Chapter Three
When Thursday afternoon rolls around, I’m feeling onehundred percent more positive about my choice to joinAtlético. Perhaps there was never anything negativeabout the opportunity to begin with, but I feel like I’vebeen approaching life with a grain of salt lately. Whenyou’ve found something precious and you’ve beenthrough a lot to get it, it’s hard not to eye things with anair of suspicion.
I am in the bedroom, slipping on a light blue silkPrada shirt when I hear Vera come inside the apartment.There is the sound of the lock rattling, the door closing,her shoes being kicked off, keys being placed on thetable. It’s a series of sounds that makes me feel safe.
Today, though, as I am getting dressed for mydinner later with Bon, a good friend I haven’t seen inover a year, there is something different about Vera’sentrance. There is a heaviness to the sounds, and whenher shoe thumps on the floor, it lands hard.
“Vera?” I ask, tucking my shirt tails into my pantsand coming out of the bedroom and down the hall. I stopby the entrance to the kitchen and living room. She issitting on the arm of the couch, her head down, withpeachy hair falling across her face, her hands in her lap.She looks defeated. For a moment I wonder if it’s theheat that’s dragging her down. Even with airconditioning, the place is muggy.
I gently place a hand on her shoulder. “Vera?”
She slowly looks up at me. She hasn’t been crying—her eyes are dry—but her face looks extra pale and allthe lipstick on her mouth has been bitten off.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I crouch down beside her,hands on her arm and thigh.
She sighs and her nose scrunches up slightly inembarrassment. “I think I’m getting fired.”
“What?” I ask, obviously shocked. “Why? How?What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she says tiredly. “My boss, Patrice,pulled me in today and told me that my work visa forthem will be up in September. She said she is unsureright now if they are going to apply for another one.There is another person who started last week, Amy,she’s from Ireland and she speaks fluent Spanish. Sheonly works once a week, but I think they are groomingher to take my place.”
“That is ridiculous,” I say, a path of warm ragemaking its way up my throat and clouding my words.“Why would they do that? You’re perfect for thecompany. You make people feel welcome. I’ve seen youthere, I know this. Your Spanish is coming along justfine too—they must see your improvements compared towhen you started.”
She shrugs like she’s given up all hope. “I guessnot. Patrice said something about the time it takes for thevisa to go through—remember it took like a month ortwo last time—and that they are used to hiring peoplefrom the EU. Less paperwork.”
I am beside myself. I straighten up and fold myarms, looking around the room as if it will give meanswers. “Well, they cannot leave you hanging like this.Have you been officially let go?”
“No,” she says. “Patrice said she’d let me know in afew weeks. I guess they are going to look into it a littlebit more. I knew I should have been suspicious when thepermit was only for six months to begin with. I don’tknow if they ever wanted me on more than a trial basis.”
“But, Vera, you’ve been with them for almost ayear now, it’s just that some of that was under the table.They can’t afford to, what would you say…yank yourchain?”
“That or dick you around.”
“They can’t yank your dick or anything like that,” Itell her, and start striding toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she quickly cries out,getting to her feet.
I grab my phone from the bowl on the counter andglance at it quickly before putting it in my pocket. “I’mgoing to go talk to Patrice.”
“No, Mateo,” she says, her bare feet scuffling overto me. She grabs hold of my arm and stares at me withpleading eyes. “Please don’t. This isn’t your problem.”
I widen my eyes incredulously. “It isn’t myproblem? Yes it is, Vera. You are my lover, my friend,my everything. But you being here right now isdependent on them. I’m not letting them take that awayfrom me.”
She manages a sympathetic smile. “I know. Butthere are other ways. I’ll get another job.”
“When does the permit officially run out?”
“September 5th.”
“You’ll get another job in two weeks? I don’t evenknow if it works that way. You can’t just transfer apermit from one company to another.”
She throws her hands up. “Then I’ll work under thetable for someone until they give me a new one.”
I can’t help but shake my head. I have a bad feelingin my gut, like someone has placed stones there. “It’srisky. If you get caught, you’ll be deported.”
“Then I won’t get caught.”
