“One day, when you have a child, you’ll think differently,” puts in Joana, arriving with the coffees.
“But I already have a child. A daughter. She’s called Lua, she’s 10 years old and she’s bursting with health and happiness. Even with an eccentric mother like me, who has no thoughts of settling down and goes out with a surfer,” answers Lu with a huge smile, leaving most of the company dumbfounded.
“Ah, I forgot the sugar,” says Joana, going back to the kitchen in a state of shock, very likely gagging for the Xanax she can’t take.
Filipe’s eyes are beaming with pure satisfaction. One more point for Lu.
“Who wants brandy?” asks André with enthusiasm.
No one answers. He insists.
“What? No one want any? What a bunch of fairies.”
I almost choke on my beer. Fairies? André, couldn’t you have chosen a more socially correct word? Pedro is having a giggling fit and most of us look away in the hope of an earthquake, a fire, anything that will divert people’s attention from this embarrassing moment – and a potentially insulting one, for some of those present. But Nuno takes it in good part and answers cheerfully, “Brandy no, but this fairy would like a beer, is that OK?”
Fortunately André (and in fact all of us) is drunk enough not to feel embarrassed by his thoughtless outburst. As for Eduardo, either he has as good a sense of humour as Nuno, or he’ll never want to come to dinner with us again. My bets on the first alternative.
Joana
I can't believe what’s happening and in my house of all places. This party is getting out of control. Eduardo and Nuno are even holding hands across the table, brazenly. If things are like this already, imagine what they’ll be like when that hare-brained Lu’s friend arrives. That’s all I need. But I can’t get annoyed. In a little while I’ll go off to my room and tomorrow morning I’ll go to the spa, while André stays behind to clean up the mess.
I feel someone coming up behind me. They’re so close they’re almost touching me. I can feel their breath on the back of my neck. My skin tingles. It’s António. I don’t move an inch. It takes a few seconds before I manage to say, “Thanks for the help” as he puts the things he’s carrying on the worktop beside me. This is the second time this has happened to me tonight. What’s the matter with me?
André comes into the kitchen looking for beer.
“I can't believe there’s only three left!” he exclaims, disappointed.
“You should have got more. You know I don't drink beer, that’s why I never buy it,” I answer.
“Damn it, what do we do now?”
“Now, you have two options, either you drink what’s available, and with all those bottles you put on the table there’s no shortage, or you get in the car and drive to the petrol station and buy some beer, don't you?”
“In that case I’ll go and buy some.”
“Want some company?” asks António.
“No thanks. Filipe needs cigarettes, I’ll ask him to come with me.”
André goes out. But António doesn’t. To dispel this strange sensation I’m feeling I bring the conversation back to Pedro.
“I quite agree with what you said to Pedro. Just as well someone had the courage to try and make him see sense.”
“I’m sorry if I caused any trouble, but I really had to tell him some home truths. It’s not right that a grown man continues acting like a kid and finds it normal.”
“And naturally he only meets women even crazier than he is, women who find him really interesting and approve of his lifestyle. Quite honestly, I was a little shocked when Lu said she had a daughter, I confess.”
“Really, with a figure like hers you’d never guess.”
“António!”
“Sorry, but it’s not every day you have dinner with a woman who used to be a top model.”
“I can imagine that child’s life, her parents divorced (if they were ever married), her mother an ex-model who works at a nightclub and goes out with a surfer with no prospects... And they think it’s all quite normal. The whole world’s gone mad!”
“You can say that again. They think they’re modern. It’s like anything goes. One of these days they’ll be looking at us as if we were the strange ones. The day isn't far off when our children will be teased at school for having a mum and dad who are married and live together,” he continues. “Now it’s every one for themselves, children bossing their parents around, women who put their careers before their family. They don't make women like you anymore...”
“What do you mean, like me?” I ask, intrigued.
“I mean women who aren’t afraid to positively acknowledge their role as housewives, guardians of values and traditions, but who do it with elegance.”
