Naked Men

by Alicia Giménez-Bartlett

  While this is going on, a taxi comes by. Genoveva doesn’t hesitate.

  “Well, kids, it’s been great. I’m taking off.”

  And she ups and leaves. All right, I think, but I’ll call you tomorrow because we haven’t settled the bill yet, unless the invitation from the bathing beauty here also includes our fees for the night.

  The teacher gets nervous when he sees a car and launches another set of pleasepleases at the mermaid.

  “Irene, please.”

  Looking to ease the tension, just fooling around, I shout, “It’s the cops!”

  The car kept going, but Irene was already out of the water, howling with laughter. Still dripping, she put on her shoes, tucked her clothing under her arm, picked up her purse, and started running, cracking up and without a stitch. The teacher called out and went after her, but I jumped out of the fountain and grabbed him by the arm.

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  “She’s naked, Iván.”

  “Let her go, damn it. She’ll go into some doorway and get dressed. Then she’ll catch a taxi and go home. She’s got money—there’s nothing to worry about. The party’s over.”

  I started getting dressed, and he just stood there like a twit, his face gloomy.

  “Come on, teach, let’s go. Feel like having one last beer? Come sleep at my place tonight.”

  “No thanks. I’m going home.”

  He started walking like he was coming back from a goddamn funeral, poking along all hangdog and dragging his feet.

  “Who’s going to pay us for tonight?” I call after him.

  “I don’t know, Iván, I don’t know.”

  Like I say, worse than a funeral director. Oh, love! A little white dove, huh? You’re screwed, dude. But that’s life—as a man who spends all his time reading should know. Though I’m no dummy, and I get the impression that people who read all the time end up losing sight of things. Maybe books don’t paint life prettier than it is, but they do make it seem more important. And there’s no such thing as important shit in the lives of everyday people. Nothing is important, nothing. Well, except for earning money—so tomorrow I’m going to call Javier to see when these broads intend on paying us.

  * * *

  I was pretty upset after the party the other night. Irene’s behavior didn’t exactly seem like that of a woman who was laying the groundwork for a new life. If her plan is to give me a job and start a future with me, why did her fun have such a desperate edge to it? It’s clear she’s not in the mental place I’d expected. Indeed, her mind never is where I expect it to be. Taking a glass-half-full view of things, I can decide that the other night was a sort of farewell to the seedy world we’ve been circulating in. Saying goodbye to our prostituted relationship with a drugs-and-alcohol–fueled bender. Or maybe I’m being foolish, trying to change facts through sheer will. Iván tends toward this latter option, but he doesn’t realize what’s happening between the two of us. Irene needs me more than I need her, and I’ll be by her side when any obstacles come up in life, which they inevitably will. She’s insecure, fragile, neurotic. It may seem like her life’s been easy, but it hasn’t. She’s endured a lonely childhood, a broken marriage, a demanding job. She’s been surrounded by frivolous, superficial people with enormous wealth but very little to offer her. With me her life would be different: I’ll make sure everything around her is simpler, more authentic, more harmonious. We’ll read books and discuss them afterward. We’ll go out for pizza on Saturday nights, like other couples do. I don’t want to make plans on where we’ll end up living because that would be premature, but the ideal, I think, would be to get a new house. A house that’s new for both of us, not as fancy as hers but less spartan than mine. Starting over. I’m laid back and rarely get angry, and the person I’m with tends to appreciate that quality. Working and living with your partner. It’s quite simple and can go really smoothly.

  I call her on the phone. I have a rehearsal tonight and won’t be able to meet up. I pay close attention to her tone of voice, which sounds normal.

  “How are you doing, Irene?”

  “Good. I’ve got a bit of a hangover.”

  “Last night was pretty over the top, huh?”

  “Over the top? I don’t know, it was fun.”

  “How should I interpret what happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was surprised you organized a party like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with painting the town red, but it seemed like we were taking a step backward. Going out with Iván and Genoveva again, causing a scene in the middle of the street . . . I don’t know, it had felt like we were starting a calmer phase, just the two of us.

  “It’s not that big a deal—there was no real reason. I just felt like it.”

  What did this guy think? The bastard! Calling me to demand explanations for my behavior! He’s a lot dumber than I thought. Next he’s going to ask about the job I’m supposed to find for him. It’s all so tacky!

  “Yeah, but I want to make sure you’re OK, that everything’s on track.”

  “I don’t see why anything has to change, Javier.”

  “Can we see each other tomorrow?”

  “I’ve got a lot of work at the factory tomorrow. Let’s do the day after.”

  “Just the two of us, OK?”

  “Great. Now I’ve got to go—somebody’s calling on the land line.”

  Everything’s still the same. Everything’s still the same? Maybe if my situation were different it would be time to break up with Irene. Too much uncertainty. But my only hope for the future depends on her.

  * * *

  “Yes, Iván, yes. I’ve got your money for the other night. Irene transferred it to my bank account—it was her treat. It’s the least she could do after the way she acted.”

  “She was off her gourd.”

