Don't Come Back Here Any More

by Pedro Menchén

  “You don’t have to worry about a thing,” J.J. repeated when Harrison went out to the street. I won’t bother you much. I’ll go when you want, whenever you get tired of me.

  “Well, I ... It’s not that ...” I said, getting more nervous. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you. It’s that ... well, there’s something you have to know, before you can give me your answer. I didn’t tell you the other day, but I ...”

  Harrison started making very expressive gestures to J.J. with his hand and I saw that he was no longer listening to me.

  “Excuse me,” he said, getting up.

  He headed to the street, and, once there, he grabbed the phone from his friend. He spoke for several minutes, moving from one side to the other and kicking the air, until, unexpectedly, he stopped moving and remained stiff, looking very serious. Harrison, meanwhile, watched him in silence with the same stiffness. Just then a man passed by on the sidewalk and turned his head to look at them, perhaps surprised by something he heard. Almost immediately a red car stopped on a corner and I thought someone had gone to look for them, but it was a false impression, since neither of them took notice of the car. J.J. kept talking a while longer. Finally he returned the phone to Harrison and they both returned silently into the café.

  “We have to go,” said J.J. without looking at me. “I’m sorry.”

  “Of course,” I said, getting up.

  I shook hands with Harrison and then with J.J. Both their hands were very cold. I couldn’t remember ever touching such cold hands. J.J. looked at me in silence, as if he wanted to tell me something else, while Harrison was already heading for the exit.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said finally. “We can have dinner tomorrow if you want.”

  “Okay, but the next time try to come alone, okay?

  “Okay.”

  “We have to talk.”

  “I accept what you proposed to me,” said J.J. “You won’t have any problem with me, mate. You’ll see.”

  “No. They are not two poor boys,” I thought as I saw them cross the street in a hurry, dodging cars in the middle of the road. “They aren’t what you would call two poor boys.”

  Pedro was waiting for me in the blue Ford Mondeo that I already knew very well, near the front door of my house. He came running toward me and stopped me in my tracks in the middle of the sidewalk. He looked very pale and he stared at me fixedly.

  “You’re getting to be a bore,” I said with resignation. “What’s happening now? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

  “I love you!” said Pedro with a tremulous voice. He looked dirty and neglected, but I felt no pity for him.

  “Yes, that’s what you told me the other day! But I don’t believe you. Now don’t get melodramatic. It doesn’t suit you. You never loved me. Why are you telling me this nonsense?”

  “I never told you until now, but I do love you,” insisted Pedro. “I didn’t realize it until now. I know that I didn’t behave too well with you. I’m sorry.”

  “This is all nonsense. You don’t love me. And anyway, as it happens, I don’t like you. And that can’t be forced, can it? You told me that yourself. I no longer desire you. So what can I do?”

  “You’re resentful. That’s what’s wrong with you.”

  “No! I’m not resentful!”

  “And I know you love me.”

  “No! I don’t love you!”

  “I know where you’re coming from and who you’re going out with now,” he said, grabbing me by the arm and stopping me from going through the door. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re making a mistake”

  “So now you’ve started spying on me!” I shouted, offended.

  “It’s for your own good. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “That’s my problem! And you’re not going to watch me ever again! Do you hear me? I’m not going to let you!”

  “I’ll wait for you,” said Pedro obstinately, backing away toward his car. “I don’t mind waiting. I want you to know that.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Sooner or later you’ll realize your mistake.”

  “Oh yeah? You’re the one who’s making a mistake! I don’t love you any more! Do you hear me? And don’t come back here any more! Quit watching me or I’ll call the police!”

  I went in the house furious and irritated, without really knowing why. Because of Pedro, yes, but also because of J.J. (José Jefferson or John Jairo, whatever his name was). I didn’t like what I saw or what I heard. Now it turned out that he wasn’t Venezuelan, but Colombian. Why had he lied to me? And all those calls ... That boy was mixed up in some mess and the last thing I wanted was to get involved in a mess. Besides that, I had stupidly offered him my home and he had taken me at my word. There was no way to stop him now, in spite of all my evasions. At least he still didn’t know my address, I told myself with some relief. Maybe the best thing would be never to see that boy again. Not to call him, and to ignore his calls. Yes, that would be for the best.

  I walked around the living room and the kitchen several times, without knowing very well what do do or where to sit down. I still hadn’t had supper and I didn’t find anything to eat in the fridge, in the pantry, or anywhere. Only stale crackers and a can of sardines. But there wasn’t so much as a piece of bread!

