Read Online Turned to Stone by Jorge Magano - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jorge Magano
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on.”
“Realizes? What’s he going to realize, Amanda? Preston’s been working with him for years and he’s the apple of Ricardo’s eye. Ricardo probably decided long ago and this project is just for show. When we were alone, he actually started telling me that Preston—a graduate of Princeton and Chicago, no less—had been the top student in his class and has curated exhibitions at the Met, MoMA, and I don’t remember where else.” Paloma paused when the waiter delivered their drinks. “So there you go,” she said when he stepped away. “The shithead has everything on his side.”
Amanda wasn’t so sure. She knew Ricardo Bosch well and could see that he valued Paloma, not just professionally but also as a person. But right now she was distracted by a man who was talking to the waiter. He was tall and slim, with a wild-looking mop of black hair and two-day-old beard, and he wore a leather bag over his shoulder. Amanda was rarely wrong about men, and she quickly concluded that he was gay. “When did you say you have to submit the project?” she asked Paloma.
“At the end of next month. But I’m sure Ricardo’s decision is more than made. He just wants to make me suffer.”
“Maybe.”
Amanda was still studying the new arrival. He had a bruised face and swollen lips, but what stood out to her most was the concerned expression in his brown eyes. Too much sensitivity for a straight guy, she thought ruefully.
“Are you listening to me?” Paloma’s voice thundered as if from a distance.
“Huh? Yeah, of course.” To Amanda’s surprise, the stranger was now heading toward them. He stopped at their table.
“Hullo.” His voice was hoarse, as if he had a cold. “May I sit down?”
Stupefied, Amanda scooted over to make room for him. Paloma almost dropped her glass when she saw that emaciated, unshaven face with its timid smile. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost, which in a way, she had. She couldn’t have been more startled if the new arrival had appeared draped in a sheet with his head tucked under his arm. When her lips finally moved, they did so just enough for her to murmur, “Jaime.”
“Hello, Paloma.”
Paloma was in shock. Her mind wanted to travel back in time, but somehow she kept it in the present. She drew a breath. “Amanda, this is Jaime Azcárate. An . . . old classmate from university.”
Despite them being the best of friends, Paloma had never told Amanda about her relationship with Jaime. Just as all their coworkers knew that Amanda was divorced and had a son, the staff at the Prado Museum was aware of Paloma’s long-standing status as a single woman. But no one knew anything of her romantic past. The sudden appearance of this handsome stranger combined with Paloma’s look of surprise made Amanda think there’d once been something special between them. Special and tempestuous.
So he wasn’t gay after all.
“How’s it going?” she asked, giving him the customary two kisses.
“Pleased to meet you.” Jaime looked meekly at Amanda, who was beaming. “But I need to speak to Paloma. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course! I was just—” Amanda moved as if to rise.
“Amanda’s a colleague,” Paloma interrupted. “We were about to have lunch.”
“Nobody’s going to stop you from having lunch. I just need to speak to you for a moment. I won’t trouble you for long, I promise.”
As the atmosphere grew increasingly uncomfortable, Amanda excused herself to the restroom.
Jaime took Amanda’s seat and studied Paloma for a few moments. She’d hardly changed since he’d last seen her, just after they graduated from university: same average height, honey-colored eyes, and black bob. Everything was still in its place. The only noticeable differences were the tiny wrinkles she’d gained under her eyes and little bit of weight she seemed to have lost. “You haven’t changed,” he said.
“Neither have you. Still appearing and disappearing when
“Realizes? What’s he going to realize, Amanda? Preston’s been working with him for years and he’s the apple of Ricardo’s eye. Ricardo probably decided long ago and this project is just for show. When we were alone, he actually started telling me that Preston—a graduate of Princeton and Chicago, no less—had been the top student in his class and has curated exhibitions at the Met, MoMA, and I don’t remember where else.” Paloma paused when the waiter delivered their drinks. “So there you go,” she said when he stepped away. “The shithead has everything on his side.”
Amanda wasn’t so sure. She knew Ricardo Bosch well and could see that he valued Paloma, not just professionally but also as a person. But right now she was distracted by a man who was talking to the waiter. He was tall and slim, with a wild-looking mop of black hair and two-day-old beard, and he wore a leather bag over his shoulder. Amanda was rarely wrong about men, and she quickly concluded that he was gay. “When did you say you have to submit the project?” she asked Paloma.
“At the end of next month. But I’m sure Ricardo’s decision is more than made. He just wants to make me suffer.”
“Maybe.”
Amanda was still studying the new arrival. He had a bruised face and swollen lips, but what stood out to her most was the concerned expression in his brown eyes. Too much sensitivity for a straight guy, she thought ruefully.
“Are you listening to me?” Paloma’s voice thundered as if from a distance.
“Huh? Yeah, of course.” To Amanda’s surprise, the stranger was now heading toward them. He stopped at their table.
“Hullo.” His voice was hoarse, as if he had a cold. “May I sit down?”
Stupefied, Amanda scooted over to make room for him. Paloma almost dropped her glass when she saw that emaciated, unshaven face with its timid smile. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost, which in a way, she had. She couldn’t have been more startled if the new arrival had appeared draped in a sheet with his head tucked under his arm. When her lips finally moved, they did so just enough for her to murmur, “Jaime.”
“Hello, Paloma.”
Paloma was in shock. Her mind wanted to travel back in time, but somehow she kept it in the present. She drew a breath. “Amanda, this is Jaime Azcárate. An . . . old classmate from university.”
Despite them being the best of friends, Paloma had never told Amanda about her relationship with Jaime. Just as all their coworkers knew that Amanda was divorced and had a son, the staff at the Prado Museum was aware of Paloma’s long-standing status as a single woman. But no one knew anything of her romantic past. The sudden appearance of this handsome stranger combined with Paloma’s look of surprise made Amanda think there’d once been something special between them. Special and tempestuous.
So he wasn’t gay after all.
“How’s it going?” she asked, giving him the customary two kisses.
“Pleased to meet you.” Jaime looked meekly at Amanda, who was beaming. “But I need to speak to Paloma. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course! I was just—” Amanda moved as if to rise.
“Amanda’s a colleague,” Paloma interrupted. “We were about to have lunch.”
“Nobody’s going to stop you from having lunch. I just need to speak to you for a moment. I won’t trouble you for long, I promise.”
As the atmosphere grew increasingly uncomfortable, Amanda excused herself to the restroom.
Jaime took Amanda’s seat and studied Paloma for a few moments. She’d hardly changed since he’d last seen her, just after they graduated from university: same average height, honey-colored eyes, and black bob. Everything was still in its place. The only noticeable differences were the tiny wrinkles she’d gained under her eyes and little bit of weight she seemed to have lost. “You haven’t changed,” he said.
“Neither have you. Still appearing and disappearing when
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