I take hold of her hand. “You know I’d be morethan happy to take care of you.” I’ve told her this manytimes, how she doesn’t have to work, that she can just dowhatever she pleases and I’ll take care of everything. Itonly seems to raise the hackles on her back.
“But I’d still be here illegally if you did,” she says.“At least this way I have a chance. Anyway, maybe theywon’t let me go. I’ll just work extra hard for them. I’llprove that I am better.”
I admire her tenacity and can only hope it will bethat easy. Still, I do want to talk to Patrice. But perhapsnow, when I am heated up and likely to say things I willregret, it’s not the best time. Las Palabras may havebrought us together, but I will be damned if they are theones to tear us apart.
“Do you want me to stay home tonight?” I ask her.“We could have some wine, go out to a movie?”
She rubs her lips together and quickly shakes herhead. “No. You haven’t seen this Bon fellow in forever.I’ll just call Claudia and we’ll go out somewhere. Whatkind of a name is Bon, anyway?”
“It’s short for Bonaventure,” I say. “His mother wasFrench. And very strange. Used to powder her face withblue cornstarch, according to Bon.” I grew up with Bonliving down the street from me in Madrid, though thesedays he only comes back every now and then. The rest ofthe time he’s a freelance photographer, usually for non-profit organizations that have him gallivanting in therainforest or in remote villages.
“I really don’t want to leave you like this,” I tellher, pulling her into my chest and wrapping my armsaround her. “I hate being given a problem that I can’timmediately solve.”
“I know,” she mumbles into me. “Maybe whenMonday rolls around, everything will right itself. I mean,you’ll be starting your new job, maybe.”
Maybe. I wasn’t sure when I would actually start.But it didn’t seem fair that the universe had this way ofgiving you one thing by taking away another. I knew itwas the law of equilibrium and balance, but I didn’tthink it was asking too much for us both to have jobs wewere happy about.
Or maybe it was.
I meet Bon at a tapas bar off of Plaza Mayor. Thecobblestone streets are thick with tourists and drunkcollege students getting a head start on their weekend. Iweave my way through them, unable to grab ahold oftheir enthusiasm. Vera’s news has put a damper oneverything and my brain has latched onto this worry,allowing it to grow unchecked.
I find him at the back, in a dark corner booth,munching on a bowl of almonds. Bon is probably aroundforty by now, a short man compared to me, but he hasthis way of making himself look taller. His mother hadinstilled proper posture in him as a small boy, and now,combined with the fact that he only wears all black, itmakes all the difference.
“Bon,” I say heartily, feeling a layer of anxietyslough off at his familiar face. His dark hair is thinning abit on top but otherwise he looks the same.
He slides out of the booth and shakes my handwhile I slap him affectionately on the back.
“Mateo,” he greets me, “you haven’t changed abit.” He pauses, eyes twinkling. “Or maybe you have.You seem lighter somehow.”
I grab my stomach though I know my abs havenever changed. “Eating better, I guess.”
The twinkle amplifies and he smirks. “I bet youhave. Come sit down.”
He quickly waves over the waitress and orders ustwo beers. Bon has always been a talker, and I don’t stophim while he launches into all the interesting things he’sbeen doing over the last year and a half.
Finally, after three beers, the conversation slowsand he eyes me impetuously. “Enough about me,” hesays. “How is Chloe Ann?”
Her name always makes me smile. “She is doingwell. She will start going to school in September. She’srather excited about it.”
“And Isabel?”
My face falls. “Surely you know we are divorced.”
He nods and leans back in his seat. “I know. But Iwould like to hear it from you. We don’t talk muchanymore, Mateo, so I only know what I hear from otherpeople. Or what I read in the newspapers online.”
“I see.” I stare at Bon, wondering what he’ll say, ifhe’ll understand. I am not sure if what he has seen andheard is anything different from the truth. I clear mythroat. “Well, Isabel and I are divorced now. I metanother woman.”
“A younger woman. A Canadian.”
“Yes,” I tell him. “She is both those things andmore than those things. Her name is Vera.”
“She’s got a hell of a lot of tattoos,” he points out,as if he knows her. This bothers me.
“She does,” I admit. “I happen to love them.”
Bon laughs joylessly. “You, Mateo Casalles, withall your style and elegance, love a woman covered intattoos. I would have thought it trashy to you.”