  “It was just awful, and I told her so, believe me. I’d already warned her on a couple of occasions, just as a good friend, but she went way too far that night. I’m a respectable woman, and I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Plus I depend on my ex-husband’s alimony. I can’t mess around with stuff and nonsense. And I really don’t see the fun in it, honestly: getting high, sure, but what’s so great about swimming naked in a fountain?”

  “It wasn’t that bad!”

  “Maybe not for you, Iván, and I hope you won’t be upset by what I’m about to say. You two were in your own world, doing your own thing, and what you do in that context isn’t so important. For a man, it could even be a notch in your belt, something to tell your friends about afterward. But things don’t work that way for women. You understand where I’m coming from, right, Iván?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  You think I won’t understand, you damn hussy? I hear what you’re saying: we’re trash, so if we want to get buck naked outside a cathedral in the middle of the day, it’s no big deal. At most, a police officer comes along and runs us off like the dogs we are. But not you ladies—you’re the goddamn cherry on the sundae, always perched at the tippy-top. I’d love it if your reputations were actually affected by going out with riffraff and getting hammered. No, man, I understand you just goddamn fine. The only one who doesn’t get it is the teacher. But me? I’ve understood this crap since birth. I was weaned on it. First I learned I’m a piece of shit, then that everybody else was better than me. Finally I got sick of it and started doing whatever the hell I felt like, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean I can change reality. Reality is crystal clear: you’re a couple of rich-ass women, and we’re goddamn losers. That’s the way it’s been since the dawn of time. And what can I do about it, grab a shotgun and start shooting? Who would I shoot at, you? You’re just a dumbass—I feel sorry for you. But a guy can’t get cocky the way teach has. Get laid a few times, charge your fee, and fuck right off! But this business of going out and g
etting drinks and hooking up . . . no goddamn way! The ladies can go play at the lady daycare and leave us the hell alone.

  “I was really clear with her. I’m done. I can’t risk going out with her and having her make a spectacle of herself when I least expect it.”

  “Is she really that out of control?”

  “She’s getting worse and worse. She was already odd, very much a daddy’s girl and in her own world. But now she’s had all these problems—her father dies, her husband leaves her, and her company falls apart and she has to sell the business . . . She hasn’t gotten over any of that, and she’s going a little crazy.”

  “She sold the company?”

  “Just a little while back, and from what I hear she got a good price for it. I don’t think she’ll ever lack for money, but of course her work was her life, and now she doesn’t have anything to do. I told her to see a psychiatrist and she did start going, but . . . ”

  “I’m sorry, Genoveva, I’ve got to run. Want to get together one day, just the two of us?”

  “I don’t know, Iván, I don’t think so. I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth. Let’s give it some time, all right? Maybe fate will bring us together. I’ll wire you the money really soon.”

  “Bye, Geno.”

  Goodbye. Fate’s crystal clear: I’m never going near her again. Even though she’s a cool broad, unlike her crazy-ass friend. So she sold the company—that’s news to me! And the bitch is still telling the teacher she’s going to hire him to read books to her employees or whatever. What is she after, what does she want—to totally fuck him up? How am I going to tell Javier? Regardless, it’s got to be soon so he can finally rip the wool from over his eyes and stop living in a fantasy world.

  I told him to meet me in a bar before the rehearsal. That way, however hard he took the news, he couldn’t get too upset because he had to work afterward. I didn’t know how to go about broaching the subject. I’m paralyzed. The broad is super sketchy—dangerous even. A person can go through a rough patch and fuck things up. I’ve been in a pretty bad way myself since my mother kicked it. But deliberately screwing with someone, deceiving them . . . and with Javier being such a good guy on top of it. The chick deserves to die—or worse.

  I just give it to him with both barrels as soon as we sit down.

  “Your friend Irene sold her company, Javier. Did you know that? Did you know?”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “All right, it’s not possible, but she sold it. Genoveva told me.”

  “You must have misunderstood.”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t understand, teach. This chick is lying to you out of pure spite, I’m telling you.”

  “It’s not possible.”

  “Fine! Why don’t you call her up on the goddamn phone and ask her if she sold the goddamn company?”

  “We’ve got dinner plans.”

  “That’s the perfect opportunity.”

  I hope my numbnuts friend figures out that if you want to live off of women, you have to be the one to set the rules.

  * * *

  So it’s true. She’s right here in front of me and she just confirmed it: she’s sold her company. And now what do I ask? What do I tell her? She looks at me calmly, as if nothing had happened, or as if whatever had happened were no big deal.

  “So I can’t work for you now.”

  “Not at the company. But you can do other things—you can give me literature classes or anything else you come up with. Any ideas?”

  “It’s not funny, Irene.”

  “There are some things you’ve proven you do very well.”

  “I don’t want to be your hired whore! I thought you understood. I asked you for a job so I could leave that life behind.”

  “But what’s the difference? You can leave the club, stop seeing other women, and just go out with me. I give you a salary, and we’re set. We both win.”