“Thanks, but Kati stays at home too. She doesn't work any more, does she?” I say, trying to divert his attention away from me.
“Yes, but that’s nothing to do with it. Kati hasn’t got your class, or your feeling for these things. She doesn’t work but we have a live-in maid and a babysitter, because what the young lady wants is to go to the gym and have lunch with friends. She’s so useless she can't even fry an egg.”
“Poor thing, she can always learn,” I answer, making a mental note that they have a live-in maid and we don’t. “I was lucky enough to have a mother who knew the importance of these things, but it’s never too late to learn.”
“Oh Joana, don’t be ingenuous. Right now the only thing Kati’s interested in learning is how to spend my money.”
I gulp. I didn’t think things were so bad between them. But then what made him take up with a secretary in the first place? Not that I have anything against the profession, but obviously António should have chosen a girl from a good background, one that matched the lifestyle he aspires to. And what a catch António was! He could have chosen far better, Clarinha, for instance, who was crazy for him. I tried to bring them together, but he completely ignored her. That’s why I find men deeply stupid. They don’t think about these things. They let themselves fall under the spell of a pair of big boobs or good sex and by the time they come to their senses it’s too late.
Finally, we go back to the living room with the coffees. I’d forgotten about the bedlam it was in here. Maria is enjoying a cosy chat with Nuno and Eduardo (whoever would have guessed?) and Kati’s dancing on a chair as Lu and Pedro cheer her on. I thought our presence might have intimidated her, especially with António looking at her with a mixture of scorn and contempt, but she keeps dancing as if she couldn’t care less. I’m beginning to think António’s quite fed up with her. Any husband in his place would say something, even in a playful tone, but not António. He simply ignores the scene and keeps on talking to me. But it wasn't just after our talk in the kitchen that I noticed a certain distance between them. It’s a long time since I’ve seen any signs of affection between them, any compliments. Perhaps he’s had enough of her suburban ways, especially now he’s moving in more important business circles with people from high society. Honestly. You can take the girl out of the suburbs, but you can never take the suburbs out of the girl. And her fondness for animal prints is no help either. I can just see them at a cocktail party, with everyone wearing Ferretti or some other chic and tasteful brand and her appearing in a tiger print dress with a neckline down to her belly button and gold sandal straps halfway up her leg. Not to mention the hair extensions and the heavy makeup. It must be that. António’s not from the most distinguished background either, but as he’s gone up in the world he’s managed to adapt to the circles he moves in. He occasionally puts his foot in his mouth and his choice of accessories can be dubious, but with men that’s easier to hide. Not her, though. I think I’m going to have to intervene. Yes. Because if we’re going to start socializing together, I don't want her chewing gum with her mouth open over breakfast with me at the Ritz.
Oh my God! It’s just occurred to me that perhaps our friends think the same way about our marriage. Do they think André’s ti
red of me? Or that I’m tired of him? We aren’t the most outgoing couple either, after all, and I’m sure they’ve already caught me throwing a look of rebuke or indifference his way. Yet it would never occur to me not to stay with him. What would be the point? To break Daddy’s heart? To bring up my children alone, or with a man who isn't their father? God spare me. I’m one of those women who believe marriage is for life. And who’s guaranteeing me I’d be happier with another man? What if the other man was worse? What if he was a drunk, or mistreated me? At least with André I know where I stand. It’s only a matter of time before he’s promoted and we can finally buy a house in Comporta.
I hear the doorbell. It must be that friend of Lu’s with her stupid weed. This place is beginning to look like a brothel. Alcohol, drugs, women dancing like strippers on my Louis XVI chairs. And then I’ll be the spoilsport for not encouraging these friendships, mark my words. For God’s sake, why don't I have any normal friends? People with manners, who know how to enjoy a good wine, a good dinner, who like to talk about their holidays, or culture, like civilized people. I can just see what’s coming next.