“I would have thought this bar here to be trashy, yethere I am with you, Bon.”
He lowers his head. “Are you trying to insult me?”
“Are you trying to insult me?”
He drains his beer. “Come, come, it is just anobservation, nothing more. I am curious. Who isn’t? Weall want to know about the woman who has made thegreat Mateo live a life of scandal and give up hisbeautiful, classy wife.”
There is an edge to his words. Bon had never been afan of Isabel, so I’m sure the news had originallydelighted him. He leans forward, twirling his beerbetween his hands. “Is it true that she’s only twenty-three?”
I bristle, hating this gossip, hating that people knowthings about her from other sources. “She’s twenty-fournow.”
“And you are nearly forty, yes? Quite the agedifference.”
“Are you jealous?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not a fan of tattoos onwomen, though I’ve seen my share in different parts ofthe world. Tell me, Mateo, are you happy?”
“I’ve never been happier.”
He appraises me carefully before taking another sip.I’m starting to get a bit of a headache. “You seem happy.I must say when I first heard of this, I didn’t think it wastrue. I was going to ring you up but decided it wasprobably something I shouldn’t concern myself with. Ifyou want to go through an early mid-life crisis, it’s notmy business. It happens to every man.”
“It is not a crisis,” I grind out through my teeth.
“I can see that,” he says, “and that’s what I’msurprised about. You’re still with her, yes?”
I can only nod. My heart is beginning to race.
“I must say I am surprised. Usually such a flingdoesn’t last.”
“It was never a fling.”
His mouth quirks up. “Oh, of course. You findsome young pussy on your work excursion, fall into bedwith her, your wife finds out and divorces you, but it wasnever a fling.”
It takes all I have to prevent myself from slammingmy fists on the table. “That’s not how it happened.”
“No?” he asks. “Do tell.”
He’s being an asshole and I can’t figure out why.He always loved to push my buttons and rile me up, butthis time it feels more personal. Maybe because for thefirst time, it is personal.
“I met Vera while I was in the language immersionprogram. I feel in love with her. Nothing happened…”And that isn’t true, something did happen. I slept withher. I committed adultery, something I swore I wouldnever do. But I feel too ashamed to admit this to him, notwhen I feel he will use it against me. “But I did realizethat what I had with Isabel wasn’t right, it wasn’t whatwe wanted, and that the marriage was over. When Verawent back to Vancouver, I ended things.”
“But Vera must have come back before yourdivorce was final.”
I nodded. “Yes. Perhaps I was a bit impatient. But Icouldn’t stand to have her so far away from me.”
“I don’t blame you,” he says. “I’ve seen thepictures. Even the topless ones. I couldn’t leave thosebreasts.”
My eyes narrow into hot slits. “If you say one morething, don’t you fucking think I won’t reach across thistable and strangle you.”
“There’s the old boy,” he says with a laugh. “Hot-headed Mateo. I was wondering when he would comeout.”
“You better watch yourself,” I warn him,unamused. I jab my finger at him. “I take Vera veryseriously. That could be my future wife you’re talkingabout.”
His eyes widen in surprise and then cloud over withsomething akin to pity. “Oh dear. You can’t be serious.”
I wish I never said anything. It was something thathad only been in my head, now it was in Lucia’s, andnow it was in Bon’s.
“Mateo, Mateo, Mateo,” Bon says with a sigh.“Stop holding on to your youth, old boy. This type ofwoman is good for a few rolls in the sack. Maybe many.She looks like she’d fuck you into another decade. It hasdone wonders for you, you look great. But that’s all sheis. That’s all those types of girls are. Now what youshould have done, was have your fun with her, and nevertold Isabel. Now you’ve got a divorce for nothing. Youreally think you can go and marry this Vera? You can’t.Stop fooling yourself. The way you met, you know thatkind of thing can’t last. You should stop lying toyourself and let it be what it is.”
I don’t even know how to respond. All I know isthat he’s wrong. I know he’s wrong. Then why do I feelthat thread of doubt deep inside?
