“But the following Saturday you couldn’t persuade her.”
“She was in too deep. Plus El Gringo had said he wanted to invite her to another party at his house. But I’d seen his girlfriend that morning in the square. She wasn’t in Buenos Aires and I didn’t believe he would have people round to his house with his girlfriend in town. That night we went to Gorriti’s first to have some beers. I wanted to take her to a dance hall which was opening that day, but she wasn’t interested. She was excited because El Gringo had sworn he loved her, that he was leaving the girlfriend, that that night would be their first one together as a couple.”
“That’s what she told you?”
“I saw it with my own eyes! El Gringo was sending her these little messages every ten minutes. There was nothing I could do about that. At midnight, El Gringo came to pick her up in his car.”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes. I still remember how excited Bibi was. She gave me a big smacker of a kiss when she went. I remember it really well.”
Roxana took a sip of coffee. Verónica said nothing.
“I wanted El Gringo to pay for what he did, but nobody cared. And I was scared. I was looking all around me when I walked down the street. So when I met the man who’s now my husband, I told him I wanted to move here.”
“Would you be prepared to say all this in front of a judge?”
“What’s the point? Nothing will happen, just like nothing happened to the men who killed the tourists.”
“Three men have already been identified.”
“I’ve seen the photos. Now they’re saying that the great-great-grandson of Colonel Berti is guilty too. But there’s no way he’ll ever go to prison.”
“He will, just you wait and see. If he’s responsible for the girls’ deaths, he’s going to pay for what he did.”
“OK, well, when that guy gets locked away, come back to me and we’ll go to court. And I’ll tell them everything I know. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Are you still frightened?”
“Frightened? No, not any more. I’m going to have a baby girl and I don’t want her to run into guys like that one day. But is there any point if everything comes out, my own life gets dragged through the mud, I get treated like a slut and then nobody pays? Put the men who killed the tourists behind bars and I swear I’ll give evidence, even though my husband doesn’t want me to.”
Roxana stood up and went to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water from the tap and drank it in one go. Then she went into an adjoining room. Verónica heard a drawer being opened. Roxana reappeared a few minutes later.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot in the last few days and I want to confide in you. So I’m going to give you something nobody knows I have.”
She placed a mobile phone, quite an old model, on the table.
“That day Bibi was anxious, and when El Gringo turned up she left her phone on the table. I realized straightaway, but when I went out to give it to her she’d already gone. All the phone calls and the texts El Gringo was sending from his phone are there. You just have to find a charger for it, because I’ve had it put away for years.”
Verónica couldn’t believe it. Something like this would make it much easier to get them to bring Aráoz to trial. She picked up the phone as if it were a rare treasure.
As they were saying goodbye, she remembered something Roxana had said to her and which she had been turning over in her mind.
“Why do you think they’re going to drag your name through the mud?”
“That’s what the lawyer for Bibi’s family said to me. Since I also hung around with rich guys who had girlfriends, they might think I was a prostitute. We wanted to have fun, to dream that those boys could fall in love with us. And then the idiot I was with looked away from me when I went to say hello to him in a bar. He may have been all brilliant smiles like a toothpaste ad, but he was a jerk, a nasty piece of work, just like his best friend, El Gringo Aráoz.”
“A toothpaste ad? What was the name of this guy you were seeing?”
“Ramiro Elizalde.”
V
Things were getting complicated. Federico had called Nicolás several times without reaching him. Meanwhile, Aarón was pressuring Federico to do everything possible to remove Nicolás from the investigation – but that was going to be difficult if he couldn’t manage to speak to him. To top it all off, Verónica had broadcast Nicolás’s possible involvement to the four winds. There were already cameras trained on the entrance to the Menéndez Berti estate and journalists declaring that the brains behind the double murder lived there. He knew Nicolás had voluntarily presented himself to give a DNA sample. In Federico’s mind, even with the results not back, that ruled him out as the fourth man. Could it be another of Nicolás’s employees?
Verónica emerged exultant from Roxana’s house. It was the first time since arriving in Tucumán he had seen her so happy.
They stopped at a bar in San Miguel to have a coffee and Verónica told him about her conversation with Bibi’s friend.
“First the girls’ deaths have to be resolved,” said Verónica. “Only then will she feel safe enough to give evidence.”
After leaving the bar they looked for a phone shop and were lucky enough to find a charger compatible with the phone Roxana had given her.
Back at the house, Verónica plugged in the charger. The phone was working, and she was able to see the texts straightaway: there were loads from a certain Guille. A quick check to confirm that it was Aráoz’s phone number at the time could be enough to land him in serious trouble. There were love messages and veiled threats, too. And a few from that night confirming that he had promised to take her to a party. Verónica made a note of all the messages. It wouldn’t be difficult to reopen the case, especially if Roxana came forward to testify.
