58
Once I go back to the office, I find that my life returns to relative normalcy.
The difference now is that Eric is by my side, and I love his company and the way he spoils me. He keeps the suite at the hotel, though he spends many nights at my apartment. But we both still need a place of our own, in spite of how much we love each other’s company. Each day, he wants to tell everybody I’m his girlfriend, but I continue to refuse. I don’t know why, but I don’t want anyone to know. We talk a lot about Germany, though. I can see in his eyes that he needs an answer, but I still don’t know what to do. He doesn’t pressure me, which I appreciate.
Eric’s been back several days now. Every morning, I ask him how he’s doing, and his answer is always the same: “Good.” He hasn’t had any more headaches, and I haven’t noticed him experiencing nausea, and that helps me relax.
One morning when I’m in the cafeteria having breakfast with Miguel, I see Eric come in. His look tells me he doesn’t approve of my hanging out with my pal.
He sits in the back of the cafeteria and orders coffee. I’m talking with Miguel when I hear my cell buzz. It’s Eric.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” he asks, annoyed.
I don’t look his way because I don’t want to laugh.
“I’m having breakfast.”
“Why do you have to have breakfast with that guy every day?”
Sitting in front of me, Miguel asks whom I’m talking to.
“It’s my father,” I tell him, then turn back to the phone. “C’mon, Papá, I’m having breakfast. What do you want?”
My lover sighs, but I’m having some fun.
“Look, Papá, don’t worry. I promise you I’m having a good breakfast, OK?”
“Jude . . . ,” Eric says through clenched teeth.
Just then, Raúl and Paco approach. As they do every morning, they give me kisses on the cheek and sit down with us. Eric’s response is immediate.
“Who gave them permission to kiss you?”
I don’t know what to say. I laugh. Paco and Raúl are a longtime couple, and just as I’m about to say the first thing that comes to mind, Miguel, with whom I have a lot of cozy familiarity, pulls a strand of hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear.
“Goddamn it,” growls Eric, “why is that guy touching you now?”
“Papá, what do you say I call you from home?” So as not to give him a chance to respond, I quickly add, “Kiss-kiss, Papá. I love you.”
I switch off my cell and leave it on the table. I turn to look at Eric and find him standing, his cell at his ear. He’s very angry. He passes by us in a huff while Miguel, unaware of what’s just happened, continues with his breakfast in his relaxed, casual manner. In contrast, I feel like my stomach just dropped.
Ten minutes later, I head back. As soon as I sit at my desk, my phone rings. It’s Eric. He orders me to his office.
I close the door behind me, and he drills his icy gaze into me. I know he wants to curse and growl, but he’s controlling himself. It’s neither the time nor the place to get into it with me.
“Papá?”
I shrug. I’m about to answer, but he starts in on me.
“I’m very angry.”
Aware of where we are, I try to keep it light. “Well, you know . . . a general cleaning would do you wonders.”
But that only makes him angrier, and I’m soon sorry for having been so casual, although the masochist in me likes to see his fury.
“Why do those guys have to touch you and kiss you?”
I try to find an answer that won’t piss him off more, but I come up blank. Everything strikes me as terribly absurd.
“Please, all Miguel did was push a lock of hair off my face. And all Paco and Raúl did was give me a little kiss each on the cheek.”
“I haven’t given them permission to touch you.”
His words leave me stupefied. My brow creases.
“What are you talking about?”
The Iceman scrutinizes me with his stormy, angry eyes.
“I don’t want them to touch you or kiss you again,” he hisses. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you.”
“Perfect!”
“It’s an entirely different matter if I’m going to pay any attention whatsoever to what you’re saying.” He looks at me, frustrated. “What is wrong with you? You’re jealous over what you just witnessed, but . . . but later, you don’t care if we play with others and . . .”
“It’s not the same, Jude.”
“I don’t understand it,” I say. I take a deep breath.
“That’s it! I’m going to go out right now and tell everybody you’re my girlfriend, that you’re the boss’s girlfriend.”
That alarms me.
“Eric Zimmerman, if you do that, you’re going to pay for it.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Of course. I don’t want you to tell.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t.”
“That’s not an answer. Why not?”
I look at him and sigh.
“Let’s see . . . I don’t want people to gossip and think I’m a gold digger. If we continue, there’ll be time enough to tell. Why get ahead of ourselves?”
At that precise moment, his office door opens. It’s my supervisor.
“What’s going on?” she asks, surprised to see me.
I don’t know what to say. I’m blank. But Eric reacts quickly.
“I was just asking Miss Flores to send these faxes.”
He hands me a bunch of papers he is holding.
“When you have the confirmations, please bring them to me.”
“Of course, sir.”
