Heartbreak for Dinner: It's Kind of a Long Story (10 page)

“Well, the meat be good as hell heyah. You should make some space
foh it.”

I put a small piece of steak on my plate and waved goodbye to
Chukk with my edible goodies on hand. Behind the safety of my small office door,
I disposed of everything in the garbage and covered it with paper. Soon after I
faked a stomach ache and went home an hour later. To no one’s surprise, I’ve yet
to watch porn or eat chocolate pudding since.

I opened my eyes the following morning next to Gabriel
with a pounding headache and still drenched in fuchsia pleats.
“Buenos dias,
preciosura,”
the man next to me smiled and dimples emerged on his tanned face.
“Are you here with me now?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked him in Spanish and buried
my head on his shoulder.

“Hmmm,” he rubbed the small of my back and kissed my left temple.
“You had a few wines past your limit yesterday, and at the end of the night all
you wanted to do was leave your friends behind.”

“I don’t remember that at all.”

“I expect you don’t remember what took place after we left Azucar
either, huh?”

I felt myself blush in his arms and was glad he couldn’t see me. “I
am certain whatever answer I give will be awful so I’ll keep my comments to myself.”

“I didn’t expect you to,
guapa
,” he laughed and got up. “Last
night was incredible whether or not you remember; you’re still dressed so obviously
I’m a gentleman.”

Two hours later, it was noon and after devouring a breakfast that
Gabriel prepared for me, I was within the safety of the walls of the Palace once
again.

When I arrived at the hotel, I opened
the door to our room and practically ran into Jonah, who was walking toward the
bathroom wearing nothing but boxers.

“Have a good night?” he asked sarcastically,
not bothering to say good afternoon.

“What’s it to you?” I rolled my eyes,
wishing I didn’t have to look at him standing in front of me half-naked. “Go put
some clothes on, for fuck’s sake.”

“What, you’ve had enough of naked men
for one day?” he glared at me, standing there casually when all I wanted to do was
punch him in the face and make out with him simultaneously and without warning.

“There’s never enough,” I retorted. “I
just don’t want to see
your
body parts, so—”

“Can you guys please shut up!? I’m trying
to sleep here,” came Olivia’s voice from under the covers.

I pushed past him and into the room as
he went in the bathroom and shut the door. I opened the closet and picked out a
brown and beige summer dress to change into, a feeling of claustrophobia and suffocation
suddenly engulfing me. Going back to the bathroom, I asked him to hurry up through
the door; there was no way I was leaving without showering first. I sat by Olivia’s
bed and stroked her hair softly. She was wearing her pink pajamas and looked really
pale, her hair a matted mess.

“Did you have fun, baby?” she mumbled,
immobile under the covers.

“I did. It was a great night.”

“Did you
defile
him?” she chuckled
softly, pleased with her little joke.

“Yes, I have to go to mass today and pray
10 hail marys,” I lied.

“Awesome,” she turned over and was snoring
in two minutes flat.

Jonah stepped into the room a bit later.
“All yours, princess,” he said icily as he passed me and rummaged through his luggage.
I jumped in and took my usual three minute shower, fuming over his acute ability
to upset me by barely saying anything at all. I owed him absolutely nothing and
this was my vacation too, so I wasn’t sure what his problem was. I got dressed,
brushed my teeth, and put some make up on, running my fingers through my hair and
stepping out to find some shoes. Olivia was sitting up on her bed, drinking water
from a glass.

“What are the plans for today?” I asked,
and, to my disappointment, noticed Jonah was no longer in the room.

“Nothing. I think I drank too much or
I don’t know what the hell, I feel like shit. If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay
in today, try to recoup my energies for tonight’s festivities.”

“What? No, come on!” I pleaded. “What
am I supposed to do all day by myself? I already put on this dress and everything,”
I pouted, hoping to change her mind as I twirled.

“You’re not going to be by yourself. Jonah’s
going to take you to a bull fight at the Plaza de Toros. It’ll be fun. He’s actually
waiting for you upstairs at the restaurant,” she lay back down slowly, resting her
head on the pillow.

