Page 2 of Tell Me What You Want

“Don’t forget we have a staff meeting this afternoon,” Miguel reminds me.

“Uh-huh.”

He grins, grabs me by the arm, and says, “Hey, let’s take a break. I know you’re dying for some coffee and toast from the cafeteria.”

I grin too. He knows me well. Besides being handsome and charming, the guy doesn’t miss an opportunity to be attentive. That, along with his perpetual smile, is Miguel’s greatest charm.

When we get to the ninth-floor cafeteria, we step up to the counter, place our orders, and head to our usual table. Paco and Raúl join us. They’re a gay couple I like a lot. They kiss my neck and make me laugh, like they do every morning. As the four of us begin to talk, I remember the scene last night in the parking garage.

“You seem distracted. What’s going on?” asks Miguel.

That brings me back. I look at him and try to forget the images running amok in my mind.

“I am. My cat is sick, more listless with each passing day, and ...”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” responds Miguel as he takes my hand.

We talk about my cat for a little while, and that makes me sadder. I adore Curro, but he is slowly dying, and he will probably not be with me much longer. It’s something I’ve been dealing with since the vet gave me the bad news two months ago, but it’s still really hard. Curro’s a dear old thing, and in spite of the medication, there’s not much more to be done than spoil him and love him as much as possible.

Suddenly, my supervisor appears, surrounded by several men, like always. Miguel glances up at her mischievously. I stay quiet. She is a very attractive woman. A very intense fifty-something brunette, she’s the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, not exactly single, who’s been at the center of various scandals at work. She takes care of herself like it’s nobody’s business and doesn’t miss a single day at the gym.

“Judith,” Miguel says to me, “are you going to be much longer?”

I take my eyes off my boss and return to my breakfast. I swallow my coffee. “Finished!” I answer.

An hour later, after making copies and completing the paperwork for another contract, I head for my supervisor’s office.

“Here is the final contract for the Albacete branch office.”

“Thank you,” she responds while eyeing the documents.

Following protocol, I remain standing until she gives me my next assignment. The telephone rings, and before she can even look at me, I’ve answered it.

“Mónica Sánchez’s office. This is Ms.Flores, her assistant. How may I help you?”

“Good day, Ms.Flores,” responds a deep male voice with a slightly foreign accent. “This is Eric Zimmerman. I’d like to speak with your supervisor.”

On recognizing the name, I quickly respond, “Just a moment, please, Mr.Zimmerman.”

Hearing me, my boss drops the documents and, practically tearing the receiver from my hands, smiles charmingly into the phone.

“Eric, how wonderful to hear from you,” she says. She continues after a brief silence. “Of course, of course. Oh, you’re already in Madrid?” Then she lets loose a laugh that’s faker than a euro with Popeye’s face. She whispers, “Of course, Eric. I’ll wait for you at two in the lobby and we can get something to eat.”

She hangs up and stares at me. “Get me an appointment with my hairdresser in half an hour. Then make a two o’clock reservation for two at Gemma’s Restaurant.”

Five minutes later, she shoots like a rocket out of the office and returns an hour and a half later with her hair even more lustrous and beautiful and her makeup retouched. At quarter to two, I see Miguel knock and enter her office. Oh my God! I don’t even want to think about what they might be doing. After five minutes, I hear laughter. At five to two, the door opens and they both exit.

“Judith, you can go to lunch now,” my supervisor says. “And remember, I’ll be with Mr.Zimmerman. If I’m not back by five and you need anything, call me on my cell.”

As soon as the evil witch and Miguel leave, I sigh with relief. I let my hair down and take off my glasses. Later, I pick up my things and head for the elevator. I get on, and the doors close. Suddenly, between the sixth and fifth floors the elevator jerks, then stops abruptly. The emergency lights come on, and Manuela, who works for a messenger service, starts to shriek.

“Oh Mother of God, what’s going on?”

“Calm down,” I respond. “It might be a blackout, but the lights will come back on soon.”

“How long is it going to take?”

“Well, I don’t know, Manuela, but if you freak out, it’ll make things worse, and it’ll seem like an eternity. Just breathe, and we’ll have lights again in no time.”

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