  I had to talk to somebody, I needed to talk to somebody, but I didn’t know who. I thought of Danny, but no. He would be at some gathering, busy being the center of attention. And besides, Danny was so inconsequential. He knew how to listen, yes, he understood problems, sure, his opinions were sometimes quite sensible, but now was not the best moment to speak with him about my problems, and least of all on the phone.

  There was Pruden, of course. Pruden never failed me. But this was not a good time for him either. At this time of day he would be in the living room, watching television with his mother, and he wouldn’t be free to talk. It was better to wait until tomorrow and call him when he would be alone in his office or send him an e-mail and tell him everything in writing, as I had done other times. But I had no appetite for writing. I needed to hear another voice!

  I took a can of beer out of the fridge (at least there was still some beer!) and I sat down on the sofa next to the phone. I dialed Pruden’s number. I put my legs on the table, I opebed the can of beer and took a swallow. I realized then that all the lights in the house were on. Only the television was turned off. It had been ages since I turned on the television.

  “Hi, it’s me,” I said. “Can we talk?”

  “Yeah. My Mom went to bed a while ago. She wasn’t feeling very well tonight and she went to bed a little early.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Then is it okay to talk?”?

  “Yeah, but I have to talk softly. Tell me.”

  “...”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’ve got problems,” I said. “A lot of problems.”

  “Problems?”

  “Well. It’s nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “What problems?”

  I took a long swallow of my beer and leaned back on the sofa.

  “I don’t know ... I don’t know.”

  “Is it about that boy? The one you met on the bus?”

  “It’s nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Yeah, could be ... And Pedro, who’s getting to be a real pain in the ass.”

  “I think he really loves you, you know?”

  “You think he loves me? Has he been talking to you too? You’re not going to tell me that you’re taking his side?”

  “I saw him the other day. He’s a mess.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “He says that he didn’t realize before ...”

  “Yeah, I get it. You needn’t go on. I know it by heart.”

  “You should give him another chance, listen to him. If you loved him so much ...”

  “Look. I don’t need any sermons tonight. That’s the last thing I expected from you. Sorry I bothered you! Thanks very much!” I sai
d, slamming down the phone.

  I regretted my behavior immediately, but it was already late. “Now I know I’m fucked,” I thought. “Poor Pruden, what fault did he have?” I took a swallow of my beer and I blanked my eyes, staring into space.

  Five minutes later the phone rang.

  “I’m sorry, Pruden,” I said. “I’m very sorry. I ...”

  “Allô! Ramón? It’s J.J.”

  “Oh, no!” I exclaimed involuntarily.

  “I told you I’d call you. Remember?”

  “Yes, but I ...”

  “I’m sorry about running out on you. Something came up. A work matter, but we can get together for dinner some other night. Tomorrow, if you want.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  “You call me J.J.”

  “No. I want to know your real name.”

  “It’s a long story. Call me J.J.”

  “Are you from Venezuela or Colombia?”

  “From Colombia. But ...”

  “And why did you lie to me?”

  “Listen, mate, you’ve got nothing to fear from me. Is that what’s worrying you? I only want to work in this country. I haven’t come here to look for trouble.”

  “Agreed, agreed,” I said, calming myself. “But what I don’t understand is why ...”

  “You offered me your home, didn’t you? Why are you changing your mind now?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind. But you don’t know me either. I ... I’m gay, get it? And if you live with me ...”

  “So you’re gay! I knew that already! I’ve known lots of gays in my country. I’ve even lived with a gay guy.”

  “You lived with a gay guy?

  “Yes. But it was a long time ago. I was practically a child.”

  “But you told me that ... Okay, you didn’t want to be a hustler. They offered you a job as a hustler or something like that and ...”

  “Of course I don’t want to be a hustler! I do things for pleasure or I don’t do them. What I don’t want to do is put a price on my body. Get it?”

  “Yes, yes. I understand. So you lived with a gay guy,” I said with a sigh. “Do you mean that you’re ... bisexual?”

  “I prefer women, but a man doesn’t bother me either, if he knows how to do it.”

  “Would you get it on with me, if you move in here?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Please!” I exclaimed breathlessly.

  “You want me to come over there now? We could fuck till daylight. I never get tired of fucking!”

  “Stop, stop, please!”

  “I realized right away that you liked me, you know?” he said, with the sweetest accent.

  “I’m crazy about you! Did you notice that?”

  “A little.”

  “We’ll meet tomorrow.”

  “Of course. Whenever you want.”

  “Tomorrow, same place as today.”

  “At the same time?”

  “Yes, but come alone. We have to talk.”

