by Silvia Zucca
I snort, looking to Tio to rescue me.
“NO,” he says crossing his arms across his chest. When I show him my puppy dog eyes and pouty lips in my last attempt to win him over, he leans back in his chair, putting more distance between us.
“You’ve already kissed. Then he asked you on a date, and you made the mistake of saying yes right away. Now you need to make up for it in some other way. Alejandro is a Sagittarius; that is the Homo eroticus of the zodiac. It’s enough to know that Sagittarius is always focused on sex: If he’s not doing it with someone, he’s thinking about doing it, or he’s doing it on his own. Of course, when you do get a Sagittarius between the sheets, you will discover he is an exceptional lover, fully endowed, every woman’s secret fantasy, a mystical experience par excellence.”
“TIO!” we hear Paola exclaim from the telephone.
“Sorry, Paola . . . But in the end, they are not big fans of lasting relationships. Therefore, it’s better to build up their interest before you let them reach their goal.”
By the time Alejandro comes to pick me up, I have put together an ensemble of stiletto boots with a high leg, prudish ’80s denier stockings, and a miniskirt.
However, Alejandro seems ready to disprove every hypothesis conjured up by the two conspirators I still call friends. First of all, he doesn’t jump on top of me like Paola told me to expect. He doesn’t even try for a quick grope during the customary kisses on the cheek, like Tio told me to expect. In fact, he is even kind enough to open the car door for me, something that Carlo never deigned to do in five years of dating.
On the way, he talks a lot, mostly about himself, about Seville and Spain. He asks if I’ve ever been there and what I thought of it. I am more and more inclined to believe that those two don’t understand him one bit.
“So, you see, when I eh-saw you otra vez . . . and you . . . You muss excuse me, because this is not my way. It’s that I like you, Aliz. And I take advantage of you. Lo siento mucho. And esta noche lo que quería, what I wanted to do, is eh-say eh-sorry.”
His idea of eh-sorry meant going to a bar, which in his opinion, a “simple and spontaneous” girl like myself would like. Of course, with my leather leggings and heels, I don’t feel so simple and spontaneous tonight, or even steady enough to walk through the long grass as we try to reach the lights down below. I avoid a sprain by stopping to contemplate the colored lanterns waving in the breeze.
“They are so beautiful,” I say, to catch my breath.
“Maybe I eh-should have tell you where I take you esta noche,” he says, smiling at me. “I don’t want for you to hurt yourself . . . Espere . . . Wait.” He bends to his knees and, with no effort at all, lifts me up in his arms and finishes crossing the remaining three hundred feet of field.
If I were to attempt to describe the palpitations of his heart and mine, the scent of his hair flowing in the wind and tickling my cheek, the heat emanating from his alpha male body and all my turmoil as a result, I would risk sounding like the swooning heroine of an Austen novel. Let’s just say that I enjoyed every single stride of that moonlit walk, and when he sets my feet down on the rough wooden planks of some sort of dance floor en plein air, I am still wrapped up in a dream.
“What is this?” I ask him, happy that his arm is still supporting me.
“Aquí bailamos. Flamenco, tango . . . Dance de mi tierra.”
The only problem is that I can’t move an inch—and it’s not just because of the high-heeled boots. I’ve always been stiff as a poker.
“El momento I eh-saw you, I want you in my arms . . . Quiero bailar contigo, Aliz.”
How could anyone say no to someone who puts it like that? I tell myself that if Jennifer Grey could do it, I should be able to do it.
It goes without saying, Alejandro is a dancing god. I, obviously, am not. I trip, but he doesn’t mind. He helps me as we move, correcting me sweetly, whispering in my ear what I should do. And suddenly I am dancing, without even trying.
We end up flushed, me pressed against his sweaty body. Our hearts beat crazily and we look into each other’s eyes as if we’ve already made love. That is the feeling that I got dancing with him, touching him, feeling his secure hold. We made love in the most sublime and platonic sense of the word.
