“Are you OK, Judith?”
I nod and smile.
I’m not the kind of person to go telling my sorrows to everyone. But then I notice something strange in her eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
She sighs. She hesitates, but finally confesses.
“I’m not comfortable telling you what I’m going to tell you, but if I don’t, I won’t be able to sleep.” She points at the cockatoos a few yards from us. “Your friends, those who claim to appreciate you so much, are doing a number on you. They’re saying terrible things about you.”
“About me? But they don’t know me!”
María nods.
“What happened? Tell me.”
“They say you’re involved with your husband’s friend, a guy named Björn.”
The earth trembles under my feet, and a phrase suddenly comes to mind from a song by Alejandro Sanz that I like so much: “You see, there are no two without three.”
What the hell is going on?
I’m pregnant, Eric thinks I’m involved with Björn, and now they’re talking about it at Flyn’s school.
I’m shaking . . .
“Besides that,” María continues, “they’re making fun of you because you were Eric’s secretary, and, well, you can imagine.”
I’m utterly aghast.
“Actually, I worked for Eric’s company, but . . . but I’m not cheating on my husband, not with Björn or anyone else. I just got married about four months ago. I love Eric, I’m happy and . . . and . . .”
María hugs me and I close my eyes. My nerves are at a peak when I notice the cockatoos staring at us and smiling. What a bunch of bitches. And then my blood boils, and I recover as quickly as a tsunami.
“Since when is that rumor circulating?”
“I heard it yesterday for the first time.”
“And it came from those cockatoos, right?”
María nods. I raise my chin, and, not thinking twice, I head directly toward them. I thought I had made things clear, but since they don’t seem to get it, I’m going to have to repeat myself.
I don’t care if I come off like a slut.
I don’t care if they think I’m the worst.
Nothing matters to me except that they stop telling lies about me.
“I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. We both know that, right?” I say to the lead cockatoo. She doesn’t move; she’s cowering. “Well, I want you to know I like you spreading rumors about me even less. Therefore, if you don’t want to have a serious problem with me, tell me who’s the goddamn person talking shit about me, or I swear you’re going to lose some teeth today,” I hiss right into the lead cockatoo’s face—Joshua’s wife, I believe. My face is right up to hers when I see Norbert exit the car out of the corner of my eye.
“Judith,” whispers María. She’s embarrassed.
The lead cockatoo turns as red as a tomato. Her little friends step back. They’re leaving her on her own. Now that’s friendship!
Seeing she’s been left with no support, she tries to get away from me, but I won’t allow it. I grab her arm forcefully.
“I told you to tell me who’s telling you those lies.”
She’s scared and trembling. “The . . . the young woman who sometimes comes to pick up the little Chinese boy.”
I close my eyes: Laila!
My blood boils, and I suddenly understand everything. Laila has been poisoning Eric in London. I open my eyes.
“My son has a name. It’s Flyn.” I let her go. “And, for the last time, he is not Chinese! And, yes, I worked for my husband’s company, and, of course, I’m not involved with Björn. For your own good, I hope that rumor dies, or I swear I’m going to make your life impossible. Understood?”
“Mrs. Zimmerman, what’s wrong?” Norbert asks.
The cockatoos quickly move away in terror.
Poor María is on the verge of fainting.
“Thank you for telling me, María. I’ll see you another time.”
Norbert’s disconcerted because he knows I’m about to collapse.
“Take me home, please,” I tell him. “I don’t feel well.”
21
When I get home, I throw up.
Between crying and vomiting, I can’t catch a break!
Worried about me, Simona offers one of her infusions, but I reject it. The smell alone makes it worse. She should call Eric so at least I’ll know what’s going on with him.
My head explodes, and she makes me lie down. Exhausted, I fall asleep. When I wake up a couple of hours later, I’m angry, very angry, and I call Eric. He picks up on the third ring.
Hallelujah!
“Talk to me.”
“No, you’d better talk to me, dickhead!”
“It’s been so long since I’ve heard that sweet word out of your mouth,” he says, dripping with sarcasm. “It’s a pity not to be able to see it live and in person.”
He’s drunk again. But I want to stay focused.
“How can you be such a dickhead that you believe Laila?”
I notice his breathing changes. He must be tired.
“And how do you know Laila said anything?”
“Because news flies faster than you think,” I reply coldly.
Silence.
A tense silence.
It’s killing me.
“I haven’t talked to my good friend Björn yet. I’ll wait to chat with him face to face, but—”
“You don’t have to talk to him about any of this, because nothing has ever happened between us. Björn is your best friend and a great guy. I don’t know how you can distrust him, how you can believe there’s anything between him and me other than friendship.”
I quickly identify the bar sounds behind him.
“Oh, Judith, how you defend him. How tender,” Eric says.
“I defend him because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe I know too much.”
“What do you know? Tell me!” I cry. “Because, as far as I know, he and I have only been together with your consent and, more than anything else, under your supervision.”
