Nineteen Ximena scrutinized the attire,
makeup, and hairstyles of the people around her: high school smokers in uniforms, mothers and daughters scheming over their coffee cups, Jewesses with multiple baby carriages, professionals in suits and ties. Her gorillas were standing guard without the slightest discretion —one at the entrance to the café, the other one cattycorner to it. Ximena lit a cigarette. Lucía greeted her with a kiss before sitting down.
“Do you want to go to Croissant’s? It’s too crowded here,” said Lucía.
“So? Here is where the gossip’s at. What’s new? What are you up to?”
Lucía had thought of several excuses but had not decided on one.
“You know, running around like crazy.”
They ordered two cappuccinos with cajeta.
“Since you started dating Ricardo, you never call me. And when you call, we never meet up. And when we finally make plans, you cancel at the last minute. What’s going on, güey?” Ximena asked, inhaling dramatically.
“You could also call me. I feel like you get annoyed when we talk about Ricardo.
“Lucía, I swear to you I don’t care.”
“Alright already. In any case, we had a massive fight. We broke up.”
“When?!”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“Because I hate his friends.”
“And the engagement?”
“I don’t know, Ximena. I don’t know if I want to marry him.”
“That’s not a reason not to get married, especially not to someone like that.”
“Like what? Ricardo is a good person, but I’m not crazy about him. Plus, he treats me as if I were five. As if he were my teacher. As if I am not perfect enough for him. He is not interested in what I have lived through or my experiences.”
“I don’t think any man wants to know about your other guys,” Ximena said, arching her brow, “particularly if there are about five thousand of them.”
“It’s not only that, Ximena. Yes, he treats me really well, buys me little gifts, and takes me out, but I have a feeling that all he cares about is having a trophy at his side.”
“Get over yourself. What happens is that when they adore you, you always send them packing.”
“Not true. He said horrible things to me.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing, I got a little buzzed at a dinner party and I refused to kiss Paola Del Paso’s ass, you know, the owner of Mexibanco.”
“Did you meet Paola Del Paso? Where?”
“You too? She is not the Holy Father, for God’s sake. The point is, Ricardo told me I am ignorant, and I’m not on the same level as his friends, so smart and sophisticated. Jerk.”
“And how are you feeling?”
“Me, I am thrilled. It took a weight off my back.”
Ximena was under the impression that, one, Lucía did not look that thrilled, and two, she said things like that to fuck with her. Ricardo was a burden Ximena would gladly bear.
“Well, you do look a little pale. Don’t tell me it didn’t hurt.”
“Of course it hurt, Ximena. I care about him, but he was super disrespectful. I’m thinking of giving him back his ring.”
“That would be completely stupid,” Ximena responded.
If you only knew, thought Lucía. She couldn’t bear living with the increasingly heavy burden of her secret, without being able to share her ecstasy, her anguish, everything she had learned. She tried guessing what expression Ximena would have, if she would be compassionate or severe, whether she’d remember that Ximena had confided her abortion to her, and Lucía had never told anyone (she did tell, but always carefully omitting the names of the people involved). Lucía had taken Ximena to a medical office in Interlomas, (the culprit didn’t even offer to split the 6,000 pesos, assuming that for Ximena that amount was chump change) and she saw her friend emerge looking green, teary, and nauseated. On the way back, they had to stop on a side street, but when Ximena put her head out the window only howls came out of her.
“Have you heard from Sergio?” Lucía asked.
“No. Just that he had twins with a very religious girl from Monterrey, the bastard. Why?”
“Nothing, I just remembered that day.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“No way!”
A mischievous smile brightened Lucía’s face.
“Then why did you remember all of a sudden?” Ximena asked. “What’s going on with you?”
Lucía’s smile squirmed as she pressed her lips together. She became completely solemn.
“Promise me two things, Ximena.”
“Whatever you want.”
“One, that you will not tell anybody and two, that you won’t be upset.”
“One, you know, no problem. Two, well it all depends. What did you do?”
“I have a lover,” Lucía confessed.
“Aha. I can’t believe it,” said Ximena. “Well, I am upset. That’s fucked up, Lucía. What? Ricardo doesn’t deliver?”
“It’s not that. He’s pretty good, considering.”
“Then what?”
“It’s someone I am crazy about. I couldn’t resist.”
“WHO?”
Lucía smiled, fired up.
“Gerardo Alanís?”
“No, I wish!”
“Guillermo López Regla!” said Ximena.
Lucía shook her head, bursting out laughing.
“Are you going out with Manuel Coronado, cabrona?”
“Of course not,” replied Lucía with clearly fake indignation. She was flattered by the flirtations of her dad’s friend.
“Wait, Ximena. My dad has never come on to you, right?”
“Not him, but Manuel Coronado, yes. Don’t tell me you are a lesbian,” Ximena joked.
“I am and I’ve loved you since I saw you in your underwear in Valle.”
“With the philosophy teacher, Javier?”
“Well… no!”
Ximena imagined the worst situation she could think of. A drug dealer, a bohemian hippie from the Condesa, a rich old fart, a big nosed Jew, someone from the burbs in Satélite—a sateluco.
“Then?” asked Ximena.
“His name is Gabriel.”
“Gabriel what?”
“Gabriel Mendoza.”
“Gabriel Mendoza what?”
“Gabriel Mendoza I Don’t Know.”
“Who is he?”
“He is adorable. He is so handsome. He has a gorgeous voice and a hot body. He is a tiger, and a sweetheart,” Lucía grinned from ear to ear.
