Page 98 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

“C’mon, love, let’s party!” says Reinaldo as he pulls on my arm.

I shake my hips and dance with him as if I were going to unravel. Björn goes back to the poodle’s side and squeezes her.

We all have great fun for a few hours. I dance with many different people, and then one guy crosses the line. When they see what happened, Björn and Reinaldo come to my rescue, but I stop them with just one look. I twist the guy’s arm behind his back, and his face hits a table.

“Touch my ass one more time, I’ll cut your hand off,” I tell him.

Reinaldo and Björn are terribly amused. Minutes later, while I’m having a drink at the bar, Laila positions herself next to me.

“What were you talking about with Björn?”

Should I tell her to go fuck herself?

“You know what we were talking about,” I say, not wanting much to do with her. “If Eric ever finds out, you’ll never set foot in the house again.”

Her eyes give her away. She’s furious, enraged. Without a word, she turns and goes. I see her leave the bar.

Many mojitos later, Björn says goodbye to Marta and me. An hour later, we decide to leave too, and when I get home in the wee hours, happy as a clam, Eric is waiting up. As I come in, he takes a peek at his watch.

It’s three thirty in the morning. “Guantanamera, right?”

“Yes.”

I’m not going to lie to him. That’s where my friends go.

Eric sighs. “Why didn’t you come back with Laila?”

“Because I was having a good time,” I say, giving him a kiss.

He’s nervous about something.

“And I was having such a good time, time just flew. You know how it is, my love!” That last bit, I toss out with a Cuban accent.

“You’re about to cross a line, sweetheart.”

I can’t help it, and I start giggling.

Goddamn those mojitos!

When I get up the next day, my head is pounding.

I don’t remember drinking that much, but I know I danced nonstop.

Eric is at the office, and, when I see I don’t have any messages from him on my cell, I imagine he’s probably not very happy. I remember how he looked at me the night before while I giggled.

I call his cell. I need to hear his voice.

“Yes, Jude.”

“Hello, my love, how are you?”

“Fine.”

Silence. He doesn’t say anything. He knows how to torture me.

“Listen, love, about last night—”

“I don’t want to talk about it now. I’m busy. If you want to, we can talk about it when I get home.”

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