“Are you sure, Judith?” he asks in a tone that baffles me.
“I’m sure, Eric. Very sure.”
You can cut the tension with a knife.
“Where are you?”
“Out drinking. It’s the best thing I can do to forget.”
“Eric . . .”
“What a disappointment. I thought you were unique and unrepeatable, but—”
“Don’t tell me again what you once told me that caused our breakup,” I exclaim. “Hold your tongue, you damned dickhead, or I swear to you—”
“Or you swear what?”
His voice, his tone, tell me he’s beside himself.
“I don’t understand how you can believe such a thing,” I say, trying to calm him. “You know I love you.”
“I have evidence,” he says furiously. “I have evidence, and neither of you will be able to deny it.”
I understand less with each passing minute. “Proof? What possible proof could you have?” I scream at him.
“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Judith.”
“You can’t just accuse me and—”
“Not now.” He cuts me off again. “And, by the way, my trip is going to take longer. I won’t be going home this week. I don’t want to see you.”
Then he hangs up. He hangs up on me again.
I’m about to scream, but instead, I throw myself on the bed and cry.
I don’t have the strength for anything else. When I calm down, I take a shower. Then I go to the kitchen, but there’s nobody there. I see a note from Simona.
We’re at the supermarket.
Susto and Calamar come and beg for cuddles. They’re very intuitive and seem to understand how I’m feeling; they follow me for a moment. In the living room, I head to the music corner and look through several CDs. I put on the one I know is going
to hurt me the most. I’m that masochistic, and, when “Si Nos Dejan” begins to play, I cry all over again, remembering that, just a few days ago, I danced to this song with Eric.
When it’s over, I play it again. I walk toward the window with my face wet and my heart aching. It’s raining outside, and I wipe my tears while my heart breaks.
Hours later, when Simona returns, I’m calmer, and I’m not crying anymore. I must have used up all the tears for this year.
Oblivious to what’s going on with me, she makes lunch, and, when ready, she calls me to the table, but I barely eat. I’m not hungry.
But Simona’s smart and knows I’m suffering. She tries to talk to me, but I don’t want to talk. I can’t. Eventually, she gives up.
When Flyn comes home from school in the afternoon, I try to welcome him with a big smile. He doesn’t deserve to live with the anguish of seeing me depressed all the time.
I try to make the best of it. I help with his homework and have dinner with him. We talk about video games. After he goes to bed, I stay in the living room and am tempted to play some of our songs. There are so many, I know any one will make me cry again. Suddenly, Norbert and Simona burst in.
“I don’t believe anything my niece Laila said at school,” says Norbert, “and I assure you this will be cleared up. I’m very sorry for everything, ma’am.”
I get up and hug him. He remains stiff as a stick whenever I show him love, but, this time, he hugs me back.
“I will do everything possible to set things straight,” he whispers in my ear.
I nod and sigh.
“That girl is a liar, and I’m going to rip her head off if she doesn’t set the record straight with everyone,” says an angry Simona as she rubs her hands.
I hug her too.
I’d typically be furious at a moment like this, but I’m in such bad shape, so dizzy, so upset and bewildered, I can only nod and hug.
That night, Eric doesn’t call, nor do I call him.
I don’t want to think he’s still drinking or imagine he ends up in Amanda’s bed, but I’m a masochist and torture myself thinking about it and suffer like a fool.
Why am I so stupid?
I don’t call Björn either. That he doesn’t call me is a good sign. It means Eric hasn’t unleashed his fury on him yet. Poor thing; this is so unfair!
The next day, I’m shredded, but I decide to visit my gynecologist anyway. After tricking Norbert so he won’t go with me, I take a cab. In the waiting room, I watch the girls next to me.
My neck itches, my guts are churning, and I want to run out of there.
But I don’t. I control my impulses and wait, watching several pregnant women hugging their partners.
My God, how can I be pregnant?
When a girl says my name, I get up and follow her to the office. The doctor is a woman a little older than me. She smiles and invites me to sit down. After filling out the forms, I open my bag and drop the four pregnancy tests and their corresponding positive lines on the table.
She looks at me and chuckles. What’s so funny?
“Could you tell me the date of your last menses?”
“I haven’t gotten it this month. But I remembered I just stained last month. But . . . but . . . I just started taking the pill again a week ago . . . and . . . maybe that wasn’t such a great idea . . . but I . . .”
The doctor sees how nervous I am.
“You’ll be OK,” she says.
I nod.
“Try to remember the date of that period when you only stained.”
“I think it was September twenty-second.”
She grabs a colored spinning wheel.
“Your due date would be June twenty-ninth.”
Oh God . . . this is real!
I answer all her questions as best I can. Then she asks me to lie on a table to get an ultrasound. After lowering my pants, she puts gel on my belly and spreads it around.
I pray to all the saints that there’s nothing inside me. But suddenly the doctor stops moving the ultrasound wand. “Here’s the heartbeat, Judith, and, because of the size, I’d say you’re almost two months along.”
