Tell Me What You Want, Page 3

  40 The next morning, I’m alone again when I wake up. Quickly, images from the previous night play like a slide show in my mind, and I flush. I’m also undeniably aroused. Eric’s world is seducing me, and I like it more and more each time. Suddenly, the door pops open. It’s Eric with a breakfast tray. “Good morning, little girl.” That greeting, which is so my father, makes me smile. I sit up. Eric puts down the tray, gives me a sweet peck, and sits by my side. “I’ve brought you orange juice, cold cuts, toast, plum cake, and two cafés con leche. How’s that for a good breakfast?” “The best,” I say. For about ten minutes, we eat and laugh, and when we finish off the tray, he puts it on the floor and sits back down next to me. He is incredibly handsome in a white T-shirt and camo shorts. “How are you doing?” he asks as he takes my face in his hands. “Fine. Why do you ask?” His brow arches. “If you’re checking in because of yesterday, relax, I’m good. I had a good time, and I did it because I

  41 At eight in the evening, Frida and I decide to get ready. The guys do too. We dress separately so we can surprise one another, and I like that. Frida offers to do my makeup. I don’t wear makeup very often, so I let her. When I open my eyes and look in the mirror, I’m absolutely flabbergasted. That woman there, the one with those amazing eyes, is me? Frida laughs, and we continue getting ready. For the occasion, she has bought a red dress with a deep neckline and lots of fringes. Mine has silver sequins, and it’s loose from my shoulders to my hips. Both dresses go to about the knees and are very sexy and suggestive. We’re wearing skyscraper heels, very long necklaces, feathers in our hair, and, as a finishing touch, gloves that go up past our elbows. We check ourselves in the mirror. “Oh . . . we look like real flappers!” says Frida, laughing. Once ready, we grab the two long cigarette holders we bought and go to meet the guys, who are waiting for us. “You look sensational,” says Eri

  42 Three days later, we’re still at Zahara de los Atunes, and Frida and Andrés encourage us to stay a few more days at the chalet. Charmed, we accept. Eric receives several calls and messages from someone named Marta, and every time, I have to bite my tongue so I won’t ask, “Who is that woman who calls so much?” On the fourth night, Frida and I decide to go into town for a drink. The guys are playing chess and choose to stay at the chalet. We find a pub called La Cosita. We each order a rum and Coke and sit down to chat at the bar. Talking with Frida is easy. She’s fun, effusive, and engaging. “Have you been married to Andrés for very long?” “Eight years, and every day, I’m more grateful that I ran him over.” “What?” Frida laughs. “I met him because I hit him with my car.” That makes me laugh. “Tell me everything right now,” I demand. Frida takes a sip of her drink and begins. “We were both studying medicine in Nuremberg. And the first day I drove my car to campus, when I went to park,

  43 Our marvelous days continue, and what happened that night becomes just one more story we tell. We spend our days lying in the sun, talking and enjoying each other’s company. Betta’s messages continue coming in, and I keep trying not to think about them. I can’t. Fernando sends messages too, and Eric has stopped asking about them as well. One morning, the four of us go on an excursion to Tarifa to see the Roman ruins at Baelo Claudia in Bolonia. We eat lunch at a wonderful restaurant, and when we go to pay, we run into Björn and a friend of his. They greet us warmly, and we all go for coffee out on a little terrace. It’s then I learn Björn is a German lawyer on vacation in the south. The other friend, a French guy named Fred, owns a vineyard. For a while, we talk about whatever, but I’m well aware of the looks I’m getting from Björn. So is Eric. “Björn is dying to be with you once more,” he whispers in my ear. “Does that bother you?” Eric smiles and kisses my neck. “No, he’s a good f

  44 Two days later, after that night of lustful sex we spent in Frida and Andrés’s game room, life goes on. I’m more attached to Eric by the minute, and he seems much more concerned and attentive to me. Anything I might need or want he gives to me before I even ask. Could he be falling in love with me? That morning, Andrés decides to order a paella for our lunch later in the day. At about two in the afternoon, we go down to the beach to eat by a fire. It’s the best paella I’ve ever had. Eric’s phone buzzes constantly, and I see the name Marta as much as I see Betta. I don’t say anything, and he pretty much says everything with his expressions. After the paella, we all decide to sunbathe for a little while. Eric’s phone buzzes again. He finally texts something back, but a little later, he gets frustrated and asks Andrés to take him back to the chalet. His mood has changed, and though he tries to hide it, his face is an open book. I quickly get up and begin to gather our things. When he s

