Diary of an Ugly, Recently Divorced Man
Page 13
It's your birthday in ten days and I want to give you a very special gift. At first, I think that made me happy. Then she added, I want us to move in together.
Yes, I still don't believe what I heard. She added something like it was a good moment and it was the logical next step in our relationship, the Next Step. I was dumbstruck. I should have said that I didn't know we were at that Point and that if we were anywhere, it was at the Point of atrocious boredom aggravated by the ardent fear that grips me every time she uncorks a bottle of wine. However, what I said was a lie as big as a soccer field: that the company was sending me on a business trip for ten days to Frankfurt to supervise a new sales campaign.
She wasn't amused. From that moment on, she pretended it wasn't important and promised that tomorrow I would feel more excited about her proposal. Later, I think we made love again, or she made love to me, while I contemplated her proposition, gobsmacked. I know that afterward she got dressed and threatened me with a goodbye dinner tomorrow, before leaving for Frankfurt, but I was still staring blankly at the corner of the closet.
She left a little while ago. I got up and took all the Valiums that were left. I think that instead of Frankfurt I should have told her that I was going to Samoa to do my military service, that it would last twenty-three years. Women don't know that the draft doesn't exist anymore.
Published by Felix at 12:23 a.m. * Post a comment
Tuesday, November 20
Why can’t we live together
There are moments in every man's life when his friends are fundamental. Especially when it comes to lying to a woman, masculine solidarity can reach unexpected heights, given the (at other times) selfish human condition.
Consuelo becoming serious has put me between a rock and a hard place, like I wrote yesterday, and fleeing—even though it's a lie—to Frankfurt for ten days seems too short of a breather for what's headed my way.
My friends at work, when I told them about my problem, couldn't come up with a truly practical solution either. They suggested that I shoot myself, that I treat them to a round of beers or that I forget about the happiness of single life and ask her openly and rashly to marry me. Consuelo has been great consolation (what a pun that is), but that's asking too much. Lie, Manolo from Seville told me. Tell her your religion doesn't allow marriage. It hadn't occurred to me, but I had to admit I had already committed the sin of lying.
I told them about Frankfurt.
Good! A good excuse, they said encouragingly, patting me on the back. Then, I confessed that I didn't feel good about having told a lie like that. Joaquin said I was right: Ten days weren't enough. There were laughs, and then Lolo put his arm around my shoulders and started speaking man to scared-shitless man. All men lie to women. (Silent anticipation from the others). All men lie to women three times in their life: the first, when they tell them, "You're my first love and the first woman I've been with"; the second, when they promise them, "I will love you and you alone forever"; and the third, when they promise them... I didn't let him finish, but the laughter grew louder. Everyone knew the joke. I untangled myself from his embrace and sunk into a corner. I needed solutions.
When the laughter died down, they came up to me and put a cup of coffee in my hand. Don't worry, they said, circling around me. If she thinks you're in Frankfurt, we'll all say that you're there.
It's these moments that make me proudest of my friends. Even though tonight during dinner with Consuelo I managed to grin and bear the knot in my stomach and lie to her with the straightest face in the world, I have no idea whatsoever how this lie is going to play out, but it's too late to back out now.
Published by Felix at 12:24 a.m. * Post a comment
Wednesday, November 21
Frankfurter
I've "arrived" in Frankfurt a bit more relaxed, ha ha. I don't know how this is going to end. I don't even know if I've stopped it, but I prefer not to think about it. Today, I'm not writing. I have to concentrate on work, I have to have it all ready to go for when I return from Frankfort, ha ha ha.
Published by Felix at 12:12 a.m. * Post a comment
Thursday, November 22
Murphy's Law
The lie was beginning to work, or I believed it was, because this morning while I was innocently working, confident that Consuelo thought I was already in Frankfurt, she very inconsiderately showed up at the office.
Officially, it's the second day of my trip. Only forty-eight hours of lying and things are already getting complicated, and as Murphy's Law says, anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. However, if she thinks that I'm twelve-hundred miles away from here, what was she doing at the office this morning? Consuelo doesn't usually show up here. She did it once to surprise me and burst into my office in a coat and very high heels. It was a bit embarrassing because I was in the middle of a meeting with the Norwegians and she wasn't wearing anything under the coat. This, which isn't a normal occurrence in Norway, where people often wear long underwear because of the cold, plus the vigor with which she came in and revealed herself, resulted in the translator spending more than twenty minutes translating questions full of interest and answers full of embarrassment while I escorted Consuelo to a taxi.
Today, I saw her enter in a different way, somewhat furtive, while I quickly hid in the neighboring office, praying in every language that she didn't ask one of the secretaries about me (you can confide secrets and lies in your male friends, but the solidarity of women runs in the other direction). Then, the thing I least expected happened. She didn't go into my office. She went into Joaquin's. Joaquin doesn't usually close the blinds in his office, and I was able to see through the windows that he greeted her very enthusiastically, though I should mention that he kissed her on the cheeks. Then, they chatted for some fifteen minutes and seventeen seconds and said goodbye with two more kisses on the cheek (on the second one, he didn't even manage to touch her check), and it seems they've made plans to meet up another day. That's what I've deduced with a certain amount of cleverness and many Agatha Christie books read during my lonely adolescence. Well, and also because he pointed at the calendar on the wall and circled a day next week in marker.