He continues, seemingly tired now. “I know you,Mateo. You always want to do the right thing. So noblesometimes that it’s boring. That’s why this little episodeof yours has me interested, you see. It’s not like you, notthe you that I know. But now, you feel that because youthrew out a perfectly acceptable marriage, you musthang on to this girl, make her, mold her, into somethingthat she isn’t. You need to learn to let go. You can’tmarry a tattooed, twenty-four-year-old Canadian girl. Itwon’t work, and you’ll be trapped in a world ofunhappiness even worse than your first.” He taps hishand on the table. “You need to start thinking less withyour dick and more with your mind. Let her go and findsomeone else your own age, with your own class.”
He gets up and excuses himself to the bathroombefore I can say anything. Bon had once been my friend,but now I am not sure if that’s true. This sounds likemore than just concern. Has he been talking to Isabel? Ishe jealous or just disapproving?
I don’t know. But what I do know is that I don’tneed to listen to it.
I go up to the waitress and slip her a hundred eurosto cover the bill. Then I leave the bar—and Bon—behind.
When I arrive back at the apartment, Vera isn’tback yet. The long walk has done nothing to calm mynerves—in fact the heat seems to have only made itworse—so I pour myself a large glass of scotch that Isave for rare occasions and sit outside on the balcony.There is a slight breeze up here, and the hustle and bustleof the street below distracts me.
Bon is wrong. That’s all there is to it. Though thereis some truth. It’s true that I have always tried to do theright thing—that is probably why I stuck with Isabel forso long—and that I care highly about reputation, whetherit be my family’s or my own.
But things change. Sometimes all it takes for aperson to lose themselves is to find another. Perhaps itwasn’t such a good thing, to always be noble, to haveappearances be the first concern. Maybe it was what Ineeded, to find Vera, to let go of the person I had tried sohard to be, and just finally be myself.
I just wish it wasn’t so hard.
I sit there for a long time, listening to peoplechatting on the street, the roar of cars as they zoom past.When the scotch starts to pull me under into thestickiness of sleep, I get up and head back inside just intime to see Vera stumble through the front door.
She’s drunk, her breasts nearly spilling out of herlow-cut dress, her hair half-up and half-down, wildaround her face.
“Have fun?” I ask as she leans haphazardly againstthe counter and tries to kick off her slingbacks to noavail. “Hold on,” I tell her gently, and crouch downbeside her. She leans on me for support as I pull hershoes off and place them beside mine on the shoe rackunderneath the coat hooks.
“Thanks, baby,” she slurs, and I feel the weight ofher on my back. I place my hands around the small ofher waist and hold her steady as I straighten up. Hermakeup is smudged and she’s giving me a crookedsmile.
“No problem,” I tell her, peering at her closely.“Where did you guys go?”
She shrugs. “I don’t really remember. We met upwith Ricardo at some bar. He was there with a bunch ofhis friends.”
A fist of unease opens in my stomach. I likeClaudia’s boyfriend Ricardo a lot, but the two times I’vemet his friends, they failed to impress me. They wereyoung and brash with no scruples, like a bunch ofmodern-day Spaniards trying to resurrect Sid Vicious. Ididn’t like it when Vera went out with them, but thenagain, it’s not like I would go. Bar hopping and clubbingweren’t my scene anymore but they were definitelyVera’s.
“I see,” I say. “Sounds like you had a good time.”
She shrugs. “Lots of shots and dancing. The usual.”She attempts to take off her dress, and I help her out bypulling down the zipper. She’s stark naked underneathbut for once I have no interest in fucking her. My anxietyseems to build instead, and I’m staring at her bodywondering why someone like me deserves it if I don’teven have the desire to go out with her and her friends.
“Are you going to take me to bed?” she asks,batting her eyes and biting her lip.
Naturally, I will take her but not in the way shethinks, not when she is this drunk. I’ve learned mylesson a few times before.
Sure enough, the moment she climbs into the sheetsand lays her head back onto the pillow, she closes hereyes and passes out. Light snoring ensues.
I sigh and tuck her in, then fill up a glass of waterfor her and get out two ibuprofen. She never does verywell in the mornings after a night of drinking, and sinceshe still has work at Las Palabras in the morning, sheneeds to be on her best behavior.
I strip down to nothing and get in bed as well. She’snot the only one with a big day ahead of her. Tomorrow, everything changes.
Yet, it feels like everything has already changed.