And This Is Your Opinion Of Me? Chapter 7
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Ab los peus verds, los ulls e celles negres,
pennatge blanc, he vista una garsa,
sola, sens par, de les altres esparsa,
que del mirar mos ulls resten alegres
'Of green feet, black eyes and eyebrows
and white crest, I've seen a heron,
so alone, unmatched and peerless,
that from seeing her my eyes rest merry.'
Joan Roís de Corella, Balada de la garsa i l'esmerla
***
I had actually been looking forward to San Juan. After all, it was Charlie's party, and Charlie was a great guy. It was nearly holidays; there would be girls and my friends and fireworks... I like fireworks, but I'm crazy about firecrackers. I enjoy them now even more than I did when I was eleven or twelve. I was really into them back then, maybe because they made Julia nervous. We haven't always gotten on so well, you know.
So I was still at home, playing ProEvolution Soccer '07 on Dídac's Playstation. With Cristian, since Dídac had deserted us to shower before the event. That had been about one hour before, and we were still there, playing Spain against South Korea. I don't know how many copies of the game they sell in Korea but let me tell you, their team is better in the game than in real life. Much better.
It was the fourth time we played the match—because they kept winning—and were finally 2-1 when Carla came in, asking for Cristian's hair mousse. He went to find it, not grumbling—because he's in fact quite nice—, and Carla settled to watch me as I tried to keep Park Ji from scoring.
“Do be nice to Lola this time, David.”
I pushed pause. I mean—
“Excuse me? When have I not been nice to her?”
“All the time?” She raised her eyebrows, as if the answer was pretty obvious. “No? OK, what about this whole last month?”
“I'm busy and unavailable, not mean! Besides, she's creepy and I... Hey, man.”
In came Dídac, holding the shirt I had mom iron for me. That is, my black linen shirt. My favourite.
“Can you lend this one to me?”
“You should confront her,” insisted Carla, crossing her arms and not looking near patient enough to deal with Dídac. They really don't like each other. I suspected that she intended to wait until he left to get started with a 'treat Lola well' lecture. No way I was going to let her do that, really. So I got up and maneuvered towards the corridor door, taking my cousin with me.
“That's the one I will be wearing. You can have the striped green-”
“No, see, it's for Mario, he won't wear anything that's not black, and he only has Metallica t-shirts and things with skulls. And I don't want to lend him one of mine.”
“Well, I don't see why you should dress him in David's shirts then-” The annoyed undertone in Carla's voice got unmistakable.
I cut her off with, “How did you make him let you in his room, anyway?”
“Here's the mousse. Who's next in the shower?” Cristian was back and tossed the container to Carla before wandering to the kitchen.
“I am,” I said.
“I tricked him. Can I have this shi—wow.”
What had made Dídac stop mid-sentence—or rather, who—was Julia, hurrying in barefoot, her hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a short black dress. She didn't take any notice os us, and just crouched next to the sofa to conference with Carla.
Black looks dramatic on her, though she hardly ever wears it. She's more into sunny colors. And long skirts. Not minidresses that leave her back exposed. This one did. She was now showing it to Carla, clearly worried it was too much. Carla shook her head. Julia grimaced. They whispered.
“Do not discuss bras in front of these two,” I warned. They had been speaking too low for us to hear, but the 'unhooking bra's clasp' gesture Carla was making was quite enlightening. “They get all excited and pee in their beds at night.”
“You are OK, you don't need one,” quipped Dídac.
Cristian coughed, blushing a bit—really...—and nodded. “Though it's a bit...”
“Short,” I finished.
“Ngh,” Cristian said, and I think none of us got if he agreed or disagreed with me.
“I know! It didn't seem this short in the shop. Should I wear tights?” Julia was now modestly modelling for the five of us—Mario had come out of his room, either to request my shirt or to make me not lend it to Dídac.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“No.”
“If you want to.”
“As long as you don't wear a bra.”
That last one was Dídac. Carla hurled the remote control at him.
“Okay, I'm wearing tights.” She started towards the entrance door. She padded back to us and stopped by the sofa. “Maybe not. Charlie is going away in a week.”
Ah.
My sister has a thing about people leaving. It has to do, I suspect, with my dad moving to Granada when we were small.
Carla jumped up and offered to help her, and while I was trying to decide if I should follow them, or get into the shower, or lend my shirt to Mario, or ban Dídac from my closet, my cellphone buzzed.
“Hey,” I said, picking up. He hung up.
It was Jaime; he's always short of money. He usually nudged me until I called him from home or whatever, but I was so distracted I didn't recall until he hung up on me.
I went towards the house phone—which is in the living room too, yes. Dídac was cajoling Mario into using hair conditioner. Apparently I had missed my turn at the shower. My flatmates are like that.
“Hey, man, sorry. I was distracted.”
“Hey. Are you in the party already?”
“No, no. It doesn't start for a while yet. Where are we to meet, by the way?”
“Listen, about that. The Dominican girl I told you about just called me—I think she might keep me busy all night. Is that OK with you?”
“Oh.” I don't know how did Jaime do it, he was always with one girl or another. It must be the being handsome thing; I'm told it makes a difference. “No, it's alright.”
I had thought I'd only be at Charlie's until three or so, and then I could leave everyone there except maybe Dídac and Cristian and go somewhere else with Jaime. But apparently it was Charlie's or nothing.
And I had to be nice to Lola.
“Thanks, mate. I'll call you, 'kay? Be bad tonight.”
“Yeah...”
“Oh, and hey. Keep an eye on Isabel for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, goodbye.”
I really didn't want to do that, you know. I'd be happy never to see Isabel again, for she had done the most dreadful of things. Besides dumping Jaime.
She had gotten the highest score in both the exam and the paper. I'm talking of Renaissance Poetry here. And Professor Quesada had only shrugged and smiled at me as if it was funny, and said, “I can only give one top mark, boy.”
You know what I call that? I call it nepotism.