  45 Two hours later, Andrés comes down to the beach to get us. He’s in a good mood, and as we walk to the car, he tells us Eric is resting. I refuse to ask about anything. I’m pissed enough about the calls from those other women without asking about anything else. When we get to the chalet, I go directly to the pool. Frida and Andrés disappear, and I’m alone. I pick up my iPod and put in my earbuds. I listen and sing along to Jessie James while lying on one of the hammocks. About a half hour later, Eric comes through the door, wearing very dark sunglasses. He stands by my side. I don’t look at him. I’m still mad. We stay like that for more than ten minutes until he pulls out one of my earbuds. “Hello, little girl.” I angrily grab the earbud and put it back in. When he sees I’m not interested in talking, he sits comfortably in one of the hammocks in front of me, crosses his arms behind his head, and just stares at me. “For your own good, stop looking at me,” I say. “Or? Are you going to

  46 In Jerez, my father doesn’t talk; he just looks at me. It’s been three days since I came home, and I’m just human debris. He knows that I’m not well and something happened between Eric and me, but he respects my silence. My father’s neighbors are a different story. They’re constantly asking me about “the Frankfurter,” and that throws me into despair. Somebody tells Fernando I’m back home. He texts me and, on the third day, shows up at the house. I’m over by the pool, lying on a hammock, when I see him come out to the backyard. “Hi,” he says. “Hi,” I respond. He sits down on the hammock next to mine, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither of us says anything. My father peeks out the kitchen window and sees us, but he doesn’t come near us. He waits. “Are you OK, Judith?” “Yes.” Silence again . . . “I feel bad that you’re here,” Fernando says. “There’s nothing wrong,” I say with a smile. “As you said, I bashed my head against the wall all by myself.” “I’m not happy about that, Judith.” “

  47 On August 27, I return to work. My supervisor is on vacation, and that helps ease my reentry. The best thing for me is not to have her toxic presence around right now. Miguel isn’t here either, and I miss his jokes. But I’m in such an apathetic mood that I would rather no one look at me or talk to me. Every time I go into Eric’s office or into the archive room, my heart drops to my feet. I can’t help but think about him—the things he said to me, the things we did there—and it’s a great struggle for me not to cry. My friends haven’t gone on vacation, so I see them now and again in the evening after the gym, and we go to the movies or for drinks. My good friend Nacho tries to talk to me, but I refuse. I don’t want to remember what happened. Eric is still much too present in my heart, and until I can find a way to forget him, I know my life won’t get back to normal. On August 31, I get a text from Fernando. He’s in Madrid until September 4 because of a case he’s working on, and he’s st

  48 From: Judith Flores Date: September 4, 2012, 9:32 a.m. To: Eric Zimmerman Subject: I’m insistent. You once told me the best part of apologizing to me was seeing my face when I forgave you, as well as the possibility of being with me. Don’t you think I might want the same thing from you? A kiss or two or three . . . or however many you want. Jude From: Judith Flores Date: September 5, 2012, 5:40 p.m. To: Eric Zimmerman Subject: Hello, anger. It’s clear you’re angry with me. Fine . . . I accept that. But I want you to know I’m not angry with you. Have a
good trip. Even though you’ve decided to have someone else go with you, I hope they treat you well at the branch offices. Kiss, Jude From: Judith Flores Date: September 6, 2012, 8:14 p.m. To: Eric Zimmerman Subject: Guess who. Today, when I talked to my supervisor on the phone, I heard your voice in the background. You wouldn’t believe how it made me feel. At least I know you’re still alive! I hope you’re well. I miss you. Big kisses,

