Bad Sex

by Clancy Martin

  “These Mexicans have done a lot more good than you might think. Think about their environment. How do you survive in the desert?”

  “Camels,” Eduard said. He had been drinking too. I did not like his expression.

  Paul’s father laughed. “Ok, Eduard, your forefathers are in the desert, getting chased by the Spanish, by Christians, Americans, the Texans, so they needed transportable money. Paul, you know this one.”

  “Diamonds?” Eduard said. “Gold? Mayan gold?”

  “Conquistadors, sure. But that was their problem, really, not the solution. Think bigger now. Think the twin towers.”

  “The twin towers?” I said.

  “Surely you don’t mean drugs. Drugs and terrorism?” Paul lifted his fork. “Dad—”

  “Banking! They’re taking over the banks! Right, Eduard? And what’s banking? Interest! They’re Catholics, sure, but according to the Mexicans making money is a virtue. That’s the truth. All through Central America, in fact. That’s why the Communists could never get a foothold here, the way they have in South America. It’s in their blood. Eduard, back me up here. I heard it from my own banker. He’s Honduran and about as good a guy as you ever met. Of course the drug trade has had its impact. Money laundering. That’s how the banking originally shifted south. We’ve got the drug wars to thank for that. Any war you ever heard of, there’s a plus side, even for us pacifists. You can’t get interest in American banks any more. But the Mexicans figured it all out. Am I right, Eduard? When you think about it, you give a man a dollar and he gives you a dollar and a half back. That’s genius. That’s pure genius.”

  I’d had enough. I said, “So how long have you been dating your girlfriend, Eduard? She’s a banker too?”

  “She’s a counselor. A kind of psychiatrist. She works with drug-addicted teens.”

  “Pure Latin American genius! That’s the twin towers connection. Banking in America is dead.”

  “I guess we’ve been together six years now?” Eduard looked confused. “We met when one of my partners was having problems with his son. A heroin problem. That’s the real drug problem in this part of the world. The kids.”

  “It’s true, that’s the unintended consequence,” Paul’s father said.

  “There’s no such thing as a free lunch, Eduard.”

  “I’ve told you about her,” Paul said. He was getting upset. “Her name is Lurisia.”

  “She’s a very beautiful woman,” I said. I’d been looking at pictures of Lurisia on Facebook. “She’s a swimmer. She’s Castilian.”

  “Have you met her?” Paul asked me. “When did you meet Lurisia?”

  Paul’s dad gave me a curious, sarcastic look. He thought I was always cheating on Paul.

  “She also works in an abortion clinic,” Eduard said. “To tell you the truth, I don’t approve of that.”

  “Come on, Eduard,” Paul’s father said. “You’re behind the times. A woman should have as much control over her body as a man. The government doesn’t tell you what to do with your cock. They don’t tell you to meet with the Feds before you get a vasectomy.”

  “Dad!” Paul said.

  “I don’t know,” Eduard said. “Perhaps a man should have to meet with a psychologist before a vasectomy.”

  “You’re not thinking it through, Eduard. Suppose you were hooked up to a famous violinist,” Paul’s dad said. “And they told you you’d be breaking the law unless you stayed in the hospital for nine months.”

  “Say again?”

  “Paul,” I said.

  “The violinist dies unless your livers are connected. You have to be in bed with the world’s best violinist for nine months.”

  “Man or a woman?” Eduard asked. I left the table and went to play with Paul’s sons.

  After dessert Eduard came to sit with us and offered to read the boys a book. He had brought books for them and Paul’s six-year-old sat in his lap. He read well, and he turned the pages. He offered to read them to sleep. I said, “No, I’ll do that.”

  Paul said, “No, let me.”

  Putting the kids to bed was something Paul did.

  I went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. I heard Paul’s dad say behind me, to Eduard, “Those kids just prefer men. You’re good with them. I think they scare her. ‘Course not everybody’s cut out to be a stepmother.”

  “Can I refill your drink, Don?”

  “Why thank you, Eduard. I believe this soldier is dead.”