Anyway, I would keep an eye on her for Jaime's sake, but I wasn't so sure I'd tell him if Isabel started making out with one boy after another.
Ah no, wait. Frigid.
It'd be an easy job, at least.
***
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Fina Guillán
Subject: Yes, I'm hiding in my room to write to you
I can't stand parties. You know I'm serious—I've never liked them, not even my own birthday parties, and you've been to all of them. So I don't see how you could think that hosting one would reconcile me with their stupidity.
Too many people, to start with, none of which—except C, Caro and I guess Julia—are even half-friends of mine. And everyone's too loud. I mean, if it was a dinner, or some event in which people wouldn't feel the need to intoxicate themselves and throw up in my bathroom—which has not happened yet but it's bound too happen soon—, if it was a dinner, as I was saying, I could play the host and not feel pressured to have fun. I could be busy doing some thing or another, washing dishes or cleaning up. Which wouldn't be fun anyway, I know. But I wouldn't feel left out. Everyone is effortlessly hanging around and having fun—and I just want to go to bed right now.
Oh, and I had to throw Dídac and Caro out of my bedroom, too. Dídac is D's little cousin and a clone of Cristiano Ronaldo. Really. And I know for sure because he was shirtless when I came in—they were snogging on my bed, of all places. Yes, I'm rather grossed out. I would never have pegged Caro as a cradle robber, by the way. I mean, the guy might be eighteen, but he acts as if he was fifteen, tops.
She'll be so ashamed of herself in the morning.
Anyway, there isn't any more snogging going on in the house, I believe, so don't think this has developed into some kind of orgy. There's food, there's drinks, there are childish people –namely, David—playing with firecrackers in the terrace, and only a couple of drunk people so far; you can see the neighbourhood bonfire from my room, too... Now that I think of it, that might have been the snogging-inducer. I have to get David near that window NOW.
Kidding.
Though he does look good in his—what else?—striped green shirt. He's even wearing shoes...
Anyway, it's 3 am, when are these people going to leave???
Oh, Lola Colinas is here. Lola Colinas, you know her, the creepy girl that started working for Granddad after the Jaime debacle. She can downgrade any party just by being there. Then Caro's friends keep asking people what do they do with their lives, and comparing themselves to them. Because they are empty headed and unmotivated, thus need to feel better and cooler than anyone, I imagine. They practically reduced David's metalhead friend to tears, but afterwards he had a couple of beers and is currently playing air guitar in the middle of our living room.
Good for him I guess, but really... air guitar?
Especially as he has to sing Smoke on the water himself.
And the theatre people laugh very loudly and have eaten practically everything we had. They are in my library/office/computer room and you can hear them laugh inside—they only get out to raid the kitchen, I think. No wonder, too, with all the pot they've smoked so far. I don't know how I will ever get the smell out of the curtains.
Oh, crap. Charlie caught me. He says he needs help, I shouldn't hide from people, everyone is so nice...
Talk to you later.
Isabel
***
I was just minding my business and in no way responsible of what happened, I swear. Carla and I were sitting in the terrace—we had done away with all the firecrackers by then—and we were hanging out with a couple of friends in our theater company, some hippyish kids from Charlie's History of Art classes and a gangly, funny guy from Caro's tennis club that was actually crashing the party, because Caro had invited everyone but him.
Lola was also there. It was kind of unavoidable. She sat by my right in a little red Chinese-looking dress and tried to make conversation with everyone that came near her. Not with me, though, 'cause every time she tried I just gave her coca. Which is a kind of traditional cake. Not a drug. A cake.
Don't make me feel bad, she's too thin anyway.
Then, out of the blue and within my earshot, Elena—that girl in my theater company—said to the gangly guy,
“But Jaime was such a bastard. He just couldn't not flirt with every thing that breathed, I mean, even with girls I hated...”
Well, whatever. It's not as if she was an angel.
And, really, if a guy's ex doesn't have the right to hate him, who has?
So when Carla raised her eyebrows at me—Elena is rather loud when she has drunk—I just shrugged and got up, not wanting to hear about Jaime's sexual drive or whatever the girl kept talking about.
“I'll have another of these,” I stated, rising and showing her my empty Coronita bottle.
Lola sat up. “Oh, I'll come with you.”
“No, no.” I grabbed her champagne flute in an attempt to dissuade her and went, “I'll get yours too.”
“Now, now, we can't let such a hot boy wander alone in a party,” she gushed, getting up and going after me.
I didn't run. Not even when she clung to my arm. I'm a good person, you know, and I didn't want Carla to kill me afterwards.
“Nice party, isn't it? They are so stylish. And rich. I wish I could be like them when I grow up, haha. Don't you think it's incredibly nice of them to host a party like this? I mean, it's not like they are making friends with the in people, and they could have gone party anywhere... where the beautiful people go, I mean. Not that I don't think you are hottt.” She gazed at me from beneath her eyelashes and I tried not to take it personally. I mean, it had become clear as weeks had gone by that, if there was something Lola needed desperately, it was sex.
So I thought this was just her regular flirting. And that it was kind of cute the way she said 'hottt', just like Carla.
“Why thank you, Lola.”
“Don Carlos José never throws any party, you know, he's so serious, but he has just the perfect house to—why, it even has its own pool, and an incredibly big garden, and a cook, though I don't think he'd let anyone play with firecrackers. But maybe a romantic bonfire... It's the perfect place for a party, even if he never throws any, you know. He's too important for that.”
We were already in the living room, which was unfortunately deserted. Julia's iPod was playing Shakira through the posh sound system, loud enough to make Lola's hips sway with the music. She smiled up at me.
“Do you know I used to learn Arabic dances? As in, belly dance?”
Yes, she started dancing right then.
I imagine it would have been nice if she hadn't looked at me so intensely—she didn't even blink, and we were alone in the room, and she was feeling clearly self-conscious, and the music was all about ebony eyes and such, and then she started mouthing the lyrics.
