp. I squeeze against him. I scream and gasp again. His body trembles while mine vibrates madly, waiting for the part of him that’s rough and wild to take control.
I want my demands to be his demands, but Eric refuses. He doesn’t want to play my game. Finally, when the heat floods me, I place my arms on his thighs for support, and then I’m the one who moves brusquely. When my orgasm comes, I scream and arch my body over him, and then, and only then, Eric grabs me by the waist. I feel the tension in his hands, how he presses me to him once and then silently lets himself go.
I keep my arms around him for a few minutes.
I don’t want this to end.
But finally, Eric gets off the bed and drags me with him. He plucks a tissue from my nightstand and cleans me. Then he wipes himself off. Without a word, he picks up the Tasmanian Devil pj’s. He helps me put on the shorts, then the top. He pulls on his briefs. He turns off the lights and makes me lie down with him. He turns me around and spoons me. He’s afraid of hurting my arm. We don’t say a word. We simply try to rest while we both listen to the sounds of farewell in our breathing.