As soon as I step out of his office, I feel relief.
Arguing with Eric wipes me out. We can never come to an understanding.
Eric doesn’t come out of his office for the rest of the morning. At lunch, I’m surprised when my supervisor tells me Eric has left for the day.
I don’t call him. I don’t text. I give him his space.
I go to the gym. I need to vent. I run into Marisa, and she introduces me to two friends, Rebeca and Lorena. The four of us take an aerobics class, and when we’re finished, all sweaty, we head for the showers.
After the gym, we go to the pub next door for a drink. We exchange cell numbers and agree to get together for dinner one night, with our partners. Then Lorena talks us into going with her to a store to pick up something she’s ordered. While we wait, I look over the merchandise on display, and the owner encourages us to try on anything we like. I select a pair of very sexy panties and a bra I’m sure Eric will love.
“They look great on you,” says Rebeca as she comes into the dressing room.
“You think?”
She nods as she drapes a couple of ensembles on the bench.
“You should get them. I’m sure your guy will love you in them.”
“Yes, I’m sure he will.” I can imagine Eric’s face.
Suddenly, Rebeca grabs my hand.
“Beautiful ring.”
I’m still enchanted by it.
“My boyfriend gave it to me.”
“He has very good taste.”
“Thank you.”
I look in the mirror while she undresses to try on another ensemble.
“Here—try this on,” she says, handing me a black leather corset.
I take off the bra I have on and stand there naked, like her, in the dressing room. I bend to take off my panties and see she’s also bending. When I stand up, she’s face to face with my tattoo. I don’t move; I just look at her. She slides a finger on my slit and gives me a kiss. I jerk away.
“What are you doing?”
She stands and steps up close to me.
“Marisa told me she saw you play at a little party in Zahara. Is that true?”
I’m uncomfortable with this.
“Yes, but I only play in the presence of my partner.”
“Is that your norm?”
“Yes.”
She stops where she is.
“Your guy doesn’t have to know. It can be our secret.”
“No,” I say, firmly.
Rebeca opens the dressing room curtain, and I see Marisa, Lorena, and the store owner, naked on the couch. I’m speechless. Rebeca circles around me and surrounds me with her arms, taking my breasts in her hands.
“They’re having a very good time. C’mon, let yourself go.”
I drop the corset and remove her hands. I step away. I get my clothes, bend to put on my pants, and start to get dressed. I don’t want to look; I want to leave as soon as possible. Quickly, she grabs me by the hips and grinds against my butt.
“C’mon, Judith . . . you want it. You want to open your legs for me. Don’t deny it.”
“I said no—let go of me!”
My words make the other women look up. Rebeca steps away. She doesn’t touch me again, but I don’t like how she’s looking at me. She seems pleased with my discomfort. As soon as I dress, I’m out of there like a flash and without a word.
By the time I get home, I’m incensed. How could I have been so dumb? I think of Eric and want to tell him what just happened. I call him and hear his frigid tone on the other end of the phone line.
“Yes, Jude . . .”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Does your head hurt or anything?” I ask, worried that he might not be well.
“No.”
“Have you been dizzy or vomited?”
“No.”
“OK, then why didn’t you come back to the office this afternoon?”
He doesn’t respond. His silence bothers me.
“If it’s because of what happened at the office today, c’mon, it was nothing.”
“Maybe it’s nothing to you, but it’s something to me.”
“I’ll remind you I’m an adult, a grown person, not a child like your nephew, who you can scold anytime.”
“Go ahead . . . make me angrier,” he snarls.
His lack of trust bothers me, but I need to tell him what’s just happened.
“Eric—”
But he’s mad, and he cuts me off.
“I don’t care for Miguel. You know that, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“No, listen to me, Jude. What would you think if tomorrow I let your beloved supervisor touch my hair while we have breakfast? I’m sure she’d like it. Oh, and maybe she’d love to give me a little kiss. Shall we try it?”
Just thinking about it makes me ill. I close my eyes, and given the example, I understand his frustration.
“OK, message received.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear you finally understand. It’s one thing for you to give permission for a woman to touch me. It’s quite another for a woman, who you know wants me, to touch me without your permission. Do you get it now?”
“Yes.”
“Think about it, because I’m not willing to go through this again,” he says after a funereal silence. “I don’t care if you have breakfast with Miguel or whomever else you want, but I won’t accept that anyone—man or woman—touches you or kisses you without my consent. Good night, Jude. I’ll see you tomorrow in the office.”
And with that, he hangs up. I’m left in a daze.
How can I tell him what happened without causing a further erosion of trust?
Dumbfounded, I sit down on the couch, convinced I’ve just done something that will anger him even more if he should ever find out. My neck itches and I scratch it.