And This Is Your Opinion Of Me? Chapter 6
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
E girà's de l'altra part de vergonya que no gosà mirar a Diafebus en la cara, e no li pogué eixir altra paraula de la boca sinó que dix:
-Jo ame.
'And turned the other way, so ashamed he didn't dare to look at Diafebus's face, and he couldn't get out another word except,
“I love.”'
Joanot Martorell, Tirant lo Blanch, ch. CXVIII
venturoso fueras, Zaide,
si conservarme supieras
como supisme obligarme.
'Lucky you'd be, Zaide,
should you know how to keep me
like you knew how to win me.'
Lope de Vega, Romance de la mora Zaida
“I’m offishially drunk,” I said, leaning on Jaime as we stepped out of the nightclub. I stopped to breathe the heavenly crisp air of the street and he nearly tripped on me. The music from the inside grew faint as the door closed and we started walking up the street.
“Need a cigarette,” he said, letting me go and fumbling through his pockets. I walked a bit further, leaned on the wall and slid down ‘til I was sitting in the dark doorway of a closed club. The nightclub streets around Marina are somewhat sordid, so I'm sure the pavement was nowhere near clean. I didn't care. I closed my eyes and relaxed, enjoying the relative silence. I heard Jaime light his cigarette and drop down next to me.
It was half past four in the morning, and inside the partying was in full swing. I was at that point you reach when you have stopped drinking a while ago and can feel the dizziness evaporating to give room to the queasiness. My plan was to stay awake until I only had a headache, then sleep ‘til early afternoon.
I’m not reckless when going out. I don’t do drugs or sex with strangers, and I try not to drink too much. I was never one to do things on the spur of the moment and regardless of consequences, and I like to think that, all in all, I have more fun this way.
I do feel better the next morning, at least.
So for your information, I had three Cuba Libres, found out Dídac and Cristian were there too, invited them and Jaime to a round of tequila shots, danced until I hurt all over, stumbled on a guy sniffing something and on an extremely indiscreet couple in the toilets, and was randomly kissed to an inch of my life by a girl in a leather miniskirt that hooked up with Dídac right after letting me go.
The wonders of having a handsome cousin.
“Shame about the miniskirt girl,” Jaime slurred. He had apparently been thinking about the same incident. “Wouldn’t have taken it badly if you had left with her.”
“Naaah… Not int’rested. Much.”
“Why? She wasn’t half-bad,” he said, running a hand through his hair . I shrugged.
“Not into that short of thing. I’d rather have a girl of my own. And what kind of girl wearsh a leather minishkirt anyway…”
“Oooh, idealistic, are we? A true romantic, you are.” He elbowed me, and I was glad to determine I wasn’t drunk enough to be knocked over or anything like that.
“Guess sho.”
“Been there, done that… It’s a hard life. But I miss feeling like that.”
I turned my head to him, or rather, I let my head fall to the side until I was looking at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We were silent for a while, musing on the difficulties of being a sensitive guy. I mean, girls are complicated. And they always like the fictional characters better, it’s a fact. They go on and on about romantic things and such but wouldn’t know a real man when they see him, they are so in love with Edward Cullen or Fox Mulder or James Bond or whoever they can’t have. No wonder, really. Real guys have handicaps, like body fat, exes and character faults. Real girls come with all that, too, but they tend to forget that bit.
After a while, he drawled, “Are you friends with Isabel Díaz?”
I snorted, forgetting all about my inner rant. “Doesh she even have friends?”
He smiled at me appreciatively and shrugged. “What is she doing here?”
“Erashmus. Well, Sheneca. We’re in one clash together.” In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t pronounce my esses when drunk, at least not until I’m no longer dizzy. It starts even before the inability to walk straight, so I always sound drunker than I actually am. It’s disconcerting.
And, in case you were wondering, Seneca is the program to go study somewhere else inside Spain, opposed to Erasmus, which is about going to another European country.
Jaime said nothing, apparently deep in thought, so I explained further, “Charlie is dating my shister. You know Charlie too?”
“Yeah.” He paused, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Great guy, isn’t he?”
”The only one patient enough to shtand her, I think. I mean Ijabel.” Jaime laughed at that, but he sounded subdued, and so I clasped him by the shoulders with one arm. “Shpill it, man.”
The lamplights made our skin glow yellow, and shadows seem darker. The contrast made Jaime’s profile look intense, and also very sad. “I think we could safely say,” he leaned back into the shadows of the doorway, and I couldn’t make out his face, “that she’s the woman of my life.”
Wow. OK.
“What do you mean?”
“We went out, back when I was going to be an architect.”
“You two dated?” I asked, all bewildered, but I could easily have asked ‘An architect?’ in the same tone of voice.
“You know the stilnovisti? Or the troubadours themselves. How their lady is all that and they can only hope to serve her and be eventually rewarded? It was like that.”
I knew, of course. Knights and poets and Dante and Ausiàs March. I knew. So I nodded, fascinated by these images. Isabel as a merciless lady? Jaime, victim of unrequited love? It suited them. It suited them a lot.
But he seemed to have no energy left, and didn’t go on at first. I had to poke him with, “And what happened?”
To which he answered, “No, look, David, I don’t want to drag you into this. I don’t… I don’t want to harm her in any way, and I don’t think I’ll be able to speak of it as coldly as I’d like. And you are to see her in class, so…”
“Aww, come on,” I said, passing an arm across his shoulder again and drawing him forward until he was back under the yellow light. “I’m your friend. And I won’t tell.”
He hugged his own knees and looked at me, so I could only see half of his face.
“You’re the man, David.”
He sounded better already. I smiled smugly at him and let him go, turning so I could face him.
“Our mothers were friends,” he began. “My mother actually worked for don Carlos, you know, Izzy’s granddad, until a short while ago. So we grew up together, and I was, well, part of the family. Don Carlos even paid for my private university at first, you know.”
“And you studied Architecture?”
“Yes. I’ve always had a soft spot for Isabel, even back when we were kids, and… well, we did date. For four years and two months.”
He was suddenly restless, letting go of his legs and sitting upright.
“I was crazy about her, you know? I’d have done anything, anything for her. And I did-but it was never enough.”
