29
Friday
My desperation is through the roof.
No news. No calls. Nada.
Clearly, I was just his plaything for a few days, and now all I can do is forget about him.
Plus, my supervisor is on the verge. Today she embarrasses me in front of several colleagues. I don’t tell her to stick it, because I need this job.
In the evening, my friend Azu calls, and we agree to go to the movies. We see I Want You, and I end up crying . . . I cry like a baby. It’s beautiful and sad at the same time. I feel just like Ginebra, a misunderstood but hardworking young woman who’s madly in love with a man who has lots of secrets.
As we leave, a group of friends who’ve been waiting for us tease me. Nobody quite gets how I could cry like this over a movie, and they suggest we go to Plaza Mayor for a bite to eat. They know that I’ll like that and it’ll lift my spirits.
Between edibles, there’s a river of beer, and I finally manage to get my smile back. After that, we go for more drinks, and by four o’clock in the morning, I’m myself again—I’m laughing, having a good time, and dancing like a maniac, although by then I’ve drunk Madrid’s entire supply of rum and Coke.
The next morning, I’m rudely awakened by my doorbell.
I cover my head with my pillow, but the ringing is persistent . . . Pissed, I get up and pick up the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“Hey, Auntie. It’s Mami and me.”
Oh God, this is all I need.
I open the door for them because I have no choice. My little niece hurls herself at my neck as soon as she sees me, and my sister, noting the state I’m in, walks past me without a word, plops down on the couch, and turns on the TV. As soon as my niece sees SpongeBob SquarePants on the screen, she disappears from my side.
I make myself some coffee. My sister’s face is serious, and I know she’s going to come at me with a deluge of questions at any moment.
“What the hell happened to you that you look so utterly wrecked?”
“Raquel, I was out partying last night, and I didn’t get to bed until seven this morning. I’m dead.”
“Well, the party must have been something. Your condition speaks volumes.”
“It was,” I murmur, reaching for an aspirin. I need it.
“Were you with that dreamboat you’ve been going out with?”
“No.”
Her face kind of slumps, and mine must have too at the mere thought of Eric.
“What’s going on with Eric? That’s his name, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still seeing him?”
“No.”
“I have to say, Judith, I don’t understand you. Fernando would die for you, and you pass on him. Then you find another interesting man who’s interested in you, and you lose him!”
“Fuck a duck, Raquel, could you please shut up?”
“Well, no, I’m not going to shut up. I haven’t seen you in way too many days, and when I call, you don’t pick up the phone. Today I come and see you, and you’re a disaster after a night out. And to top it off, you broke up with Eric.”
“Look, Raquel, I don’t want to talk about Eric, or my friends, or Fernando. I could give three shits about any of that. I’ve had a hellish week at work, and I went out last night because I needed to have some fun and forget about everything. And now here you are, yelling at me like a heartless lunatic, without realizing my head is about to explode . . .”
My sister stirs her coffee, takes a sip, and begins to cry.
This is perfect! Just what I need!
I leave my seat to go hug her.
“C’mon, I’m sorry, Raquel. I’m sorry for yelling at you. But you know I can’t stand it when you stick your nose in my life . . .”
“I have something to tell you, and I don’t know how to do it, hon.”
This sudden twist throws me off.
“OK, are we still talking about how Jesús cheats on you?”
My sister dries her eyes. She looks out the kitchen door to make sure my niece is entertained, and then turns back to me.
“Judith, I called you a million times to tell you.”
I nod. I’ve seen all the calls I’ve missed, but I never got back to her. I feel like utter crap.
“I . . . I don’t even know where to start,” she whispers. “Everything is so . . . so . . .”
This is giving me goose bumps, and my neck has begun to itch. Could it be true that my fool of a brother-in-law is cheating on her?
“So . . . what is it?”
My sister covers her face with her hands. I’m the worst. I know her well, and I know she’s really suffering right now.
“It’s just that I’m so ashamed.”
“Ashamed? Please, I’m your sister.”
“Jesús says he doesn’t have a lover and that he loves me, but . . .”
“But?”
“On Thursday, as soon as Luz went to sleep, he closed the living room door and . . . and . . . he put on one of those smutty movies.”
“A porn film?”
“Yes. Oh my God, it was so vile!”
I laugh. I can’t help myself.
“I admit that watching it got my libido going and . . . well . . . ,” she whispers. “One thing led to another, and we ended up making love in the living room . . . on the floor!”
Amused that for my sister, having sex on the living room floor is a singular experience, I whisper, “Well, how was it?”
She grins. But she’s dying of shame and can’t even look at me.
“Oh, Judith,” she whispers back, “it was like when we were dating! It was pure passion!”
I grab her hands and make her look at me.
“That’s fantastic. Isn’t that what you wanted? Passion?”
“Yes.”
“So, what’s wrong? Why are you making that face?”
“Because that’s not the end of the story. On Saturday, I wanted to surprise him. I prepared dinner, went to the beauty shop, and . . . and . . .”
“And?”
“Judith . . . we didn’t just do it on the couch and on the floor. We did it on the washing machine and in the hallway.”
“Go, Jesús!”
Finally, my sister gives a loud and hearty laugh and comes close to me.
“He bought me red lingerie, very sexy, and had me put it on.”
“That’s terrific, Raquel.”
“And then, when I was least expecting it, he gave me another gift . . .”
Raquel takes a swallow from her coffee.
“He gave me a . . . a . . . a . . . vibrator. There, I said it! He said he wants us to play in bed, that our relationship needs it, and then we shared fantasies.”
I start laughing again.
I can’t help it!
“I don’t know what you find so funny. I’m telling you that . . .”
“Sorry . . . sorry, Raquel.” I get serious and lower my voice, like she’s doing. “I think it’s stupendous that Jesús gave you a vibrator and that you’re fantasizing.”
She nods, though she’s still embarrassed.
“Oh, Jude . . . I blush just thinking about some of the things Jesús said.”
“Listen . . . don’t tell me what Jesús said, but how’d it go with ol’ Mr. Vibe?”
“Judith!”
“C’mon . . . did you like it or not?”
“Oh, Judith, it was fantastic. I never thought my imagination and a little gadget like that could be so much fun. All I can say is we haven’t stopped since Saturday. I’m terrified. Do you think so much sex could be bad? I mean, even my inner thighs are sore . . .”
I cannot help myself: I laugh because I’m dying over my sister’s confidences.
“Tell him to give you a vibrator for your clit,” I whisper in her ear. “It’s mind blowing!”
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.