I can't wait to find out why they are seeing each other in secret. Because if she thinks that I'm twelve-hundred miles away and didn't tell me that she was going to see Joaquin, it's obvious she doesn't want me to know. But Joaquin, the bastard, knows that I'm not away!
Published by Felix at 12:09 a.m. * Post a comment
Friday, November 23
Third day in Frankfurt
I can't wait until next week to find out why Consuelo came to see Joaquin in my "absence," but I can't ask him directly either. He seems just as guilty, as if he had a smoking gun in his hand.
Today, I took even more precautions coming to work, but naturally Consuelo didn't appear: I already mentioned that they made plans to meet up next week.
A little while ago, I called her "from Frankfurt" and I didn't get anything out of her. I'm a bad interrogator or she's a good liar. Both things worry me. Then I called Joaquin and he came to my office still talking to me with the phone pressed to his ear. He called me an idiot. Come on, man, I know you're not in Frankfurt, he said, and I didn't know how to respond.
Published by Felix at 12:08 a.m. * Post a comment
Monday, November 26
Suspicious minds
This weekend was wonderful. I bought myself some bottles of 1999 vintage Ribera del Duero wine from the usual store, I ordered pizza four times and I shut myself inside watching movies.
However, after four days in Frankfurt my ignorance is consuming me, it doesn't let me sleep, and it makes me think too much. Could there be something going on between Consuelo and Joaquin?
Published by Felix at 12:04 a.m. * Post a comment
Wednesday, November 28
Letting loose...in Frankfurt
I've run out of patience and Valium, but I'm still in Frankfurt. Last night, I couldn't sleep and spent an hour and
a half searching for a pharmacy that would sell me a pill, but the list of 24-hour pharmacies never includes one that is near your house.
Tomorrow is the day when Joaquin and Consuelo plan to see each other. I don't "return" from Germany until Friday. I still don't know what this means. I was this close to changing my ticket to come back a day early, but I discovered something that left me stunned.
It wasn't anything extraordinary, but very ordinary, and that's what's so worrying.
The girl from the mailroom passed by, like every morning, and left a large stack of correspondence on my desk, and like every morning told me good morning and smiled. The interesting part is while I watched her walk away, wearing her worn-out jeans and ugly sweater as usual, I discovered the cadence that her body adopts when she pushes the mail cart. You know, dear diary of my masculine troubles, that movement with which God endowed only one species in the whole universe: women.
In that moment, a hazy idea crossed my mind: recommend her for a position as secretary in my department. It wouldn't be a bad idea to have a person like her nearby, nice, friendly, a good morning each day... I mean more often, not only when she brings us our mail. How would she do as a secretary? She's bright, and the truth is that every time I exchange words with her she ends up making me smile. I resolved to talk with the director as soon as possible. I need her as my secretary, I told myself, even though a second later I realized that I was getting confused. The real reason why the girl from the mailroom had become mixed up in my thoughts was that her presence excited me.
I don't know if thinking about that girl can be considered cheating on Consuelo. Anyway, I've decided not to change my ticket. I'm going to stay one more day in Frankfurt to see if I can let loose.
Published by Felix at 12:29 a.m. * Post a comment
Thursday, November 29
Of spies, surprises and betrayals
I've finished the Ribera del Duero wine, and the Coltrane CD that was playing has ended. There's no other weapon left to get these problems out of my head but to discharge them into my blog. It's been the worst day of my life. After a week of hiding behind a fictitious business trip, running away from Consuelo, I curse every minute that I wasn't with her and now I want to make up for lost time.
Or not.
She betrayed me. I'm not too sharp when it comes to the workings of the feminine mind, but there's no room for doubt. I followed her.
Actually, I was waiting for her. I knew that she had plans with Joaquin and I spent the whole morning (my second to last day "in Frankfurt") watching her. Consuelo arrived at ten in the morning. Joaquin greeted her with a wide smile, even a bow, and quickly grabbed his jacket first and then the elevator, and they left, accompanied by much laughter and some apparently innocent touch or another. I don't know what Joaquin's wife will think, because instead of pulling away, he passionately grabbed onto that waist, which has given me so much comfort during the last month and a half.
Boiling with rage, I wrapped myself in my trench coat like a spy from the movies, popped the collar and took the next elevator as fast as possible. I followed them down the street to the taxi stand. I never thought I would get to say it, but I had dreamed of saying it my entire life: Quick, follow that taxi.
They stopped in front of a small jewelry store, the kind that have a mannequin outside the door. I'm nothing more than an armchair spy, but I didn't want to go in because I thought that staying incognito would help solve the mystery more effectively. The mannequin turned out to be a security guard who was taller than the Prince of Asturias and just as elegant and who had taken interest in my activities with blatant curiosity and polite (but no less cruel) threats.