“But, four years… I’m sure she must have-”
“-loved me?” He cut me. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, the intense look stronger than ever. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know. I don’t think she knows what it is to love passionately, but it’s not her fault. I’m sure she cared for me, but… you know her. She’s so… cold.”
Ah, yes. A belle dame sans mercy, logically. I even found it hard to believe that she could have cared about him in any way, to tell you the truth. His trying to make me not think badly of her had the contrary effect, and at the time, I doubted he realized that.
“And, well, it was alright with me at first. She was younger, and I knew she liked me, and everything was great. But, after two years… I don’t know how to say this without sounding… without sounding bad.
“OK, the troubadour’s reward? I was still waiting. She was eighteen then and moving to Salamanca because of the university there and all, while I stayed in Madrid. And with the only seeing each other once a week and all-she’s possessive. She finally consented to, you know. Sex. But-
“But it was as if… I don’t know what I had been expecting, but the thing is, she was as cold as ever, even making love, and it was then I realized, with the long-distance and the… I saw then she would never love me.”
“Oh boy.”
He was wringing his hands, still restless. He had all my sympathy, because I knew that that had to hurt. One thing is to be rejected directly, and another, well, realizing two years later that you never got the girl at all.
“I was… it was still OK. It wasn’t-it wasn’t her fault, but she could never loosen up and enjoy herself. I felt disappointed, as harsh as it sounds, and I know it sounds terrible. I felt terrible. But you have no idea how it was-being with a girl who seemed unable to enjoy-to enjoy being with me. She must have known, because she became paranoid. She was always suspicious I was cheating on her, and since we lived in different cities… well. I swear I’d never-”
“Of coursh not!”
He smiled at me, all relieved, and nodded. “Exactly. I loved her. And I begged every time she dumped me, and I was so happy when she came back to me, and so on. But it wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t… I couldn’t feel fulfilled like that, you know? Not so much because of the lack of sex, but because she just wouldn’t trust me, no matter what I did. I felt awful with myself, always kind of beneath her, you know? So the fifth time she said she didn’t want to see me again… I just let her. It killed me, but I let her be. I thought it was the best for both of us.
“And she has never forgiven me that. She put everyone against me. Her family, my mother, our friends. And then, don Carlos wouldn’t pay for my university any more, and so… that’s why I’m here now. The good thing is, I realized I didn’t want to be an architect after all. I moved here, and tried to get over the past… But here she is now. She won’t let me forget her… Not that I could.”
He leaned back into the shadows, relaxing, but I knew he was looking at me. I was kind of overwhelmed with information, and just kept nodding a bit longer. So Isabel was what I had suspected-icy, frigid, bitter and unable to value a love as sincere as Jaime’s. Poor man. I couldn’t help but feel for him as I felt for all those knights I read about-except I rather hoped he’d find some other lady to pay court to, a more deserving girl that could really love him.
“Hey, come on. Lemme treat you to churros, OK? Let’s walk down to the beach!” I didn’t want the blues to settle on us, so I jumped up and dragged him upright. I don’t know what it is about churros that makes them the best thing to eat after a party, but every time I go out I end up craving them. It was nearly five, so the stand would be open and crowded, and we resumed our stroll towards the start of the street, hands in our pockets, both still thinking on what had been said.
Halfway there, though, he said, “You won’t tell her I’m with Elena now, will you? Or Charlie. I don’t want any problems with them, really.”
“I barely speak with her as it is, and don't plan on making conversation with her now, knowing what happened.”
“And I don't want to make her nervous or mess with any friendship she might have formed... she's not dating anyone, is she?”
“No, no. Hey, relax, she can't get to you. You'll be fine as soon as you patch things up with Elena, so. Have you tried flowers?”
He hadn't, because he found it was too close to begging and insisted he hadn't done anything wrong, so we ate our churros, watched the sun rise from the port and devised a reconquest plan for him.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Fina Guillán, Jorge Díaz
Subject: re: Jorge’s List
I can’t believe you two. My own brother and cousin, conspiring against me!
You made me laugh a lot, though. So much, C and Ju poked their heads into my room to see what was happening, and to check I was breathing and wouldn’t suffocate. Couldn’t show them your lists, though, so they might still think I’m not right in the head.
You two are very sweet, even when you go completely wrong. So, for the sake of your tranquillity of mind, I’ll reply to your fanciful counselling…
Against Jorge’s 5 reasons you should give David the time of the day:
1- he’s not afraid of you and won’t let you scare him off
What is that supposed to mean? I don’t scare boys off. I’m just very clear about not being interested in them. And if someone can’t deal with my saying what I think, we wouldn’t be that great a match.
2- he’s good to his sister, so he’ll be good to you
Sweet, but not really valid. I’m sure nazis were very nice to their families. You know what I mean.
3- you can talk about literature and things like that with him
I can talk about that with Lola Colinas, too, and I won’t give her the time of the day, will I?
Yes, I made you shudder on purpose.
4- he can play the guitar, that makes him a good guy in my book
You really didn’t know what to write here, did you? You do play better than him, anyway, so I guess that makes you better company.
5- he’s not like Jaime.
Ay, Jorge. I know. Jaime has nothing to do with this, really. It’s not like he has scarred me for life or anything like that! I just don’t think David suits me. But thank you for worrying, tesoro.
Against Fina’s Five Reasons Why You Should Do It (With David)
One - Because you know you want to. Hello, Michelangelo’s David? Hah! You are either blind or smitten, dearie. Though I have to say he’s cute. Reminds me of the boy in Gremlins. But you did like that one, when we were kids…That explains it all.
Zach Galligan! You are kind of right, too. But I’m sticking to Michelangelo’s. It wasn’t such a good picture of him, you know, so you’ll have to trust my word.
Two - Because he’s a smartass, just like you.
Again, what is that supposed to mean? Coming from top-of-her-class and pushiest-lawyer-ever Fina Guillán, too.
Three - Because he’s laid back, unlike you. I like his smile. You need someone to tell you when to stop worrying and working and controlling, and make you have fun. Speaking of having fun, you need some action. You know what I mean. Some ACTION. So jump the man already.
I’ve got you for that already. For telling me off, I mean, silly. The ACTION bit is none of your business, much less Jorge’s.