  49 Today, September 21, is his birthday. Eric is thirty-two, and inexplicably, I’m happy for him. That’s how much of an idiot I am. He hasn’t been by the office again. After his tour of the branch offices, he flew directly to Germany and has yet to step on Spanish soil again. I’m in my own little bubble when the office line rings. My dear supervisor asks me to come to her office. Then she piles on the work. “Also, make a reservation for nine thirty tonight at Moroccio, for ten, in Mr. Zimmerman’s name. It has to be in his name, or they won’t take the reservation, all right?” she says. “Then get me a hair appointment in an hour.” I nod and try not to react. Eric’s in Spain? In Madrid? As I step out of her office, my heart is pounding. I look up Moroccio’s number on the Internet. Finding it, I let out a long breath and make the call. “Moroccio, good morning.” “Hello, good morning. I’m calling to make a reservation for tonight.” “In whose name, please?” “It would be for nine thirty, for t

  50 At eleven, I make Nacho take me home. Surely, Eric is about to see the note accompanying the cake, and I want to wait for his reaction. At eleven thirty, I’m pacing my house, my heels still on. I’m convinced he’ll respond and be over any minute. At midnight, my desperation is rising. Are they playing around and not ordering dessert? At one o’clock in the morning, frustrated because my plan didn’t work, I throw my heels against the couch; and in that same moment, my cell buzzes. I leap for it. A text. Eric. My hands are shaking. Thank you for the birthday greetings, Mrs. Zimmerman. Mouth agape, I read it again. That’s it. He’s not going to say or do anything else? Now in a rotten mood, I drop my phone and get a Coke. What I want to do is grab my cell, call him back, and read him the riot act. But I won’t. There’s no doubt I have to close the book on Eric. Drained, I take off my pretty dress, let down my elegant bun, and strip off the suggestive undergarments I bought this afternoon.

  51 This Saturday, sex, kisses, and caresses reign over all. Every time we try to talk about our relationship, we end up naked and panting wildly. Eric is my addiction, and I realize I’m his. We can’t be together without touching, and since we want each other, we just let ourselves go and give in to our unfettered lust. Sunday, it’s more of the same. But then, as we’re both making the bed, Eric says, “Jude . . . I need to talk to you, remember?” “Yes.” I’m really scared of whatever it is he feels he needs to clarify. “It’s important; I owe you this explanation.” “You owe it to me?” I ask, surprised. “Yes, love . . .” His gaze is unsettled again. He’s having a hard time looking me in the eye, and that bothers me. Eric sits beside me at the foot of the bed. “Listen, there’s something you need to know and which I haven’t shared with you yet. But I want you to know that if I haven’t told you, it’s because . . .” “Oh Lord, you’re not married, are you?” “No.” “Are you marrying Betta? Marta?”

  52 The week starts out intense, and I try to process everything he’s told me. Betta? I’m not interested. I don’t care. I know Eric doesn’t want anything to do with her. I believe him, though I haven’t wanted to explore too deeply what he told me about his father. Now I understand why he doesn’t talk about him and why he omits him from everything. As far as his nephew goes, I understand, though the situation concerns me. If something were to happen to my sister and brother-in-law, I have no doubt Luz would come live with me. I’d take care of her and would not let her suffer for all the tea in China. Living in Germany is not something I’ve ever considered. But for Eric, I’d do it. I’d rather live with him than be bitter without him. These days, Eric spends more time in Germany. His nephew needs him. When he’s in Madrid and the alarm goes off at seven thirty, Eric is already up. He comes to me, kisses me tenderly, and I love it. We can’t go to the office together. People will gossip, and

  53 When I leave the office at six o’clock, I get into my car and head home. As soon as I get there, I drop my bag on the couch, take off my suit jacket, and hear the front bell ring. It’s Eric, and he pounces on me with kisses. “Degenerate,” he says as he takes me in his arms and gives me a slap on the butt. “What are you doing, getting me all hot and bothered at the office?” I laugh, and he plays with my neck. “You have to pay for making me so hot all day.” I’m still laughing as he unbuttons my skirt and lets it fall. Freed, I bolt and run through the apartment. He’s after me, laughing too. In my bedroom, I leap onto the bed and start jumping up and down like a little kid. He grins as he unbuttons his shirt and then his pants. “Go ahead . . . Jump . . . Just wait till I catch you . . .” Happy right now, I jump off the bed and run toward the dining room. Eric grabs me in the hallway. He circles my waist and throws me against the wall. He presses his mouth to mine, and his tongue probes

