in place. Lots of foreigners. Every night it’s bursting at the seams. In this city it’s not easy to find a place like this — José Carlos likes it: he told me he’s been here several times and he’s even given Mirna some tips about how to display the paintings and artistic photographs. Of course they know each other, my dear; I’ve even heard that Mirna was doing it with him. I asked José Carlos, but he told me they were just friends, Mirna’s not his type, ever since being with Olga María he hasn’t been able to get interested in anybody else. Go figure. But yesterday afternoon when we went to the beach we made a pact: we’d avoid talking about Olga María so we wouldn’t get depressed, so we could enjoy the trip. We went to San Blas. Of course, my dear, I prefer our place in La Barra de Santiago, but it’s too far away. The idea was to go for a little while, a few hours in the afternoon. We bought some beer at the port. Poor José Carlos: we didn’t mention Olga María, but he spent the whole time talking about Marito. Please, do me a favor! He’s full of guilt, remorse, I can’t tell you how much. And really afraid, terrified: what scares him most is that Marito will find out about his affaire with Olga María. He kept asking me over and over if I thought Marito had already found out. I have no idea. That’s what I told him. The only one who could let the cat out of the bag is this Deputy Chief Handal, if he goes blabbing to Marito. José Carlos says he’s afraid of the same thing: of that policeman showing Marito the photo of Olga María. That’s why he wants to leave the country as soon as possible, and avoid the whole thing: it would be degrading, unbearable. Marito has been one of his best friends, if not his very best. But that’s how men are, my dear, who told him to get involved with his best friend’s wife? Now there’s only sorrow. He told me about his friendship with Marito: how they lived in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, were in the same grade, even the same class. Can you imagine? They spent their entire lives together. Olga María already told me the whole story. That’s why when we got to San Blas I told him that talking about Marito was another way of talking about Olga María, so he was violating our pact. I told him it’d be better if he told me his plans, about what he was going to do in Boston. He’s really lovely, that José Carlos. Now I understand why Olga María fell for him. He’s sensitive. His way of seeing the world, even though it’s different from yours or mine, it’s very interesting; he’s an artist, after all. He told me he’s not sure he has a job in Boston, but he’s not worried about it, he lived there long enough to find something that’ll let him get by. What he doesn’t want to do is work in advertising anymore; he finds that environment unbearable — he told me he’s planning to work on a major exhibition of his photographs, pick the best ones, and go for it, try to get into the major leagues. That’s what he said, like he was talking about basebalclass="underline" “the major leagues.” Shall I pour you more wine? Jesus Christ: look at how those people are dressed. God save me. And that frightful-looking creature, where did she come from? Look at that one with the miniskirt: she looks like she’s a cellulite saleswoman. People no longer have any sense of the ridiculous, my dear; vulgar is as vulgar does. The beach was lovely, empty, and it was low tide, that’s the good thing about going during the week: the lower classes can’t get there. On weekends it’s unbearable: all that riffraff from El Majahual, they simply invade San Blas. They’re all thieves and whores. I don’t understand why they can’t just fence it off — that’s what papa says. If you have a place at the beach you have to put up with all that scum just looking for someone to rob. Horrible. The beaches should be gated to prevent all that garbage from El Majahual from invading San Blas. But papa says you can’t do that, legally; I say, to hell with the law. But during the week it’s peaceful, like yesterday afternoon with José Carlos, we had a wonderful time at the beach. Though he didn’t go in the water — he was stubborn, he didn’t want to wear one of my father’s swimsuits; I have some bikinis there so I took a dip, I went out to the breakwater, it felt so good being tossed about by the waves. Then we sat under the almond trees, next to the swimming pool, just talking. I don’t know if I should tell you this, my dear, but now I understand why Olga María had such a thing for José Carlos, even if he does dress like a scruffy slob. He’s got a charm all his own, like you wouldn’t believe. But, let me ask for a glass of water, this wine has made me thirsty. Here he comes. Do you want some, too? I can’t seem to get Rodolfo’s attention so he’ll come over here, the cutie-pie. As I was saying, we were next to the pool when the couple who looks after the house said they were going to the port to do some shopping. I told them to go right ahead, no problem, we were just staying a few hours, we weren’t going to spend the night. You remember the house in San Blas, don’t you? It’s very secure because there’s a big wall all around it. You can’t see the sea from inside, but nobody can see in from