  The man has drunk an entire bottle of scotch by himself, I thought.

  Eduard came up behind me. He kissed the back of my neck. “Let’s go out,” he said.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Don’t worry. These two are easy. I’ll go talk to Paul. You get ready.”

  FIFTEEN

  WE WENT TO THE BAR AT THE RAPHAEL HOTEL ON the plaza. A band was playing. Eduard was drinking whiskey and I had my Coke Light.

  He leaned forward to kiss me and squirted whiskey into my mouth. “Let’s get a room,” Eduard said.

  A lawyer type at the end of the bar was trying to catch my eye. Eduard went to the bathroom and the guy with the lawyer-look tried to talk to me, telling me his name. “Are you visiting Mexico City? Do you like the Zócalo?”

  When Eduard came back I had brushed him off but he was still looking. Eduard stared him down.

  “Do you see that guy?” he asked.

  “Yes. He introduced himself to me when you were in the bathroom. He’s a real estate developer.”

  “My father was a real estate developer. I know about real estate developers.”

  “Hi,” Eduard said to the man, who was about fifty and handsome.

  His suit was expensive. I looked at his shoes. The same.

  He introduced himself to Eduard. They shook hands. Eduard smiled at him warmly. I watched them both look at each other with confidence.

  “Ok,” Eduard said, and put his arm around my waist. I was still sitting. Eduard told the bartender a room number. He lifted me off the bar stool, and picked up his drink.

  “Have a good night,” he said to the man, still smiling.

  The real estate developer saw how easily and thoroughly he’d been beaten. He smiled thinly back at me and we both understood.

  When Eduard got us to the elevator I turned and kissed him with my arms on his back and my hands reaching up for his shoulders. I pressed the whole length of my body against him.

  “I liked that,” I said, and whispered into his ear. “I’m sopping wet.”

  We got home just before the sun rose. Paul’s dad was on his back in bed next to him, in his clothes, his shoes still on, snoring. His hands were folded behind his head and one elbow was pressed against Paul’s ear. I took a shower, made coffee, and fell asleep in a blanket with my head in my arms at the kitchen table.

  SIXTEEN

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, EDUARD WAS BESIDE me in my truck, driving. We were coming back to Mexico City after a trip into the country “to look at a new property.” We’d brought one of Paul’s sons along as cover. He was in the back seat, watching a movie on his iPad.

  We wanted to be as close to each other as we could, and it was hard riding next to him and not being allowed to kiss his neck or his cheek or hold his wrist. We had a ten-year-old chaperone.

  The rain never stopped. We were halfway back from Calderon, passing cars pulled over on the side of the road. Outside a mile-long maquiladora a jack-knifed semi had flipped over on its side. The driver was standing beside his truck with rain coming down on his shoulders. We’d seen police cars, sand trucks, wet horses and collapsed huts on the wet highway. There was no sun, just low clouds and the rain.

  Always, during our time together, it was sun or rain.

  “So we’re going home?”

  “I think we’d better.” I glanced with my eyes at the back seat. “I’m ready to go home,” Paul’s son said.

  “It’s not even five o’clock. Aren’t you hungry, buddy?” Eduard smiled back at him. “This i
s when civilized people have lunch.”

  “We can stop and get something to eat if you want,” I said.

  “I want to go home, Brett. I don’t want to eat in a restaurant. I want to see daddy and grandpa. I’m bored.”

  “Let’s drop him off,” Eduard said. “I’ll run him in and tell Paul that I want you to meet some potential investors. He’s got his dad to take care of. I’ll tell him you’ll sell the idea better than he can. Nobody can sell like a beautiful woman. He knows that.”

  I gave Eduard a look: he’s ten, for Christ’s sake, he can understand every word you’re saying. People who don’t have children don’t understand that they are smarter than adults.

  “Brett, you can really help me close this deal,” he said loudly. “I need your savvy on this one. This will help the hotels. This will really help Paul.”

  I rolled down the window and let the rain blow into the jeep. “You’re getting us all wet!” Eduard said, and he laughed. Then all three of us laughed, we rolled down all our windows, and I was in love again, even more than two minutes before.