Four - Did I read it correctly in your last e-mail? Did you write ‘sideburns’? Hah, you are so done for. You can’t resist sideburns since we saw the BBC Pride and Prejudice thing. The motorcycle is a nice touch, too. Does he have a leather jacket?
He doesn’t. Anyway, I never denied I find him attractive. But him being my eye-candy doesn’t mean I have to do something about it, sorry.
Five - Hello, a guy who didn’t fall for Caro and her Barbie looks? And rejected her nicely? Yes, yes, Jorge told me about that. He IS a decent guy, why won’t you give him a chance?
I know he’s nice, that’s not the point! I just don’t think we’d do well together, he’s not really my type, I don’t want another long distance relationship, I can’t see myself with him in the future!
I’m not good at this. I ended both of your lists on a serious note! Unforgivable!
Oh well. I know you love me anyway. And here comes my own absurd list…
Ten Reasons Why Isabel Won’t ‘Jump’ David, as Fina so delicately put it
- He lives in Barcelona, and I’ll be in Madrid or Salamanca or Granada next year. That is, if I don’t go do a master somewhere else in Europe.
- We don’t have even remotely similar views on important things, like politics. I’m sure he’s one of those Catalan separatists. Oh, and he’s friends with the hippies in those Student Assembly that keep organizing strikes. Agh.
- As Fina said, he’s a smartass. He always wants to have the last word, I’ve noticed in class. He’s the most annoying know-it-all sometimes.
- He has no prospects at all! A highschool teacher, really! He’s intelligent, he could be anything he wanted. But he’s too lazy for that, I think, so he’ll just stick to a relatively-easy to get government job and live unchallenged ever after. Not to mention poor.
- He is either clueless or playing hard to get. I don’t feel like making an effort in this, really.
- He has the WORST taste in friends. The Carla girl is alright, I guess, but the rest are awful, and very rude. Or slimy gits. Not to mention his cousin thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind.
- Just when I had started liking his hair, he cut it down. I’m not sure the sideburns make up for it.
- He’s an amateur actor. It might be a Jaime side-effect, but I don’t trust actors. I don’t care if it’s silly, or too guarded, or whatever. I don’t like actors and I think make-up is the biggest turn-off after thongs.
- I think he’s obsessed with stripes. He has more than half a dozen striped t-shirts, not to mention oxford shirts, jumpers, socks, scarves. He has all kinds, too -thin stripes, wide stripes, pinstripe. And in all colours: black and white, green and orange, white and navy blue, hippy-rainbowy combinations, serious-looking brown and blue, etc. His costume in the play? Included a striped vest.
- I have yet to see him wearing normal, honest shoes. I’ve seen trainers, converse, doc martens, trekking boots, even sandals. But true, leather, serious shoes? Nope. I think details like this are very important.
Oh, I need to go. I promised to go to the cinema and give C and Ju a little privacy.
Reply soon, you blood traitors!
Love you,
Izzy.
***
I don't know when did this happen exactly. It must have been early June, possibly right before the free week previous to exams, because it was late at night and there I was, dunking María cookies in Cola-cao and watching Cuarto Milenio in the girl's living-room.
María cookies are, well, very simple biscuits. I like to make butter sandwiches with them to dunk in Cola-cao, which is a cocoa powder you drink with milk. And Cuarto Milenio is a TV program on mysteries and paranormal things and cryptozoology, and I was at the girl’s because Mario was hosting a Vampire role-playing game at home.
Can I continue now? Yes? Good. You are all very patient. I could just say I was dipping Oreos and watching Saturday Night Live, but you know, I would feel as if I lived in a Simpsons’ episode or something. And anyway, it was Sunday.
Mom had retired to her bedroom, to watch her soap operas. She thinks Cuarto Milenio’s too scary, so Carla watches it devotedly. No wonder, really. My mom had made salad for dinner and didn’t let the girls take seconds, because she said they needed to loose weight. Then, after dinner, she was all,
“Oh, really, I’m so glad Julia has caught such a handsome, rich boyfriend! Now, girls, you can’t surely aspire that high, but I’m sure you’ll be very lucky too, given time.”
That was right before Carla switched channels. Mom went, accordingly, “How can you watch these things, I do not know! I’m sure I could never, I’d be a nervous wreck!”
Mom works in the public administration. Practically anything that doesn’t involve coffee breaks, application forms or lounging makes her a nervous wreck. Occupational hazards, I guess...
Anyhow, she wandered off, exclaiming at our tastes, and we got the biscuits and the Cola-cao out. Lola sat right next too me, quite too close for comfort. It was something she used to do to Julia before Sant Jordi, but since Julia wasn’t around much now, I had guessed she just switched siblings.
I didn’t let her trail after me, though, so I have no idea how she managed.
So she sat right next to me during all the Mokele-mbembe documentary, watching Carla and I eat. Lola did believe mom when she told her she was too fat, which was ridiculous. She never ate any sweets, and I was half-expecting her to start fainting any day due to not having had breakfast at all-or something like that.
As commercials started, Carla muted the TV. “Where is Julia? Has she forgotten all about us?” She said, first stretching and then slouching on her armchair.
“Ah, the advantages of getting a boyfriend that doesn’t live with his parents,” I said. I didn’t care much that Julia wasn’t around, since I knew she was very happy.
“I wouldn’t care for that at all if I had a boyfriend,” stated Lola, looking at me in a way that made me paste my eyes to the TV screen. “I'd be a very good girlfriend, you know? In fact, I would even be able to get him a job working for don Carlos José de Burgos and-””
She never got to finish the sentence, because, as she talked, she slid her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck and I jumped to my feet, cutting her off.
I mean, what would you have done?
“That is, if he was into poetry, don’t you think?” I asked, hurriedly gathering the food in my arms as if I had stood to take everything back into the kitchen. I was expecting some help from Carla, but when I peeped at her she only stared at me very serenely and said,
“I'm sure you'd be great, love.”
I was escaping to the kitchen when Lola added, rather desperately,
“And I love oral sex!”
She said that, I swear. I have never been so glad to hear Julia’s keys in the lock -I had reached the kitchen and was currently considering hiding under the counter.
“Good night everyone!” She said, passing the kitchen’s doorway and jumping on the sofa. “How was your day?”
