“Have fun?” I ask as she leans haphazardly againstthe counter and tries to kick off her slingbacks to noavail. “Hold on,” I tell her gently, and crouch downbeside her. She leans on me for support as I pull hershoes off and place them beside mine on the shoe rackunderneath the coat hooks.
“Thanks, baby,” she slurs, and I feel the weight ofher on my back. I place my hands around the small ofher waist and hold her steady as I straighten up. Hermakeup is smudged and she’s giving me a crookedsmile.
“No problem,” I tell her, peering at her closely.“Where did you guys go?”
She shrugs. “I don’t really remember. We met upwith Ricardo at some bar. He was there with a bunch ofhis friends.”
A fist of unease opens in my stomach. I likeClaudia’s boyfriend Ricardo a lot, but the two times I’vemet his friends, they failed to impress me. They wereyoung and brash with no scruples, like a bunch ofmodern-day Spaniards trying to resurrect Sid Vicious. Ididn’t like it when Vera went out with them, but thenagain, it’s not like I would go. Bar hopping and clubbingweren’t my scene anymore but they were definitelyVera’s.
“I see,” I say. “Sounds like you had a good time.”
She shrugs. “Lots of shots and dancing. The usual.”She attempts to take off her dress, and I help her out bypulling down the zipper. She’s stark naked underneathbut for once I have no interest in fucking her. My anxietyseems to build instead, and I’m staring at her bodywondering why someone like me deserves it if I don’teven have the desire to go out with her and her friends.
“Are you going to take me to bed?” she asks,batting her eyes and biting her lip.
Naturally, I will take her but not in the way shethinks, not when she is this drunk. I’ve learned mylesson a few times before.
Sure enough, the moment she climbs into the sheetsand lays her head back onto the pillow, she closes hereyes and passes out. Light snoring ensues.
I sigh and tuck her in, then fill up a glass of waterfor her and get out two ibuprofen. She never does verywell in the mornings after a night of drinking, and sinceshe still has work at Las Palabras in the morning, sheneeds to be on her best behavior.
I strip down to nothing and get in bed as well. She’snot the only one with a big day ahead of her. Tomorrow, everything changes.
Yet, it feels like everything has already changed.
Chapter Four
Friday and the weekend rolled on by almost as usual.There was, of course, the event of me calling Pedro andinforming him that I would be delighted to take theposition. I celebrated that by having a bit of brandy inmy coffee. Vera was at work, terribly hung over,otherwise she would have partaken in the moment.
Saturday we picked up Chloe Ann and took her toan outdoor children’s concert. She was a bit moodierthan normal, perhaps because the heat never relented, butshe seemed to enjoy herself by the end of it. Cottoncandy fixes all of life’s problems when you’re a child.
Sunday was a day of lazing around, reading thepaper and drinking drunken lemonade. It was easy tofool ourselves into thinking everything was fine.
But today, I know things aren’t fine. I feel it when Iwake up, that gnawing sensation of something eatingaway at me. I should be happy, on cloud nine—I’mabout to get dressed and head into the office at thestadium, to start my first official day at a job I’d evendreamed of when I was back on the team.
And yet my gut is a ball of nerves.
Even Vera senses it as we shower together; herbrows knit together in a mix of discomfort and concern.
“Are you all right?” she asks. “You seem distant.”
“Like I’m in another galaxy?” I answer, turning heraround to rub soap on her back.
She lifts her hair off her shoulders to give meaccess. “Something like that.”
“I guess I’m nervous about my first day,” I tell her.
She nods. “I’m nervous this will be my last.”
I pause, and she shoots me an apologetic look overher shoulder. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not about me.”
“Maybe it’s always about you,” I whisper. “I can’tpretend that I’m not afraid for us.”
Her face falls slightly. “Don’t worry,” she says, andI almost believe that she doesn’t. “I worked my ass offon Friday. They won’t let me go. I won’t let them.”
I lean down and kiss her shoulders, tasting the soapand the freshness of her skin. “You can do anything youput your mind to. But it doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”
She turns around, her eyes determined. “You knowthat we’ll be okay, don’t you? This will all work out. It’sjust a hiccup, that’s all.”
I try and give her a smile but it fails to form on mylips. “I’m just tired of the universe giving me somethingand taking something else away.”
“Well, the universe can go fuck itself for all I care,”she says. “You deserve this job. I deserve mine. There’sno reason why we can’t have both.”
She’s right. There is no reason. But maybe I’m stillafraid that we got off too easy, that there is stillpunishment for our actions. Bon reminded me thatthough the ink on the divorce papers is dry, the woundsare still fresh for everyone involved.
I still have that thought on my mind as I drive towork, to the stadium by the river. I haven’t been backhere in years, not even to watch a game. It feels strangebut still right at the same time.
As most first days are, this one is easy. I don’t evenmeet the team, just the administrative staff, plus Diegoand Warren. Even though I expected contempt fromWarren for taking over what should have been his job,he’s friendly enough, and Diego is as cordial as the firsttime I met him, if not a little defensive over the team. Idon’t blame him. Even though his eyes and heart are seton Argentina, he is the guy that helped bring this teamback. It’s personal to him so I treat him and his viewswith respect.
At the end of the day, after I am shown a small deskin the same room as Warren’s where I am to temporarilywork, Pedro calls me into his office. He’s sitting behinda Lucite table with a wooden cigar box in his hands. Hiswalls are white and covered with rich black and whitephotographs of the team; his windows are large and wideand look out onto the grassy field and the rows of seatsin the stadium.
“Sit down,” he commands, and I do so in a plasticchair that is so modern it’s uncomfortable. He opens thecigar box, sticks one in his mouth, and then tilts ittoward me in offering.