  SEVENTEEN

  WHEN WE GOT TO THE RESTAURANT EDUARD PULLED in front and I said, “Can we park here?”

  “Let’s have a drink,” he said. He gave the valet my keys, and told him we’d be back shortly. “Maybe we’ll make it back in time to have dinner with them. Maybe we won’t.”

  I knew Paul’s dad would be watching our time.

  “We really need to be home tonight, Eduard. Paul trusts me. He’s not a jealous person. But he isn’t dumb.”

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s easier for me, because Lurisia stays so busy.”

  I thought this was a veiled insult to Paul but I didn’t say anything.

  In the bar a band was playing. Eduard ordered a drink. My phone was buzzing in my purse and I turned it off without looking to see who it was. I was sick to my stomach from the drive and worrying about Paul and his dad. The set ended, and the drummer came to the bar and stood next to Eduard. She ordered a Hendrick’s gin and tonic. Slice of cucumber. She was younger than me.

  “You guys can play,” Eduard said to her.

  She was too skinny, and her skin was pocked and covered in heavy makeup. I wasn’t concerned.

  “Thanks,” she said. “We’re playing at The Blue Note after this. Eleven o’clock session.”

  Eduard looked at me. I looked at the drummer. I looked at her with his eyes, and I could see that she wasn’t too bad.

  “It’s a great place,” I said.

  “Come down. I’ll buy you guys a drink. You’re a beautiful couple.”

  “She can’t go,” Eduard said. “She’s too tired. She’s going home.”

  “On a Friday night? Well, that’s okay. A woman needs her beauty sleep. You can come alone, if you want. Don’t worry, señora, I’ll show the proper respect.” She patted me on the shoulder, reaching over Eduard.

  Eduard told the bartender he would buy her drink.

  “No no, thank you very much, but my drinks are on the house. What do you drink?”

  “She drinks Coke Light,” Eduard said. “I’ll have a Jameson’s. Not too much ice. You really shouldn’t. But thank you.”

  “A Coke Light,” she laughed. “And a Jameson’s Irish whiskey for the gentleman please, Bobby. One cube of ice.” The drummer told us her name was Maxine, but asked us to call her Max. She gave me a card. Maxine Groove. You can look her up in Mexico City, that’s her real stage name.

  “That’s exactly how I like it,” Eduard said about his whiskey. “How did you know?”

  All this time I had been filling his glass with ice. Maxine stepped away to go to the bathroom.

  “You’re seriously going to the Jazz District with that girl?”

  “Well, I have the night in Mexico City, I’m not just going to sit in your house.”

  “I—” There was nothing I could say. “Drink your drink,” I said. When Max came back I told her we’d see her down at the club.

  “I’m glad to hear you changed your mind,” she said. “How’s the Coke Light?”

  They started to play again. I told Eduard there was a much better club I wanted him to see, where they opened at midnight and played until sunrise.

  “Listen,” he said. “After my drink we’ll get a room. The Four Seasons is five minutes from here. We can order some room service if you’re hungry.” I was hoping he’d have another drink, get sleepy, and want to go home. This was before I understood he was inexhaustible. He said, “Then we’ll go hear some real music. I hate jazz. Did you see that Maxine? What a slut.”

  I understood that by not going home I was making another small bad real decision, like I had made when I climbed into bed with him that first night.

  All these decisions you make for the sake of your lover are little steps you take away from the person you truly love. That’s not to say you don’t love them both, you do. But one has your heart and the other has your attention.

  Then, after many little steps, you turn around and he’s so far away that you think, well, he’s too far away now. We’ve gone.

  EIGHTEEN

  UP IN THE ROOM, I WENT INTO THE BATHROOM TO call Paul. When I came out, there was a silver tray on the bed with two hamburgers, french fries, a rose, three whiskies and three Coke Lights. Eduard was sitting on the edge of the bed with his shoes off and his back to me, looking out at the city. I lay down next to him. He didn’t move, so I touched his belt loop.

