by Pamela Ann
I stood there, looking up at the sheer magnificence, taking in the intricate sculpted designs and the meticulous way this entire building was built. This was done with pure laboring dedication.
The guide named Josefa stood right outside the iron gates. She warmly greeted us, quietly commenting that this was rather unusual, but the order came from one of the senior members of their council, and such requests had to be granted.
Upon learning that fact, I quickly sidelong glanced at Juan, but his attention was set on the guide.
Josefa was a timid young woman in her late twenties with large spectacles that covered most of her face. It was the biggest eyeglasses I had seen anyone wear, so I might’ve stared more than I needed to. She, however, didn’t seem to mind.
There were a few armed guards patrolling the grounds, clearly exhibiting the great importance of this massively acclaimed work of art. They warmly welcomed us as we passed them.
Juan had previously arranged a late night tour. I was convinced he had to pull a lot of strings for such a grand gesture. Though I wouldn’t admit it out loud, I was touched. He knew I had little time in the city, yet he was pulling all the stops to make it worth my while.
Yes, I was undoubtedly impressed.
Bringing my undivided attention to the fore, Josefa intended for us to take an elevator on our way up, but planned on taking the stairs on our way down. She informed us that the bright glaring lights had to be shut off at a certain time. Construction lights were left on all throughout the evening, and that was why she spared us flashlights before entering The Nativity tower.
Juan seemed complacent as he gently placed a hand behind my back, guiding me through.
With scant lighting, it took a while until my eyes adjusted when we entered a dimly lit corridor. The elevator, thank goodness, had proper lighting. The ride was smooth, taking us to the top.
The top view of the tower gave the east view of the city. While I lavished on the view and the surroundings, Josefa tranquilly provided the history. All the while, I could feel Juan behind me like a quiet, steady force, ready to aid me.
I seemed to have some magnetic field that could detect him whenever he was close by. My body would immediately tense, detecting him before my eyes ever did … just like how I’d normally respond to River’s presence.
I disregarded my body’s shameless ability to track him. Blocking it, my ears peeled for Josefa’s soft notes, informing us of the history of Gaudi’s background and unwavering commitment to the Roman Catholic Church.
My eyes took in the sight, the history of this ancient city, and the charming beauty it held. There was darkness to it, too. It gave an edge of mystery. Stories of untold sacrifices marked this city. It knew death and what lied beneath it. Wars upon wars had raged on these streets. Centuries of bloodshed from the Aragons to years of civil unrest. Innocent blood had dripped and ran through these lands. Brave warriors, farmers, merchants, plain young men had banded together to fight for their right of freedom and their free will. And to this day, in people’s hearts, it remained. Barcelona would always be Catalonia.
There was a hint of pride in Josefa’s tone, one that moved me to no end. We stayed a while, all three of us transported back in time, in complete silence, lost in our thoughts.
I liked Josefa. She reminded me of a librarian, soft spoken with quiet intelligent eyes, but armed with enough knowledge that could humiliate you without even trying. She was my kind of person. I smiled at her when our eyes crossed paths, hoping she understood how much I appreciated her coming out here.
Descending from the tower, we took the steep steps as I trailed closely behind Juan. Due to my current shoe crisis, Juan offered to carry me down the steps. I wouldn’t let him do such a crazy thing. Like a true gentleman, he held my hand and made sure I wasn’t about to trip on my face since I had almost skipped a step before he had offered to carry me down.
Yes, it was troubling me that we were holding hands, but it was for my safety. Surely that didn’t count for anything?
It felt like forever and a day until we finally reached the ground floor. Josefa offered to give us a quick tour of the church, which wasn’t part of the plan, but we had to decline. It was already past midnight, and Juan’s friends had been incessantly calling him, though the man hadn’t taken a call because that entailed letting my hand go.
After graciously thanking and parting ways with Josefa, I saw Juan pull several two hundred euro notes and thanked her again. She was ready to decline, but he shoved it in her hand and began to wave away from her, catching up to me.