Maria
The weed has finally arrived! Yippee! OK. Now I feel like an addict – me who hasn't smoked any of this stuff for years. But I’m having so much fun tonight; I’m up for anything. When the doorbell rings, I’m making plans with Nuno and Eduardo for dinner in their house. It seems they live in this really nice apartment in Príncipe Real, one of those 19th-century buildings with stuccoed ceilings three and a half metres high. As Eduardo’s an architect and Nuno has great taste in interior design, it must be a really nice house. It hardly seems possible. Just over a year ago I was sending out invitations to my wedding with Nuno and now I’m making plans with him and his boyfriend to have dinner in the house where they live together happily. I definitely need a joint.
Joana goes to the door and Lu goes with her to introduce her friend. Her name is Pilar and she’s a little older than us. She must be about forty, at least. Dark, slim, lips painted red to match the enormous flower in her voluminous hair. She’s wearing a long, brightly coloured skirt with a vaguely Mexican pattern, and a tight black top that’s sexy but elegant. I want to be like that when I grow up. She exudes confidence and sensuality. According to what Lu said, she’s the owner of a well-known art gallery. I don't know anything about these things, but I’ve always had the idea that gallery owners are snobs who think they know it all, whose clients have to have two or three surnames or a master’s in art history before they’ll even deign to look at them. In the few galleries I’ve been to they’ve always treated me with that look that says ‘If you’re not going to buy anything, stop asking questions and skulking around my shop.’ But Pilar has nothing to do with that stereotype. She has a bohemian, cheerful look about her, as if she was the one who’s the artist.
And now I see she hasn't come alone. Behind her enters another woman, younger but equally fascinating. She looks like a doll, all tiny and neat in her little dress with layered flounces. She has lovely eyes and an enchanting smile. She’s more reserved, but equally confidant. Lu does the introductions.
“You guys; this is Pilar, my art gallery friend, and Isabel, a promising young talent on the contemporary art scene. She’s just held her first one-woman exhibition in Pilar’s gallery.”
“Welcome, Pilar and Isabel, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Can I get you something to drink? So you can keep celebrating your premiere?” says Joana, looking at Isabel.
“I’ll have some wine if you have any,” answers Pilar.
“Me too,” says Isabel, shyly.
As Joana makes for her magnificent sideboard with its shining crystal glasses, Lu ushers the two visitors towards us.
“Right, let’s break the ice. Pilar, you start, skin up,“ says Lu with a smile.
“Pass it here, Pilar, I’ll give you a hand, I think we’d better make two or three,” says Pedro.
‘I like to see you two like that, sharing the work like good friends do,’ says Lu, kissing each of them on the lips.
Joana rolls her eyes and begins pouring their glasses of wine. Poor thing, she must be almost losing her mind. This is definitely not her kind of party, and all the less so now she’s pregnant. Then again, not many parties are her kind, and even before she was pregnant I never saw her have more than one or two drinks, let alone lose her composure. She’s one of those women who leave parties as she arrives at them, while all the other girls leave with smudged eyeliner and dishevelled hair.
While they’re preparing the weed, I slip out to the porch to smoke another cigarette. Sitting on the step, looking at the sky is Eduardo.
“D’you mind?” I ask as I go up to him.
“Not at all,” he answers sweetly.
“The sky’s marvellous tonight, isn't it?”
“Yes, this is what I miss in the city. Somewhere isolated enough to be able to see the sky like this.”
“Only in the countryside, it’s true. But you two have a garden, don’t you?”
“Yes, but with the lights of the city it’s impossible to see the stars.”