To me.
Without blinking.
And I don't even have eyes that dark, you know. They are kind of mid-brown, not light enough to be hazel like Julia's and not dark enough to be intense. Just tobacco-brown. But I've recently been told they are fine eyes, so I won't complain much.
Where was I?
God, yes.
Lola was trying to seduce me but was, instead, both embarrassing and terrifying me thoroughly. It wasn't that she didn't dance well, poor girl. I didn't even pay any attention to what she did with her hips, I wanted to run so badly. I guess it was something similar to that videoclip of Shakira and Beyonce rubbing on walls and looking like man-eating madwomen.
That was more or less the look on Lola's face.
So I took one doomed step backwards, discovered the white designer couch was behind me and was then pushed by Lola. So I stumbled and sat down, and then—
Okay, wait. I'm laughing so hard I can't—
And then the belly dance developed into something a lot more like a lap dance. No, really, she was all over me and I just couldn't figure out how it had come to that—she had been harmlessly clinging to my arm just a minute ago.
She was wiggling against me while I tried to slide away along the sofa, and really, I didn't know whether I should be thankful no-one was around to see it, or angry there was nobody watching to prevent Lola from dancing.
And suddenly she licked me.
I tried scrambling to my feet at that, but, see, she was half-sitting half-straddling my lap. Which, I know, was the whole point.
I swear I didn't get up so that she'd fall. I tried to be, ah, unobtrusive. As much as possible, anyway. But maybe I stumbled on her feet, or she on mine, and next thing I knew I was standing, and she had toppled over.
She looked up at me from the comfortable rug—she didn't get hurt or anything, at least—and her face crumpled. She blinked at me, once, rather sadly.
“Shit, are you alright? Do you need a hand?” She didn't answer, just blinked again, sniffled, and began weeping. Yes, weeping. She tried to hide her face, and it made me feel even worse. “Nononono,” I cried, all panicky, and helped her rise from there taking her by the elbows. “Don't cry, let's talk this over, you and I, OK? Let's just grab a drink and, ah, talk.”
Stupid, I know. I mean, what could we possibly talk about? But you see, we LIVE together, we had to work things out somehow. So my plan was something like getting her a drink, talk about nice things—I was even willing to listen to don Carlos José de Burgos' opinions—and then, after I was sure there were no hard feelings, get Julia and Carla to sort out the girly stuff. Like, if I had caused any major self-esteem disaster or worsened a previous one.
Not the best plan ever, but hey, I had just been sexually harassed. I couldn't think clearly.
She didn't seem to have any objections—she avoided looking at me and just ducked into the nearest room. So I chose to think she hadn't said no. Which had to mean she agreed to talking.
Charlie and Isabel were in the kitchen when I went to get the drinks. He was pacing, and she was primly sitting on the kitchen counter. She saw me at the door and sat straighter. She was wearing a violet summer dress and her hair was down, and she had been looking rather sulky the whole evening. Which I took note of because I had to report to Jaime, of course.
"Where is everyone?" I greeted them, going straight to the fridge.
"To see the bonfire up close or something. And some have left... and Julia is with Cristian in the bathroom," said Charlie, standing still so I could open the fridge. When I looked at him questioningly, he said, "He's feeling unwell."
At the same time, Isabel said, "He's drunk and being sick," then, "and your cousin just left with Caro."
She says she was not, but I swear she was smirking.
She didn't get any reaction from me, though. I just grabbed two Coronitas with one hand and said, "Is there lemon left?"
"David, I want to dance with your sister," said Charlie, as earnest as if he was asking for my permission to marry her. I shrugged, as in 'Go ahead'.
Isabel-the-nepotist didn't react to his outburst; maybe they had just been talking about that. "There should be some wedges in a bowl."
I looked inside the fridge again, and Charlie started explaining his big problem.
"Yes, but David, no-one is dancing and she's so shy she won't want to, and Izzy here doesn't want to help."
"What I don't want to do is dance with some random boy so you'll feel in the safety of numbers."
"Well, you can dance with David and I'll just ask Arnau and his girlfriend--"
"Um, no, Charlie," I said, having opened the beer bottles and stuffed the lemon inside. I looked back at them, and they were both watching me. There wasn't anything more interesting to look at in the kitchen, I guess. I grabbed some paper napkins, too, in case Lola had no kleenex or something. You never know. "I can't right now. I need to fix something first. Metaphorically. I haven't broken or stained anything as of yet," I added, when I noticed Isabel had started frowning at me.
Carla poked her head through the door right then, quipping, "Did I leave my cigarettes here? Where's Lola?"
"Hm." Really, what could I say? 'She tried to seduce me and I made her cry?' But something must have shown in my face—namely, guilt—, because Carla narrowed her eyes at me and asked The Unwanted Question.
"What have you done to her?"
I tried not to, but this kind of silence goes straight to my head. So I drew near her and whispered,
"She tried to seduce me and I made her cry."
"David!"
"It was unintentional," I offered, grimacing.
She didn't even hit my arm or anything, though. That made me feel better. She just raised her eyebrows, and I said, "And she lap danced."
Not to mention she licked my face.
She laughed at that. "Oh my. Was she good?"
"How am I to know? I was too scared to look."
Isabel and Charlie were both looking like they dearly wanted to know what was going on, so Carla just took the beer and the napkins from me and said.
"I'll take it from here. Wish me luck!"
"And your cigarettes?"
"Hang that," she said, in a carefree voice I didn't understand, and off she went.
As I turned—I still needed a drink!--Charlie said, "So you can help me now?"
And that's how I ended up dancing with Isabel.
I've wondered since how enjoyable would it have been had I wanted to enjoy myself. But I didn't want to, you see, because would you want to have fun dancing with a supposedly frigid bitch that had hurt your friend and kept staring at you AND had challenged and beaten you in class? Even if her hair kept brushing your hands at the small of her back?
Well, I didn't.