“That was nice of you.” We were slowly strolling back to his parked car.
Juan shrugged. “That’s nothing. Josefa was great. I hoped you liked it, though. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“I’m not sure how you managed to do that, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
His beaming smile never ceased to blind me. “I’m glad. But before we go to my friend’s party, we have to stop somewhere first.”
Ten minutes later, we arrived at a park. There were knee-high bushes, a gazebo, and flowers everywhere. There were about thirty people or so gathered around two guys playing guitars. It had that baroque sound, a distinct colloquial fusion. It evoked unspoken ghosts of my soul, of my past that I had no idea existed.
The somber melancholic notes delved straight to your soul. It was like a rich dark chocolate, decadent and smooth, a treat to savor slowly with each bite..
Standing next to Juan, I could feel him closely watching my face. But I was lost. I could feel the back of my eyes prickle from unshed tears. But I couldn’t move, enslaved by the tune that strained the very fiber of my soul. It did things to me. Things I couldn’t properly describe. It was as if the music kissed a part of me I had thought was long gone, buried deep in the back trenches of my mind. But here it was, resurfacing once again, melting my resolve while I was transported back to my first memory of strangers discussing my future, to the very first home I had been placed in, the first time I had been struck by my foster father’s heavy callused hand, and the first time I had broken a rib after being pushed down the stairs. All the horrid past unearthed, marking me once more, holding me hostage.
Suspended in time, I stood there, bearing the harrowing gift it had given me, up until the last note was strung.
While the rest of the crowd stood and applauded, I stared, ramrod straight, still lost in my own painful oblivion.
I was torn.
Shredded to my very core.
Stripped bare, unguarded from the past.
Just when you believed that nothing could evoke such rooted emotions, that was when it would prove you wrong.
My eyes burned, my heart panged with immense ache, and my soul yearned for something to sooth it. Here I was, in the middle of a park at midnight, surrounded with strangers, shaken and unsure with myself. Why, of all nights, did it choose to resurface tonight?
“Cariña?” Juan softly asked as he pulled me close.
I couldn’t see him. The only thing I saw were the callous flashes of my past. I could easily detect worry in his tone.
“Cara, I’m going to kiss you just to bring you back to earth,” he gently threatened. It wasn’t an empty one, either.
The man would use whatever he could to snap be back to reality, and I suppose the very thought of his lips on mine brought me back to present.
I blinked the unshed tears away. “Get me out of here.”
Juan didn’t need to utter another word. He swiftly guided me away from the crowd, retracing our steps back to the parked Porsche.
I felt like a hapless imbecile. My mind whirled as he unlocked the car and held the door open for while I unceremoniously slid into the seat with a blank expression, dazed and confused.
I didn’t realize that Juan was already in the car with me until I heard him speak.
“Want to talk about it?” He inserted the key into the ignition and left it there before glancing back at me, conce
rned.
Lightly sniffing, I adamantly shook my head. “Definitely not. It was just a weird moment, that’s all.”
“You can talk to me. I won’t tell your secrets,” he pressed, as though confessing my past would ease the pain that heavily throbbed in my chest.
“I have nothing to say.” All I needed was a moment to gather my bearings then I would be good as new.
“All right …” he conceded before adding, “We’ll stay here a while, just for a moment, until you feel a better.”
It was a sweet gesture that meant the world to me.
And so, we did just that. We sat in the car in comfortable silence while I took my time to get centered. I applied the same method that a nun had taught me once a upon a time: count to five backwards then release your breath, count another set to breath in. Practice with patience until the pulse began to normalize.
It took about ten minutes to accomplish feeling like I was back to my old form, more or less.
“I’m okay now,” I sternly stated with a firm nod, ready to get out of there.
Worry etched his face, unconvinced. “We don’t have to go, you know.”