Federico had to make an effort not to forget that danger lurked outside the house: Peratta. He felt safe in this place. Every so often he checked the alarm, and he had his gun case to hand and was alert to any call from his contacts who had links to Peratta.
“Let me take care of supper tonight,” Verónica said to Federico that night, to his surprise.
That was very unexpected, coming from her. Federico went out into the garden. He liked looking at the sky from there. It wasn’t like the sky in Buenos Aires. The one over Tucumán was darker, with more stars. Soon Verónica appeared with two glasses of wine.
“If you like, I’ll teach you how to spot the satellites,” she said.
Sure enough, if he concentrated, he could see celestial bodies which looked like stars except that they were moving in the sky. He hadn’t realized Verónica knew about this kind of thing.
“I didn’t actually know about it. Petra told me one night. We were standing right about here.”
“Look at the moon. It’s almost full. There’s only a little way to go. Everyone loves a full moon. But it makes me feel a bit sad knowing that the next day – or rather, the next night – it’s going to start getting smaller, until it disappears.”
“That’s life, Fede: we’re born, we grow, we shrink and die. The bitch is when you die too soon. Frida and Petra had loads of plans. They were people who did good in the world. And evil bastards caused their deaths. I think about this all the time.”
Federico would have held her, would have told her this pain would pass. It wouldn’t disappear, but she would get used to it, as people get used to a scar.
“Hey, what about dinner?”
“It’s in hand. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
Inside there was a delicious smell of melted cheese.
“What have you made?”
And Verónica, as though she were sliding out of the oven a dish made by Paul Bocuse himself, exclaimed, “Pizza Sibarita.”
“Ah, you’re shameless. You put a frozen pizza in the oven and call that cooking?”
“First of all, I didn’t say I was going to cook, but that I would take care of supp
er. I could have called for a takeaway, you know. And secondly, these pizzas are really good. Don’t be a spoilsport.”
“And thirdly, you don’t know how to cook.”
“I know the basics: how to make coffee, boil noodles – though admittedly I usually do them too long – and rice, I can do steak but don’t like to because the kitchen fills up with smoke and smells, and my star turn: roast pumpkin with mozzarella.”
After washing up, they repeated the previous night’s line-up. Verónica went in search of the bottle of Johnnie Walker and two glasses; he looked through the movie options.
“Have you seen Buffalo ’66?”
“No, who directed it?” asked Verónica as she filled their glasses.
“Vincent Gallo. He directed it, stars in it, composed the soundtrack.”
Federico put on the movie and they settled back into the same places as the night before. At times, it was quite painful to watch the story of the ex-convict who kidnaps a girl in order to pass her off as his wife to his parents. The viewer wants things to go well for these two losers in life.
“If it ends badly I’ll kill you,” Verónica told him.
Federico didn’t want a tragic ending either, or even a sad one. To his surprise, Verónica moved towards him and leaned her head on his shoulder. He sat still, frozen, not knowing what to do. Thousands of thoughts flitted through his head, not least how short their sexual relationship had been compared to their lengthy platonic one. Verónica knew that in all the intervening years, he had never stopped carrying a torch for her. He had learned to tolerate the boyfriends and lovers. He had hooked up with other girls, girls who were nicer, younger and even prettier than Verónica (scratch that: she was still the prettiest), but he had never been able to get her out of his head. And now her head was resting on his shoulder. Because she was tired? Was she sad about the movie, or still traumatized by everything she was going through? What did she want from him? Federico dared only move his body a little so she could rest her head more comfortably. He could feel the warmth of her body close to his. What to do? If he made a wrong move he could ruin this time together, destroy the trust she had built in him. She might even think he was trying to take advantage of her vulnerability. Better, he thought, if the decision were not left to him. Let the movie make it. If it ended badly – and all signs were that it would – he would say See you tomorrow and go to his room. No harm done. If the movie ended well, he’d kiss her.
The movie finished, to all intents and purposes with a happy ending. He shuffled down a bit to be on a level with Verónica’s face, both of them leaning against the sofa. She smiled at him.
And he kissed her.
It was a series of short kisses, like the sound of an engine turning over until it engages. Then the short kisses became one long, warm kiss. Verónica moved closer, until she was almost facing him, and he put his arms around her. He had waited years for that embrace and now it was happening. At any moment it might be interrupted or change into something else, like in a bad dream.
Verónica drew lightly away and said, “This is madness, Fede. It’s the closest to incest we can get.”
“I’m not your brother, or your lover either. I love you more than I would love you if I were part of your family, or just some guy you sleep with every now and then.”
“I still like you, even though you say ‘sleep with’.” Verónica gave him a kiss. A few kisses.
Federico moved his hand under her T-shirt, stroked her back and unclasped her bra. Verónica’s eyes were half closed and her mouth open as he squeezed her breasts.
