Well, well, well . . .
“Mamá, are you saying you want to hire a gigolo?”
“No.”
“Then what is it you want, Sonia?” I ask.
She looks at us a little desperately, takes a swallow of her drink, screams, and raises her hands. “A piece of arm candy, that’s what I want!” Marta and I burst out laughing. I think I’m going to die, I’m laughing so much!
“So much for your help!” Sonia says as she watches us practically rolling on the floor.
“Mamá . . . Mamá . . . but . . .”
Marta can’t even finish her sentence. Sonia just sits back and watches.
“Mamá, how do you want us to help you?” Marta finally manages to say.
“I think what she wants is for us to find her a dream boy from Guantanamera. Am I right?”
“Mamá!”
“That’s right, girls. I need a delicious dark-skinned man who’s also a good person and who’ll leave Trevor Gerver and his date in the dust,” says Sonia, clapping.
“Mamá!”
“If it wasn’t important to me, I wouldn’t ask,” Sonia says after revealing her wish. “Surely you know a decent young man who can go with me.”
“Let’s see if I understand, Mamá. What you want is a young man who’ll go with you to the party, respect you, and make you look like a queen in front of everyone else?”
“Exactly! I don’t want an escort or a rent boy. Just a handsome young man who’s decent and fun who would want to escort this poor elderly woman.”
“Oh, now comes the melodrama,” I tease and Sonia laughs.
“OK, OK,” she says, laughing. “Bottom line: I need a piece of arm candy I can trust.”
“We can ask Reinaldo,” I say.
“No,” says Marta. “Reinaldo was at your wedding, and Trevor might recognize him.”
We both give it some thought until we both suddenly come to the same conclusion. “Mr. Perfect Torso!”
“Who’s that?” asks Sonia.
“Our friend, Máximo,” says Marta. “He came to Germany six months ago, and he’s a great guy. He’s a dance teacher, and he’s in a relationship with Anita.”
“Really?” I say and Marta nods.
“Anita is your friend who owns the boutique, right?” asks Sonia.
“Yes, Mamá.”
“Máximo is definitely arm candy,” I explain, “and he’s Argentinian.”
“Che, perfect!” says Sonia, clapping again. “I love Argentinians.”
Marta immediately calls Anita and tells her what’s going on. She agrees to talk to Máximo and says she’ll call back.
“One thing, my dear, sweet daughter-in-law,” says Sonia, “do not mention a word of this to Eric, or he will never speak to me again for the rest of my life.”
“No worries! Because if he finds out I had a hand in any of this, he won’t speak to me for the rest of my life either.”
We all laugh. Marta’s cell rings. It’s Máximo. We all agree to meet in one hour at Anita’s store.
The situation strikes me as surreal, but funny. One more of Sonia’s eccentricities. When we get to the boutique, Máximo isn’t there yet, and so we chat with Anita. She thinks the whole thing is funny too.
When Máximo shows up, Sonia’s face gives her away. She’s thrilled!
The Argentinian is impressive, not only because he’s such a dreamboat but also because he’s so nice too. He greets us all with kisses, turns to Sonia, and takes her by the arm.
“You and I are going to be the king and queen of that party,” he says.
My mother-in-law nods, and we all laugh. Half an hour later, they’ve finalized the details.
“My dear mother-in-law, you’re going to have a great time!” I say in the car on the way home.
“Oh yes, have no doubt!”
“Mamá, Jude and I can only tell you one more thing,” says Marta, who’s driving.
“What, my dears?”
We glance at each other and shout in unison, “Azúcar!”
Two days later, when I call Sonia to see how it all went, she’s so happy. Máximo behaved like a gentleman, and Trevor Gerver and all those attending the party were speechless at the Argentinian’s gallantry and the rhythm of his hips.
The days pass, and my wrist is perfect. Eric and I love each other more every day, despite our continued arguments about work. Flyn’s happy at school. It’s a good year for him.
The only thing souring my existence is my beloved motorcycle. The day I confront the harsh reality, it makes me so sad, I just sob. My beautiful 2007 Ducati Vox MX 530 is in terrible shape.
When we get home, I don’t even want to talk about motorcycles. Eric tries to help make me forget and calls Marta and suggests she and Laila take me out to cheer me up.
So, a few nights later, I go party with them, and we end up at Guantanamera. Why do we always go there?
I’m sure when Eric finds out, he’ll get his boxers in a knot. He doesn’t like it because, according to him, people only come here to hook up.
Seeing us, Reinaldo greets me with affection, and I’m happily dancing to “Quimbara” with him in minutes.
The guy is a great dancer and makes me look good too. I’m not an expert, but, hey, I know how to move very well!
When Anita and Máximo arrive, he tells us about Sonia and what a great time he had with her. He asks me to dance later, and I accept. Máximo is like Reinaldo; he has a rhythm that can’t be stopped!
It’s hot, and I drink several mojitos. They are deadly, and I love them. I smoke a few cigarettes with Marta, and, for a few hours, I forget my motorbike and the arguments about work, and I smile again.
Around midnight, beautiful Björn unexpectedly shows up with Fosqui, the constipated poodle. We’re surprised to see them, and I watch as Laila quickly goes off to dance with some guy.
