The Foreign Girls. Sergio Olguin
was going to say ‘we need to talk’ and now that sounds pathetic, even to me.”
Frida turned round with the bottle of Absolut in her hand and, putting on a serious voice, said, “Verónica, we need to talk.”
“See? It sounds stupid.”
“Shall I bring a bottle of whisky for you?”
Verónica nodded and walked towards Frida, who now had a bottle in each hand. Verónica kissed her. Not a very long kiss. Frida had no chance to put the bottles down or make any kind of gesture.
“Looks like you don’t want to talk after all,” she said, and laughed.
“It’s the first time I’ve ever tried to kiss a girl. Don’t make it difficult for me.”
Frida put the bottles down on a cabinet. “You are a beautiful soul.”
“I already know that. Now explain to me what we’re doing.”
“Enjoying ourselves, having a good time.” 88
“And Petra?”
“I imagine she’s having a good time too.”
“Are you two a couple?”
“No, we aren’t. And neither are you and I.”
“I know we’re not. But I want to know if you two are having the same sort of good time we did the other night. If today or tomorrow it’s my turn with her, or if we all have a good time together, like playing cards or something.”
“Petra prefers men. I like women. That doesn’t mean we don’t get on, or that we haven’t had good times together, to keep using this metaphor we’ve adopted. All three of us together? It could happen. Petra likes you. She thinks you’re great. Although I know my limitations: I like one person at a time.”
“And the day before yesterday it was my turn.”
“Is that a reproach? Next you’ll be telling me you were drunk.”
“I was a bit drunk, but that had nothing to do with it. I’m not used to this kind of thing and it’s —”
“Yes, I know, it’s the first time you’ve had to ask a woman to explain what’s going on. Think of it this way: it’s just the same as asking a man. Awkward.”
Frida laughed again and put her hand on Verónica’s face. Then she kissed her. “Shall I take you to the living room and get you drunk?”
If the question contained the promise of something more interesting, the reality was going to bring any such illusion crashing down to earth. They drank (wine, vodka and whisky, Petra, Frida and Verónica, respectively), they chatted, they listened to music. After an hour, Frida stood up and said she was going to bed, since they would be leaving early the next morning. Petra went soon afterwards and Verónica thought of following her to see if the Italian went to her room or Frida’s, 89but decided this would be a petulant gesture. She stayed in the living room on her own. She wasn’t tired yet. Verónica thought about the next day. They would go to Yacanto del Valle, she would meet the man of her dreams, she would spend the rest of her time off there or she’d continue on her trip with the guy in tow and the experience with Frida would just be something that had happened on vacation. Frida would send emails asking to see her again and Verónica would have to explain that they could have a drink some time, but that she shouldn’t get her hopes up. I’m rapidly turning into a massive jerk, she told herself.
Suddenly she remembered the dead rodent she had seen a few nights ago. What had happened to it? She hadn’t seen it the morning after finding it. Could the girls have picked it up and thrown it in the garbage? If so, it was strange neither of them had said anything. The animal’s appearance was too alarming not to mention. There was always the possibility that the disembowelled animal had never existed. That it had been a figment of her imagination. A dream, a nightmare, a message she had yet to decipher. As she walked out of the door leading to the garden, she felt as though she might find the animal’s body tossed on to the veranda. But there was nothing there. Just the chirping of crickets, a few stars above, the rustling of branches and the sensation that someone (a human, an animal, a divine being from another world?) was watching her from the shadows. Fearfully, she retreated.
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