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I almost manage a laugh. It’s the battle cry of Mel Gibson’sBraveheartbefore the Battle of Stirling Bridge, and the one thing my best friend knows will cheer me along.“Alba gu bràth,”I choke out. But the last thing I feel is brave or invincible. I’m vanquished, and now I’m going to have to eat humble pie.
MOOBS, BOOBS, & CLEAVAGE FTW
Mariano Arias. Juniper Hotel. Palm Beach, Florida.
Heads turn as Juliette and I cross the lobby and wait for the elevator. They allknow. And they’re all smiling in that way people smile when they are ashamed for you. Almost as if it’s their own shame. The Germans have a word for it,fremdschämen.UnlikeSchadenfreude,which made it into the English lexicon and is easily translated (happiness in someone else’s unhappiness),fremdschämenhas no snappy translation. It’s a more complex set of reactions: the shame one feels on behalf of a friend when they have, for example, been trashing the hostess at a dinner party, only to have her appear behind them. The clerks at the front have seen Juliette take her lovers to her suite before. I’m just another in a long line of conquests.
There’s only one saving grace: Lolly Benoit isn’t here to see my fall. The look she gave me after we kissed was one of such unalloyed rage that I can only assume she’ll tell whoever cares to hear that I’m not only a primo shit but also a man for hire. I knew this was going to be hard; I didn’t know it was going to tie me in knots.
The bell hop arrives with a stack of suitcases and a couple of tourists. They've gone full-onMiami Viceand are decked out from head to toe in white.
“No way! Mariano Arias?” The wife scoots her hat away from her eyes. “Oh, we’resuchfans, aren’t we, Dave?”
Dave digs in his Gucci manbag. “Sign her.” He shoves a Sharpie into my hand. “Sign my wife.”
“I’m so here for this moment.” The wife pulls her neckline down and exposes more breast. “To Lucinda. With a heart.”
Juliette laughs. “He’s the best, isn’t he?”
“Oh, ma’am.” Lucinda grabs Juliette’s hand. “We justadoreyour son.”
Ouch.
Juliette swipes her hand away and strides into the elevator. The bellhop holds back with his golden trolley of Armani bags and suitcases, but Lucinda and Dave crowd in, the two of them pressing her breasts in my general direction. I’ve been in some weird situations in my life, but none of them have involved a man standing behind his wife, cupping her breasts so there’s flesh bounding out of the top of her dress.
The elevator doors close as I remove the lid of the pen and inscribe her name.
“With a heart.”
Dave scoots around his wife and inspects my handiwork. He whips his phone out of his pocket and snaps a couple of shots. “You don’t mind, do you?” He hands the phone to Juliette.
Dave has one arm around me and the other draped over his wife, an index finger pointing at the autograph.
Juliette grimaces, but does what’s asked of her, taking close-ups, group shots, singles, the reflections of the four of us in the elevator doors.
“Now with just her…” Dave swaps places with his wife in a move that can only be described as octopusian. They’re smooth, the two of them, like practiced dancers who have each other’s rhythms.
Lucinda has one hand on the neckline of her dress, the other on my chest. “Nice pecs.” She and Dave cackle. “You’re going to need to up your game, husband-of-mine. I won’t be satisfied with your moobs now that I’ve felt these.”
“Moobs?” I untangle myself from her grasp.
“Man boobs.” Lucinda jiggles her husband’s chest. “Really though, I’ve grown quite fond of them.”
Dave beams at her, then gives her a peck on the cheek. The spark between them is genuine, heartfelt. In spite of me writing on his wife and her mocking hismoobs,Dave is besotted with her.
At last, the elevator doors open and they’re waving and blowing kisses and telling us how this has been the best “polo surprise” ever.
“Charming people.” Even in my third language, I know Juliette means the opposite. We ride to the penthouse in silence. The next move has to be mine, but our encounter with the tourists has soured whatever mood Juliette had been building over lunch.
The suite looks out onto an infinity pool, which is surrounded by deck chairs and luscious potted trees. Keeping a rooftop garden green in this heat has to cost a damned fortune. This woman can buy me ten times over. No, ten times ten, with money left to spare.
Juliette turns her back. “Unzip me.”
I know enough to place a kiss in the nape of her neck before I pinch the zipper between my fingers. I pull, slowly, snaking my arm around her middle. She’s kept herself well, this forty-something woman, but there’s no electricity for me, no drive, no song in my blood for her, and nothing is simple the way Mamá said it should be. The only thing I have is my promise to my mother to find a way. My hand flies off Juliette’s dress. Right. No. The last thing I need to think about is mymother.
Juliette tsks. “We haven’t made it to the first gate and you’re already balking? I thought you had more backbone than that, Mariano. Or at least more bone.”
“I couldn’t…” I begin. What am I doing? Shooting myself in the foot? The woman has told me not ten minutes ago that all she wants is to be fucked. I can do that. “What I mean is, I could…”