“Not bad,” said Carla, but Lola didn’t answer. I didn’t dare go out, and I hesitated a few seconds, carton of milk in hand, until I heard them talk again and felt safe enough to go out of my hiding place. Julia was seated between Lola and my corner, thank the Lord.
“Ah, here's my David,” said Julia, snuggling under my arm as soon as I sat down. One would think she had enough cuddling now she was going out with Charlie, but no, Julia could never tire of hugging. “You will go to the San Juan party Charlie's throwing, right?”
Lola didn't look at me, yet Carla stared, making me even more uncomfortable than I already was.
“Um, yes?”
“Good, 'cause everyone's invited and the girls already confirmed this morning.” I think she smiled at Lola at that, because the girl smiled tightly to the vicinity of my shoulder.
Carla was still glaring at me. I raised my eyebrows, but she raised hers back. Damn, she's good with her eyebrows. I felt guiltier than I had ever felt, except that one time I was nine and stole a chewing gum in the shop around the corner.
Well, OK, I'm exaggerating, I didn't feel THAT bad, but you know what I mean.
So I asked, to Julia's horror, “What were you saying about don Carlos, Lola?”
She brightened up inmediately and got all started,
“He's the most generous man! And so wise, too! I am very proud to be learning from him, and I know anyone else in my position would feel the same way. He often invites me to dinner, you know, at his home. Such an elegant home, too. It has a garden, and a swimming pool, and the living-room is at least three times this one, and...”
“Oh, Lola, look, they are back!” Julia propped herself up and Carla raised the volume of the TV, effectively drowning Lola's brief protest. They were talking about Ted Bundy, and Lola is a fanatic of serial killers.
I know what you are thinking. She is creepy, yes. And, let me remind you, Julia shared a bedroom with her at that time. AND I was starting to think she liked me.
I should never have gotten her that rose.
Fifteen minutes later, when the commercials came back with a revenge-why on earth are the commercial pauses so long after midnight?-Julia had fallen asleep on my arm, and Lola continued talking as if she had never been stopped, very much in her fashion. I was saved by my cellphone buzzing in my pocket, and I disentangled myself from Julia. I practically ran to the kitchen and left poor Carla alone with Lola's monologue.
It was her fault I got her started, anyway.
It was Jaime calling. He said he was in the lower half of Passeig de Gràcia, and that Elena and him were definitely over and couldn't I go get a drink with him or something. I could, of course, 'cause I'm that kind of friend. And I Jaime and I had grown very close. We were always exchanging messages, and every time we met we shared confidences.
For instance, since that conversation with him, Isabel and I had barely crossed two words again. She still glared at me, harder than before or so I thought. She sat right behind me in class, and sometimes I could feel her eyes on the back of my head. Especially when I was talking. But the smallest movement made away with the sensation, and I was never quite sure I wasn't just imagining it.
And once, about a week after the Big Revelation, she talked to me to say, “Are you friends with Jaime Guimarán?”
To which I said, “Yes,” quite archly in my opinion.
She only scoffed at me. I didn't even earn a Glare of Frozen Death, but she did seem to be reserving those for the nape of my neck.
I went back to the living-room and started looking for my trainers. “I'll go out for a while now. Jaime just called.”
“You are going?” Lola half-pouted at me, and Crala didn't look very pleased. She hates it when I'm with her and leave to meet some other friend.
“Yes?” I hopped to the door, still pushing one feet into a shoe, and Lola followed my progress with her eyes.
“I never met that Jaime, but don Carlos dislikes him so much. I don't think you should go,” and, as she saw I was still hopping to the door, she added “Don't go... pweeease.”
I had reached the door and turned to look at her. She was pouting, making doe eyes and fingering one loose strand of hair. All at the same time, and it was all directed at me.
I bolted and ran down the stairs. When I reached the street, I tried to feel guilty-and failed.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Jorge Díaz
Subject: Guess what? I'm stressed
¡Hola, tesoro!
It's annoying. Not only I have to study-it's, after all, my job-but it's sunny and hot outside, and I'm just dying to go to the beach, do nothing all day except taking showers and have cold drinks at all times. At least it's cold in Scotland-I bet it's the first time you are grateful for that.
The campus is too full and stressful at this time of the year, so I stay in the apartment's terrace. C pushed the big table under the awning and we usually study there with a bucket of ice full of Coca-cola zero and pineapple juice.
Julia isn't around as much as before-she says she can't concentrate when she's with C. It's true, you know. They kept playing with the ice in the bucket and no-one could get anything done. He's not very happy about it, though, and I don't think he actually understands her reasons, so this last week he's been all restless and doesn't let me concentrate anyway. Ie., he was really happy today because they were going to the cinema this afternoon (that is, now) and came up with lots of ideas for San Juan. He of course had to share them with me, and I am now behind my schedule and hoping Ju'll reassure him and let the rest of us study in peace.
Caro's back. My guess is that Charlie said party and she started packing right away. She's organizing it and inviting people she met at the tennis club in March and successfully spending inordinate amounts of time sunbathing. I can't sunbathe, I lay down and start obsessing with the books I have yet to read. It's not that the classes are very demanding, it's me, I know. And I have too many subjects this semester. Eight! Four exams to go. But at least I'm graduating, so never mind if I end up hating Russian formalism.
I finished the term paper on Petrarch! I handed it in yesterday at University, and then realized I could have sent it by e-mail. Or so David said. We met outside the professor's office, waiting in line. It was revision day for another subject, or so he told me. He also said he could hand my paper in for me. It went like this:
D: You can just give it to me and I'll hand it in if you are in a hurry. I need to speak with him anyway.
I: Yes, right. Like I'd trust you with my paper.
D: (raises eyebrows)
I: (JOKING) We are competing. I can't trust you.
D: (rolls eyes and puts on his earplugs).
And he didn't talk to me again in the following seventeen minutes-the whole waiting around bit, that is. Not that I tried to talk to him after that. He's such a git sometimes.
I NEED to go and finish Cien años de soledad before Charlie comes back and tells me about the movie and everything Julia said and didn't say and whatnot. Good luck with your exams! Don't worry about maths, you'll be fine.
Love you!