We dance again, this time to slow and sensual music. Again there are caresses, his lips against my ear and his warm breath on my neck.
And he kisses me.
He does it suddenly, stopping in the middle of the floor and in the middle of the dance. In spite of the music, I hear him sigh when his eyes meet mine, with a look that is definitely unsuitable for minors, and he takes my face in his hands.
“I don’t know how much time is passed from the last time I feel this.”
I nuzzle my cheek against the palm of his hand.
“Aliz, mi vida was imperfecto . . . I keep running, running, from estado to estado, continente to continente Un hombre eh . . . seeking desperately for eh . . . something. Y eres tú, Aliz. Eres tú, mi amor. Make love to me . . . por favor . . . ayuda a un hombre moribundo.”
How could I not help a “moribundo”? God, I want to be in his bed already.
But I can’t! Thanks to Tio, Paola, and my untrimmed forest.
I flash him a smile, kissing the point of his nose.
“Excuse me just a second . . . ”
I slip away, rummaging through my purse and calling Tio’s number—and when he doesn’t answer, Paola’s—while I wait in line at the bar.
“Hello, Alice? How did it go?”
“Paola, damn it!”
“Honey, you’re making me worried. What did he do to you?”
“What did he do to me? What didn’t he do to me? What can’t he do to me . . . not to mention what I will do to you tomorrow! Alejandro is . . . simply divine . . . we are in love . . . and I can’t go to bed with him because you stopped me from waxing.”
“Alice, this is exactly what you must avoid at all costs. Be strong. There’ll be other chances. After all . . . if he really loves you, he will wait.”
“You don’t understand: I’m the one who can’t wait! I’m telling you, either I’m going to find a razor or I’ll remove these hairs one by one with my teeth, and you will have that on your conscience.”
“No, Alice! I forbid it. No shaving!”
“Yes. I’m shaving now!” And I will never in my life listen to either of those two again.
13
* * *
Libra on a Hot Tin Roof
I’m in for a sleepless night; unfortunately, not because of a tall, dark, and handsome man with a six-pack straight out of a fitness magazine, but because of another yellow rose.
As it turns out, the worst bars in Caracas don’t allow under-the-table distribution of toiletries like hotels do. So, since removing every hair with a cocktail umbrella would take the entire night, I decided to let it go.
Sure, I could have told Alejandro to come up to my house and at least looked for a razor, but because, as usual, I listened to Paola and Tio, my apartment looks like a set from a postatomic horror movie. I made up an excuse and have accepted the fact that the only steamy thing in my night will be a cup of chamomile tea to sedate my desires.
I walk out of the elevator on cloud nine after one of those kisses that knocks you completely off your feet . . . and then I see it.
On my doormat is a rose identical to the one I had received in the office.
I bend down to collect it and as soon as I lift it up, a shiver runs down my spine. This time, there is a note. And it has just one word: Remember?
Panic. What am I supposed to remember?
OK, Alice, you really may have a secret admirer. Holy cow! I mean, really, deep down, aren’t I someone who believes in the unlikeliest romantic situations?
The problem is that I’ve always thought about my life like a romantic comedy. What if it is actually a thriller? All this time I’ve been thinking that I am Julia Roberts but maybe I am actually one of tho
se extras that no one cares about who dies ten minutes into a movie.
Between my unsated passion for Alejandro and the prospect of being a stupid cheerleader in a horror film, it took me a while to fall asleep.
• • •
The next day, my day off, I decide I am in need of pampering and, let’s face it, grooming. I need a beautician who will allow me to undress without fear of being mistaken for the missing link between men and apes.
After the spa, I walk through the Sempione Park to get to the tram back home.
I allow myself a moment to savor the prospect of no longer being single. It’s true; my relationship with Alejandro is just beginning, but it has all the signs of growing and becoming something truly incredible. Perhaps we could go on vacation to Spain this summer; we could even decide to get married there.