I felt damned uncomfortable, too.
“The party has been fun, I think,” I said. The past tense was because we were at that point in which people are sprawled everywhere trying not to fall asleep. It was the best time to dance, because everyone was kind of drowsy and happy. Charlie had even dimmed the lights, and Julia was leaning on him while he caressed her back.
Which might have been Charlie's goal, now that I think about it.
Or Julia's. She was the one who went bra-less to the party in the first place.
Though she looked rather tense, if you ask me. I thought it was related to the fact Charlie was leaving. But anyone that had seen them together would have known Charlie was madly in love with her, so I didn't feel particularly worried about that.
Anyway, I said that, and Isabel said,
“Yes.”
And that was it.
But I didn't want to be there, half-hugging with Isabel, swaying in time with the music, in silence. I needed some distraction, and watching my sister cuddle with Charlie wasn't it.
Also, I figured out she wouldn't want to talk. So I made conversation.
“It is your turn to say something now. I praised your party, and you should make some kind of remark on the music or the snacks.”
I think she smiled at my shirt.
“Really. Why don't you tell me what I should say and I will repeat it.”
“OK, that will do for now.”
“Do you always talk when you dance with girls?”
“Sometimes. One has to speak a little, if one wants to get to know the girl in question.” She kind of pressed her nose on my shoulder, in a gesture that I didn't actually get. “But of course there are some that prefer never to speak at all.”
“Is 'some' supposed to be me?” she said, not looking up.
“You and I. We are both unsocial and unwilling to speak unless we think we will be thought witty. “
“That can hardly be you, seeing you can't stop talking and just dance,” she said, and it was clear she had understood the barb. Maybe that was what had her saying, mere seconds later, “So have you got plans after this?”
“I was supposed to meet a friend that wasn't invited here. Maybe that's why he didn't come pick me up after all.”
She looked up at me again, going white, and I couldn't bring myself to go on. She gulped and said, now very clearly ill at ease,
“Jaime?”
“Yes.”
“He has started to let you down, then. He's so charming, that making friends is very easy for him, but he never could keep one of them.”
“He hasn't let me down, and I doubt he let you down either.”
If looks killed, I'd be dead right now. She froze me on the spot, but luckily—so, so luckily— Carla and Lola choose that exact moment to emerge from the room they had been hidding in and bid their general goodbyes. Carla helped Lola with her coat and tugged her by the hand towards the door. Lola followed, not looking at us. She looked even cheerful, really.
Charlie waved at them, not letting Julia go, and we continued as we were.
“What were we talking about? I don't remember,” said Isabel, smiling at me. Really, why did she smile? I didn't like her and I didn't want to dance with her in first place.
“I don't remember,” I said. About Jaime, I knew, but I didn't want to talk anymore. “We have tried, but I don't think we have much in common.”
The song ended, and I dropped my arms. She let go of me rather more slowly—she had her arms around my neck—and said, “We could talk about, I don't know, films.”
“I'm sure we never watch the same, and if we do, don't think the same about them,” I said, leaning on the door to the terrace in order to watch the couples dancing. I can't remember what song had we been dancing to, but the one that was just starting was Diecinueve, a slow love song by an obscure group Julia liked very much.
Isabel perched on the sofa arm, right next to me, and also next to a very dizzy-looking Cristian. “Then we surely wouldn't lack discussion topics. Or, we could talk of books.”
She should have gone away by then, shouldn't she? I thought she must really be bored, if she felt condescending—or desperate—enough to try to talk with me. “Nah, it's too late for us to hold a coherent discussion. It's more like cuddling time.”
She looked up sharply at that.
I didn't notice, because I was talking about the dancing couples. Of course, I mean, it would have never occurred to me Isabel was capable of cuddling. I was thinking about her and Jaime, too, and about gathering useful information, so I asked,
“I remember hearing you say that you could never forgive an offense.” I looked at her from the corner of my eye. She was facing me, and she nodded. “I suppose you are very careful then, and are not easily offended.”
“Yes.”
“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice.”
“Never, I hope.”
“Or jealousy.”
She narrowed her eyes at me then.
“That is none of your business. Why are you asking, anyway?”
“Why, to get to know you,” I said, not looking at her. The song was ending already, and Charlie didn't look like he intended to stop dancing any time soon.
And then—I shudder every time I recall those two or three seconds.
And then, Julia raised her head from his shoulder, surprise etched on her face as she looked at the blood stain she had left on Charlie's shirt. Her nose was bleeding. She fainted.
***
606XXXXX19: I'M FREEEEE!!! I HAVE MY MOBILE BACK!!!
639XXXXX44: Jorge! : D
606XXXXX19: Told you I was out today! I'm in the bus 2 airport.
639XXXXX44: Where's dad?
606XXXXX19: Congress in Berlin. Am alr8, AM FREE!
639XXXXX44: I'll kill him.
606XXXXX19: I'm a big boy. AND I'M FREEEEE!
639XXXXX44: Fizzy'll pick you up in Barajas if you text her your arrival time.
606XXXXX19: Thanx. How was your party?
639XXXXX44: Dreadful. Ju fainted and is now in the hospital. C's hysterical.
606XXXXX19: Shit. What's wrong with her?
639XXXXX44: They don't know yet. We're at the Hosp too.
606XXXXX19: Tell C I'm sorry.
639XXXXX44: D told C Julia had a cancer when she was 17.
606XXXXX19: ?????
639XXXXX44: And bleeding is a v. bad sign.
606XXXXX19: She hadn't told Charlie?
639XXXXX44: App.ly she forgot to mention many things.
606XXXXX19: : (
639XXXXX44: But you are FREE!
606XXXXX19: Til September.
639XXXXX44: We will work that out. I have to make Charlie eat something. Call me when you get home.
606XXXXX19: Or if I get lost. <3
639XXXXX44: XOXOXO
***
The betas for this one were
hlbr and Vicky. Any mistakes left, of course, are my fault.