Isabel
***
Again, beta-read by hlbr! Thank you! :D
Chapter 7
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
E girà's de l'altra part de vergonya que no gosà mirar a Diafebus en la cara, e no li pogué eixir altra paraula de la boca sinó que dix:
-Jo ame.
'And turned the other way, so ashamed he didn't dare to look at Diafebus's face, and he couldn't get out another word except,
“I love.”'
Joanot Martorell, Tirant lo Blanch, ch. CXVIII
venturoso fueras, Zaide,
si conservarme supieras
como supisme obligarme.
'Lucky you'd be, Zaide,
should you know how to keep me
like you knew how to win me.'
Lope de Vega, Romance de la mora Zaida
“I’m offishially drunk,” I said, leaning on Jaime as we stepped out of the nightclub. I stopped to breathe the heavenly crisp air of the street and he nearly tripped on me. The music from the inside grew faint as the door closed and we started walking up the street.
“Need a cigarette,” he said, letting me go and fumbling through his pockets. I walked a bit further, leaned on the wall and slid down ‘til I was sitting in the dark doorway of a closed club. The nightclub streets around Marina are somewhat sordid, so I'm sure the pavement was nowhere near clean. I didn't care. I closed my eyes and relaxed, enjoying the relative silence. I heard Jaime light his cigarette and drop down next to me.
It was half past four in the morning, and inside the partying was in full swing. I was at that point you reach when you have stopped drinking a while ago and can feel the dizziness evaporating to give room to the queasiness. My plan was to stay awake until I only had a headache, then sleep ‘til early afternoon.
I’m not reckless when going out. I don’t do drugs or sex with strangers, and I try not to drink too much. I was never one to do things on the spur of the moment and regardless of consequences, and I like to think that, all in all, I have more fun this way.
I do feel better the next morning, at least.
So for your information, I had three Cuba Libres, found out Dídac and Cristian were there too, invited them and Jaime to a round of tequila shots, danced until I hurt all over, stumbled on a guy sniffing something and on an extremely indiscreet couple in the toilets, and was randomly kissed to an inch of my life by a girl in a leather miniskirt that hooked up with Dídac right after letting me go.
The wonders of having a handsome cousin.
“Shame about the miniskirt girl,” Jaime slurred. He had apparently been thinking about the same incident. “Wouldn’t have taken it badly if you had left with her.”
“Naaah… Not int’rested. Much.”
“Why? She wasn’t half-bad,” he said, running a hand through his hair . I shrugged.
“Not into that short of thing. I’d rather have a girl of my own. And what kind of girl wearsh a leather minishkirt anyway…”
“Oooh, idealistic, are we? A true romantic, you are.” He elbowed me, and I was glad to determine I wasn’t drunk enough to be knocked over or anything like that.
“Guess sho.”
“Been there, done that… It’s a hard life. But I miss feeling like that.”
I turned my head to him, or rather, I let my head fall to the side until I was looking at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We were silent for a while, musing on the difficulties of being a sensitive guy. I mean, girls are complicated. And they always like the fictional characters better, it’s a fact. They go on and on about romantic things and such but wouldn’t know a real man when they see him, they are so in love with Edward Cullen or Fox Mulder or James Bond or whoever they can’t have. No wonder, really. Real guys have handicaps, like body fat, exes and character faults. Real girls come with all that, too, but they tend to forget that bit.
After a while, he drawled, “Are you friends with Isabel Díaz?”
I snorted, forgetting all about my inner rant. “Doesh she even have friends?”
He smiled at me appreciatively and shrugged. “What is she doing here?”
“Erashmus. Well, Sheneca. We’re in one clash together.” In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t pronounce my esses when drunk, at least not until I’m no longer dizzy. It starts even before the inability to walk straight, so I always sound drunker than I actually am. It’s disconcerting.
And, in case you were wondering, Seneca is the program to go study somewhere else inside Spain, opposed to Erasmus, which is about going to another European country.
Jaime said nothing, apparently deep in thought, so I explained further, “Charlie is dating my shister. You know Charlie too?”
“Yeah.” He paused, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Great guy, isn’t he?”
”The only one patient enough to shtand her, I think. I mean Ijabel.” Jaime laughed at that, but he sounded subdued, and so I clasped him by the shoulders with one arm. “Shpill it, man.”
The lamplights made our skin glow yellow, and shadows seem darker. The contrast made Jaime’s profile look intense, and also very sad. “I think we could safely say,” he leaned back into the shadows of the doorway, and I couldn’t make out his face, “that she’s the woman of my life.”
Wow. OK.
“What do you mean?”
“We went out, back when I was going to be an architect.”
“You two dated?” I asked, all bewildered, but I could easily have asked ‘An architect?’ in the same tone of voice.
“You know the stilnovisti? Or the troubadours themselves. How their lady is all that and they can only hope to serve her and be eventually rewarded? It was like that.”
I knew, of course. Knights and poets and Dante and Ausiàs March. I knew. So I nodded, fascinated by these images. Isabel as a merciless lady? Jaime, victim of unrequited love? It suited them. It suited them a lot.
But he seemed to have no energy left, and didn’t go on at first. I had to poke him with, “And what happened?”
To which he answered, “No, look, David, I don’t want to drag you into this. I don’t… I don’t want to harm her in any way, and I don’t think I’ll be able to speak of it as coldly as I’d like. And you are to see her in class, so…”
“Aww, come on,” I said, passing an arm across his shoulder again and drawing him forward until he was back under the yellow light. “I’m your friend. And I won’t tell.”
He hugged his own knees and looked at me, so I could only see half of his face.
“You’re the man, David.”
He sounded better already. I smiled smugly at him and let him go, turning so I could face him.
“Our mothers were friends,” he began. “My mother actually worked for don Carlos, you know, Izzy’s granddad, until a short while ago. So we grew up together, and I was, well, part of the family. Don Carlos even paid for my private university at first, you know.”
“And you studied Architecture?”
“Yes. I’ve always had a soft spot for Isabel, even back when we were kids, and… well, we did date. For four years and two months.”
He was suddenly restless, letting go of his legs and sitting upright.
“I was crazy about her, you know? I’d have done anything, anything for her. And I did-but it was never enough.”
