Page 24 of Tell Me What You Want

“You talk about your mother in past tense. How come?”

“She died of cancer two years ago.”

Eric touches my hand.

“I’m sorry, Jude,” he murmurs.

I nod. “She loved to sing, and I do too.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed to sing in front of me?”

“No, why?” I ask with a shrug.

“I don’t know, Jude.”

“Well, I’m crazy about music. I sing all day long. You should try it.”

To demonstrate just how shameless I am, I turn the music back on and, shimmying, sing along.

I finally see a hint of a smile on his face. That gives me a boost, and I continue singing. When we get to downtown Madrid, we park the car in an underground garage, and as the Ferrari disappears from view, I get a little sad. Eric notices and whispers in my ear: “Remember, if you’re good, I’m going to let you drive it.”

A wave of happiness revives me when I hear that. As we’re leaving the garage, he takes my hand confidently. That surprises me, but it also pleases me, so I don’t pull away. We walk along del Carmen Street until we wind up at Puerta del Sol. Then we go up Mayor Street until we come to Plaza Mayor. I see him marveling at everything he’s viewing. We make our way to the Royal Palace. Unfortunately, when we arrive, it’s closed. Our bellies are starting to growl, so I propose we grab a bite at an Italian restaurant owned by some friends of mine.

When we get to the eatery, my friends greet us warmly. They immediately set us up at a little table apart from the others, and as soon we order our meal, they bring us our drinks.

“You say the food is good here?”

“The best. Giovanni and Pepa are excellent chefs. And I promise you, everything comes straight from Milan.”

Ten minutes later, he sees for himself when he gets a taste of a glorious buffalo mozzarella in tomato sauce.

“Delicious.”

He stabs a piece and offers it to me.

“See?” I say. “I told you.”

He offers me another bite. I accept and pinch a piece with my fork, then offer it to him. We start eating from each other’s hands without caring what anyone around us thinks. Once the mozzarella is gone, he wipes his mouth with the napkin and looks my way.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says.

“Hmm, knowing you, it’s indecent.”

He taps the tip of my nose with his finger.

“I’m going to be in Spain for a while before I return to Germany. I suppose you know my father died three weeks ago ... I want to visit every branch the company has in Spain. I need to know what’s going on because I want to expand. Up until recently, it was my father who was in charge of everything, and ... well ... now I’m in charge.”

“I’m sorry about your father—”

“Listen, Jude,” he says, interrupting me. He doesn’t let me get too far when it comes to his personal life. “I’d like you to go with me. You speak and write perfect German, and I need various documents to be sent to my headquarters in Germany after each meeting. I have to be in Barcelona Thursday ...”

“I can’t. I have too much work.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m the boss.”

“Why don’t you ask Miguel? He was your father’s administrative assistant.”

“I’d rather have you.” He sees my expression. “You’d be there as my administrative assistant. You’d be putting off your vacation until we got back. And of course, your expenses would be taken care of.”

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