Chapter 8
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
pennatge blanc, he vista una garsa,
sola, sens par, de les altres esparsa,
que del mirar mos ulls resten alegres
'Of green feet, black eyes and eyebrows
and white crest, I've seen a heron,
so alone, unmatched and peerless,
that from seeing her my eyes rest merry.'
Joan Roís de Corella, Balada de la garsa i l'esmerla
I had actually been looking forward to San Juan. After all, it was Charlie's party, and Charlie was a great guy. It was nearly holidays; there would be girls and my friends and fireworks... I like fireworks, but I'm crazy about firecrackers. I enjoy them now even more than I did when I was eleven or twelve. I was really into them back then, maybe because they made Julia nervous. We haven't always gotten on so well, you know.
So I was still at home, playing ProEvolution Soccer '07 on Dídac's Playstation. With Cristian, since Dídac had deserted us to shower before the event. That had been about one hour before, and we were still there, playing Spain against South Korea. I don't know how many copies of the game they sell in Korea but let me tell you, their team is better in the game than in real life. Much better.
It was the fourth time we played the match—because they kept winning—and were finally 2-1 when Carla came in, asking for Cristian's hair mousse. He went to find it, not grumbling—because he's in fact quite nice—, and Carla settled to watch me as I tried to keep Park Ji from scoring.
“Do be nice to Lola this time, David.”
I pushed pause. I mean—
“Excuse me? When have I not been nice to her?”
“All the time?” She raised her eyebrows, as if the answer was pretty obvious. “No? OK, what about this whole last month?”
“I'm busy and unavailable, not mean! Besides, she's creepy and I... Hey, man.”
In came Dídac, holding the shirt I had mom iron for me. That is, my black linen shirt. My favourite.
“Can you lend this one to me?”
“You should confront her,” insisted Carla, crossing her arms and not looking near patient enough to deal with Dídac. They really don't like each other. I suspected that she intended to wait until he left to get started with a 'treat Lola well' lecture. No way I was going to let her do that, really. So I got up and maneuvered towards the corridor door, taking my cousin with me.
“That's the one I will be wearing. You can have the striped green-”
“No, see, it's for Mario, he won't wear anything that's not black, and he only has Metallica t-shirts and things with skulls. And I don't want to lend him one of mine.”
“Well, I don't see why you should dress him in David's shirts then-” The annoyed undertone in Carla's voice got unmistakable.
I cut her off with, “How did you make him let you in his room, anyway?”
“Here's the mousse. Who's next in the shower?” Cristian was back and tossed the container to Carla before wandering to the kitchen.
“I am,” I said.
“I tricked him. Can I have this shi—wow.”
What had made Dídac stop mid-sentence—or rather, who—was Julia, hurrying in barefoot, her hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a short black dress. She didn't take any notice os us, and just crouched next to the sofa to conference with Carla.
Black looks dramatic on her, though she hardly ever wears it. She's more into sunny colors. And long skirts. Not minidresses that leave her back exposed. This one did. She was now showing it to Carla, clearly worried it was too much. Carla shook her head. Julia grimaced. They whispered.
“Do not discuss bras in front of these two,” I warned. They had been speaking too low for us to hear, but the 'unhooking bra's clasp' gesture Carla was making was quite enlightening. “They get all excited and pee in their beds at night.”
“You are OK, you don't need one,” quipped Dídac.
Cristian coughed, blushing a bit—really...—and nodded. “Though it's a bit...”
“Short,” I finished.
“Ngh,” Cristian said, and I think none of us got if he agreed or disagreed with me.
“I know! It didn't seem this short in the shop. Should I wear tights?” Julia was now modestly modelling for the five of us—Mario had come out of his room, either to request my shirt or to make me not lend it to Dídac.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“No.”
“If you want to.”
“As long as you don't wear a bra.”
That last one was Dídac. Carla hurled the remote control at him.
“Okay, I'm wearing tights.” She started towards the entrance door. She padded back to us and stopped by the sofa. “Maybe not. Charlie is going away in a week.”
Ah.
My sister has a thing about people leaving. It has to do, I suspect, with my dad moving to Granada when we were small.
Carla jumped up and offered to help her, and while I was trying to decide if I should follow them, or get into the shower, or lend my shirt to Mario, or ban Dídac from my closet, my cellphone buzzed.
“Hey,” I said, picking up. He hung up.
It was Jaime; he's always short of money. He usually nudged me until I called him from home or whatever, but I was so distracted I didn't recall until he hung up on me.
I went towards the house phone—which is in the living room too, yes. Dídac was cajoling Mario into using hair conditioner. Apparently I had missed my turn at the shower. My flatmates are like that.
“Hey, man, sorry. I was distracted.”
“Hey. Are you in the party already?”
“No, no. It doesn't start for a while yet. Where are we to meet, by the way?”
“Listen, about that. The Dominican girl I told you about just called me—I think she might keep me busy all night. Is that OK with you?”
“Oh.” I don't know how did Jaime do it, he was always with one girl or another. It must be the being handsome thing; I'm told it makes a difference. “No, it's alright.”
I had thought I'd only be at Charlie's until three or so, and then I could leave everyone there except maybe Dídac and Cristian and go somewhere else with Jaime. But apparently it was Charlie's or nothing.
And I had to be nice to Lola.
“Thanks, mate. I'll call you, 'kay? Be bad tonight.”
“Yeah...”
“Oh, and hey. Keep an eye on Isabel for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, goodbye.”
I really didn't want to do that, you know. I'd be happy never to see Isabel again, for she had done the most dreadful of things. Besides dumping Jaime.
She had gotten the highest score in both the exam and the paper. I'm talking of Renaissance Poetry here. And Professor Quesada had only shrugged and smiled at me as if it was funny, and said, “I can only give one top mark, boy.”
You know what I call that? I call it nepotism.
