The Foreigners (20 page)

“Why?” I asked, clinging despite myself to this glimmer of hope.

“Well, obviously, it'll get too boring. It almost already is.”

That was it. If that was her only concern . . . “Okay, I have to go,” I said, standing abruptly.

“Wait, what is wrong with you? Stay for a drink at least.”

“A drink?” I looked at her, my face disgusted. But the truth was I felt trapped. If I walked out of this room, I'd have to pass by him, exit defeated. This was more than I could bear. My eye lit on the little window. I could climb out there into the garden.

“Wait, I know,” she said. “Why don't you stay the night? Oh, please. Stay here with me. It'll be so adorable. We'll sleep together in this little bed.” She curled up on the bed and rubbed her upper arm with her hand. “My skin's just getting softer and softer, like a nymphet's.”

I ignored her and walked over to the window. It was small, like everything else in the room.

She sat up. “What are you doing, dufus?”

I pulled the window up.

She leaped off the bed, pointing at me and whispering furiously. “I'll be so ashamed if you act jealous. That gives him power, don't you see? Then he has power over us.”

“Whatever, Leonarda, this is your fucking gig. It has nothing to do with me.”

“What are you saying? You don't understand anything.” But I wasn't even looking at her. I was facing the window, starting to climb out.

“Your butt's never going to fit through there,” she said.

But it did. I was outside now.

“You're really stupid, you know that. Much, much stupider than I thought.” But I was already walking away.

I crossed the dark garden to the door that led into the lobby, opened it and started across the lobby.

“Wait.” I heard her voice, breathless, behind me. She had rushed through the apartment and come out into the hall. “What do you want?”

I turned and looked at her. “I want you to come with me,” I said.

She fell silent, like a child, wanting to obey. “Okay,” she said.

She went back into the apartment and reappeared a few minutes later, a little backpack stuffed with her things, computer, notebooks, pink jersey dress.

She followed me out the front door of the building. I was standing on the street, hailing a cab.

“Hey,” she said.

I looked at her. “What?” I asked.

She squirmed, smiled. It was a sweet, wary smile. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm not very good in those adult situations,” and turned back and went inside.

 

 

Okay, that was that. I went back to my apartment. I stayed there for a few days, mostly lying in bed, blinds closed, defeat. Every once in a while, my cell phone rang. I didn't answer it. Even when it was Leonarda. I had come that far.All I knew was that I was in a trap, from which I needed to extricate myself. I had no other clear thoughts but that one. I lay there in the trap. The pain was pretty much constant, no matter which way I turned. Sometimes when I twisted, provoked by a certain image or thought—the two of them waking up together, having breakfast; working together, she liked to sit in bed, knees up, with her computer, he'd be at his desk; then darkness outside the window, evening falling, sexy scenes, her playing her transformation games with him—the pain cut more sharply, yanking ligaments, tearing fur and skin. But there were ancillary thoughts too. What did I really want? For the darkness to have that same freshness, the air to shimmer, as it did when I was with her. There was also something I knew I didn't want, for her to be with that guy. I shivered just thinking of him touching her skin. Then I'd shake myself and return to the point. How to get out of this? Go away again? Return home? What was there for me? I couldn't picture anything. Except maybe the hospital. Illness awaited.

Days went by. I ate all the meager amount of food that was in the house, including cooking the rice and pasta that had been left by someone else. I looked in the mirror a lot. I looked like an undecided creature, definitely part animal. Oh, why couldn't I let myself just be an animal? That was fine. It was the other part that was causing problems. I remembered what Gabriel had once said about desire, that horrible yearning.

One day, I heard her out in the hall. Then I remembered. She had keys. I'd once given her an extra set of keys. I heard her block heels, her harsh, hulking gait. I remembered what I'd once learned about espionage. You can change your face entirely, get plastic surgery. The one thing that's almost impossible to change is the way you walk. In counterespionage, always look for the walk. I rushed to the door, put the safe-lock across it, then crept back down the tiled hall. Sitting on my bed again, I heard the key in the door. It opened and then the safe-lock jerked it back.

“I know you're in there,” she said. “I hear you breathing.”

I stopped breathing. I didn't move. For some reason, I felt wildly afraid.

“Come out, little reptile, that's right, little snake.”

I still didn't answer.

“Okay, whatever, open the door.” Now her voice was tired, bored. I was amazed at myself that I still wasn't moving.

“I'm bored.”

Silence.

“You know, you're really an idiot. You misunderstood everything. I can't do this without you.”

Silence.

“Anyway, I'm back at my mother's place.”

Here she knew she could get me. She almost did. I felt myself rise from the mattress, but no.

Next there was banging. She was banging the door against the safe-lock.

Silence again.

“Anyway, whatever. I really can't waste my time with such stupid people.” I heard her heels again, this time receding.

I felt a little better. At least she'd come for me. But that didn't change things in any essential way. I was still trapped and still needed to extricate myself and still didn't know how.

 

 

I called Gabriel. He stopped by later that afternoon.

“Hey, what's going on? What are you doing here?” He looked at me more closely. “Jesus, what happened?”

I told him.

“Oh, that's bad. Let me just check something. You look very pale.” He checked my pulse, my glands, my tongue, my eyeballs. When he was finished, he sat back. “It seems like you're all right, but you have to get out of here, get up, move around. What about your water project? You should do some research or write it up or something. Okay, listen, I've got a client downstairs. I'll pick you up as soon as I'm done.”

“So what are you going to do?” Gabriel asked once he'd come back upstairs and found me in nearly the exact same position.

“I don't know.” I felt weak.

“You know what? I think you should get some other sex in your life.”