“Where did you find him if you don’t mind my asking?”
“He is the son of the driver.”
It took Ximena longer than usual to understand who Lucía was talking about. The son of what driver? This concept was so removed from anything in her mind that she could not find a visual reference. She imagined a chauffeur dressed like the butlers in the telenovelas.
Lucía saw Ximena’s brows frown and stretch until she recognized the shock in her eyes and understood that she had seen Agustín.
“The son of Agustín?” Ximena asked, astonished.
“That is correct.”
The smile vanished from Ximena’s face.
“Jesus Christ, Lucía. You have lost your fucking mind.”
Ximena vaguely recalled the image of an insipid guy.
“He’s a total naco!”
“He is not a naco.”
In fact, since she met Gabriel, Lucía had been observing the nacos with obsessive detail. From the taco guy to the popsicle vendor, the shoeshiner, the guy who watches your car on the street, those who whispered to her “mamacita chula” between their teeth if she was lucky and if not, obscenities so filthy she didn’t know what they meant. Gabriel was not as naco as any of them.
“You are insane,” insisted Ximena.
“I know I’m nuts, but I like him. I liked him the minute I saw him, Ximena. He’s very sexy.”
“Oh, please, Lucía. You are cheating on Ricardo Mestre with the son of your driver? It’s unheard of.”
“Hey, Ricardo has nothing to do with it. They both came into my life more or less at the same time. Well, Ricardo was a little earlier. But I fell for this one. No one knows this except you.”
“Thank goodness! I’ve heard it all, Lucía. Women who sleep with their brother-in-law, and those who fuck their spinning teacher, but this time you went overboard. It’s as if I slept with one of my bodyguards. Eew!”
“Not the same, because your gorillas are hideous, and Gabriel is very handsome.”
“How do you see each other? You go up to the roof to make out?”
Lucía looked offended.
“Well, yes, sometimes,” she said. “The first time I took him to the Parque Hundido, because I couldn’t think of another place. The second time, he came up to my room.”
“My God.”
“With Adolfo asleep in his room, the maids in the kitchen, and his dad puttering around somewhere,” she added with considerable pride. “And from the third time on, we did it in a hotel downtown.”
“Like a whore.”
“And you know what? I loved it.”
“What are you trying to prove? You want to take it out on your parents? Your ambition in life is to be a maid? What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong. I happen to like Gabriel. What do you care?”
“I care, because firstly, for fuck’s sake Lucía, you already had a boyfriend. Secondly, because I think what you are doing is very stupid, and thirdly, you are going to get into so much trouble. You can afford to play with that poor servant because you are going to dump him like all the rest. You chew them up and you spit them out like gum when the flavor’s gone. Besides, what right do you have to get him in trouble?”
“What if I am in love with him?”
“What are you talking about!?” Ximena yelled. “Let’s see. If you love him so much, why don’t you go out with him for real? Tell your parents and your brother. Take him to the movies and restaurants and parties. Show him around at school.”
“It wouldn’t be fair. I don’t want to make him feel bad.”
“Because you’re nothing but a hypocrite. You think you are so open-minded, but you’re only taking advantage of him. You don’t care about him at all. As always, you only care about yourself.”
“That is not true.”
“You have always been selfish.”
For as long as she could remember, that’s what everyone accused her of. On the contrary, she thought that if she were that selfish, she would have never gotten involved with Gabriel. If she were that selfish, she would not have given herself to him with all her body and soul. She shrank in her chair and started sobbing.
“Do you really love him that much?”
“You just don’t know what it means to be with him, Ximena. No one had ever made me feel like this.”
“How?”
“Well, super happy, super in love.”
“Then why did you say yes to Ricardo?”
“What other choice do I have?”
“Tell me something, what do you tell each other when you are together? What do you have in common except for the urge?”
“He tells me about his life, and I tell him about mine. and we talk about music and about New York because he lived there for three years and he speaks English, just so you know. We don’t really have that much time to spend talking. But we talk to each other with kisses. You’re looking at me as if I was speaking Chinese.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Lucía. I don’t understand how you can be with someone so different, someone who is not and never will be at your level, who has nothing to offer, who does not belong to your world. Who has nothing to do with you. You mean to tell me you love him so much that you would spend the rest of your life with him?”
“Sometimes I think I would. I am so happy when I am with him, and when I am not, every minute we’re not together is torture. I keep remembering each time he touches me or kisses me or whispers in my ear.”
“It’s your raging hormones.”
“It’s not just the sex, I swear. We’re friends. We love each other.”
Ximena looked at her with consternation.
“And what are you going to do?”
She was about to confess that she was seriously considering leaving with him. In fact, it dawned on her that even though her reaction had not been very promising, if she asked her, Ximena could lend them the money to leave for New York.
“I have no idea. Try to enjoy it while it lasts,” she ended replying.
“No wonder you suddenly became San Martín de Porres.”
“What?”
“I just got why you became a Zapatista overnight and you defend the nacos from the National University.”
Lucía sighed bitterly.
“Unlike you, I have always been there for you. I have never judged you.”
“You always remind me of that, but I am sick of applauding your irresponsibility like a seal at a circus.”
“You know what? Perhaps if you were a bit more open and less afraid, you could have a boyfriend. No one will steal your money.”
This last sentence left Ximena speechless.
“I should not have told you,” Lucía continued. “I don’t know how I ever thought you’d understand. I hope one day you’ll know what it means to love someone so much you don’t care who he is, where he comes from, and how much money he has.”
And with that, she stood up, took a five hundred-peso note from her purse, and threw it on the table.