Anyway, I would keep an eye on her for Jaime's sake, but I wasn't so sure I'd tell him if Isabel started making out with one boy after another.
Ah no, wait. Frigid.
It'd be an easy job, at least.
From: Izzy Díaz
To: Fina Guillán
Subject: Yes, I'm hiding in my room to write to you
I can't stand parties. You know I'm serious—I've never liked them, not even my own birthday parties, and you've been to all of them. So I don't see how you could think that hosting one would reconcile me with their stupidity.
Too many people, to start with, none of which—except C, Caro and I guess Julia—are even half-friends of mine. And everyone's too loud. I mean, if it was a dinner, or some event in which people wouldn't feel the need to intoxicate themselves and throw up in my bathroom—which has not happened yet but it's bound too happen soon—, if it was a dinner, as I was saying, I could play the host and not feel pressured to have fun. I could be busy doing some thing or another, washing dishes or cleaning up. Which wouldn't be fun anyway, I know. But I wouldn't feel left out. Everyone is effortlessly hanging around and having fun—and I just want to go to bed right now.
Oh, and I had to throw Dídac and Caro out of my bedroom, too. Dídac is D's little cousin and a clone of Cristiano Ronaldo. Really. And I know for sure because he was shirtless when I came in—they were snogging on my bed, of all places. Yes, I'm rather grossed out. I would never have pegged Caro as a cradle robber, by the way. I mean, the guy might be eighteen, but he acts as if he was fifteen, tops.
She'll be so ashamed of herself in the morning.
Anyway, there isn't any more snogging going on in the house, I believe, so don't think this has developed into some kind of orgy. There's food, there's drinks, there are childish people –namely, David—playing with firecrackers in the terrace, and only a couple of drunk people so far; you can see the neighbourhood bonfire from my room, too... Now that I think of it, that might have been the snogging-inducer. I have to get David near that window NOW.
Kidding.
Though he does look good in his—what else?—striped green shirt. He's even wearing shoes...
Anyway, it's 3 am, when are these people going to leave???
Oh, Lola Colinas is here. Lola Colinas, you know her, the creepy girl that started working for Granddad after the Jaime debacle. She can downgrade any party just by being there. Then Caro's friends keep asking people what do they do with their lives, and comparing themselves to them. Because they are empty headed and unmotivated, thus need to feel better and cooler than anyone, I imagine. They practically reduced David's metalhead friend to tears, but afterwards he had a couple of beers and is currently playing air guitar in the middle of our living room.
Good for him I guess, but really... air guitar?
Especially as he has to sing Smoke on the water himself.
And the theatre people laugh very loudly and have eaten practically everything we had. They are in my library/office/computer room and you can hear them laugh inside—they only get out to raid the kitchen, I think. No wonder, too, with all the pot they've smoked so far. I don't know how I will ever get the smell out of the curtains.
Oh, crap. Charlie caught me. He says he needs help, I shouldn't hide from people, everyone is so nice...
Talk to you later.
Isabel
I was just minding my business and in no way responsible of what happened, I swear. Carla and I were sitting in the terrace—we had done away with all the firecrackers by then—and we were hanging out with a couple of friends in our theater company, some hippyish kids from Charlie's History of Art classes and a gangly, funny guy from Caro's tennis club that was actually crashing the party, because Caro had invited everyone but him.
Lola was also there. It was kind of unavoidable. She sat by my right in a little red Chinese-looking dress and tried to make conversation with everyone that came near her. Not with me, though, 'cause every time she tried I just gave her coca. Which is a kind of traditional cake. Not a drug. A cake.
Don't make me feel bad, she's too thin anyway.
Then, out of the blue and within my earshot, Elena—that girl in my theater company—said to the gangly guy,
“But Jaime was such a bastard. He just couldn't not flirt with every thing that breathed, I mean, even with girls I hated...”
Well, whatever. It's not as if she was an angel.
And, really, if a guy's ex doesn't have the right to hate him, who has?
So when Carla raised her eyebrows at me—Elena is rather loud when she has drunk—I just shrugged and got up, not wanting to hear about Jaime's sexual drive or whatever the girl kept talking about.
“I'll have another of these,” I stated, rising and showing her my empty Coronita bottle.
Lola sat up. “Oh, I'll come with you.”
“No, no.” I grabbed her champagne flute in an attempt to dissuade her and went, “I'll get yours too.”
“Now, now, we can't let such a hot boy wander alone in a party,” she gushed, getting up and going after me.
I didn't run. Not even when she clung to my arm. I'm a good person, you know, and I didn't want Carla to kill me afterwards.
“Nice party, isn't it? They are so stylish. And rich. I wish I could be like them when I grow up, haha. Don't you think it's incredibly nice of them to host a party like this? I mean, it's not like they are making friends with the in people, and they could have gone party anywhere... where the beautiful people go, I mean. Not that I don't think you are hottt.” She gazed at me from beneath her eyelashes and I tried not to take it personally. I mean, it had become clear as weeks had gone by that, if there was something Lola needed desperately, it was sex.
So I thought this was just her regular flirting. And that it was kind of cute the way she said 'hottt', just like Carla.
“Why thank you, Lola.”
“Don Carlos José never throws any party, you know, he's so serious, but he has just the perfect house to—why, it even has its own pool, and an incredibly big garden, and a cook, though I don't think he'd let anyone play with firecrackers. But maybe a romantic bonfire... It's the perfect place for a party, even if he never throws any, you know. He's too important for that.”
We were already in the living room, which was unfortunately deserted. Julia's iPod was playing Shakira through the posh sound system, loud enough to make Lola's hips sway with the music. She smiled up at me.
“Do you know I used to learn Arabic dances? As in, belly dance?”
Yes, she started dancing right then.
I imagine it would have been nice if she hadn't looked at me so intensely—she didn't even blink, and we were alone in the room, and she was feeling clearly self-conscious, and the music was all about ebony eyes and such, and then she started mouthing the lyrics.
