Gaudi Afternoon by Barbara Wilson Read Free Book Online

way to the bar. It was on a quiet street not far from Ana’s apartment. At this hour on a weekday night it wasn’t as crowded as usual, but I still had to fight my way in past gaggles of trendy young women with odd haircuts and beautiful clothes.
    Up at the bar, talking with the bartender, was Carmen in skintight gold stretch pants and a wildly flowered overblouse. Her streaked hair was drawn into a French twist and she was smoking from a cigarette holder. The bartender looked interested.
    â€œ Hola, mujer ,” I said, sliding into place beside her.
    She gave me a wet kiss and the bartender drifted innocently away.
    â€œI was starting to wonder if you were really coming,” she said, fluffing up my hair on top so that I was sure I looked like Medusa.
    â€œWhat an evening I’ve had!” I told her about my sliced-open bag and about being followed near the cathedral.
    But Carmen wasn’t fazed. “Barcelona isn’t a safe city,” she said darkly. “I always carry a knife now.”
    â€œA knife! Carmen!” I wasn’t surprised actually. Carmen was not a woman to cross, as one of her old girlfriends had discovered when she had started seeing someone else on the side. I don’t like to say what happened; suffice it to say María Luisa currently feels more comfortable living in València.
    Carmen called the bartender back and ordered me a drink. We pushed our way into a dimly lit corner of the room, near the writhing dance floor. Carmen put one hand on my thigh and other up the back of my shirt and we caught up on old times. I knew better than to suggest we go somewhere and continue our pleasures lying down. Because Carmen would suddenly remember that it was late and that her mother would be worried and that she had to get up early in the morning. As a heavy petter she had no equal, but if you liked to get horizontal you were out of luck with her. Horizontal meant sin. Vertical was just very very friendly.
    Still, there was something I had to bring up with her. After about an hour of intense nuzzling I whispered, “Carmen, I have to tell you something.”
    â€œYes, darling?”
    â€œIt’s hard to tell you this.”
    â€œTell me, darling.”
    â€œYou won’t be upset?”
    â€œPor favor, querida , just say it.”
    â€œI’m not sure I like my new haircut.”
    She drew back in astonishment. Perhaps no one had ever said such a thing to her before.
    â€œI mean,” I said desperately, “it’s beautiful, it’s interesting, it’s chic. But I’m not sure it’s me.”
    Now she was insulted. “You’re saying I don’t know you?”
    â€œOf course you do, but—”
    â€œYou’re saying you want to go around wearing a turban your whole life?”
    â€œA little more off the top, maybe….” I pleaded.
    She disengaged herself from me. “It’s late,” she said. “My mother will be worried. And I have to get up early tomorrow.”
    She marched out the door without a backward glance. No more snuggling tonight.
    I would have to take matters into my own hands.
    I let myself into the apartment and tiptoed through the rooms filled with everything from vacuum cleaner attachments to small golden Thai Buddhas, from sexually explicit African carvings to factory-size bolts of parachute cloth. I was relieved that Ana wasn’t waiting up for me, as I’d half expected. For what I wanted to do I needed privacy.
    I went into the big old-fashioned bathroom and locked the door. Carefully I took off my black jeans and Japanese shirt and wrapped myself in a towel so as not to get too cold. I took what I needed out of my cosmetic case and perched on the side of the tub in front of the full-length mirror. I didn’t do it this way very often but that added to the excitement. I had a few goose bumps and I was perspiring lightly. The fantasy was very strong.
    Slowly, very