  54 When I get to work on Thursday, I’m surprised to see Miguel gathering his things. “What are you doing?” “Packing my stuff.” “Why?” Miguel sighs and shrugs. “They’re not renewing my contract, and ever kindly, they’ve informed me this is my last day.” I’m stunned. “Wait a minute. Have you talked to Mr. Zimmerman?” “No. What for? He doesn’t like me; you know that.” “Listen . . . You have to talk to him,” I insist. “Miguel, there’s unemployment left and right. Have you talked to my supervisor? You get along well with her . . .” “She’s the one who told me they weren’t renewing me,” Miguel says. That chaps my ass. How can that witch not renew his contract after she’s been his lover? “And you’re not going to do anything to help her change her mind?” Miguel just stares at me. “Listen, Miguel. I know you’ve been sleeping with her. Hell, I was in the archive room a few of the times you did it in her office.” Miguel blanches. “Are you kidding me? You knew?” “Yes, which is why I don’t understan

  55 Come Monday, Eric has to fly to Germany. He asks me to go with him, but I refuse. At first, he gets mad, but I make him understand that no matter how much we may want to be together twenty-four hours a day, his nephew won’t be amused by having to share him with me. That same Monday night, he calls me, and we talk for more than three hours. He tells me how much he misses me, and I tell him how bored I am without him. Monday after work, I decide to go to the gym. Since Eric’s been around, I hardly ever get to go. A good run on the track and a spinning class help relax me. When I’m done, I’m drenched in sweat. When I get to the locker room, I strip off my clothes and hit the showers. Refreshed, I glance over at the Jacuzzi. Seeing no one around, I decide to take a dip for a few minutes. “Judith?” I hear a voice behind me. A woman approaches me. “Hi, don’t you remember me?” Her face looks familiar, but I can’t place it. “Marisa, Marisa de la Rosa,” she says. “We met last summer in Zahar

  56 Eric’s mother turns out to be witty and enchanting. During the meal, she laughs and jokes around constantly and makes me feel as if we’ve known each other our entire lives. She tells me stories about Eric when he was little; and horrified, he tries to temper her, though he’s also obviously delighted. I love watching him interact with her. It’s clear he loves her very much, and that makes me very happy. When Eric’s cell buzzes, he gets up to take the call. “Thank you,” Sonia says as soon as he’s out of earshot. “For what?” I ask, surprised. “For making my son smile. It’s been years since I’ve seen him so happy, and that makes me very grateful. I see how he looks at you, how you look at him, and it makes me want to get up and shout, ‘Finally! Finally, my son is letting someone love him!’” “He’s been a tough nut to crack, I assure you of that!” I tell her, even as her words touch me. “Oh, Jude . . . what I don’t understand is how a young woman with so much vim and vigor can stand him!

  57 Living without Eric is difficult for me. I’ve gotten used to his
hanging out at the office and strolling through my apartment, so being alone throws me off balance. Before leaving, he wanted to tell my supervisor the truth about our relationship, but I asked him not to. I hate gossip, and I know our relationship will provoke a lot of talk. The day of Eric’s surgery, Sonia calls and tells me that everything has turned out fine but Eric is in a foul mood. He’s a lousy patient. After a few days, I ask Sonia about the possibility of my going to Germany. She consults Eric and he refuses. He doesn’t want me to see him not doing well. I try to convince her, but she reminds me that she already told me her son is a lousy patient and adds that at moments like these, it’s best not to go against his wishes. Desperate, I call my dad and tell him what’s happening. As best he can, he calms me down and tells me to go to bed and get some rest. When I arrive home the following day, I find my father a

  58 Once I go back to the office, I find that my life returns to relative normalcy. The difference now is that Eric is by my side, and I love his company and the way he spoils me. He keeps the suite at the hotel, though he spends many nights at my apartment. But we both still need a place of our own, in spite of how much we love each other’s company. Each day, he wants to tell everybody I’m his girlfriend, but I continue to refuse. I don’t know why, but I don’t want anyone to know. We talk a lot about Germany, though. I can see in his eyes that he needs an answer, but I still don’t know what to do. He doesn’t pressure me, which I appreciate. Eric’s been back several days now. Every morning, I ask him how he’s doing, and his answer is always the same: “Good.” He hasn’t had any more headaches, and I haven’t noticed him experiencing nausea, and that helps me relax. One morning when I’m in the cafeteria having breakfast with Miguel, I see Eric come in. His look tells me he doesn’t approve o