To me.
Without blinking.
And I don't even have eyes that dark, you know. They are kind of mid-brown, not light enough to be hazel like Julia's and not dark enough to be intense. Just tobacco-brown. But I've recently been told they are fine eyes, so I won't complain much.
Where was I?
God, yes.
Lola was trying to seduce me but was, instead, both embarrassing and terrifying me thoroughly. It wasn't that she didn't dance well, poor girl. I didn't even pay any attention to what she did with her hips, I wanted to run so badly. I guess it was something similar to that videoclip of Shakira and Beyonce rubbing on walls and looking like man-eating madwomen.
That was more or less the look on Lola's face.
So I took one doomed step backwards, discovered the white designer couch was behind me and was then pushed by Lola. So I stumbled and sat down, and then—
Okay, wait. I'm laughing so hard I can't—
And then the belly dance developed into something a lot more like a lap dance. No, really, she was all over me and I just couldn't figure out how it had come to that—she had been harmlessly clinging to my arm just a minute ago.
She was wiggling against me while I tried to slide away along the sofa, and really, I didn't know whether I should be thankful no-one was around to see it, or angry there was nobody watching to prevent Lola from dancing.
And suddenly she licked me.
I tried scrambling to my feet at that, but, see, she was half-sitting half-straddling my lap. Which, I know, was the whole point.
I swear I didn't get up so that she'd fall. I tried to be, ah, unobtrusive. As much as possible, anyway. But maybe I stumbled on her feet, or she on mine, and next thing I knew I was standing, and she had toppled over.
She looked up at me from the comfortable rug—she didn't get hurt or anything, at least—and her face crumpled. She blinked at me, once, rather sadly.
“Shit, are you alright? Do you need a hand?” She didn't answer, just blinked again, sniffled, and began weeping. Yes, weeping. She tried to hide her face, and it made me feel even worse. “Nononono,” I cried, all panicky, and helped her rise from there taking her by the elbows. “Don't cry, let's talk this over, you and I, OK? Let's just grab a drink and, ah, talk.”
Stupid, I know. I mean, what could we possibly talk about? But you see, we LIVE together, we had to work things out somehow. So my plan was something like getting her a drink, talk about nice things—I was even willing to listen to don Carlos José de Burgos' opinions—and then, after I was sure there were no hard feelings, get Julia and Carla to sort out the girly stuff. Like, if I had caused any major self-esteem disaster or worsened a previous one.
Not the best plan ever, but hey, I had just been sexually harassed. I couldn't think clearly.
She didn't seem to have any objections—she avoided looking at me and just ducked into the nearest room. So I chose to think she hadn't said no. Which had to mean she agreed to talking.
Charlie and Isabel were in the kitchen when I went to get the drinks. He was pacing, and she was primly sitting on the kitchen counter. She saw me at the door and sat straighter. She was wearing a violet summer dress and her hair was down, and she had been looking rather sulky the whole evening. Which I took note of because I had to report to Jaime, of course.
"Where is everyone?" I greeted them, going straight to the fridge.
"To see the bonfire up close or something. And some have left... and Julia is with Cristian in the bathroom," said Charlie, standing still so I could open the fridge. When I looked at him questioningly, he said, "He's feeling unwell."
At the same time, Isabel said, "He's drunk and being sick," then, "and your cousin just left with Caro."
She says she was not, but I swear she was smirking.
She didn't get any reaction from me, though. I just grabbed two Coronitas with one hand and said, "Is there lemon left?"
"David, I want to dance with your sister," said Charlie, as earnest as if he was asking for my permission to marry her. I shrugged, as in 'Go ahead'.
Isabel-the-nepotist didn't react to his outburst; maybe they had just been talking about that. "There should be some wedges in a bowl."
I looked inside the fridge again, and Charlie started explaining his big problem.
"Yes, but David, no-one is dancing and she's so shy she won't want to, and Izzy here doesn't want to help."
"What I don't want to do is dance with some random boy so you'll feel in the safety of numbers."
"Well, you can dance with David and I'll just ask Arnau and his girlfriend--"
"Um, no, Charlie," I said, having opened the beer bottles and stuffed the lemon inside. I looked back at them, and they were both watching me. There wasn't anything more interesting to look at in the kitchen, I guess. I grabbed some paper napkins, too, in case Lola had no kleenex or something. You never know. "I can't right now. I need to fix something first. Metaphorically. I haven't broken or stained anything as of yet," I added, when I noticed Isabel had started frowning at me.
Carla poked her head through the door right then, quipping, "Did I leave my cigarettes here? Where's Lola?"
"Hm." Really, what could I say? 'She tried to seduce me and I made her cry?' But something must have shown in my face—namely, guilt—, because Carla narrowed her eyes at me and asked The Unwanted Question.
"What have you done to her?"
I tried not to, but this kind of silence goes straight to my head. So I drew near her and whispered,
"She tried to seduce me and I made her cry."
"David!"
"It was unintentional," I offered, grimacing.
She didn't even hit my arm or anything, though. That made me feel better. She just raised her eyebrows, and I said, "And she lap danced."
Not to mention she licked my face.
She laughed at that. "Oh my. Was she good?"
"How am I to know? I was too scared to look."
Isabel and Charlie were both looking like they dearly wanted to know what was going on, so Carla just took the beer and the napkins from me and said.
"I'll take it from here. Wish me luck!"
"And your cigarettes?"
"Hang that," she said, in a carefree voice I didn't understand, and off she went.
As I turned—I still needed a drink!--Charlie said, "So you can help me now?"
And that's how I ended up dancing with Isabel.
I've wondered since how enjoyable would it have been had I wanted to enjoy myself. But I didn't want to, you see, because would you want to have fun dancing with a supposedly frigid bitch that had hurt your friend and kept staring at you AND had challenged and beaten you in class? Even if her hair kept brushing your hands at the small of her back?
Well, I didn't.
I felt damned uncomfortable, too.
