9
I put on a pair of jeans and a black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt my friend Ana gave me. At one o’clock, just as the phone rings, I put my hair up in a high ponytail. Sure it’s him, I don’t answer. He can call again. Ten seconds later, he does.
“Yes?” I answer.
“Come down. I’m waiting.”
Not even a “good afternoon.”
I’m totally taken aback when I come down and find him also wearing jeans and a black shirt and standing next to a red Ferrari. Wow.
I love it!
“Is it yours?” I ask as I get up close.
He shrugs and doesn’t answer.
I immediately fall in love with this amazing car. I run my hand tenderly over it as he looks on.
“Will you let me drive?” I ask.
“No.”
“C’mon,” I insist. “Don’t be a party pooper. My dad runs an auto shop. I swear I know what I’m doing.”
Eric stares at me. I stare back.
He sighs and I grin. Finally, he shakes his head.
“Show me Madrid, and if you behave, then maybe later I’ll let you drive it.”
That makes me happy.
“So, what do you say? Where shall we go?”
I think about it for a moment. “How about we go to the kitschiest places in Madrid—Plaza Mayor, Puerta del Sol, the Royal Palace. Have you been?”
He doesn’t say anything, so I just give him directions and we blend into traffic. While he drives, I delight in the fact that we’re in a Ferrari. What a ride! I turn up the music. I love the Juanes song that’s playing. He turns it down. I turn it up. Then he turns it back down.
“C’mon, I can’t hear it,” I protest.
“Are you deaf?”
“No . . . I’m not deaf, but a little volume in the car is no big deal.”
“Do you have to sing too?”
This takes me aback. “What? You never sing?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He makes a face as he thinks about it.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he finally says.
I’m stunned. “Well, music is a marvelous thing. My mother always said music soothes the savage beast, and that many songs can even help us understand our own emotions.”
“You talk about your mother in past tense. How come?”
“She died of cancer two years ago.”
Eric touches my hand.
“I’m sorry, Jude,” he murmurs.
I nod. “She loved to sing, and I do too.”
“Aren’t you embarrassed to sing in front of me?”
“No, why?” I ask with a shrug.
“I don’t know, Jude.”
“Well, I’m crazy about music. I sing all day long. You should try it.”
To demonstrate just how shameless I am, I turn the music back on and, shimmying, sing along.
I finally see a hint of a smile on his face. That gives me a boost, and I continue singing. When we get to downtown Madrid, we park the car in an underground garage, and as the Ferrari disappears from view, I get a little sad. Eric notices and whispers in my ear: “Remember, if you’re good, I’m going to let you drive it.”
A wave of happiness revives me when I hear that. As we’re leaving the garage, he takes my hand confidently. That surprises me, but it also pleases me, so I don’t pull away. We walk along del Carmen Street until we wind up at Puerta del Sol. Then we go up Mayor Street until we come to Plaza Mayor. I see him marveling at everything he’s viewing. We make our way to the Royal Palace. Unfortunately, when we arrive, it’s closed. Our bellies are starting to growl, so I propose we grab a bite at an Italian restaurant owned by some friends of mine.
When we get to the eatery, my friends greet us warmly. They immediately set us up at a little table apart from the others, and as soon we order our meal, they bring us our drinks.
“You say the food is good here?”
“The best. Giovanni and Pepa are excellent chefs. And I promise you, everything comes straight from Milan.”
Ten minutes later, he sees for himself when he gets a taste of a glorious buffalo mozzarella in tomato sauce.
“Delicious.”
He stabs a piece and offers it to me.
“See?” I say. “I told you.”
He offers me another bite. I accept and pinch a piece with my fork, then offer it to him. We start eating from each other’s hands without caring what anyone around us thinks. Once the mozzarella is gone, he wipes his mouth with the napkin and looks my way.
“I have a proposition for you,” he says.
“Hmm, knowing you, it’s indecent.”
He taps the tip of my nose with his finger.
“I’m going to be in Spain for a while before I return to Germany. I suppose you know my father died three weeks ago . . . I want to visit every branch the company has in Spain. I need to know what’s going on because I want to expand. Up until recently, it was my father who was in charge of everything, and . . . well . . . now I’m in charge.”
“I’m sorry about your father—”
“Listen, Jude,” he says, interrupting me. He doesn’t let me get too far when it comes to his personal life. “I’d like you to go with me. You speak and write perfect German, and I need various documents to be sent to my headquarters in Germany after each meeting. I have to be in Barcelona Thursday . . .”
“I can’t. I have too much work.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m the boss.”
“Why don’t you ask Miguel? He was your father’s administrative assistant.”
“I’d rather have you.” He sees my expression. “You’d be there as my administrative assistant. You’d be putting off your vacation until we got back. And of course, your expenses would be taken care of.”
“Uff . . . don’t tempt me to take advantage of you.”
“Take advantage of me,” he whispers.
I don’t really want to think about what he’s proposing. At least, I don’t want to understand it the way I’m thinking about it. But of course, I can’t keep my mouth shut.
“You’re going to pay me to be with you?” I ask.
He looks me right in the eye. “I’m going to pay you for your work, Jude. What kind of person do you think I am?”
I’m nervous and my stomach does a flip-flop, but I have another question.
“And what do you suppose my work will be?” I ask, this time in a low voice so no one can hear.
Without the slightest trace of annoyance, he keeps his impressive eyes on me. “I just explained it to you, sweetness,” he says. “You’ll be my administrative assistant. The person in charge of sending a summary to Germany of what’s discussed at those meetings.”
Before I can say anything else, he takes my hand.
“I’m not going to deny that I’m attracted to you. I get excited when I touch you, and even more when I hear you moan. But trust me; what I’m proposing is entirely legit.”
That amuses me, and I laugh. I feel like Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal.
“Separate hotel rooms?” I ask.
“Of course. We’ll each have our own space. You can think about it until Tuesday. I’ll need an answer then, or I’ll have to look for another assistant.”
Just then, Giovanni shows up with an amazing pizza. The smell of the spices makes my mouth water. From that moment on, we drop the subject. I’m grateful. I have time to think about it. For the moment, we concentrate instead on our splendid meal.