In the end, I had to wait on the sidewalk across the street, and from there I wasn't able to see what it was they had bought or if she was carrying it as they left, though I suppose that from where I was watching them it made sense I couldn't make out a ring (or a diamond the size that Joaquin could afford) or much less a piece of intimate jewelry like a small pendant, a pair of gold nipple rings...or something worse.
Afterward, they spent a good long while in a nearby café, joking and laughing as they drank cappuccinos. Since when does Consuelo like cappuccinos? My God, how little I know her.
I need someone to show me the way and tell me what I should do tomorrow when I call her to tell her I've returned from my trip and she acts like normal and hides the fact that she has been seeing Joaquin in my "absence."
Published by Felix at 1:24 a.m. * Post a comment
Friday, November 30
Plans for revenge
Tomorrow morning I fly back from Frankfurt, and I haven't slept or let loose at all.
To make matters worse, Consuelo told me that she's going to spend the whole day with her elderly aunt who's going to have some warts removed. I'm not going to be able to see her until Saturday, but that's not a problem. It gives me time to think. First of all, I have a plan to expose them both. I'm going to invite them to dinner at my house on Sunday. If she's going to be tied up for all of Friday, I'm going to make up an excuse to not see her Saturday. And on Sunday, the trap will be set at my house.
What a bunch of suckers. What can I say about Consuelo, but Joaquin knew that I wasn't actually in Frankfurt, and it seems like such a monumental mistake to let himself be seen with her—and on our floor, thirty feet from my office! Yes, what I need is revenge, and a well-designed plan. I'm going to put PowerPoint to work.
Published by Felix at 1:26 a.m. * Post a comment
Monday, December 3
Dinner of fools
Dear blog,
Remember those lonely nights when you and I exchanged words from time to time like two old friends? Well, they're back. I'm single again.
What happened is unbelievable!
Or maybe not. I think it was to be expected after seeing what I saw and after inviting Consuelo and Joaquin over for dinner at my house immediately after "coming back" from Frankfurt. The two accepted right away, too unsuspecting or too confident that I couldn't worm anything out of a confrontation like this.
Joaquin, naturally, showed up with his wife. To act as if nothing's was out of the ordinary, I guess. Consuelo was very polite with her, and I had a hard time getting information out of them. Consuelo, you must have missed me. You could have gone to my office and imagined that I was there and other stupid statements like that, but without success.
Things became more and more aggressive, but only for me, because the others didn't seem to realize that I was suspicious or growing more and more furious by the minute, until at a certain point, after finishing the second bottle of wine almost by myself, I erupted.
Standing up, I pointed an accusatory finger at Consuelo and then at Joaquin. I know what's going on, I said, as his wife looked on, stunned. I know that you've been seeing each other while I was in Frankfurt. Then, Joaquin made a mess of it. You weren't in Frankfurt... I know that he regretted it the minute he said it, but in that moment everything exploded. What does he mean that you weren't in Frankfurt? Consuelo asked me. I didn't respond. I accused her of secretly seeing Joaquin and of drinking cappuccinos with him during work hours, and him of giving her gifts of jewelry for who knows what part of her body. Joaquin's wife took fierce interest in that part in particular, and he stammered something unintelligible. Then, Consuelo slapped me and we fell silent.
An interminable minute later, she confessed in a quiet voice, Joaquin helped me find a tie clip with your favorite soccer team on it. It was going to be a birthday present, but you've ruined everything. I didn't know what to say, and I said something like, Oh, well, what, oh, I... and then Consuelo continued, I wanted to make your birthday special because I still don't think you're convinced about us living together, but you're right, I've learned something: I like Joaquin. No. I think I'm in love with Joaquin!
Then she kissed him. Consuelo kissed Joaquin. Just like that. Joaquin let it happen, and his wife smacked him like in the movies. Next thing I knew, Consuelo respo
nded by slapping Joaquin's wife with all of her might, and she slapped back, and I don't know how it ended because I left them there in my apartment, fighting verbally and physically, and went outside to get some air and search for a drink, since I live in the shopping district with good restaurants a stone's throw away and bars everywhere you turn—the perfect stomping grounds for a single man.
Now I'm in an Internet café. It's the wee hours of the morning and I'm writing like a fool about my idiotic life. All right then. My relationship with Consuelo is over.
Published by Felix at 1:12 a.m. * Post a comment
Tuesday, December 4
Inconsolable
I'm inconsolable (the Royal Spanish Academy dictionary definition: without consuelo, or consolation). Alone again.
I came back from work a zombie and I'm still somewhat stupefied, feeling as if I've spent a year and a half here, sitting in front of the computer without writing a single word, and the thing is I don't feel anything anymore. I don't do anything that isn't drink and stare at the screen, so I have nothing to say. My friends have tried to come see me, they've called me and insisted that I come out for a drink using a thousand and one really bad excuses, but after last night's dinner I don't feel like seeing anyone for the rest of my life.
I don't plan to leave my house ever again, except to go to work, or talk with a woman ever again, except at work. I've forgiven Joaquin, of course, but I feel so bad (I don't feel good about myself) that I don't want to hear from anyone (not even myself) for the next few months.