The Whisper of your voice

I had no choice but to go out and play like that: clubs, events, parties. Before, we would just choose a place and play there all week. Now I needed more money: to pay rent, to move out of Andrea's house. Neither she nor her husband said anything to me, but I had no business living with them.

I never thought I'd find him there. Since that day, I've been wondering what would have happened. What she would have done. I don't know why I imagined that people like him didn't break up. That when you have money, what problems can you have?

They told us it would only be half an hour. Quiet music. Background music for politicians with fat wallets, which was more for ambiance than anything else.

When I saw him, I wanted to die. I recognized him right away. Standing there in another suit, his black hair combed, staring at me. It made me uncomfortable. Not because of what we both knew, but because of how he looked at me. With that intensity that made my skin tingle.

He was attractive. Very attractive.

A stupid thought occurred to me: How bad could he be in bed for his wife to cheat on him?

The breakup was throwing me off balance. No one looks at the husband of the woman who sleeps with your boyfriend like that. It must have been because I was still sensitive, feeling like crap. Or because I wanted to imagine myself in her place: a well-educated, well-dressed man with his life figured out, versus a worker eager to fuck like a dog in heat.

Both of them after her.

Then that guy showed up with his snake tongue: "Don't you want to do something else before you leave?" God! It turned my stomach. Disgusting old man.

Spencer rescued me. He followed me to the parking lot. He asked me how I was. First he screwed up by talking about them, but I guess that was inevitable.

He gave me a card with his phone number in case I needed anything. The card was as elegant as he was. I sniffed his cologne a little. I saw his ironed suit, his impeccable tie. Other women's luck. It made me so angry I wanted to cry.

"What do we do?" I asked him because I felt lost.

"I don't know."

He looked sad. He was having as hard a time as I was. You could tell.

"Did she tell you why?"

"No. She gave me excuses. That I didn't pay attention to her." He smiled as if it were a joke.

"He told me he fell in love."

He made a horrible gesture. As if I had hit him with the bass.

"What a son of a bitch," he said.

"Sabrina, shall we go?" Ricardo poked his head out the window. They were tired too.

I looked at Spencer, hesitating. Waiting for something. I don't know what. I wanted to see if it worked the other way around. If Zachary could take the wife of a guy like him, could I do the same? How stupid. The things that come out of the misery of the heart.

But I was curious to know what it felt like to be with someone like him. How bad was he that his wife had dumped him for an electrician with dandruff?

"Have a coffee with me. Or a beer," he said. "At least let's talk."

Either he read my mind or he was in the same twisted mess as me.

"I'll go back on my own," I told Xavi.

He looked at me strangely but didn't answer. He shrugged and drove off.

That's when I started to get really nervous. Men like him didn't go out with women like me. I didn't even know if I wanted that: to fuck him.

You could tell he was waiting for something.

"Do you know some place?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said. "I know a place."

We walked to his car. A black BMW, impeccable. Obviously. He opened the door for me like I was a lady. No one had ever opened a car door for me in my life.

It smelled of leather and that perfume he wore. I sank into the seat. Everything was soft, expensive. I felt like a fucking poor person.

"Are you sure?" he asked me before driving off.

"No," I said. "But still."

He smiled. For the first time all night, he smiled. I realized I liked his smile. That he had big hands, that he exuded something strange, attractive.

"No," I told myself. "It's the anger, it's the hatred I feel for Zachary."

A coffee. A real one, not a double meaning. How stupid.

He stopped in front of a small coffee shop between a dry cleaner's and a flower shop. Not in a hotel, not in a hidden apartment, not at his house. In a coffee shop.

But when he opened the door for me and touched my back to let me go first, I felt a rush through my body.

Inside, it was warm. Almost empty. We sat down at a table in the back. He ordered coffee. So did I.

I stared at him. His hands resting on the table. His tie slightly loosened. I had no idea what to say to him.

"You know what's weird?" I finally said.

"What?"

"That I'm here with you and I don't know why."

He smiled a little.

"Me neither."

"Did you ever imagine you'd end up having coffee with the ex-girlfriend of the guy who sleeps with your wife?"

"No. Did you ever imagine having coffee with the husband of the woman who sleeps with your ex?"

"Never."

We fell silent. Drinking lukewarm coffee from white cups.

"You know what I wonder?" I said.

"What?"

"If they think about us when they're together."

His face darkened.

"I hope not."

"I hope so. I hope it ruins everything for them."

"I doubt it," he took a sip. "In five months, they didn't stop, not even when they came home after seeing each other."

We talked about them, reminisced about moments. We looked like two friends who hadn't seen each other in a long time catching up, not two people who had been cheated on.

"Did you leave or did he leave?" he asked me.

"I left. Now I have to find a place to live."

"How so?"

"I'm not from here, I don't know anyone. I'm staying at a friend's house, but she's starting a family. I'm like a piece of furniture that gets in the way."

He had taken off his jacket and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Strong, defined arms, like a real man.

"I have a guest house," he said. "It's empty."

"What?"

"At the back of my house. It's small, but it has everything. You can stay there."

I looked at him as if he were telling me a bad joke.

"I don't know you."

"No. But we're here."

"We're here because we're both screwed."

"Maybe. But the house is empty and you need a place."

"Why would you do that?"

"I don't know. Because I can." He grimaced.

I didn't know what to say. It was crazy.

"How much do you want for rent?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I don't need the money and the house is there. Unused."