“Let’s go to my room,” said Verónica.
He followed her to the room where she threw herself across the bed, face down, to reach the bedside table.
“I’ve got two condoms,” she said, taking them and turning her head. Her ass looked devastating in jeans. “I hope that’s enough.”
“One’s more than enough, if you ask me.”
“You’re kidding me,” she said, laughing.
“No,” he said, climbing on top of her and kissing her neck.
Verónica turned over, leaving the condoms to one side. Federico was kissing her, but he wanted to eat her, bite her, chew her, taste her whole body. He pulled off her T-shirt and the bra which was already undone, and unbuttoned her jeans. She was wearing black lace underwear that matched her bra. He turned her over again and Verónica let herself be turned. Before Federico’s eyes were her naked back, her ass accentuated by the underwear. He bit her nape and kissed all the way down her spine. When he reached her underwear he began to pull it down with his teeth and she turned over. Federico buried his face between her legs. Eating her, biting her, chewing her, tasting her, hearing Verónica’s moans. She sat up and asked him to stop, and took off his clothes. Now she was the one throwing herself voraciously on his body. She sucked with dedication, every so often smiling up at him. She groped for a condom, opened it with her mouth and put it on him, then climbed on top and started to move. He caressed her breasts, waist, legs. She leaned on his chest, then moved her hands towards his neck, circling it with her slim fingers and starting to press down, slowly at first then harder as she came closer to orgasm. Federico began to feel that he couldn’t breathe and tried to tilt his head back, but the pressure of her hands made that impossible. He saw that she was climaxing and didn’t want to interrupt her by removing her hands from his throat, but he was getting increasingly short of breath. She was crying out and he was practically passing out. With what remained of his strength he did something he wouldn’t remember moments later: he pushed her backwards, without even thinking about it. A second later he was coughing wildly and Verónica was next to him looking on with horror. He couldn’t talk, even though she was asking if he was all right. What he wanted was to gulp down all the air in the room.
“You almost killed me,” he finally gasped, his breathing still broken but a little more oxygen in his lungs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear.”
“I imagine! If I’d thought you wanted to kill me I would have got the hell out!”
“I’m sorry.” Verónica stroked his face, his chest.
“You really are crazy. Certifiable.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again as she removed the condom and went down on him again.
VI
When he woke up, Verónica was still there. He looked at the time: half past twelve. The last time he had been aware of being awake was around seven o’clock in the morning. Now Verónica was sleeping, breathing deeply. Her hair all over her face. Gently he pushed it back. He wanted to see her properly. He would have liked to pull off the covers and gaze at her body. Run his hands over her. Daylight was filtering between the slats in the blinds. If, before going to sleep, he had thought that she wouldn’t be beside him in the morning, now he feared that when she woke up she would tell him everything had been a mistake, that they should go back to acting like siblings.
Verónica half-opened her eyes.
He braced himself for any reaction, knowing he needed to behave like a gentleman and not make any pathetic scenes about being used for sex.
“What time is it?” she asked, forming the words with some difficulty.
“Half past twelve.”
“What day?”
“Wednesday.”
Verónica opened her eyes more fully. “For a moment I was scared it might already be Thursday or Friday.” She noticed him looking at her. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m just waiting for the moment when you say it was all a mistake, a rampant case of incest and other awful things I don’t feel like hearing. You may think I’m a fool, or a mother’s boy, or your father’s son, or some other thing that gives you an excuse to back away. But you’re wrong. I’m the man who can make you happy. The only one, I think. And anything you might say to the contrary is madness. Just another example of your madness. And don’t start going on about how there are other men, or that intimacy could ruin our f
riendship or anything else like that, because I don’t want to hear it. Do you understand?”
“I think so. You’ve been awake for a while, haven’t you?”
“A little while – why?”
“I don’t know, you’ve clearly been thinking a lot.”
“And what do you have to say?”
“About what? About the night we spent together? About you? The night: spectacular. You: a delight.”
“Nothing else? And what about you? What have you got to say?”
“That I’m divine. That none of your other women, past or present, can fuck you better than me. I don’t know what else to say. Now be a good boy and go and make some really good coffee.”
It was one of those rare days when everything seems to go perfectly. They had a late breakfast and then Federico said that it would be a great day for an asado. Not at a grill, but at home, made by him. Verónica asked him several times if he was sure he knew how to do one. He said that, given the magnificent outdoor barbecue area the house had, it would be crazy not to use it. They should go to the city to buy meat, and also condoms.
They took the car to San Miguel, where Verónica bought condoms and a couple of packets of cigarettes in a newsagent. They found a butcher that looked trustworthy and parked outside. Federico asked her if she ate offal.
“Obviously: chorizo, black pudding, sweetbreads, kidneys.”
The Foreign Girls Page 27