“Oh,” I said. It was really the last thing on my mind. I felt so weak.

“You know ‘eros' is life, they say.”

“Mmm, maybe.”

“C'mon, I'll go with you.”

I pointed at myself. “Now?”

“Sure. Why not?”

He took me to a little bar on a corner. It looked familiar. Then I remembered, I'd been here at the beginning with Leonarda. We went downstairs and ordered whiskies. There were a few people, not many, milling around. It was way early for Buenos Aires. The place was like a firetrap for sure, dark with no exits. Cell phones here and there illuminated people's faces. Gabriel by this light looked very delicate, his skin pink and gold.

The whiskey warmed me up in a great way. A song came on and Gabriel and I went out onto the dance floor. There was no one else dancing. We danced theatrically, interpreting the songs. I had never really danced that way with anyone. At one point, I looked up, peering into his face. Could we be in love?

We sat down again at the bar. A young man was checking Gabriel out.

“Anyone you like?” Gabriel asked, looking around.

I hadn't been in this situation for so long, since before my marriage really.

“I think you should turn,” Gabriel said. “Yeah, that's right, rotate, no, to your left. There's a guy there who's looking at you.”

I turned slightly, glanced.

“You have to turn a little more,” Gabriel said.

“I'm not sure I can do this right now,” I said.

“Of course you can. I'm going to look away. I don't want him to think you're with me. Smile. Say hi. Or just smile, that's enough. When you do talk, show some accent. People like that. Sexy and helpless. Exotic, whatever.”

I did turn and did smile.

“Hi,” the guy said. “Do you want to dance?”

We danced. This was okay, it felt easier than talking anyway. At one point, we even danced close and I could feel his dick clearly in his pants.

We danced a few more songs. Gabriel was now talking to the guy who'd been watching him.

A little bit later, my guy asked, “You want to come home with me?”

I shrugged. I guess that had been the plan, right? “Okay,” I said.

I went and told Gabriel and got my things.

In the taxi, I felt completely baffled that I was going home with this guy. Is this really what people do? I didn't say anything.

Happily, when we got to his place, the guy, whose name was Pablo, had some pot. This changed things. After taking a few puffs, I felt that I was shimmering, flowing, and everything around me was shimmering and flowing too. I leaned forward to sip my drink.

Rather than a repulsive creature worthy of scorn or a possible menace, the guy I was with seemed like a warm animal body sharing this room with me, someone who, if need be, I could cuddle up to.

It's surprising how little, in these circumstances, people wish each other harm.

I did move over toward him and cuddled in his armpit. He put his hand down and caressed my hair. This is what people do, I thought. They meet and within an hour or two are cuddling into each other's armpits, stroking each other's hair.

I solde had left me lots of messages to which, in my fugue state, I hadn't replied. Now I called her back. We met. She was ebullient. She had found a job. She told me all about it.

The organization, run by a woman named Alicia, auctioned off art and gave the proceeds to charity groups for children. Perfect, everything Isolde was interested in. She'd begun working a week ago. They were long days. Isolde got up early in the mornings and went to Alicia's office, which was in the front part of her full-floor apartment. From that moment until the end of the day, she did everything Alicia bid her.

Alicia dressed in beautiful, colorful clothes. On her travels around the various South American capitals, she always went to look at new designers' collections. She'd come back with long patchwork evening dresses, necklaces made of cloth. She'd had some plastic surgery done, but tastefully, tastefully. She only went to the best doctors, the ones that foreigners used—Argentina has long been a destination, along with Brazil, for plastic surgery candidates from around the world. You can get quality work done for a very decent price. Among another class of foreigners of lesser means, it's also a place to do complex dentistry. The families of middle-class Americans who visit them here always schedule to get their dental work done at the same time, root canals, caps. An added benefit, along with price, is that foreigners can spend a few weeks incognito, only returning to their version of civilization once their wounds have healed.

Isolde brought Alicia tea when the maid had stepped out. She made unimportant calls. Her accent worked in her favor. She looked at children's charities on the Internet, marking ones that looked promising. She had hoped to get more involved in the art angle. Had she been too pushy here? Alicia seemed to like to deal with that side herself.

The difficulty was that Alicia was absentminded. She'd forget to tell Isolde to do something and then get angry when it wasn't done. She was terribly disorganized. She'd go to a meeting and forget her notes. But she had power, she had money, she was seductive and able to win people over. In Alicia's absentmindedness, Isolde saw her niche. She could help Alicia to structure her life. She began prompting Alicia to call that person or write that letter.

“This is where I feel like I can really help her,” Isolde told me. “I can make her whole life smoother in a way she can't imagine. Soon, I'll become indispensable to her.”

 

 

After our lunch, Isolde went back to the office. It was Monday, Alicia was in San Pablo, returning that afternoon in time for a board meeting in her office. But, as usual, Alicia was late. Luckily, Isolde was there to greet the board members as they came in. Nearly everyone in the room was much older than Isolde. But they were gracious and seemed interested in Alicia's new protégé. They asked her questions about herself. She amped up her professional biography somewhat, not of the things she'd done here—they would surely know—but on the Austrian side. She alluded to contacts in the European art world. This was the first important meeting she'd been asked to attend and already it was going so well. At one point, everyone in the room seemed to be listening to her. Jokes were made about her youth and beauty. She felt celebrated. But when Alicia arrived, Isolde could tell right away that something was wrong. After the board meeting, Alicia asked Isolde to come into her office and told her that she was letting her go. Isolde was so shocked, she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind.

“But you can't. You need me!”

“I'm sorry,” Alicia said. “I think the chemistry's wrong.”