Who would have ever thought that I would marry a Spaniard? Cool . . . and very Melanie Griffith of me.
I feel my cell vibrate and sigh as I pull it out. It’s Alejandro. We have been sending romantic messages since this morning. It’s only to be expected; after all, we’re in love.
He writes:
How can I stop thinking about you?
I answer:
Just give in and think of me.
Short and direct. Go Alice. You’re making him happy without dragging on too long and making him think that you’re hanging on his every word.
Him again:
Work without you is torture . . . ¿Dónde está mi vida?
I sigh and respond:
Getting ready to hold you.
Another buzz. I open it anxiously.
This time it’s Tio. Ugh.
Don’t think that I don’t know what you are doing! Your Moon is conjunct to Neptune, and this prevents you from seeing things realistically and facilitates your abandonment to dreamlike and delusionary states. Furthermore, there is a Sextile of Mercury stimulating your already natural attraction to mystery . . . and you haven’t answered me since this morning. You’re Not Fooling Me: I know you’re up to something! Remember that Sagittarius is as much a master of seduction as he is of cut and run. I’m not saying they are not sincere when they tell you they love you, but that tomorrow they could say it just as sincerely to someone else. Like I’ve told you, we need an Ascendant to really be sure. Find out what it is and we’ll speak again.
Damn Tio and his astrological third eye. Now that he’s met Paola, I’m sure that he’ll go blab everything to her. I really don’t think he’s understanding Alejandro very well.
He said he was going to help me with men, but he never approves of anyone. I mean, Sagittarius is supposed to be a sign that is compatible with me. He mentioned it more than once, and when I rejoiced that I’d finally met someone that might work, he dragged out this story about also needing the Ascendant. No! Now he’s pulled the rug out from under my feet. What do I know about Alejandro’s Ascendant? I even tried to ask him, but he answered with three question marks, which means that he’s never even heard of it.
I decide to cut through a meadow, and today I am not even bothered by the couples I see rolling in the grass at dusk. I no longer feel excluded. Soon I, too, could be rolling around this meadow.
Just as I am imagining the perfect ’80s movie moment, kissing Alejandro silhouetted against a flaming red sunset, two things happen.
The first is a meteorite that hits me on the neck and throws me off balance.
The second is a cargo truck of flesh, paws, and drool that crashes into me, throwing me to the ground and launching my smartphone into the air, along with Alejandro’s last message:
Tú eres elegante y hermosa.
And I find myself, hermosa and elegante, face-planted on the ground.
As I try to get up, a long, warm tongue laps at my cheek, causing me to spring backward.
“Wait!” yells a voice behind me. “Good boy, Flash. OFF!”
I feel strange, like that tingling you get when someone kisses your neck, especially when you don’t expect it. It lasts a microsecond, and I’m not sure if I recognize him because I turn around or if I turn around because I recognize him. All I know is that Davide is in front of me.
He runs up to me. “Alice, are you OK? Are you hurt? Let me see.”
“No . . . I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”
“I’m sorry. Flash is oblivious to anything around him whenever we’re playing catch.”
Meanwhile the phone buzzes again, a sign that it wasn’t broken by the fall. Thank God. I was already worried about having lost touch with Alejandro. Tragedy averted.
“Come on, let’s go clean you up. Don’t faint,” Davide says. “It’s just a little blood.”
Blood?
BLOOD!
I look at my arm. There is a cut that runs from my wrist almost all the way up to my elbow. And I’m still bleeding.
I fear the creature could mistake my arm for a steak. “Good boy, Cujo, be good.”
“His name is Flash. Don’t be scared. He’s as good as gold.”
Another buzz from my cell announces a new message. I give a quick look.
What are you doing? Why aren’t you answering me?
Oh god, it’s true. I didn’t answer him.
“He’s a Great Dane,” Davide says while he puts my arm under the water fountain. “He needs to run, and sometimes we come here to play ball.” More precisely, with the punctured leather ball with the consistency of concrete that took me by surprise.