  “Okay, mate. See you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER IV

  December twenty-second. Thursday. The twenty-fourth is Saturday. Everybody is in the midst of Christmas shopping. Cards, phone calls. Some people have reserved hotel rooms in the Canary Islands, Benidorm, or even the Caribbean. Gifts for a drawing at the office. The idiotic custom of giving and receiving gifts every year. At least there aren’t many of us in our department, some seven or eight, and we know one another perfectly. We know one another’s tastes. Each one knows what makes the others tick. We aren’t very sympathetic with one another, but our corporate solidarity works. Everybody has already bought a gift and has hung it on a branch of the tree or left it on the floor, if it’s a large package. Tomorrow, Friday, each one will pick a gift. They’re like children. Many of them show curiosity and impatience. Why do I hate these holidays? Yes, of course, there is nothing like a Christmas spirit here. No, nothing Christmassy. But, even so, I have my illusions. Come on! Let’s get a move on! All this has to be clean for when J.J. arrives. I have to run the washing machine, dust, wash that pile of glasses and dishes. Everything has to be immaculate and perfect for when J.J. arrives. Where will he sit? What lighting has the best effect? No, not like that. From here it looks a little frayed and worn out. I’m already tired of that sofa. Pedro always stretched out on that sofa and ... More intimate like that. No. Me here and him over there. I’m tired of the sofa. But I still have to go to the supermarket! Woman’s work is never done! A ton of goodies. Alcohol. Especially alcohol. But also something to eat. There’s nothing here to ... French cheeses, paté, jamón serrano, fruit, yogurt, smoked salmon ... Yes! And tuna roe! And marzipan! And nougat!

  Ah, he’s here. At last. I’ve been waiting here half an hour. But he looks a little serious. Fuck, so he lived with a gay man! Something’s happening. Or not? I don’t know what, but ... That smile seems a little forced to me. I’m already starting to know him. I have a great nose for these things and he’s not fooling me. The cap. How that cap suits him. No, please, don’t take it off! And how he moves his legs. No doubt he’s getting an itch. Pure sensuality. A bump there and it would start ... it would tear him up ... There, he would rip his pants and … Bastard. Ah, how I’d like to run my mouth and my tongue there.

  “Hello.”

  “Ah, look. There’s the waiter. What do you want to drink?”

  “No. Let’s go. I want to introduce you to some friends.”

  “What?”

  “They’re out there in the car.”

  “But ...”

  “We’ve been waiting for a while.”

  “I’ve been waiting for a while too.” But we had agreed that today you would come alone, didn’t we? “Why don’t they come here?”

  “No. They don’t want to come. You come and I’ll introduce you.”

  “Hold on. I have to pay for this.”

  I’m not going out to the street. I’ve made up my mind. I’m staying here. Much safer. For now I have a few minutes. I’ll see how to resolve this. I hope the waiter takes a long time to arrive, as usual. But no, no way! He’s already here! And he doesn’t even have to bring me change. Shit! That’s the way things happen. I know. Fucking fate. I’ll get up, of course. We’ll go wherever he says. We’ll go out to the street and ... But no. No, I don’t want to go. Let them come here. Or better yet, so they don’t come! Let them get lost! I don’t want to meet them. Why do I have to meet people who don’t interest me? We agree that you’re to come alone and once again you show up with somebody. What is this? Why are you teasing me? Aren’t you and I going to have dinner alone?

  “It’s that white car over there, the one on the corner.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I have to be aware of all the details just in case ... It looks like a nice car. Mafiosos always have nice cars. But there are two women inside! Yeah, and one man. Between twenty-five and thirty. All three are Colombian, they look Colombian. Dark, small. But the guy is strong. Small but strong. I’m sure he goes to a gym. And there’s nothing ugly about him.

  “Fermina, Marcela, Benito,” says J.J.

  Several dark hands poke through the window and I grasp them clumsily.

  “Get in,” says J.J., opening the passenger door.

  “Get in,” insists the guy behind the wheel with an unctuous smile.

  “For what?” I ask, suspicious.

  “We’re going to get something to drink,” says the guy behind the wheel.

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere. Get in.”

  “No!”

  The forcefulness of my refusal leaves all of them surprised and paralyzed. Nobody dares to speak for several seconds.

  “Why don’t you all get out and we’ll have something to drink here?” I counter. “This bar is very nice. You can even get something to eat, if you feel like it.”

  “Okay. Let’s get out, then,” says Benito. “One place is just like another, isn’t it?”

  I sigh with relief. The two
women get out of the car laughing and whispering. Once on the sidewalk, heading towards the bar, I notice that they look me over up and down. They like me as much as they like any man. But what are these two whores doing here? They’re the ones that these guys are fucking. Or not. They’re not whores. Maybe they’re nymphomaniacs.

  “But there’s no music here, mate,” says Benito as soon as he walks in the bar.