One thing Juan had to understand about me was that I rebounded fairly quickly. My past had taught me to toughen up, and I wasn’t about to crumble due to some moving song. I was over it now.
“I’m not a delicate person; I’m fine. So please, start the engine. I need alcohol in my system.”
“All right, cariña.” He nodded and revved up the engine, ready to head to his friends’ shindig.
The house party Luis was hosting was on a grand scale. It was a little outside of the city, a mansion sitting on a hill with an infinity pool overlooking the Mediterranean. Like most decorated homes here, there was a lot of Middle Eastern influences, partly due to Morocco being so close. The only lights used were the strobe lights in one open section of the house where the dancing took place. The rest of the house, garden, and pool were beautifully lit with candles. Tea lights in every bright colored glass known to mankind lined the pathways, illuminating a colorful glow like a color wonderland, beguiling and downright enchanting.
“This is so pretty,” I murmured close to Juan’s ear, then felt him tighten his hold on the back.
We just entered the open terrace where Luis and a few other men, along with their girlfriends were situated in rattan loungers and settees. There were easily over a hundred guests scattered about the grounds, drinking, dancing, and groping like no one’s business.
Cigar, cigarettes, and marijuana wafted in the air. And booze, a mighty lot of them. This was the kind of distraction I needed to forget that bizarre episode at the park.
His friends were nice, but they weren’t too keen to get to know me. The plausible reason could be that Juan had brought one too many women to parties that had never been seen hanging off his arm again. So, in his friend’s defense, investing time to his one-timers just wasn’t worth the effort. I found it peculiar that Juan never once mentioned I was his co-star. I wonder why. Oh well, I could grill him about that later.
When Juan broke free from me to fetch some refreshments, I was stuck around people who heavily engaged conversations in Spanish. I let my mind wander, gauging the kind of crowd Juan circled himself with.
The women here wore a lot of formal, sexy dresses, but I could only count a few with mini dresses like mine. Why was that? It was hot as balls here.
I suppose that was where cultures contrasted. The glitz and glam in this awe-inspiring city wasn’t what I was accustomed to back in LA. While folks over there obsessed with vanity and capturing the perfect selfie, I was stunned to find the stark comparison with the Spanish crowd. Sure, there were a few vain people, but what good a party would it be without those self-indulgent individuals?
A lot of the women had class and decorum, not the faux kind, but the kind that was instilled and bred.
It had to be the Catholic upbringing. I mean, what else could it be? While I adored and supported the one-love hugs and kisses for all mankind Hollywood mentality, sometimes it was refreshing to find this sort of world existed. It was a novelty.
Oh, they had sluts here, too, but there was disparity. LA sluts were raunchy; you could easily spot one coming from a mile. Barcelona sluts were still raunchy, yet they did it with a flair of sophistication. A classy slut. Ha! Imagine that.
There was laughter to my right, so my gaze shifted to the couple who gave off the impression that they were in their honeymoon phase. She sat on his lap, both touchy-feely and had that glassed-eyed look of a newly budding intimacy. Seeing them so enthralled with each other made me think of River. He had arrived around midnight, which was two hours ago. Was he asleep, or was he partying like I was?
Lost in thought, I barely realized someone had joined me and took Juan’s spot on the round lounger.
“You American?” A six-foot-five hulk of a man nudged my arm, making me scrunch my nose in protest the second I detected a hint of putrid breath.
Sheesh. How did he have the audacity to spark a conversation when he could make people faint with a simple whiff of gingivitis?
“American girls are easy.” The burly ogre, red-eyed and sweaty showed me a maniacal grin.
American girls are easy, right.
“Does that line even apply to you? Because with that revolting breath, American or not, they’d run the other way.” I threw him a disgusted look before I staunchly got to my feet and began to make my way towards the same direction Juan had taken.
How long did it normally take to get a drink? Did he have to hike Mount Kilimanjaro to get them? He’d been gone about half an hour now. Where the heck was he?