  “You got room service.”

  He took a drink then turned and grabbed my head with both his hands and kissed me, his mouth full of whiskey. I took one of his hands from my head and put it between my legs.

  NINETEEN

  A LITTLE PAST THREE IN THE MORNING, I WENT TO the minibar and poured myself a vodka. It was the first drink I’d taken in two years. I savored it. Then I had several more. They woke me and my spine tingled. Dangerously close to sunrise, I woke Eduard, and told him we had to go. Eduard carried me to the truck. He stumbled and nearly dropped me. “I can walk!” I said, laughing. We sat in the truck with the heat blowing and the seat warmers on and kissed. “Let’s go back inside the hotel,” he said.

  “Eduard. Paul.”

  He drove carefully, because of the wet streets and the whiskey.

  My vodka had had a disappointing effect on me. There was no happy glow like I remembered and expected.

  TWENTY

  WHEN WE GOT HOME PAUL’S DAD WAS STILL UP, drinking.

  “How’d it go with the investors?” He leered at us. “How’s the investors? How’s the investors, Brett?”

  “Go to bed, Don,” I said.

  “Here, I’ll take him,” Eduard said.

  “I can find my own goddamn bed in this house! This is my son’s house! My son!”

  I said, “You’re going to wake the boys, Don.” I was worried about Paul.

  “Here, let’s have a drink, Don,” Eduard said. “Let’s have a drink and talk. I think you’ve got something on your mind.” He turned to me. “Why don’t you check on the boys, Brett?”

  I went to see that Paul was still asleep. Then I made myself a whiskey and went to the guest room to wait for Eduard. I chose whiskey because I wanted Eduard to taste himself on my breath. I knew Paul’s dad would end up in our bed again, asleep with his son.

  TWENTY-ONE

  EDUARD WOKE ME UP WHEN HE CAME IN.

  “He’s asleep,” he said. “Don’t worry, they’re all asleep.”

  We made love very gently. I couldn’t come, because of all the booze, but I didn’t pretend, and he didn’t mind.

  We lay there and talked. I felt like I could coil up on his belly.

  That first drunk when you haven’t been drunk in a long time is not really fun. But you recover parts of your personality you’d forgotten, or that had fallen asleep, or were even no longer there.

  “You didn’t come. Let’s make love again.”

  I don’t know why I was suddenly angry with him.
But I wanted to hurt him.

  “The thing is, you know, Paul, he has. Well, you know what I’m going to say.”

  He didn’t know what I was going to say.

  “He has, you know, a big cock. Really big, actually. It’s a beautiful cock too. I mean, it’s like you think a cock ought to look.”

  “Like a what’s-his-name cock.”

  “Mapplethorpe.”

  “Yeah, okay, I got it.”

  I touched his face and regretted what I’d told him.

  “Don’t get me wrong, that’s not what I’m saying. I love your cock. In fact, his cock just hurts.”

  The truth is, I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I was trying to be truthful. But he said it didn’t bother him. He told me a similar thing happened to him once, when he was with a woman in a movie theater. The movie was about Henry Miller and Anais Nin, and at one point Nin tells Miller, about a rival, “I like your cock better. His is too big.”

  Eduard told me, “The girl I was with at the movie said, about her husband, ‘That’s just how I feel. I really like your cock much better than his.’”

  “Exactly,” I said. “That’s how I feel too.” I didn’t care one way or the other. Though I remembered that when Paul and I first met, I thought his soul-destroying cock meant we were supposed to be together.

  Eduard liked to choke me or gag me with his hand while we fucked. He also liked to slap me, hard, in the face and on my breasts, and especially on my legs and ass.

  I never told him that I needed him to do these things to me. He intuited it.

  “It even scares me,” he said, “how violent our sex is.” I said, “I don’t believe you.”

  Often while walking to the library, or shopping in Palanco, the women I didn’t know pulled me aside on the street to ask: “Is everything alright? Can I help?” I enjoyed that.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “HEY, I HAVE GOOD NEWS.”

  “What is it?”