>“What do you mean ‘Jonah’s gonna take
me to a bull fight?’” The prospect of being alone with him made me nauseated. “I
don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t really think he likes me very much. Come
on now,” I persisted.

“No, woman!” she said and turned over
the other way while hugging a pillow. “He
does
like you. Matter of fact,
I think he has a little crush on you, so play nice.”

I started to protest and she held up her
hand, making a loud
shhhhhh
sound.

I went back in the bathroom and reapplied
some mascara and lip gloss, taking some time to brush my hair, which is an achievement
that rarely ever happens. I did a few breathing exercises and braced myself at the
prospect of spending a full day alone with him. For all I knew, he had already gone
off somewhere to be on his own, telling Olivia he’d accompany me to a bull fight
to qualm her worries. I thought of going to the Prado Museum and looking at art
by myself, taking the time to soak in everything that had transpired in the last
couple of days and making some sense of it. I stepped out of the bathroom and threw
a few things into a brown purse, including the room keys and some money. I headed
for the elevator determined to go down and hit the museum, yet when I entered it,
I pressed the button that read “Asia Grill.” What I would actually say to him once
I reached him I did not know.

I entered the restaurant and scanned the
room, my eyes searching for him with no luck. It was just as I’d guessed, he had
never even gone up there in the first place, never really meant to take me anywhere.
I thought of having a drink before going to the museum, maybe a Bloody Mary and
some eggs would calm the nausea I was feeling. I dragged my feet toward the bar
when I spotted him on the farthest seat to the right, reading a newspaper. I squared
my shoulders and walked over to where he sat, sitting down on a stool next to him
without saying a word. He looked up at me and then returned to the paper, pretending
to be engrossed in his reading.

“You don’t even speak Spanish,” I said.
“Why are you pretending to read that?”

“Did you come here to be a smart ass?”
He set the paper down and looked to me with eyes full of indifference. “Because
if you did, you can leave as soon as you want.”

“I come in peace,” I forced myself to
smile and pretended to wave a flag with my right hand.

His eyes examined me, hesitation and another
emotion I couldn’t decipher lurking within them. “What are you drinking?” he relaxed
his stance and put down the paper while turning to me on his stool.

“Bloody Mary, please.”

“Rough night?” he asked, a tight smile
on his face.

“Nope. A good night,” I countered.

He ordered my drink and another beer for
himself. When the bartender set them down, he smiled knowingly at us and changed
the channel to soccer as we sipped our drinks in uncomfortable silence. Once we
were done, Jonah pulled out a 20 euro bill and placed it under an ashtray on the
granite bar. “Come on,” he said, standing up and walking out of the restaurant toward
the elevator, as I tried my best to keep up with him in heels. One silent cab ride
later we were at Plaza de Toros, Madrid’s most famous bull fighting arena. Jonah
purchased our tickets and ignored me when I offered him 30 euros to pay for my part.

“Each ticket includes two beers per person,”
he said. “So let’s go and get those first.”

I think I’m going to need more than
a couple of beers to get me through this,
I thought, scared of what my reaction to the upcoming experience would be. He brushed
off my silence as agreement and headed toward the bar, leaving me trailing behind
like a lost dog. After getting our beers, we went through the entrance, each grabbing
a flat leather pillow that’s used as a seat cushion on the hard concrete benches
that circle the ring. The arena was already halfway full, and I was relieved to
find our seats were close to an exit just in case I had to make a run for it.

Jonah and I sat side by side, absorbing
the breathtaking surroundings of an arena that’d been open for over eight decades.
The weather was cool despite a sun that beamed brightly in a completely cloudless
sky. Jonah asked if I had ever been to a bullfight, saying he was glad he finally
had an opportunity to do so. I explained that even though I respected other people’s
cultures, I thought it was a cruel sport and therefore had never really desired
to see one. I continued to talk about my favorite writer and his infatuation with
bull fighters, the romantic way Hemingway wrote about everything that pertained
to something I viewed as completely awful.

“Isn’t it funny how you can admire someone
whose ideas are entirely different from yours?”

“Yeah,” I paused. “But, then again, he
had so many other redeeming qualities. Something about his style always gets to
me,” I continued. “The man was a genius and knew what he liked. No apologies for
his behavior ever necessary, you know?”