“The party has been fun, I think,” I said. The past tense was because we were at that point in which people are sprawled everywhere trying not to fall asleep. It was the best time to dance, because everyone was kind of drowsy and happy. Charlie had even dimmed the lights, and Julia was leaning on him while he caressed her back.
Which might have been Charlie's goal, now that I think about it.
Or Julia's. She was the one who went bra-less to the party in the first place.
Though she looked rather tense, if you ask me. I thought it was related to the fact Charlie was leaving. But anyone that had seen them together would have known Charlie was madly in love with her, so I didn't feel particularly worried about that.
Anyway, I said that, and Isabel said,
“Yes.”
And that was it.
But I didn't want to be there, half-hugging with Isabel, swaying in time with the music, in silence. I needed some distraction, and watching my sister cuddle with Charlie wasn't it.
Also, I figured out she wouldn't want to talk. So I made conversation.
“It is your turn to say something now. I praised your party, and you should make some kind of remark on the music or the snacks.”
I think she smiled at my shirt.
“Really. Why don't you tell me what I should say and I will repeat it.”
“OK, that will do for now.”
“Do you always talk when you dance with girls?”
“Sometimes. One has to speak a little, if one wants to get to know the girl in question.” She kind of pressed her nose on my shoulder, in a gesture that I didn't actually get. “But of course there are some that prefer never to speak at all.”
“Is 'some' supposed to be me?” she said, not looking up.
“You and I. We are both unsocial and unwilling to speak unless we think we will be thought witty. “
“That can hardly be you, seeing you can't stop talking and just dance,” she said, and it was clear she had understood the barb. Maybe that was what had her saying, mere seconds later, “So have you got plans after this?”
“I was supposed to meet a friend that wasn't invited here. Maybe that's why he didn't come pick me up after all.”
She looked up at me again, going white, and I couldn't bring myself to go on. She gulped and said, now very clearly ill at ease,
“Jaime?”
“Yes.”
“He has started to let you down, then. He's so charming, that making friends is very easy for him, but he never could keep one of them.”
“He hasn't let me down, and I doubt he let you down either.”
If looks killed, I'd be dead right now. She froze me on the spot, but luckily—so, so luckily— Carla and Lola choose that exact moment to emerge from the room they had been hidding in and bid their general goodbyes. Carla helped Lola with her coat and tugged her by the hand towards the door. Lola followed, not looking at us. She looked even cheerful, really.
Charlie waved at them, not letting Julia go, and we continued as we were.
“What were we talking about? I don't remember,” said Isabel, smiling at me. Really, why did she smile? I didn't like her and I didn't want to dance with her in first place.
“I don't remember,” I said. About Jaime, I knew, but I didn't want to talk anymore. “We have tried, but I don't think we have much in common.”
The song ended, and I dropped my arms. She let go of me rather more slowly—she had her arms around my neck—and said, “We could talk about, I don't know, films.”
“I'm sure we never watch the same, and if we do, don't think the same about them,” I said, leaning on the door to the terrace in order to watch the couples dancing. I can't remember what song had we been dancing to, but the one that was just starting was Diecinueve, a slow love song by an obscure group Julia liked very much.
Isabel perched on the sofa arm, right next to me, and also next to a very dizzy-looking Cristian. “Then we surely wouldn't lack discussion topics. Or, we could talk of books.”
She should have gone away by then, shouldn't she? I thought she must really be bored, if she felt condescending—or desperate—enough to try to talk with me. “Nah, it's too late for us to hold a coherent discussion. It's more like cuddling time.”
She looked up sharply at that.
I didn't notice, because I was talking about the dancing couples. Of course, I mean, it would have never occurred to me Isabel was capable of cuddling. I was thinking about her and Jaime, too, and about gathering useful information, so I asked,
“I remember hearing you say that you could never forgive an offense.” I looked at her from the corner of my eye. She was facing me, and she nodded. “I suppose you are very careful then, and are not easily offended.”
“Yes.”
“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice.”
“Never, I hope.”
“Or jealousy.”
She narrowed her eyes at me then.
“That is none of your business. Why are you asking, anyway?”
“Why, to get to know you,” I said, not looking at her. The song was ending already, and Charlie didn't look like he intended to stop dancing any time soon.
And then—I shudder every time I recall those two or three seconds.
And then, Julia raised her head from his shoulder, surprise etched on her face as she looked at the blood stain she had left on Charlie's shirt. Her nose was bleeding. She fainted.
606XXXXX19: I'M FREEEEE!!! I HAVE MY MOBILE BACK!!!
639XXXXX44: Jorge! : D
606XXXXX19: Told you I was out today! I'm in the bus 2 airport.
639XXXXX44: Where's dad?
606XXXXX19: Congress in Berlin. Am alr8, AM FREE!
639XXXXX44: I'll kill him.
606XXXXX19: I'm a big boy. AND I'M FREEEEE!
639XXXXX44: Fizzy'll pick you up in Barajas if you text her your arrival time.
606XXXXX19: Thanx. How was your party?
639XXXXX44: Dreadful. Ju fainted and is now in the hospital. C's hysterical.
606XXXXX19: Shit. What's wrong with her?
639XXXXX44: They don't know yet. We're at the Hosp too.
606XXXXX19: Tell C I'm sorry.
639XXXXX44: D told C Julia had a cancer when she was 17.
606XXXXX19: ?????
639XXXXX44: And bleeding is a v. bad sign.
606XXXXX19: She hadn't told Charlie?
639XXXXX44: App.ly she forgot to mention many things.
606XXXXX19: : (
639XXXXX44: But you are FREE!
606XXXXX19: Til September.
639XXXXX44: We will work that out. I have to make Charlie eat something. Call me when you get home.
606XXXXX19: Or if I get lost. <3
639XXXXX44: XOXOXO
The betas for this one were
hlbr and Vicky. Any mistakes left, of course, are my fault.Chapter 8