Folks around the pool lounge area were the ones smoking the ganja. Everyone was lit and stoned out of their wits. Where in God’s name was Juan? My heart skipped a beat, wondering if the man hooked up with another woman and left me here to my own devices. My mind was busy conjuring up scenarios until my eyes landed on the backside of Juan conversing with another woman. And just then, the said woman flickered her gaze towards me, catching me intimately studying them. I supposed she mentioned something to Juan because he pivoted his body in my direction across the pool.
I would’ve left him alone with her, but the man encouraged me to join them.
Who was she? If she turned out to be his ex, it’d be an interesting evening.
Licking my lips, I strode in their direction.
“Cara, lo siento, I was about to come get you when I saw my sister. Juana, this is Cara. Cara, this is my stubborn sister, Juana.”
“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Juana gushed as gave me a tight hug, catching me by surprise. “I’ve watched your show. I’m a fan.” Just like her brother, she had an expressive face and was blessed with the same laidback manner that put a new acquaintance at ease.
Juan apologized again as he handed me a berry champagne drink.
“Has my brother been a good boy?” Juana took a good whiff of her rolled joint before beaming at me while smoke billowed out of her pillowy lips. “He’s popular and loves women. Mama hates that her son is a playboy, but he’s not married, so I think that’s acceptable. Are you loving Spain? Is River Ellis planning to visit you? Oh, I’d love to meet him, please? I’m crazy for him.” she exclaimed with the same jovial energy, to which her brother chided her for being so insane.
“Estás loca, Juana. Por favor, no avergonzarme!”
Juan was red with embarrassment, but if I thought Juana was going to back down, I was proven wrong. The woman was a spitfire. She chewed her brother out, making him spin on his heels and murmur that he required more alcohol if he had to deal with a psychotic sister.
I snickered, watching them interact with fascination. So, this was how siblings interacted. I was amazed. Though it was glaringly obvious that they fought all the time, love could be detected between the harsh words they threw at each other.
Juana’s boyfriend, Silas, was due to arrive soon, but that didn’t stop her from grill
ing me about my love life, wondering if River really was amazing in person. I had nothing but great things to say about River, and the more I spoke about him, the heavier the pang in my chest grew. I realized just how much I missed my other half.
After her curiosity was quenched, Juana made me try weed. At first, I was reluctant, but after the third invitation, I folded and took a quick hit, which inevitably gave me a crazy bout of coughing fits.
“I think I’m good.” I tapped my chest a few times as smoke billowed from my lips, hoping to quell that weird stuck, itchy, burning feeling down my esophagus. “Why would you torture yourself like that?” I frowned as Juana tapped my cheek a few times.
“The only way to get rid of that is to smoke more and drink more!” she exclaimed as Juan appeared with a tray of alcoholic selection. “Good timing. Now we drink more, sí?”
“Sí, sure.” I reluctantly nodded while my eyes roved towards the tray, wondering which to drink first: Belvedere or Patron.
Two hours in, Juan was beyond intoxicated. I had a good buzz, quite at the tipping point, but not quite.
“Hand me the keys; I’m driving.” Without any form of identification or driver’s license, I knew I shouldn’t even consider going behind the wheel, but it was either that or wait for a cab. Since I was pressed for time, I’d rather take my chances.
Juan wasn’t entirely useless. At least he could still recall his address. So, I set the car’s navigation to take us back to the apartment.
At this time of night, there wasn’t much traffic. It made it easier for me to concentrate on driving.
Half an hour later, I was maneuvering the car into its proper parking spot in the garage.
“We’re here!” Journey accomplished without a hitch.
Shutting off the engine, my eyes landed on Juan, who I thought was sleeping, but I was sorely mistaken. He’d been staring at me the entire time with those dark I-want-to-fuck-you eyes.
The temperature dropped quickly, tension blanketing the tiny space in the two-seater sports car.