“I’ve never read any of his work,” he
admitted, looking at me curiously. “But it sure sounds like you like him.”

“He is amazing,” I said, sighing dreamily.
“And of course, the fact that he was hot stuff doesn’t hurt either.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head,
chuckling at my comment about a man who’d been dead for decades. Just then the horns
started blaring and the first bull was brought out, my stomach warning me loudly
that animal lovers should never attend a bullfight, and I should learn where all
the exits were right then and there. Not for the faint of heart, I had always imagined
it as a one-on-one sport, a fair battle between the bull and the fighter. Instead,
what I saw struck me as repulsive. The poor bull stormed out into the ring, while
various men on horses called
picadors
followed him, pushing metal sticks
called
javelins
into its back bone. The bull was enraged and made to run
around the ring time and time again, as these cowards thrust the javelins into him,
making him tired and even more furious with each passing minute. Once the bull was
“ready,” the cowardly pussy of a fighter came out, waving the red flag in a dramatic
manner while all the assholes in the ring cheered and clapped. If the fighter did
not succeed in killing the bull, the picadors would come out again, thrusting even
more javelins into it and giving the fighter time to freshen up his makeup and gather
his energies for some more red flag dancing on the ring.

Jonah watched the sport in amazement as
I sat there fighting back the tears I knew would come. On a couple of occasions,
the bull almost caught up to the fighter, making me cheer loudly while everyone
frowned at me. I sat there in a trance staring at the ring as blood gushed
out of the bull’s wounds, permanently staining the sides of his torso. I couldn’t
understand what I was doing there, my eyes fixated on the spectacle below as tears
began to sting my eyes. Jonah looked at me and squeezed my hand in an effort to
comfort me, yet all I really wanted to do was get out of there, with or without
him. After a few minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore
and got up abruptly. I grabbed my purse and was ready to make a run for it when
Jonah grabbed my hand.

“Where are you going?”

“This is ridiculous,” I said to him. “I
can’t watch this. I’ll wait for you by the bar.”

“Don’t go,” he pulled me and sat me down
next to him, his blue eyes menacing and comforting all at once. “There are three
more fights, but I promise we’ll leave after this one.”

“I don’t want to look at this, Jonah.
Let me wait for you by the bar,” I begged, the thought of being away from him like
a javelin of my own piercing its way through my heart.

“You don’t have to look at it, love,”
he put his hand on my face and gently pulled my head to his shoulder. “Just stay.”

I inhaled his cologne and momentarily
forgot everything that was going on around me. The cheering and screaming from the
crowd grew louder, signaling the fight would soon draw to its end. A few minutes
later and just as expected, it was done.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

We made our way through the crowds rushing
out of the arena to the bar area. I felt nauseated and claustrophobic, the clusters
of blood thirsty fans around me smothering my ability to breathe. I was relieved
when we stepped out of the huge wooden doors into the outside world, inhaling the
fresh afternoon air gratefully.

“You alright?” he squeezed my hand and
stopped walking, but I didn’t answer.

We walked on and crossed a huge intersection, holding hands as we
ran quickly in an attempt to avoid the oncoming cars. We decided to have an early
dinner at a small outdoor café, the cool and breezy weather lending itself perfectly
for people watching. Our conversation flowed smoothly, all animosity from earlier
in the day forgiven and forgotten. I showed him pictures of my family on my digital
camera, and he spoke fondly of his own. We discussed past failed relationships,
the reasons why they hadn’t worked, what we would do differently if given another
chance. I poured out my entire life story and felt myself at ease around him, everything
he said making sense, every expression of his subconsciously embedded in my mind
for years to come. We were there for almost three hours, the afternoon sun slowly
disappearing as we sipped sangria and talked nonstop.

After dinner, we caught a cab back to the hotel where we found Olivia
still sleeping on her bed, exactly as we had left her. I went by her side and gently
woke her up so she could eat what we’d brought her. She sat up slowly, her hair
a tangled mess on top of her head.

“Yummy,” she grabbed the plastic utensils from me and opened the box
containing
paella
and potatoes. “Did you guys have fun?”