Suddenly I feel like telling him lots of things. Asking him all sorts of questions. What is he like with you? Does he fall asleep with his hand on your thigh like he did with me? Does he still forget his towel when he goes into the shower? Does he dance with you when he’s happy, even without music? What does it matter anyway? When he was with me, it wasn't really him. It was a persona he’d built to fit into society. Still, I want to ask him if he talks about me, if he tells stories about us. It wasn't all a fake. It wasn’t. It can’t have been. But then, Eduardo’s sweetness and the gleam I’ve seen in Nuno’s eyes all evening are as soft as a lullaby to me, like a voice that’s saying; “Let it go. Don’t ask any questions. Just move on.” And it feels right. Life is a journey, and like all journeys there are many people we’ve met, and will meet, along the way. They’re stations on the line, but not our destination. Nuno definitely wasn’t mine. I smile. I smile so broadly at this thought that Eduardo notices and asks me why I’m laughing.
“It was you,” I answer.
“What was me?”
“It was you who were missing in his life.”
“Oh…” he says, shrugging.
“I mean it. I’ve never seen Nuno like this, and I lived with him for years. And I knew him before that too. But all that time, it was as if there was a certain place he wouldn’t share with anyone. I’ve never seen him like this before. Fulfilled.”
“Maybe. Look, Maria, I want to ask you something.”
“Go on.”
“Don’t disappear from his life.”
“I wasn't thinking about it,” I smile.
“Just as well, he really needs your friendship. You’re the only real friend he ever had.”
“Don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
The moment I gave free rein to my anguish, all the questions I needed to ask no longer made any sense. There’s nothing more I need to hear. I’ve accepted it. End of. I take a deep breath, as if it’s my first. And it feels so good.
The party has moved outside now. Only António, Nuno (who’s still listening to António’s disquisition on the business he wants to start) and Joana have yet to join us.
“I haven't smoked a joint since I became a mother!” says Kati, a little over-excited for someone who’s already had more than her share of alcohol and drugs this evening.
“Shouldn’t we wait for André?” asks Lu.
“I think it’s better if we do,” I say.
“Oooooohhhh,” sighs Kati. “In that case, Antónioooooo!” she shouts, making for the living room. “I want more!”
Meanwhile I go and get more wine. Joana has given up playing the perfect hostess and simply points to where the bottles which are OK to drink are usually kept, but as I can't find any she has to go and get some from the cellar. António goes to help her bring the bottles, to the great disappointment of Kati, who’s sulking on the sofa
like a five-year-old. Not because her husband’s gone for a moment, but because he didn’t leave her any coke.
Lu is finding it really funny to see Pedro and her friend Pilar in a polite conversation. They’re keeping a certain distance, like two old enemies who meet on neutral ground where neither can attack the other. I notice that Isabel, the artist who came with Pilar, has also realized what’s going on between the two of them. I’m not at all the type to poke around other people’s business, but I ask what’s going on.
“Oh, nothing special,” answers Lu. “Just the old territorial dispute, ex and on-going.”
“Ex what?” I ask. “I don't understand…”
“Ex partners. Pilar is my ex-girlfriend and Pedro always gets a bit anxious when we’re together,” Lu explains, to my astonishment.
“It’s understandable,” says Isabel. “If Pilar was a guy he’d know how to behave, and that would boil down to a fight in the garden. But since she’s a woman, he isn’t quite sure what to do. But it looks as if they’re getting on better.”
I don't know what to say. Lu was going out with a woman before she met Pedro? He didn’t tell me that, the bastard. He really enjoys hearing gossip about his friends, but when it’s anything to do with him he plays his cards very close to his chest. I wonder if Filipe knows. Or Joana. This is going to be good. Very good!
“So did you two go out for long?” I ask, I’m not sure why.
“No. It was just a fling that lasted about six months and it ended the day I met Pedro.”
“Ah, so that’s why Pilar doesn't like Pedro very much,” I deduce.
“No, it’s not that! Pilar adores Pedro. She knows I’m not a lesbian and our relationship was very casual. In fact she wanted to persuade Pedro to have a threesome, but he panicked.”
“Pedro panicked? Pedro, who’s always so sure of himself!” I exclaim, surprised.
Thirty Something (Nothing's How We Dreamed It Would Be) Page 8
