Perfect Days by Montes Raphael

Author:Montes, Raphael [Montes, Raphael]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Canada
Published: 2016-02-16T08:00:00+00:00

16

The car tore up the highway. Teo drove quickly, gripped by an effusive happiness. Clarice was asleep in the passenger seat, without cuffs or the gag. Before setting out, he had stowed the suitcases in the trunk and returned the engagement ring to her finger. She was more beautiful like that, a bride-to-be.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the effects of the alcohol. He was still a little dizzy, but his pride trumped his queasiness. His shame at having undressed in front of her had morphed into a boldness that told him to keep going. Slowly, Clarice was opening up to him; she liked him. It was natural—she didn’t have anyone else. He nourished her, gave her love and attention. The least he could expect in return was a subtle form of affection, which would soon grow stronger—he was certain. At the end of the day, even hippie feminists succumbed to real men.

Good sex was an exchange. Before having sex with Clarice (something he had imagined was unpleasant for any woman), he had gone to the trouble to satisfy her. Her expression, somewhere between fear and ecstasy, had been proof of his conquest. Clarice was another person now: she didn’t drink too much, she didn’t smoke, and she wrote better. They had evolved together. There was something magical about what they were doing: packing bags, following an itinerary laid out in a screenplay. They were probing fiction and building a new reality, their own reality.

He took Clarice’s hands and kissed them. Her pale fingers were cold and deserved some new shine. He decided to buy her some nail polish along the way. Dark colors to pay homage to Caetano Veloso, who was singing “Tigresa” on the radio as if he’d composed the song for Clarice.

The traffic was flowing smoothly against the landscape of mountains and wide meadows until, near the town of Itaguaí, just past Rio, orange cones funneled traffic into a slow-moving line. Roadwork, he imagined. He was eager to get to Ilha Grande, and the delay annoyed him. A little farther along, at mile thirteen, the situation became clear: at a highway patrol post, police officers in vests were controlling the traffic.

Teo glanced at Clarice: she was wearing tight jeans and a bright yellow blouse; she was pretty but looked tired. He took her hands and shoved them brusquely between her thighs to hide the handcuff marks on her wrists. A subtle scratch near her mouth betrayed the use of the gag.

He reduced his speed and got in the line of cars in the left-hand lane to pass in front of the police barricade. There were lots of cones, lots of officers, and lots of nervous drivers on the roadside looking for their documents. For some reason, the sight reassured him. He was certain he wouldn’t be stopped; he was free of the men in uniform. The next instant an officer waved him over.

Teo considered accelerating out of there. Instead, he rolled down the window.

“Where are you headed?” the officer asked.

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