  “That doesn’t lead anywhere. That kind of relationship is rotten, dead, and it wouldn’t last. You’d never treat me like an equal, and I wouldn’t feel good about it. I want a normal life, Irene, a real bond between us.”

  “I’m offering you an exclusive bond with rules that are easy for both of us to satisfy.”

  Men are just unbelievable. I’d been so removed from them thanks to Papá and my fake marriage that I never realized it before. But yes, they’re unbelievable. This guy, whom I met while he was stripping in a club, whom I’ve been paying for his sexual services for months, is demanding I solve his economic problems in a way he finds morally and socially acceptable. He’s reproaching me for having sold the company my father founded and I helped build! He’s blaming me for not asking his permission to sell the business, not giving him the chance to lead a respectable life! He’s right, I should have preserved a failing business structure just to be able to hire him on as a janitor. It’s so over the top that it’s actually getting interesting.

  “You’re refusing to understand my perspective, Irene. I think it’s best if we stop seeing each other.”

  “I do understand, Javier. You don’t like being a prostitute or a kept man. Fine, let me try to find you something with someone I know. I’ve got a lot of contacts in the business world—that’s an option we haven’t explored yet.”

  “If you cared, you’d have explored it already on your own.”

  I’ve got to stay firm. In fact, this is my chance to get out, since this ship isn’t headed for any port. I know it—I’m almost positive. But any ship is better than the raft I’ve been clinging to, totally adrift.

  “I’ve been really busy with the damn company. Do you realize what selling a company involves? And I’m not just talking about in economic or legal terms. Have you stopped to think about the emotional cost of all this for me? That factory has been my life’s work; it was my whole world. I understand you’re worried about your future, but I have problems too.”

  “I’m sorry, Irene, you’re right.”

  She’s right and I’m an idiot, but it still seems to me that no matter how many problems she has, the platform she’s building her life on is level and unobstructed, while I’m stuck at the bottom of a pit.

  The rest of dinner flows through calmer channels. We both try to move past the conflict and avoid setting off the argument again. When we leave the restaurant, we head to my house. We screw passionately, as usual. We clasp each other as if it’s the last time we’ll have sex. It’s almost as if we’ve overcome all the difficulties between us. Sex always offers the appearance of normality, of true closeness. Even when I sleep with a tourist, there’s a moment of mutual appreciation, of total peace.

  Before leaving, Irene pays me. I look at her with infinite weariness. I don’t have the energy to fight her on it again, to explain what I’ve already said a million times before. She smiles at me.

  “Everything’s going to work out, Javier. Give me a little time. I’ll see if anyone I know has a job for you, if that’s what you want.”

  If that’s what you want. She still thinks this is some whim of mine, one option among the thousands available to me. She just doesn’t get it. She has no idea what it means to a man to have the woman he’s with pay him for sex. Still, maybe this time she’ll look for a job for me. She’s realized I’m ready to bolt, and she doesn’t want to lose me. I’m sure of that. And maybe it’ll be better not to work directly for her company anyway. I’ll feel freer, under less pressure. Afterward, once things are in place, I can make sure she changes, discovers what a real, sober relationship means. Neither of us has any reason to be bitter. Whatever the circumstances, we’ve found each other. The two of us may have been abandoned by fate, but we have the power to change that. And I know how—Irene just has to go along with it, to trust me.

  The next day Iván called. I almost didn’t pick up, but it would have been pointless.

  “Well, teach,
what did the bird say?”

  “Don’t call her the bird, please.”

  “Fine. What did she say? Is it true she sold the company?”

  “Yeah, it’s true.”

  “What about that job she was planning to give you?”

  “Look, Irene’s had a lot of difficulties lately. The company was really important to her. Being forced to sell it because of the crisis has been a terrible blow. She wasn’t in a place where she could think about my needs.”

  “Shit, man, you’re tripping! She could have told you she’d sold it, right? Why did we have to find out about it from Genoveva by pure chance?”

  “OK, she didn’t tell me, but we’ve cleared things up. She’s going to ask her contacts to see if anyone’s got a job for me.”

  “Well, that’s just perfect!”

  What’s wrong with the teacher—is he a moron, or a sucker for punishment? He may be hung up on this chick, but he’s got to realize she’s just screwing with him. No, she’s not just screwing with him—she’s going after him, she’s trying to destroy him, she wants to make him pay for all the shit her husband pulled, or all the men she’s ever met in her fucking life. It’s so obvious to me. And what for does Javier want a job anyway? He’s already got one! Is dancing at the club really so awful? Is it that much of a drag to sleep with chicks and have them give you money? If you ask me, all chicks should have to pay for sex! So what does my buddy think of me, then? I can imagine: I’m a total shitbag, without even the smallest shred of dignity. But what’s the difference between stripping and working in an office? There’s only one: if you work in an office, you don’t even make enough to eat—you’re a fucking slave. And who likes being a slave and having rich guys cruise past you in their luxury cars while you’re pedaling a goddamn bicycle? The teacher does, that’s who! And nobody else.