Björn gives me a couple of kisses on the cheek and asks, “What are you doing here?”
“Dancing, drinking, shouting ‘Azúcar!’,” I say, several mojitos over the top.
He laughs. The poodle doesn’t. “Is Eric here?”
“No . . . he doesn’t like this den of perversion.”
“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t like it either,” my friend whispers as he looks around.
I laugh. Another bore, just like his friend!
When the next song begins, I grab him by the hand and pull him to the dance floor. Wow . . . wow . . . this German keeps a decent beat.
The intensity of the song rises and, with it, our steps and our laughter.
The poodle dances with a friend of Reinaldo’s.
Then Björn leans into my ear. “It’s not a good idea for you to be out with Laila.”
“Why?”
“She’s not a good person.”
Hearing that, I remember we have a pending conversation. I yank on his arm again and pull him to the bar; I don’t care about the poodle barking. I order two mojitos.
“Tell me what happened between you and Laila.”
My handsome friend nods, takes a sip of his drink, touches his chin, and centers his blue eyes on me.
“Do you know Leonard Guztle?”
“No.”
“He’s the man who was living with Hannah and Flyn when—”
“Oh, I do know him! Yes, a few months ago, I was walking Susto when I saw a man whose car wasn’t working,” I explained. “I took a look at it, and the trouble turned out to be a fuse. I changed it for him. Eric showed up, and it got really tense. When the guy left, Eric told me it was Leonard Guztle, Hannah’s boyfriend, who didn’t want anything to do with Flyn after she died. Same guy, right?”
Björn nods.
“Well, now that you know what Eric thinks of that imbecile, what would you say if I told you I spied Laila with him in Eric’s car just one week after Hannah’s death?”
I’m stunned.
“So, I saw an antique Mercedes of Eric’s parked in my building’s garage. Imagine my surprise when
I find those two fucking like rabbits in the backseat. Hannah had just died and—”
“Mother of God, if Eric ever finds out . . .”
“Exactly. If Eric ever finds out! But he didn’t. I made sure he didn’t have to swallow that bitter pill. And I told that idiot girl to get away from Eric, or I’d tell him the truth.”
“Thanks, Björn,” I say. I’m grateful he’s told me this. “But why were they in your parking garage?”
“After Hannah died, Leonard rented an apartment in my building. For me the real problem is that that brainless twit told her aunt and uncle her dress got torn because I’d made a pass at her.”
“What?”
“Yes, my friend, you heard right. But Simona is very clever. She asked me about it, and I set her straight.”
I blink. I can’t believe this. What a little bitch, that Laila!
“Lucky for me and not so much for Laila, there are security cameras in my building, and I was able to show Simona and Norbert the tapes. They confirmed she was with Leonard, and he ripped her dress. After that, Laila went off to London to live with her mother.”
I’m speechless.
I look over at Laila. She looks back, and I imagine she knows what Björn is telling me. I foresee trouble with that one.
“Therefore, my very dear Jude, the greater the distance between that woman and us, the better. She’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Laila’s staring at us.
She’s not dancing anymore. She talks to the poodle, and the two seem to come to an understanding. Suddenly, I have a terrible notion.
“You said you have security cameras at your place?”
“Yes.”
My face must have given me away. He knows what I’m thinking.
“Don’t worry; when you and Eric visit, I turn them off,” he says.
“Promise?”
He nods.
“Of course. Don’t ever doubt my friendship. I value you both too much.”
Marta comes over and leans on Björn.
“So, this is where this delicious piece of candy has been hanging out, mmm!”
Björn puts his hands around her waist. “Hello, beautiful. You’re having quite a good time tonight. Where’s Arthur?”
“Working,” she says.
She shakes her hips and dances around.
“Honestly, I think I was Cuban in another life. I like this so much.”
All of us laugh. She takes a sip of my mojito and says, “Azúcar!”
Still shaking her hips, she shimmies to the dance floor to salsa with Máximo. I order another drink.
“How many have you had?”
“A few.”
“Be careful or you’ll really feel it tomorrow.”
“No worries,” I say, grinning when the bartender brings me my drink. I take a sip. “And please stop treating me as if you were Eric or my father.”
We both look over at the dance floor, where my sister-in-law is dancing up a storm.
“Marta is so much fun.”
I watch the poodle as she dances with Reinaldo, and I can’t help myself.
“How can you be with somebody so . . . so obnoxious?”
“Because all the delightful and entertaining girls are already taken,” Björn responds.
That makes me laugh. He always sneaks in a compliment. They don’t bother me. I know they’re totally innocent. I watch as a pair of women position themselves near us just so they can get a look at him.
“You’ve never had a serious relationship?”
Björn grins, winks at the women behind me, and shakes his head.
“No, I’m too demanding.”
“Demanding?”
I can’t help but laugh and look back at the poodle.
“Agneta is a beast in bed,” Björn whispers.
I knew it! That’s what I’d figured, but, God, men can be so elementary!
“So, if it’s not too much, can you tell me what kind of women you like?”
“Like you. Smart, beautiful, sexy, tempting, easygoing, a little crazy, and disconcerting. Plus, I love to be surprised.”