“But, four years… I’m sure she must have-”
“-loved me?” He cut me. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, the intense look stronger than ever. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know. I don’t think she knows what it is to love passionately, but it’s not her fault. I’m sure she cared for me, but… you know her. She’s so… cold.”
Ah, yes. A belle dame sans mercy, logically. I even found it hard to believe that she could have cared about him in any way, to tell you the truth. His trying to make me not think badly of her had the contrary effect, and at the time, I doubted he realized that.
“And, well, it was alright with me at first. She was younger, and I knew she liked me, and everything was great. But, after two years… I don’t know how to say this without sounding… without sounding bad.
“OK, the troubadour’s reward? I was still waiting. She was eighteen then and moving to Salamanca because of the university there and all, while I stayed in Madrid. And with the only seeing each other once a week and all-she’s possessive. She finally consented to, you know. Sex. But-
“But it was as if… I don’t know what I had been expecting, but the thing is, she was as cold as ever, even making love, and it was then I realized, with the long-distance and the… I saw then she would never love me.”
“Oh boy.”
He was wringing his hands, still restless. He had all my sympathy, because I knew that that had to hurt. One thing is to be rejected directly, and another, well, realizing two years later that you never got the girl at all.
“I was… it was still OK. It wasn’t-it wasn’t her fault, but she could never loosen up and enjoy herself. I felt disappointed, as harsh as it sounds, and I know it sounds terrible. I felt terrible. But you have no idea how it was-being with a girl who seemed unable to enjoy-to enjoy being with me. She must have known, because she became paranoid. She was always suspicious I was cheating on her, and since we lived in different cities… well. I swear I’d never-”
“Of coursh not!”
He smiled at me, all relieved, and nodded. “Exactly. I loved her. And I begged every time she dumped me, and I was so happy when she came back to me, and so on. But it wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t… I couldn’t feel fulfilled like that, you know? Not so much because of the lack of sex, but because she just wouldn’t trust me, no matter what I did. I felt awful with myself, always kind of beneath her, you know? So the fifth time she said she didn’t want to see me again… I just let her. It killed me, but I let her be. I thought it was the best for both of us.
“And she has never forgiven me that. She put everyone against me. Her family, my mother, our friends. And then, don Carlos wouldn’t pay for my university any more, and so… that’s why I’m here now. The good thing is, I realized I didn’t want to be an architect after all. I moved here, and tried to get over the past… But here she is now. She won’t let me forget her… Not that I could.”
He leaned back into the shadows, relaxing, but I knew he was looking at me. I was kind of overwhelmed with information, and just kept nodding a bit longer. So Isabel was what I had suspected-icy, frigid, bitter and unable to value a love as sincere as Jaime’s. Poor man. I couldn’t help but feel for him as I felt for all those knights I read about-except I rather hoped he’d find some other lady to pay court to, a more deserving girl that could really love him.
“Hey, come on. Lemme treat you to churros, OK? Let’s walk down to the beach!” I didn’t want the blues to settle on us, so I jumped up and dragged him upright. I don’t know what it is about churros that makes them the best thing to eat after a party, but every time I go out I end up craving them. It was nearly five, so the stand would be open and crowded, and we resumed our stroll towards the start of the street, hands in our pockets, both still thinking on what had been said.
Halfway there, though, he said, “You won’t tell her I’m with Elena now, will you? Or Charlie. I don’t want any problems with them, really.”
“I barely speak with her as it is, and don't plan on making conversation with her now, knowing what happened.”
“And I don't want to make her nervous or mess with any friendship she might have formed... she's not dating anyone, is she?”
“No, no. Hey, relax, she can't get to you. You'll be fine as soon as you patch things up with Elena, so. Have you tried flowers?”
He hadn't, because he found it was too close to begging and insisted he hadn't done anything wrong, so we ate our churros, watched the sun rise from the port and devised a reconquest plan for him.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Fina Guillán, Jorge Díaz
Subject: re: Jorge’s List
I can’t believe you two. My own brother and cousin, conspiring against me!
You made me laugh a lot, though. So much, C and Ju poked their heads into my room to see what was happening, and to check I was breathing and wouldn’t suffocate. Couldn’t show them your lists, though, so they might still think I’m not right in the head.
You two are very sweet, even when you go completely wrong. So, for the sake of your tranquillity of mind, I’ll reply to your fanciful counselling…
Against Jorge’s 5 reasons you should give David the time of the day:
1- he’s not afraid of you and won’t let you scare him off
What is that supposed to mean? I don’t scare boys off. I’m just very clear about not being interested in them. And if someone can’t deal with my saying what I think, we wouldn’t be that great a match.
2- he’s good to his sister, so he’ll be good to you
Sweet, but not really valid. I’m sure nazis were very nice to their families. You know what I mean.
3- you can talk about literature and things like that with him
I can talk about that with Lola Colinas, too, and I won’t give her the time of the day, will I?
Yes, I made you shudder on purpose.
4- he can play the guitar, that makes him a good guy in my book
You really didn’t know what to write here, did you? You do play better than him, anyway, so I guess that makes you better company.
5- he’s not like Jaime.
Ay, Jorge. I know. Jaime has nothing to do with this, really. It’s not like he has scarred me for life or anything like that! I just don’t think David suits me. But thank you for worrying, tesoro.
Against Fina’s Five Reasons Why You Should Do It (With David)
One - Because you know you want to. Hello, Michelangelo’s David? Hah! You are either blind or smitten, dearie. Though I have to say he’s cute. Reminds me of the boy in Gremlins. But you did like that one, when we were kids…That explains it all.
Zach Galligan! You are kind of right, too. But I’m sticking to Michelangelo’s. It wasn’t such a good picture of him, you know, so you’ll have to trust my word.
Two - Because he’s a smartass, just like you.
Again, what is that supposed to mean? Coming from top-of-her-class and pushiest-lawyer-ever Fina Guillán, too.
Three - Because he’s laid back, unlike you. I like his smile. You need someone to tell you when to stop worrying and working and controlling, and make you have fun. Speaking of having fun, you need some action. You know what I mean. Some ACTION. So jump the man already.
I’ve got you for that already. For telling me off, I mean, silly. The ACTION bit is none of your business, much less Jorge’s.