the outside. Like papa says: it protects against thieves and Peeping Toms. Thank you, waiter. I was dying of thirst. Let’s finish the bottle. We were alone, José Carlos and I, next to the pool. Then I said I was going to take a dip, and I wanted to take advantage of nobody being around to swim naked. There’s nothing better than swimming naked: you feel free. I love it so much that every chance I get, I swim naked. Maybe because I’d already had a few beers or because I already felt comfortable around José Carlos or because the surroundings were so pleasant, whatever it was I wasn’t feeling shy. I dived in and once I was in the water I took off my bikini, placed it on the edge of the pool, and started to swim, happy as can be, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. That’s what I was doing, swimming on my back, blinded by the sunlight, totally enjoying myself, when I felt José Carlos next to me. Can you imagine, my dear? Like getting an electric shock. Everything happened very quickly. It was amazing. You’ve never done it in a swimming pool? Unbelievable. That man is a bombshell. He gave it to me every which way. Delicious. His equipment: it’s off the charts, enough to make you drool. We did it in the pool, on the grass under the almond trees, in the hammock, in the chaise longue, all over the house. Just remembering it makes me wet again. That José Carlos, he’s a darling. He left me utterly exhausted, aching — he does it with imagination. You should really give him a whirl before he leaves. An expert. Now I know why Olga María didn’t want to tell me too many details, so I wouldn’t get any ideas about him. I don’t understand how she let him go. Having a lover like that is worth the trouble, even if he does fall in love with you, who cares, you just deal with it. Of course, it’s easy for me to say because I know he’s leaving the country, so he doesn’t have a chance to fall in love with me. But to marry him and live with him? No, thank you, my dear, God forbid. And definitely not someone to leave your husband for, who you already have a child with, like Olga María with Marito. He’s a nobody. This photography thing is fine as a hobby, but nobody respectable can make a living off it. I can just imagine papa if I told him I was going to marry a poor photographer; he’d think I’d gone crazy. He’d disown me. No, he’s good for a fling, nothing more. Well, my dear, when we finished — lying in the hammock, my pussy red and swollen from so much in and out — I asked him if he’d done it like that with Olga María, if he’d lasted that long with her. Because the man can last with his thing standing at attention for an eternity, it’s really something, and you get to do whatever you feel like. He told me that with her it had also been special, even the first time, but Olga María was more reserved, more restrained, with me he felt more free. That’s what he told me, anyway. Also that he liked my body better than Olga María’s, because I’m more curvaceous, fuller, compared to her. I don’t know. He told me he thinks my body is voluptuous and Olga María’s is more delicate. He prefers voluptuousness. That’s another charming thing about José Carlos: he explains things so well. I love the way he talks, the words he chooses, you can clearly understand what he wants to say. The weirdest thing is that we’d made a pact to not talk about Olga María, and there we were, naked and in each other’s arms in the hammock, sweaty, exhausted, and thinking about her. At a certain point, I got sad. I felt like crying because life is shit, how could it be that Olga María had disappeared from one moment to the next. I mentioned that to José Carlos, then I got tears in my eyes. He was so tender to me, and he got sad, too, then he started comforting me, telling me there’s no way to fight fate, Olga María wouldn’t have wanted us to be sad. Then I started sobbing, because there’s no good reason for so much injustice. José Carlos started caressing me, stroking my head, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, until I calmed down and we started kissing again. That man can turn me on in the blink of an eye, my dear. A moment later, we were at it again, hard and fast, there in the hammock, but more intensely, as if remembering Olga María had injected us with renewed passion, something delicious, something I’ve never felt before. I swear: it was spectacular. Like I was possessed. Then I started to come in this incredible way, while I was still crying. That’s where we were, right at the climax, when the caretakers opened the door. It was horrible, my dear, because I couldn’t disengage, I couldn’t stop: my feet were on the ground, and I was on top of that man in the hammock, at the peak of my frenzy, knowing the caretakers were about to walk in. I can’t even talk about it, it was such a horrible experience. And I only just managed to shout, “Don’t come in!” That was when José Carlos realized what was happening. We dashed into the bedroom where I’d left my clothes. So embarrassing. The worst part was that we couldn’t finish like we should have. Let’s order another half bottle, my dear. I’m already tipsy. Look, here comes Rodolfo, that doll. I’m going to tell him about Olga María. Ro-dol-fo!!