I widen my eyes incredulously. “It isn’t myproblem? Yes it is, Vera. You are my lover, my friend,my everything. But you being here right now isdependent on them. I’m not letting them take that awayfrom me.”
She manages a sympathetic smile. “I know. Butthere are other ways. I’ll get another job.”
“When does the permit officially run out?”
“September 5th.”
“You’ll get another job in two weeks? I don’t evenknow if it works that way. You can’t just transfer apermit from one company to another.”
She throws her hands up. “Then I’ll work under thetable for someone until they give me a new one.”
I can’t help but shake my head. I have a bad feelingin my gut, like someone has placed stones there. “It’srisky. If you get caught, you’ll be deported.”
“Then I won’t get caught.”
I take hold of her hand. “You know I’d be morethan happy to take care of you.” I’ve told her this manytimes, how she doesn’t have to work, that she can just dowhatever she pleases and I’ll take care of everything. Itonly seems to raise the hackles on her back.
“But I’d still be here illegally if you did,” she says.“At least this way I have a chance. Anyway, maybe theywon’t let me go. I’ll just work extra hard for them. I’llprove that I am better.”
I admire her tenacity and can only hope it will bethat easy. Still, I do want to talk to Patrice. But perhapsnow, when I am heated up and likely to say things I willregret, it’s not the best time. Las Palabras may havebrought us together, but I will be damned if they are theones to tear us apart.
“Do you want me to stay home tonight?” I ask her.“We could have some wine, go out to a movie?”
She rubs her lips together and quickly shakes herhead. “No. You haven’t seen this Bon fellow in forever.I’ll just call Claudia and we’ll go out somewhere. Whatkind of a name is Bon, anyway?”
“It’s short for Bonaventure,” I say. “His mother wasFrench. And very strange. Used to powder her face withblue cornstarch, according to Bon.” I grew up with Bonliving down the street from me in Madrid, though thesedays he only comes back every now and then. The rest ofthe time he’s a freelance photographer, usually for non-profit organizations that have him gallivanting in therainforest or in remote villages.
“I really don’t want to leave you like this,” I tellher, pulling her into my chest and wrapping my armsaround her. “I hate being given a problem that I can’timmediately solve.”
“I know,” she mumbles into me. “Maybe whenMonday rolls around, everything will right itself. I mean,you’ll be starting your new job, maybe.”
Maybe. I wasn’t sure when I would actually start.But it didn’t seem fair that the universe had this way ofgiving you one thing by taking away another. I knew itwas the law of equilibrium and balance, but I didn’tthink it was asking too much for us both to have jobs wewere happy about.
Or maybe it was.
I meet Bon at a tapas bar off of Plaza Mayor. Thecobblestone streets are thick with tourists and drunkcollege students getting a head start on their weekend. Iweave my way through them, unable to grab ahold oftheir enthusiasm. Vera’s news has put a damper oneverything and my brain has latched onto this worry,allowing it to grow unchecked.
I find him at the back, in a dark corner booth,munching on a bowl of almonds. Bon is probably aroundforty by now, a short man compared to me, but he hasthis way of making himself look taller. His mother hadinstilled proper posture in him as a small boy, and now,combined with the fact that he only wears all black, itmakes all the difference.
“Bon,” I say heartily, feeling a layer of anxietyslough off at his familiar face. His dark hair is thinning abit on top but otherwise he looks the same.
He slides out of the booth and shakes my handwhile I slap him affectionately on the back.
“Mateo,” he greets me, “you haven’t changed abit.” He pauses, eyes twinkling. “Or maybe you have.You seem lighter somehow.”
I grab my stomach though I know my abs havenever changed. “Eating better, I guess.”
The twinkle amplifies and he smirks. “I bet youhave. Come sit down.”
He quickly waves over the waitress and orders ustwo beers. Bon has always been a talker, and I don’t stophim while he launches into all the interesting things he’sbeen doing over the last year and a half.
Finally, after three beers, the conversation slowsand he eyes me impetuously. “Enough about me,” hesays. “How is Chloe Ann?”
Her name always makes me smile. “She is doingwell. She will start going to school in September. She’srather excited about it.”
“And Isabel?”
My face falls. “Surely you know we are divorced.”
He nods and leans back in his seat. “I know. But Iwould like to hear it from you. We don’t talk muchanymore, Mateo, so I only know what I hear from otherpeople. Or what I read in the newspapers online.”
“I see.” I stare at Bon, wondering what he’ll say, ifhe’ll understand. I am not sure if what he has seen andheard is anything different from the truth. I clear mythroat. “Well, Isabel and I are divorced now. I metanother woman.”
“A younger woman. A Canadian.”
“Yes,” I tell him. “She is both those things andmore than those things. Her name is Vera.”
“She’s got a hell of a lot of tattoos,” he points out,as if he knows her. This bothers me.
“She does,” I admit. “I happen to love them.”
Bon laughs joylessly. “You, Mateo Casalles, withall your style and elegance, love a woman covered intattoos. I would have thought it trashy to you.”
“I would have thought this bar here to be trashy, yethere I am with you, Bon.”
He lowers his head. “Are you trying to insult me?”
“Are you trying to insult me?”
He drains his beer. “Come, come, it is just anobservation, nothing more. I am curious. Who isn’t? Weall want to know about the woman who has made thegreat Mateo live a life of scandal and give up hisbeautiful, classy wife.”
There is an edge to his words. Bon had never been afan of Isabel, so I’m sure the news had originallydelighted him. He leans forward, twirling his beerbetween his hands. “Is it true that she’s only twenty-three?”