Four - Did I read it correctly in your last e-mail? Did you write ‘sideburns’? Hah, you are so done for. You can’t resist sideburns since we saw the BBC Pride and Prejudice thing. The motorcycle is a nice touch, too. Does he have a leather jacket?
He doesn’t. Anyway, I never denied I find him attractive. But him being my eye-candy doesn’t mean I have to do something about it, sorry.
Five - Hello, a guy who didn’t fall for Caro and her Barbie looks? And rejected her nicely? Yes, yes, Jorge told me about that. He IS a decent guy, why won’t you give him a chance?
I know he’s nice, that’s not the point! I just don’t think we’d do well together, he’s not really my type, I don’t want another long distance relationship, I can’t see myself with him in the future!
I’m not good at this. I ended both of your lists on a serious note! Unforgivable!
Oh well. I know you love me anyway. And here comes my own absurd list…
Ten Reasons Why Isabel Won’t ‘Jump’ David, as Fina so delicately put it
- He lives in Barcelona, and I’ll be in Madrid or Salamanca or Granada next year. That is, if I don’t go do a master somewhere else in Europe.
- We don’t have even remotely similar views on important things, like politics. I’m sure he’s one of those Catalan separatists. Oh, and he’s friends with the hippies in those Student Assembly that keep organizing strikes. Agh.
- As Fina said, he’s a smartass. He always wants to have the last word, I’ve noticed in class. He’s the most annoying know-it-all sometimes.
- He has no prospects at all! A highschool teacher, really! He’s intelligent, he could be anything he wanted. But he’s too lazy for that, I think, so he’ll just stick to a relatively-easy to get government job and live unchallenged ever after. Not to mention poor.
- He is either clueless or playing hard to get. I don’t feel like making an effort in this, really.
- He has the WORST taste in friends. The Carla girl is alright, I guess, but the rest are awful, and very rude. Or slimy gits. Not to mention his cousin thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind.
- Just when I had started liking his hair, he cut it down. I’m not sure the sideburns make up for it.
- He’s an amateur actor. It might be a Jaime side-effect, but I don’t trust actors. I don’t care if it’s silly, or too guarded, or whatever. I don’t like actors and I think make-up is the biggest turn-off after thongs.
- I think he’s obsessed with stripes. He has more than half a dozen striped t-shirts, not to mention oxford shirts, jumpers, socks, scarves. He has all kinds, too -thin stripes, wide stripes, pinstripe. And in all colours: black and white, green and orange, white and navy blue, hippy-rainbowy combinations, serious-looking brown and blue, etc. His costume in the play? Included a striped vest.
- I have yet to see him wearing normal, honest shoes. I’ve seen trainers, converse, doc martens, trekking boots, even sandals. But true, leather, serious shoes? Nope. I think details like this are very important.
Oh, I need to go. I promised to go to the cinema and give C and Ju a little privacy.
Reply soon, you blood traitors!
Love you,
Izzy.
***
I don't know when did this happen exactly. It must have been early June, possibly right before the free week previous to exams, because it was late at night and there I was, dunking María cookies in Cola-cao and watching Cuarto Milenio in the girl's living-room.
María cookies are, well, very simple biscuits. I like to make butter sandwiches with them to dunk in Cola-cao, which is a cocoa powder you drink with milk. And Cuarto Milenio is a TV program on mysteries and paranormal things and cryptozoology, and I was at the girl’s because Mario was hosting a Vampire role-playing game at home.
Can I continue now? Yes? Good. You are all very patient. I could just say I was dipping Oreos and watching Saturday Night Live, but you know, I would feel as if I lived in a Simpsons’ episode or something. And anyway, it was Sunday.
Mom had retired to her bedroom, to watch her soap operas. She thinks Cuarto Milenio’s too scary, so Carla watches it devotedly. No wonder, really. My mom had made salad for dinner and didn’t let the girls take seconds, because she said they needed to loose weight. Then, after dinner, she was all,
“Oh, really, I’m so glad Julia has caught such a handsome, rich boyfriend! Now, girls, you can’t surely aspire that high, but I’m sure you’ll be very lucky too, given time.”
That was right before Carla switched channels. Mom went, accordingly, “How can you watch these things, I do not know! I’m sure I could never, I’d be a nervous wreck!”
Mom works in the public administration. Practically anything that doesn’t involve coffee breaks, application forms or lounging makes her a nervous wreck. Occupational hazards, I guess...
Anyhow, she wandered off, exclaiming at our tastes, and we got the biscuits and the Cola-cao out. Lola sat right next too me, quite too close for comfort. It was something she used to do to Julia before Sant Jordi, but since Julia wasn’t around much now, I had guessed she just switched siblings.
I didn’t let her trail after me, though, so I have no idea how she managed.
So she sat right next to me during all the Mokele-mbembe documentary, watching Carla and I eat. Lola did believe mom when she told her she was too fat, which was ridiculous. She never ate any sweets, and I was half-expecting her to start fainting any day due to not having had breakfast at all-or something like that.
As commercials started, Carla muted the TV. “Where is Julia? Has she forgotten all about us?” She said, first stretching and then slouching on her armchair.
“Ah, the advantages of getting a boyfriend that doesn’t live with his parents,” I said. I didn’t care much that Julia wasn’t around, since I knew she was very happy.
“I wouldn’t care for that at all if I had a boyfriend,” stated Lola, looking at me in a way that made me paste my eyes to the TV screen. “I'd be a very good girlfriend, you know? In fact, I would even be able to get him a job working for don Carlos José de Burgos and-””
She never got to finish the sentence, because, as she talked, she slid her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck and I jumped to my feet, cutting her off.
I mean, what would you have done?
“That is, if he was into poetry, don’t you think?” I asked, hurriedly gathering the food in my arms as if I had stood to take everything back into the kitchen. I was expecting some help from Carla, but when I peeped at her she only stared at me very serenely and said,
“I'm sure you'd be great, love.”
I was escaping to the kitchen when Lola added, rather desperately,
“And I love oral sex!”
She said that, I swear. I have never been so glad to hear Julia’s keys in the lock -I had reached the kitchen and was currently considering hiding under the counter.
“Good night everyone!” She said, passing the kitchen’s doorway and jumping on the sofa. “How was your day?”
