Page 113 of Tell Me What You Want

“My God, I’ve created a monster!”

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Three days later, we’re still at Zahara de los Atunes, and Frida and Andrés encourage us to stay a few more days at the chalet. Charmed, we accept. Eric receives several calls and messages from someone named Marta, and every time, I have to bite my tongue so I won’t ask, “Who is that woman who calls so much?”

On the fourth night, Frida and I decide to go into town for a drink. The guys are playing chess and choose to stay at the chalet.

We find a pub called La Cosita. We each order a rum and Coke and sit down to chat at the bar. Talking with Frida is easy. She’s fun, effusive, and engaging.

“Have you been married to Andrés for very long?”

“Eight years, and every day, I’m more grateful that I ran him over.”

“What?”

Frida laughs. “I met him because I hit him with my car.”

That makes me laugh.

“Tell me everything right now,” I demand.

Frida takes a sip of her drink and begins. “We were both studying medicine in Nuremberg. And the first day I drove my car to campus, when I went to park, I didn’t see him and I ran him over. Luckily, nothing serious happened. He got bruised from the fall, and that was about it. But I tell you ... it was a real fall for both of us, and from that day on, we’ve never been separated.”

We both laugh. “Hey, and what about the game? Who proposed that?”

“I did.”

“You?”

She nods.

“You should have seen his face the first time I told him about it. He absolutely refused. But then one day, I invited him to a party where I used to hang out with some people in the game, and I introduced him to Eric, and, well ... since then, he’s been into it!”

“Eric?”

“Yes, he and I are lifelong friends. We’ve always moved in the same circles. It’s something that, as you’ve seen, we continue to do.”

“Hey ...,” I say, remembering something, “did you go play the Wheel that Björn organized the other night?”

“Yes,” says Frida with a laugh, “I love that sort of game, and games like that drive Andrés insane.”

“And don’t you feel, I don’t know, a little ...?”

“A little ...?” she repeats.

“I don’t know ... Isn’t it a little degrading to be there, satisfying all those guys? I mean, you’re nude. You offer yourselves. You’re who ... you know ...”

Frida bursts out laughing. “No, my dear. I love how those guys desire me, I love how my husband offers me, I love how the others possess me. I love it, and Andrés loves it. That’s what counts.”

I want to ask her more about the game, about Eric, Betta, and Marta, but John Paul Young’s “Love Is in the Air” starts to play, and Frida shrieks.

“I love that song! Let’s dance!”

We jump out to the tiny dance floor and begin to move our hips to the beat of the song, and I’m instantly aware of several men watching us.

At about three in the morning, Frida and I decide to go back to the chalet. We walk to the BMW, which we left in the parking lot near the beach, but two men have followed us out.

“Well, well, here are our two dancers.”

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