55
Come Monday, Eric has to fly to Germany. He asks me to go with him, but I refuse. At first, he gets mad, but I make him understand that no matter how much we may want to be together twenty-four hours a day, his nephew won’t be amused by having to share him with me.
That same Monday night, he calls me, and we talk for more than three hours. He tells me how much he misses me, and I tell him how bored I am without him.
Monday after work, I decide to go to the gym. Since Eric’s been around, I hardly ever get to go. A good run on the track and a spinning class help relax me. When I’m done, I’m drenched in sweat. When I get to the locker room, I strip off my clothes and hit the showers. Refreshed, I glance over at the Jacuzzi. Seeing no one around, I decide to take a dip for a few minutes.
“Judith?” I hear a voice behind me.
A woman approaches me.
“Hi, don’t you remember me?”
Her face looks familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Marisa, Marisa de la Rosa,” she says. “We met last summer in Zahara de Atunes, at a Roaring Twenties party. Frida introduced us.”
“Oh yes . . . I remember. You’re from Huelva, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” she says, smiling and holding the towel to her body. “How are you?”
“Exhausted,” I tell her. “I just tortured myself with a spinning class.”
“I can’t deal with spinning,” a still-smiling Marisa says. “It wipes me out. Are you headed for the Jacuzzi?”
“That was my plan.”
“Great, I’ll join you.”
For a while, we chat as the water bubbles and pops all around us. After the Jacuzzi, we both shower and exchange phone numbers.
At precisely noon the next day, I receive a bouquet of red roses at the office. When I open the note, I get teary: I’m dying to kiss you, little girl.
At four, when I get back from lunch, I’m surprised to see Eric talking with several supervisors. I’m so thrilled, I want to jump up and shout. He sees me and, for a few seconds, keeps an eye on me; then he turns and keeps talking.
Ten minutes later, I get a text: I’ll wait for you at my hotel. Look good. I love you.
Happy as a clam, I shoot out of the office at six. I get home, shower, and change. I wear a new burgundy dress I’m sure he’ll love. I arrive at Villa Magna at eight and go straight to the elevator. The elevator operator is expecting me and takes me directly to Eric’s floor.
I’m surprised I don’t see him when I first enter the suite. I look around, but I only find his briefcase and his cell on the bed. I go back to the living room to turn on some music. I turn the dial to my usual station just as Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September” is starting. I love that song. I slip off my shoes, and start dancing and singing along.
I swing my hips to the beat as I sing and savor the song. I close my eyes and spin when I get to the chorus, raise my hands, and let the rhythm take me. Suddenly, the music stops. I open my eyes and find myself face to face with Eric and a middle-aged woman.
I’m panting from my little dance, and I’m embarrassed by the show I just put on, until the woman smiles and approaches me.
“Every time I hear that song, it makes me want to dance too . . . Hi, I’m Sonia, Eric’s mom. And you are . . . ?”
His mother?
What’s his mother doing here?
I get my act together as best I can and push the hair from my face.
“Delighted to meet you. I’m Judith.”
She gives me a kiss on each cheek. Then she looks over at her son, who hasn’t said a word.
“And Judith is . . . ?” she asks as I put my shoes back on.
Eric is enjoying this.
“Mamá, she’s . . . Jude.”
“Oh, of course! How foolish of me!” she exclaims. “You’re Eric’s girlfriend.”
I’d been leaning on a little table to put on my shoe, but on hearing “girlfriend,” I tumble straight down to the floor.
Eric and his mother rush over.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes . . . yes . . . no worries. I just slipped, Mrs. . . .”
“Please, Jude, call me Sonia.”
“Of course, Sonia. I’m fine.”
Eric helps me up and pulls me to him.
“Are you all right, love?”
I blink and blush.
His girlfriend?
Did I just meet his mother, and did she just say I’m his girlfriend?
For the next half hour, I feel like I’m on cloud nine.
Sonia, Eric’s mom, is charming and chatty. Physically, she doesn’t look anything like him, but they do have the same classic taste in fashion. Her eyes are dark, like mine, and you can tell she’s a woman who takes care of herself.
“Are you all right?” Eric asks after she leaves to get ready for dinner.
“Eric, did your mother say I’m your girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“How does she get to know before me?”
“You didn’t know you were my girlfriend?” he asks.
“No.”
“Are you sure, little girl? You’re really sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I thought I . . . I was your . . . your friend . . . your lover . . . your roll in the hay . . . your girl, the way you introduced me to some friends in Zahara. But your girlfriend?”
“Well, at Moroccio, you declared yourself Mrs. Zimmerman.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“No ‘buts,’ Miss Flores. I’ve asked you to come live with me in Germany. I mentioned it to my mother, and she wanted to meet you.”
“What?”
“Love, when my mother insisted I return to Germany, I didn’t have a choice but to explain to her that there’s a beautiful Spanish girl who’s driving me crazy and whom I’m trying to convince to come live with me,” he whispers. “After that, she wanted to meet you, so here she is. I love you, you’re my girlfriend, and there’s nothing more to say.”
“What do you mean, ‘there’s nothing more to say’?”
Eric takes another step toward me.
“You don’t want to be my girlfriend?”
My heart beats wildly: I want everything with him, whatever he wants, but I decide to play with him a little. I take another step back.
“I don’t know, Eric . . . I don’t know if you and I . . .”
“You and I what?” he insists, stepping up again.
“Well, that . . . you and I are so different and . . .”
He realizes I’m playing and he likes it, but he keeps advancing.
“Do you remember our song?”
I smile when I remember Malú’s “Black and White.”
“Yes.”
“If you were as strict about things as me, I assure you, I never would have noticed you. I like who you are, how you act, how you challenge me, and, most of all, how you help me see life in color instead of just in black and white.”
I know I’m smiling as I listen to him.
“Well . . . Mr. Zimmerman, you’re very romantic. What’s happened to you?”
Eric steps up again. This time he shows me his hand. He’s holding a little red-velvet box.
“Open it. It’s for you,” he whispers.
With trembling hands, I open the little box and discover a beautiful diamond ring. I’m speechless.
“Do you like it?”
“B-b-but . . . it’s too much, Eric. I don’t need this.”
He grins, pulls out the ring, and puts it on my finger.
“But I need to give it to you.”
As soon as I see it on my hand, I’m spellbound. It’s beautiful. A single, elegant diamond. Happy, I hug Eric around the neck.
“Thank you, love. It’s gorgeous.”
“You’re now officially my girlfriend.”
I kiss him passionately. With love. With surrender.
“Miss Flores,” he whispers when I pull back, “you’re very frisky.”
He touches my breasts through my dress.
He traps me against the wall, and I laugh. His mouth looks for mine.
“You drive me crazy . . .”
He kisses me. In his hands, as always happens, I melt and enjoy being his. Those hands travel all over my body, and when I gasp, he presses his rigid shaft against me and I gasp again. I’m ready. I want him to undress me. I want him to tear my panties off and do with me as he will.
“Control yourself, Miss Flores. Your mother-in-law could think you’re a sexual degenerate. C’mon . . . she’s waiting for us in the lobby.”
That makes me laugh—my mother-in-law! I’ve never had a mother-in-law.
“You’ll pay for that,” I say, taking his hand. “Just remember that.”