I direct my eyes to the screen and see something. Because of its irregular shape and movement, it reminds me of a jellyfish, a medusa.
I think I’m going to have a heart attack!
I can’t speak . . .
I can’t blink . . . God, I’m drained!
I can only look at that moving blob that seems to say “Danger!”
Since I’m not speaking, the doctor stops moving the wand, and, after pressing a few buttons, we get a piece of paper. When she hands it to me, I see it’s a photo. I get excited in a way I never thought possible. I assume that jellyfish shape is a baby, and apparently, like it or not, I’m pregnant!
Before leaving, she makes an appointment for me for a month from now and gives me some pamphlets. I must take folic acid, among other things, and there are some tests I need to do next time.
22
Two days go by, and I still haven’t heard a word from Eric.
I’m broken . . .
I whimper and whine and think about how happy Eric would feel if he knew.
I don’t tell anyone else. I swallow the problem and try to draw strength from God knows where so I can deal with the painful and disconcerting emotions I’m going through. Of course, my neck is raw.
I take folic acid each morning, and I get scared the first day when I go to the bathroom and see something black, very black, coming out of me. But then I remember this is a possible side effect. For God’s sake—disgusting!
I don’t go out. I spend the day on the couch or in my bed, dozing like a bear, and when Simona comes in and tells me Björn’s on the phone, I almost vomit.
She attributes my discomfort to what’s happening with Eric and doesn’t ask. Good thing, because I don’t want to lie to her.
“Easy, everything will be OK,” she says when she hands me the phone.
With a knot in the pit of my stomach that I’m sure, if undone, would loosen a Niagara Falls of tears, I greet him as cheerfully as I can. “Hello, Björn.”
“Hello, beautiful, is the boss back yet?”
His tone of voice and the question tell me he doesn’t know anything.
“Well, no, handsome,” I say. “He called a few days ago and told me the trip is going to be a little longer. Why? Did you want something?”
“There’s a private party this weekend at Nacht, and I wanted to know if you’re going to go,” Björn says with a charming laugh.
“Well, no, he won’t be back by then. And you know I won’t go alone.”
“You’d better not go without your husband!”
Now the one who laughs bitterly is me. If he only knew what Eric’s thinking!
We talk for a few more minutes, and, after saying goodbye, I hang up anguished because I’m hiding something from Björn, but I can’t tell him. This is a bomb, and when it explodes, I want to be present. I don’t want him and Eric to quarrel without me there to mediate. I’m afraid they’ll break off their beautiful friendship because of Laila, that slut.
I think about what Björn told me about her and Leonard and how in all that time he kept the secret to not hurt Eric. Now I think it would’ve been better to hurt him at the time so Laila would’ve disappeared from our lives and not have caused all this.
What the girl wants is clear: to antagonize Björn and Eric and, in the process, take me down. I can’t let her get away with that. But without seeing the evidence Eric says he has, I can’t do anything but call her out.
Convinced I want to do that, I ask Simona for Laila’s phone number in London. She gives it to me reluctantly, and, after two rings, I hear her voice.
“You’re a bad person,” I say. “How could you do what you’ve done?”
Laila lets out a laugh.
“Fuck you, dear Judith. Your perfect world is cracking.”
If she were in front of me, I’d rip
her head off!
“I hope you know there’ll be consequences,” I say.
I don’t say anything more and hang up before my voice betrays me. And then I cry again. It’s what I do best lately.
I haven’t seen Eric in ten days, and I need him.
I long for his hugs, his kisses, his glances, and even his grunts. Above all, I need to tell him one of his dreams is going to come true.
He’s going to be a dad!
I’m lying in my bed when the phone rings. I quickly answer.
“Hello, Cuchufleta!”
My sister.
I feel a crazy desire to cry, to tell her my secret, but no. I shut up and swallow my tears. I don’t want anyone to know about the baby before Eric.
I quickly sit up. Talking to her is sure to make me happy.
“Hi, crazy girl. How are you?”
“Good, Cuchu.”
“And the girls?”
“My great girls. Luz is more rebellious every day. Who’s she taking after, huh? And Lucía is more clever every day. By the way, Papá says she seems more your daughter than mine. She looks a lot like you. And how are you?”
I think of my favorite German, his grief, and my sadness.
“Good. Flyn’s at school and Eric’s on a trip, but he’ll be back soon.”
“Well, well, I know somebody who’ll have a great time at the reunion.”
I laugh so as not to cry. If she only knew! But my sister brings me joy and good vibes and never more than when she’s anxious to tell me something.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Guess!”
“Raquel, no riddles—just tell me!”
“Do you know who’s in Spain staying at Sweetheart Villa?” But before I can answer, Raquel shouts it out: “My wild little roll in the hay!”
“No!” I exclaim, amused.
“Yes!” Raquel whispers. “He told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me and that he’s crazy about my bones.”
I blink . . .
“Cuchu, are you there?”
Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me Page 21
