Blue Label by Eduardo Sánchez Rugeles

Author:Eduardo Sánchez Rugeles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Turtle Point Press

4

That night I fell in love with Luis Tévez. Until that moment, the word “love”— common in cheesy bachata songs — had seemed so sickly sweet to me. Jorge freely abused the word in his monologues. I tended to be extremely cautious when it came to offering and seeking affection. The truth is, I liked Luis. He made me horny. Besides which, he impressed me with his dilettante knowledge. The conversation we had that night altered my perceptions. A few days later, when I told Vadier what was happening to me, he told me that he’d felt something similar the first time he took acid. In vain I tried to describe the nature of my dizziness, my sweet pain, my involuntary sighs. I had always thought that “to sigh” was just a figure of speech found in cartoons or in Eugenia’s self-help books. I reluctantly began to accept that the sight of my friend — in bed, in the Fiorino, in roadside restaurants — filled me with warmth, with desire, with dreams, with forevers, and other such nonsense for which I had previously shown a profound contempt. The existential angst I was so fond of displaying fell apart in a motel. I had never been seduced by words before.

Vadier prepared various salads. We toasted each other with water, because we were hungover. We discussed some popular gringo TV shows, shared some anecdotes, and if I remember correctly, we speculated on the origin of earthquakes. The Caprese salad tasted good. As I’ve already hinted, my diet didn’t consist of healthy food, much less the consumption of salads and vegetables. The chicken Caesar salad, a dish I’d refused to eat throughout my adolescent years, also pleased my fussy palate. Aside from satisfying my hunger, the food was really good.

Luis had taken a shower and shaved. Just before dinner, I asked for some privacy to use the bathroom without a door. On top of the toilet, I saw a black bag with lotions and expensive aftershave. The sight of that kit made me feel ashamed of my cheap deodorant. I developed a complex about my unmistakable smell of hotel soap. That night Luis had on a white T-shirt with the faded image of an old politician whose name, he told me, was Jaime Lusinchi. The word YES in block letters was printed on the back. He wore yellow board shorts and a pair of Timberland sandals. His strong and hairy legs invited odious comparisons with Jorge’s skinny ones. I was wearing a plain pastel-blue dress. After the salads, he sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. Taking the piss out of my royal nickname, Vadier told me to remain seated. Bowing down and calling me “Your Highness,” he said that he would take care of the dishes. Luis was smoking and staring intently into my eyes. His calm expression was intimidating. I don’t like being stared at. I can’t stand it. Luis made me feel like a quadriplegic at a salsa school.

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