“I’m all that?”
“Yes, beautiful, you are! But this is no declaration of love or anything like that. I respect you, and I respect my best friend. You’re both too important to me. That said, if I’d met you first, you wouldn’t have gotten away.”
We both laugh.
“Now that we’ve cleared the air, if you know a woman who’s single and has those qualities, tell me because I’d love to meet her.”
“C’mon, this is so much fun,” says Reinaldo in his peculiar Cuban Spanish, asking me to dance as “Guantanamera” starts to play.
Björn is confused. “What did he say?”
I laugh. “He wants me to dance.”
“C’mon, love, let’s party!” says Reinaldo as he pulls on my arm.
I shake my hips and dance with him as if I were going to unravel. Björn goes back to the poodle’s side and squeezes her.
We all have great fun for a few hours. I dance with many different people, and then one guy crosses the line. When they see what happened, Björn and Reinaldo come to my rescue, but I stop them with just one look. I twist the guy’s arm behind his back, and his face hits a table.
“Touch my ass one more time, I’ll cut your hand off,” I tell him.
Reinaldo and Björn are terribly amused. Minutes later, while I’m having a drink at the bar, Laila positions herself next to me.
“What were you talking about with Björn?”
Should I tell her to go fuck herself?
“You know what we were talking about,” I say, not wanting much to do with her. “If Eric ever finds out, you’ll never set foot in the house again.”
Her eyes give her away. She’s furious, enraged. Without a word, she turns and goes. I see her leave the bar.
Many mojitos later, Björn says goodbye to Marta and me. An hour later, we decide to leave too, and when I get home in the wee hours, happy as a clam, Eric is waiting up. As I come in, he takes a peek at his watch.
It’s three thirty in the morning. “Guantanamera, right?”
“Yes.”
I’m not going to lie to him. That’s where my friends go.
Eric sighs. “Why didn’t you come back with Laila?”
“Because I was having a good time,” I say, giving him a kiss.
He’s nervous about something.
“And I was having such a good time, time just flew. You know how it is, my love!” That last bit, I toss out with a Cuban accent.
“You’re about to cross a line, sweetheart.”
I can’t help it, and I start giggling.
Goddamn those mojitos!
When I get up the next day, my head is pounding.
I don’t remember drinking that much, but I know I danced nonstop.
Eric is at the office, and, when I see I don’t have any messages from him on my cell, I imagine he’s probably not very happy. I remember how he looked at me the night before while I giggled.
I call his cell. I need to hear his voice.
“Yes, Jude.”
“Hello, my love, how are you?”
“Fine.”
Silence. He doesn’t say anything. He knows how to torture me.
“Listen, love, about last night—”
“I don’t want to talk about it now. I’m busy. If you want to, we can talk about it when I get home.”
“OK,” I say with a sigh. “I love you.”
I hear his breathing as he makes me wait a few seconds that seem eternal to me.
“I love you too.”
When I hang up the phone, my stomach isn’t happy and my throat is burning, and I run to the bathroom thinking I had way too many mojitos.
I have a terrible day. I feel like crap, and I decide to stay in bed and sleep. That evening, when I hear Eric’s car, I feel better and get up. I don’t run because I don’t want to upset my stomach again, but, when I leave our ro
om, I hear the front door open from the top of the stairs as Laila greets my husband.
“Jude is resting,” she says. “She’s not well.”
“What happened?” I hear Eric ask.
Peeping over the landing, I watch them and listen to the young woman explain.
“Her head hurts; she didn’t want to eat anything. She drank too much last night.”
“Did you drink too much too?”
Laila nods. “Between you and me, I’m not surprised her head hurts; she and Marta smoked like fiends, and I lost track of the number of mojitos they had while dancing.”
I’m blown away.
And as I’m dealing with my shock, she continues. “By the way, Björn was at Guantanamera too.”
“Björn?”
I don’t like the face Laila wears when she nods.
“He came with a woman and had a good time with her, but also with Judith. Well, you know how your friend is. He doesn’t waste an opportunity when it comes to a woman alone.”
I’ll kill her. I will kill her.
I’ll tear out her eyes and wear them as pendants.
I can’t see Eric’s face. From my vantage point, I can only see his back, and I notice it’s stiff. This is bad!
“Thanks for the information, Laila,” he says without further ado, then heads to his office.
He opens the door and, leaving her at the threshold, closes it in her face.
Damned girl. It’s clear the goodwill between us is over.
I’m about to go downstairs and cut off her ears, but at that moment Simona comes in with Calamar in her arms.
“C’mon, let go of that monster and go prepare my bath,” Laila says.
On hearing that, Simona stares at her.
“The only monster I see here is you. Prepare your own bath.”
Olé and olé and olé, my Simona! I’m about to jump in, but I shut up. Björn is right. The girl is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and it’s best to handle this carefully.
At night, Eric is not very communicative. I try to talk to him, but in the end, I give up. When it gets this bad, it’s better to leave it.
When we go to bed, he turns his back to me. He’s clearly still angry. I breathe while waiting for him to say something. But, nothing.
Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me Page 17