The Foreign Girls. Sergio Olguin
this over for a moment: it wasn’t a bad idea, although she would prefer to stick to her original plan and not go further north than Jujuy, but they could at least travel that far together. 39She accepted and immediately invited them to stay at her cousin’s house, an idea that delighted them both.
She dropped them off at the door of their hotel and they agreed that she would return to pick them up the following day, before lunch. Then Verónica returned alone to Severo’s house. The road was completely dark. She could see only what was illuminated by her car’s headlights. The alcohol was beginning to disperse through her body. She felt strange. All the same, she arrived safely at the house in Cerro San Javier and stayed outside in the garden for a little while. A year ago Verónica would never have invited two strangers to come and stay in her house. But the last few months had taught her that worthwhile things were often to be found somewhere unexpected. When it came down to it, if she had chosen to be a journalist it was because she felt a particular kind of adrenaline when confronted with something unknown. To seek out the unknown was to know it. And she was a full-time journalist, even on vacation.
V
“Klar som et egg,” said Frida, appearing in the living room in a bikini. Verónica looked to Petra for a translation, but the Italian shrugged her shoulders. “I’m as ready as an egg,” Frida said, in Spanish. Verónica and Petra stared at her expectantly. “As ready as an egg to go outside. That’s what we say in Norway.” And without waiting for them she went down to the decked area by the pool. Petra and Verónica followed her.
They had arrived at the house less than an hour ago, carting their rucksacks and a guitar. Verónica had given them a little tour of the house and the girls had seemed enthralled by every discovery: the spectacular view of the garden, the 40larder, the drinks corner, the pool table, the bedrooms with en suites, the Jacuzzi in every bathroom. Verónica had invited them to take their pick of bedrooms (and was careful not to say anything else). She was surprised when they opted for separate rooms. They left their luggage there and went to the veranda. Verónica brought out three open Corona beers. They sat and looked out over the landscape, smoking and drinking.
“This is much more amazing than I’d imagined,” said Petra.
“Exactly how I felt when I arrived a week ago.”
“Is your cousin single?”
“He’s married and very boring.”
“Shame.”
They finished the beers and decided to get changed and go and sunbathe.
When Verónica came out of her room, Petra was in the living area looking at the CDs and sound system. She was wearing a pink, orange and yellow bikini that accentuated her brown skin.
“Which part of Italy are you from?”
“I was born in Turin, but my father’s family was from Villadossola and my mother came from Sicily. My parents met at university. They were both psychologists against shutting people away in asylums, believing in the principle of no one being truly ‘normal’: Da vicino nessuno è normale. They were two amazing people. They died when I was twenty. An accident on the Milan–Turin freeway.”
“How awful.”
“Yes, it was. I was studying at the Conservatory. I thought of giving it all up. But then I changed my mind. I got my degree and left Italy. I don’t think I could live there again. Too much sadness.” 41
Frida appeared, said something in Norwegian and the three of them went outside to lie in the sun. Each settled onto her lounger. Petra and Frida both took off their bikini tops. Verónica stared at them.
Petra smiled back. “You’ll get tan lines.”
“It’s just that I feel like someone’s watching us.”
“So what if they are?”
Verónica felt a bit foolish. Or worse: prudish. She took off her top and dropped it down by the lounger.
Verónica watched Frida put sunscreen on her hands then, rather than rub it into her own body, walk over to Petra and start to spread the lotion over her back. Petra murmured something Verónica couldn’t hear. Verónica decided it was better to lie back and not keep ogling them like a voyeur.
“You should put some cream on.”
“Yes, I should.”
“Turn over and I’ll do your back.”
Verónica did as she was instructed.
“I’ll warm it in my hands first so it doesn’t feel too cold.”
She felt Frida’s hands sweeping over her back. Softly, from her shoulders to her waist. It was what she had been needing: to be touched. She closed her eyes. Some horrible music was playing in the distance, perhaps that summer’s hits. Closer, she could hear cicadas and her own breathing. She didn’t want this moment to end. She wanted to go to sleep feeling Frida’s hands on her skin. In this sleepy state, she heard Frida’s voice.
“Right, time for one of you to do some work.”
Verónica turned her head and saw Frida lie face down on her lounger and Petra pick up the bottle of sunscreen. She closed her eyes again and seemed to hear Petra’s hands sliding over Frida’s back. 42
VI
That evening she received an unexpected call. Apart from her sisters, nobody had been in touch with Verónica since she arrived in Tucumán. So the sound of her phone ringing took her by surprise. She didn’t even remember where she had left it. When she found it, she saw Federico’s name on the screen.
And at that moment, it stopped ringing. It was strange for Federico to call her. He knew that she was on vacation – she had told him by email a few weeks before setting off. They didn’t often write to each other anyway. Although they had spent last New Year’s Eve together, with members of her family, Verónica had gone to spend the night at her father’s house. Her sisters were also going, with their husbands and children, along with some of her father’s friends. And of course they had invited Federico, the most promising lawyer at the Rosenthal law firm, a junior partner, the son that Aarón Rosenthal had never had and the man everyone, including her father, sisters and even nieces and nephews (who, egged on by their mothers, called him “uncle”) wanted to see her marry. Her sisters knew that there had once been something between them and that it hadn’t come to anything, a detail that seemed not to strike them as important. Her father must have made Federico a partner on professional merit; even so, Verónica suspected that her father’s gesture was something like an advance on the dowry he would hand to Federico if he ever managed to trap her and whisk her off into a mixed marriage. Because, as long as they could see her married, it didn’t matter too much to her father and sisters that Federico was a goy. Her father hadn’t given up hope that his star lawyer might have Jewish ancestry. He had said as much to Verónica at one of their lunches at Hermann (“Córdova is a Jewish 43converso surname”) and added, with that smile so typical of the Rosenthals when they knew themselves to be in the right, “I’ve done my homework.”
In truth, Federico Córdova’s parents were from Argentina and his grandparents – from Seville and Galicia – were as Catholic as the Macarena and the Virgen del Monte. Both sets of grandparents had made the same immigrant journey. They had arrived in Argentina with nothing and built a life for themselves and their children. One of Federico’s uncles had risen to the rank of judge in La Plata. He was the one who had offered to organize an internship for Federico at one of the capital’s courts or at the law firm that belonged to his friend: Doctor Aarón Rosenthal, an eminence in the legal world. Federico had opted for Rosenthal and Associates.
It was the best decision of his life because it meant he’d met her, Federico told Verónica after the first time they’d fucked – right afterwards, in fact, because, in contrast to what many people say about men, Federico loved post-coital