With my arm still dripping with reddish water, I quickly type:
I was deciding what to wear for you . . .
I turn to Davide, who looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not broken, is it?” he asks, pointing to the phone.
God, why am I blushing? “Just checking. No, it’s not broken, luckily.”
“Good. I’m sorry about the fall,” he says, glancing at the dog. “Come on, to say sorry, Flash and I will buy you an aperitivo.”
• • •
We order a platter of cold cuts and two glasses of white wine. Davide insists on paying, frowning when I go to take out my wallet. “Don’t even try.”
I look down, flattered. And I feel vaguely guilty when the phone buzzes yet again.
Te imagino dressing for mi, putting your panties . . .
I blush and bring the glass to my lips.
“With all these chance encounters, you must think I’m following you.”
The bubbles rise to my nose and I start to cough, covering my face with my hand.
In my mind, the image of the yellow rose appears. What if Tio had been right when he said that he could see Davide as my Cyrano de Bergerac? In fact, he does know where I live, since he brought me home that time.
“Calm down! I didn’t say that I am. I said that perhaps you might think so. I ended up taking a house here.”
“Ah . . .” I ask myself why Davide always has this hallucinatory effect on me. Then my cell phone buzzes again.
¿De qué color es tu lingerie, querida? Make me dream hasta la noche.
Oh god. For a moment, I start to daydream and I see Alejandro taking off his shirt. Except that, as soon as he slips it over his head, it’s no longer him, but . . .
Davide is still in front of me. “Are you OK?”
I take another gulp of wine and force myself to respond as I type something to Alejandro. “Oh yeah . . . sure . . . so what were you doing here?”
He keeps looking at me and frowning. “I just told you. Alice, are you sure that you don’t want to go to the emergency room?”
“No, no. I’m good.”
Davide shrugs and sips his wine. “Actually, what I meant to say was that I am happy that I ran into you, Alice. There are some things I would like to explain.”
The buzzing of the phone distracts me again. It buzzes, two, three times. Alejandro is going crazy for my underwear descriptions. When I look up, I see Davide snort and fold his arms across his chest.
“Sorry. Keep talking. I’ll just be a second.”<
br />
“In part, it concerns work. Well, no, not really, not exactly . . . Yes, work has something to do with it, but the thing is that I feel the need to clarify something with you. It’s something that’s happening, and I wanted to ask you . . .”
The messages from my Latin stallion are now delirious. He’s even mentioning some particular tortures that he will subject me to under his tongue. Damn. How do I reply to that?
“So, you were speaking about the show?” I sigh, after sending a string of emojis worthy of a teenager.
But Davide is getting up. “It doesn’t matter,” he replies, drily. “I’m sorry to have kept you. You obviously have things to do. We’ll speak about it in the office.”
14
* * *
A Very Little Sagittarius
I don’t understand why Davide left in such a hurry.
I especially don’t know why I’m still thinking about him, even now that I’m with Alejandro. I am really in a bad way if, when I’m with my B-O-Y-F-R-I-E-N-D, I am racking my brains about what someone else said or didn’t say.
In this regard, I always get the impression that I’m missing something with Davide.
But I can’t think about that now. I will worry about it tomorrow. Right now, I have to concentrate on Alejandro.
He was working late today, so, in direct defiance of Paola and Tio, I went right to the little apartment that he rents not far from the television studios.
I ate something first, as he told me to do, because he was going to be late. That way we wouldn’t waste any time.
While Alejandro is taking a shower, I give myself a quick once-over.
“Mi amor.”
I feel a shiver down my spine and his wet mouth on the back of my neck.
I dedicate all my attention to him: his arms, his biceps, his mouth, and his kisses.
Shivers. I feel shivers all over. In the excitement, I feel like the heroine of one of those soft porn novels that’s always at the top of the charts. Except I don’t want shades of gray, or black, or white; I want to experience every moment in glorious Technicolor.