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Authors: Daniel Chavarría
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was satisfactory for all parties involved and that Alicia was destined for a long, long run with star billing.
She had, in fact, kept her word about the absolute discretion that had to reign over the entire matter. It would not do for the unsuspecting men to detect what was going on. She had worked out a simple and convincing scenario with Victor (who was always present on the other side of the silvered screen): she was the official mistress of a powerful foreign banker, and it had to be clearly understood that, while he was abroad, they could have a handful of passionate, anonymous lovemaking sessions—only this and nothing more. On the two occasions that her partner seemed to take too much of an interest in the details of her life, she had cut him short. “Listen, did you come here to get laid or to research the life and times of me?”
One lovesick idiot, or perhaps a scam artist in his own right, who made the mistake of launching into dithyrambs about the depth of his love for her, got brushed off in no uncertain terms: “What! Are you out of your fucking mind? Do the math: Alicia loves millionaires, plus, you haven’t got a pot to shit in, equals, you haven’t got a fart’s chance in a windstorm.”
Elizabeth, who according to Victor was pathologically timid, never let herself be seen by Alicia. But as testimony to her approval of Alicia’s ars amandi , Elizabeth gave her a ninety-six-piece set of Sevres China, which pleased Alicia to no end because it was perfectly beautiful and capable of being converted into cash any time she wished. Then, on her return from a trip to Spain, Elizabeth brought Alicia a fine concert guitar that she was almost afraid to play.
Except for the brief interludes with her anonymous paramours, Alicia lived at home with her mother, and Victor lived in the house with the pond. No one in the company knew that Alicia existed.
In July and August, while Elizabeth was in New York, Victor made use of Alicia’s services for himself. That kind of arrangement soon came to be so natural that whenever Elizabeth was away from Cuba, Alicia would move into the house with the pond and stay there for weeks on end, with or without Victor.
From the beginning, the sex had been very satisfactory for both of them. They enjoyed each other and had a good time. And even though there was no audience and, consequently, no show during that time, he kept her allowance coming like clockwork on the first of each month. Victor was a spender, a real prince, exactly the kind of man Alicia adored. There was nothing cheap or calculating about him.
The convertible she had been assigned for her hunting was entirely at her disposal. This had allowed her to take her mother out a little, weekends in Varadero or Viñales, afternoons at Marina Hemingway, private dinners in good restaurants. They even rented a house out in Guanabo without having to suffer the vicissitudes of travelling to and fro via the decrepit public transportation system.
Victor had taken great pains to keep Alicia completely invisible to anyone and everyone related to Groote International Inc., and he had explained that the house with the pond was to be used exclusively by the men who were part of the covenant on official covenant dates. Any other casual lover, personal friend, relative, or acquaintance of Alicia’s was strictly barred from using, seeing, or even knowing about the house with the pond.
Alicia had recently met Fernando, another Argentine, with whom she locked herself away for three days in her own home in Miramar. On two occasions he invited over his friends, who were bewitched by the music and charm of the daughter and the culinary arts of the mother.
Yes, Alicia did not need to go out pedaling or to break the air conditioner or the Soviet refrigerator or her watch. She no longer needed to put on a show about painters who were blimps or bone heaps or midgets or geezers or ugly as fucking sin; nor did she have to strip on the couch in
She had, in fact, kept her word about the absolute discretion that had to reign over the entire matter. It would not do for the unsuspecting men to detect what was going on. She had worked out a simple and convincing scenario with Victor (who was always present on the other side of the silvered screen): she was the official mistress of a powerful foreign banker, and it had to be clearly understood that, while he was abroad, they could have a handful of passionate, anonymous lovemaking sessions—only this and nothing more. On the two occasions that her partner seemed to take too much of an interest in the details of her life, she had cut him short. “Listen, did you come here to get laid or to research the life and times of me?”
One lovesick idiot, or perhaps a scam artist in his own right, who made the mistake of launching into dithyrambs about the depth of his love for her, got brushed off in no uncertain terms: “What! Are you out of your fucking mind? Do the math: Alicia loves millionaires, plus, you haven’t got a pot to shit in, equals, you haven’t got a fart’s chance in a windstorm.”
Elizabeth, who according to Victor was pathologically timid, never let herself be seen by Alicia. But as testimony to her approval of Alicia’s ars amandi , Elizabeth gave her a ninety-six-piece set of Sevres China, which pleased Alicia to no end because it was perfectly beautiful and capable of being converted into cash any time she wished. Then, on her return from a trip to Spain, Elizabeth brought Alicia a fine concert guitar that she was almost afraid to play.
Except for the brief interludes with her anonymous paramours, Alicia lived at home with her mother, and Victor lived in the house with the pond. No one in the company knew that Alicia existed.
In July and August, while Elizabeth was in New York, Victor made use of Alicia’s services for himself. That kind of arrangement soon came to be so natural that whenever Elizabeth was away from Cuba, Alicia would move into the house with the pond and stay there for weeks on end, with or without Victor.
From the beginning, the sex had been very satisfactory for both of them. They enjoyed each other and had a good time. And even though there was no audience and, consequently, no show during that time, he kept her allowance coming like clockwork on the first of each month. Victor was a spender, a real prince, exactly the kind of man Alicia adored. There was nothing cheap or calculating about him.
The convertible she had been assigned for her hunting was entirely at her disposal. This had allowed her to take her mother out a little, weekends in Varadero or Viñales, afternoons at Marina Hemingway, private dinners in good restaurants. They even rented a house out in Guanabo without having to suffer the vicissitudes of travelling to and fro via the decrepit public transportation system.
Victor had taken great pains to keep Alicia completely invisible to anyone and everyone related to Groote International Inc., and he had explained that the house with the pond was to be used exclusively by the men who were part of the covenant on official covenant dates. Any other casual lover, personal friend, relative, or acquaintance of Alicia’s was strictly barred from using, seeing, or even knowing about the house with the pond.
Alicia had recently met Fernando, another Argentine, with whom she locked herself away for three days in her own home in Miramar. On two occasions he invited over his friends, who were bewitched by the music and charm of the daughter and the culinary arts of the mother.
Yes, Alicia did not need to go out pedaling or to break the air conditioner or the Soviet refrigerator or her watch. She no longer needed to put on a show about painters who were blimps or bone heaps or midgets or geezers or ugly as fucking sin; nor did she have to strip on the couch in
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