“Not bad,” said Carla, but Lola didn’t answer. I didn’t dare go out, and I hesitated a few seconds, carton of milk in hand, until I heard them talk again and felt safe enough to go out of my hiding place. Julia was seated between Lola and my corner, thank the Lord.
“Ah, here's my David,” said Julia, snuggling under my arm as soon as I sat down. One would think she had enough cuddling now she was going out with Charlie, but no, Julia could never tire of hugging. “You will go to the San Juan party Charlie's throwing, right?”
Lola didn't look at me, yet Carla stared, making me even more uncomfortable than I already was.
“Um, yes?”
“Good, 'cause everyone's invited and the girls already confirmed this morning.” I think she smiled at Lola at that, because the girl smiled tightly to the vicinity of my shoulder.
Carla was still glaring at me. I raised my eyebrows, but she raised hers back. Damn, she's good with her eyebrows. I felt guiltier than I had ever felt, except that one time I was nine and stole a chewing gum in the shop around the corner.
Well, OK, I'm exaggerating, I didn't feel THAT bad, but you know what I mean.
So I asked, to Julia's horror, “What were you saying about don Carlos, Lola?”
She brightened up inmediately and got all started,
“He's the most generous man! And so wise, too! I am very proud to be learning from him, and I know anyone else in my position would feel the same way. He often invites me to dinner, you know, at his home. Such an elegant home, too. It has a garden, and a swimming pool, and the living-room is at least three times this one, and...”
“Oh, Lola, look, they are back!” Julia propped herself up and Carla raised the volume of the TV, effectively drowning Lola's brief protest. They were talking about Ted Bundy, and Lola is a fanatic of serial killers.
I know what you are thinking. She is creepy, yes. And, let me remind you, Julia shared a bedroom with her at that time. AND I was starting to think she liked me.
I should never have gotten her that rose.
Fifteen minutes later, when the commercials came back with a revenge-why on earth are the commercial pauses so long after midnight?-Julia had fallen asleep on my arm, and Lola continued talking as if she had never been stopped, very much in her fashion. I was saved by my cellphone buzzing in my pocket, and I disentangled myself from Julia. I practically ran to the kitchen and left poor Carla alone with Lola's monologue.
It was her fault I got her started, anyway.
It was Jaime calling. He said he was in the lower half of Passeig de Gràcia, and that Elena and him were definitely over and couldn't I go get a drink with him or something. I could, of course, 'cause I'm that kind of friend. And I Jaime and I had grown very close. We were always exchanging messages, and every time we met we shared confidences.
For instance, since that conversation with him, Isabel and I had barely crossed two words again. She still glared at me, harder than before or so I thought. She sat right behind me in class, and sometimes I could feel her eyes on the back of my head. Especially when I was talking. But the smallest movement made away with the sensation, and I was never quite sure I wasn't just imagining it.
And once, about a week after the Big Revelation, she talked to me to say, “Are you friends with Jaime Guimarán?”
To which I said, “Yes,” quite archly in my opinion.
She only scoffed at me. I didn't even earn a Glare of Frozen Death, but she did seem to be reserving those for the nape of my neck.
I went back to the living-room and started looking for my trainers. “I'll go out for a while now. Jaime just called.”
“You are going?” Lola half-pouted at me, and Crala didn't look very pleased. She hates it when I'm with her and leave to meet some other friend.
“Yes?” I hopped to the door, still pushing one feet into a shoe, and Lola followed my progress with her eyes.
“I never met that Jaime, but don Carlos dislikes him so much. I don't think you should go,” and, as she saw I was still hopping to the door, she added “Don't go... pweeease.”
I had reached the door and turned to look at her. She was pouting, making doe eyes and fingering one loose strand of hair. All at the same time, and it was all directed at me.
I bolted and ran down the stairs. When I reached the street, I tried to feel guilty-and failed.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Jorge Díaz
Subject: Guess what? I'm stressed
¡Hola, tesoro!
It's annoying. Not only I have to study-it's, after all, my job-but it's sunny and hot outside, and I'm just dying to go to the beach, do nothing all day except taking showers and have cold drinks at all times. At least it's cold in Scotland-I bet it's the first time you are grateful for that.
The campus is too full and stressful at this time of the year, so I stay in the apartment's terrace. C pushed the big table under the awning and we usually study there with a bucket of ice full of Coca-cola zero and pineapple juice.
Julia isn't around as much as before-she says she can't concentrate when she's with C. It's true, you know. They kept playing with the ice in the bucket and no-one could get anything done. He's not very happy about it, though, and I don't think he actually understands her reasons, so this last week he's been all restless and doesn't let me concentrate anyway. Ie., he was really happy today because they were going to the cinema this afternoon (that is, now) and came up with lots of ideas for San Juan. He of course had to share them with me, and I am now behind my schedule and hoping Ju'll reassure him and let the rest of us study in peace.
Caro's back. My guess is that Charlie said party and she started packing right away. She's organizing it and inviting people she met at the tennis club in March and successfully spending inordinate amounts of time sunbathing. I can't sunbathe, I lay down and start obsessing with the books I have yet to read. It's not that the classes are very demanding, it's me, I know. And I have too many subjects this semester. Eight! Four exams to go. But at least I'm graduating, so never mind if I end up hating Russian formalism.
I finished the term paper on Petrarch! I handed it in yesterday at University, and then realized I could have sent it by e-mail. Or so David said. We met outside the professor's office, waiting in line. It was revision day for another subject, or so he told me. He also said he could hand my paper in for me. It went like this:
D: You can just give it to me and I'll hand it in if you are in a hurry. I need to speak with him anyway.
I: Yes, right. Like I'd trust you with my paper.
D: (raises eyebrows)
I: (JOKING) We are competing. I can't trust you.
D: (rolls eyes and puts on his earplugs).
And he didn't talk to me again in the following seventeen minutes-the whole waiting around bit, that is. Not that I tried to talk to him after that. He's such a git sometimes.
I NEED to go and finish Cien años de soledad before Charlie comes back and tells me about the movie and everything Julia said and didn't say and whatnot. Good luck with your exams! Don't worry about maths, you'll be fine.
Love you!
Isabel
***
Again, beta-read by hlbr! Thank you! :D
Chapter 7