It had been some time since we last had met our eminent photographer friend Emilio, and as it is true we missed him always we remembered him and his stories, we never had lost the opportunity of locating him every a bit of a time to enjoy his company. When he at last took the phone at her sister’s house, after several calls to his, to his business, to her first two ex and to some other phone numbers of those he used to leave us all through his life, he shouted a sonorous and enthusiastic Cunt!!! which reverberated in my receiver and was heard from a hundred metres. You know what you have just done, you couple of two? Hello, Emilio. How are things with you, boy? What...? Don’t you...? Don’t you guess...? I don’t, I don’t. Tell me, tell me. Let us see what. Well..., nothing, I brought in a brunette who is in the bathroom now at my sister’s, and she is one of them they don’t stop talking, and besides she seems not to have the intention of going away and you come to me from heaven to escape and to go somewhere else. We wouldn’t lose it, I said, and then added: You know already, if you have to give an explanation, tell her you have an important job to do, you are going to earn a lot of money, and we shall be waiting for you at El Marmolillo. Done. Twenty minutes?, Emilio said and we hang up the phones.
El Marmolillo is an expensive restaurant situated in a privileged area in Madrid, for there is scarcely traffic in the streets nearby and the architecture of its houses and buildings is notable. With respect to kind of clientele they have everyone can get an idea because I have already mentioned it is an expensive restaurant. Elena and I had gone there several times to taste the sailor’s fish and the steak-tartar, and two last times with our Emilio, it had already been six months since last time. Although our library is just an apple from El Marmolillo and it would be comfortable have lunch and diner there when we close down at two and at eight, we were used to frequent other restaurants in the area as good and cheaper, or else contrive to what we have at home when for some reason we have to go home at lunch time and after come back to the library, always with a very short time and resignedly. Besides, of course, a library yields not for so much. Alfredo, the owner of the restaurant, as it is logical, knows us, buys books from us and places orders with us. He is very kind to everyone and he is always in there from here to there making notes of orders and pending nothing is missing. It had been some minutes Elena and I have been seated at a bit driscreet table, for discreet-discreet at El Marmolillo there isn’t no one, letting time go by with a glass of wine and hors-d’oeuvre, expecting Emilio to appear, to whom the owner remembered for some witticisms in past occasions. I asked him why so much flowers on the tables. At about nine we are expecting, he said, none the less but Mimí and her friends. She reserved eight tables, I mightn’t say no. We laughed. She ordered to send the flowers to me. It is her birthday, he added. We laughed more.
When Emilio came at about nine there were two tables taken by couples they seemed, and some high-life ladies, Mimí’s friends, had taken another two tables while waiting for her, because it seems very punctual Mimí had appointed them for nine and a quarter. Emilio hugged us, helped himself to a glass of wine and told us straight the story of her friend staying with him at her sister’s. The brunette is exceptionally beautiful and her body cures your hiccup. But she can’t stop talking and tries to brainwash him. Beauty and storm, said Emilio enigmatically. He after this congratulated me for the idea of escaping saying he had got an important job to do by which they would pay him a lot of money, that it wouldn’t have occurred to him, how things are, that he was sure that trick was always almost infallible and that he would take it into account.
By then Mimí had come in already, aged high society lady well known by her extravagant models, and a big mass of women had crowded, with an enormous uproar from salutations, kisses and huggings, going from a spot to another, shrieking laughter and flattering everywhere. Emilio, Elena and I laughed seeing such a mess. When the ladies began to take their seats and there was sort of quietness, it occurred to Emilio to say it was a good opportunity to marry for money two or three between them, and he said after: Don’t you think so? Elena and I excited a little because the high-life ladies had heard him, provoking their hostile glances and their intentional coughing. But he then asked us: Do you want me to show you? And he at once continued with this: All these mature ragamuffins didn’t have a fuck with their husbands in thirty years and they are longing someone gives them his big cock... Elena and I laughed and feigned a little disturbed, because some of them were glancing at us disdainfully, especially at our Emilio. Don’t you think?, he asked and after continued, I say that no one of them would leave this place if they knew they may have a cock before or after diner. Elena and I were having fun by then looking at the high-life ladies’ tables and couldn’t restrain our laughter. These high-life ladies are widows or divorced and won't marry again unless a man in his 30s or 40s that will finished by marrying their daughters has a roll in the hay with them now and then. And their daughters are now more than forty, he said later, and this is an age at which their husbands, if they still fuck them up, don’t leave them satisfied.
(Here there was a pause to order our dishes while the high-life ladies complained to Alfredo, to whom they pointed out the big pig Emilio).
Alfredo came beside our table and asked us, with a smile and an accomplice wink, not to alter the state of mind of the women’s group, that we may go on laughing but not insolently and to Emilio could he speak not so loud. Surely in Alfredo’s deference, during our diner Emilio lowered the tone of his voice, although he didn’t the jocose tone of his comments, that now and then reached the nearest tables provoking airy glances and gestures, and that made us feel shameless all the time. But little by little the situation went relaxing and later there were even friendly glances and gestures between Mimí’s friends attending and us, more than other I am sure, by the praises that from our table Emilio made of their beautiful faces, their bon goût in dressing, their bodies’ slenderness and the highly desirable they all looked. There were some who smiled shyly and even others laughed openly at every Emilio’s compliment, some of them focussing their searching glances well supplied of a sensuality on purpose badly feigned. Finally, at desserts’ time started a conversation beside our table between Alfredo and us and we had a lot of fun.
You may guess, Alfredo, said Emilio then when the other was participating of our joy too and the three of us were listening to Emilio, the high-life women paying attention as well to know, I say, what place in the world was Emilio destining for them and in which state would finish the situation, being the age I am and after a long, very long experience, Emilio was saying, neither blondies of exuberant breasts nor well built beautiful brunettes or redhaired girls slightly dressed attract me no more. Now I only feel attraction for black people two metres high or more, because they supposedly have an enormous cock and vice is what I like.
On hearing this, there was astonishment again, confusion, movements and fierce glances, again complaints, although we were pending about what was doing our friend Emilio, who was taking out a piece of paper folded many times and belittled from his jacket’s inner pocket, that later he displayed in everybody’s sight. We all were mute on seeing in a picture poster’s size the figure of a beautiful brunette of the ones who cure your hiccup, in her entire body and dressed very suggesting. They, said Emilio then pointing at Elena and me with a head’s movement, don’t know her yet, but in spite of my almost unconfessable vice, this is the woman who for the moment being can stand me up and to whom I dedicate all the wanking I do when she isn’t at home, my woman. The attendants put the cry in the sky and said what a vocabulary they had to listen to and what intention it had, while the vision of Emilio’s new woman gave us the opportunity to our very deep and heartfelt congratulations. Then, unexpectedly, one of the women at a table near ours threw up liquid from a chiffon's bottle straight to Emilio's sex zone. Emilo reacted immediately. He took mayonaise with his finger, as much as he could and threw it up to the high-life lady with a brisk movement of his finger. We had to go away almost running, because the lady was in hysterics and the others in contagion too.
These high-life ladies give themselves so much importance they think there is nobody else in the world save them and the vixens with whom to give themselves airs, and the worst of it is they are capable of doing whatever to go on retaining their position in the world, even attending charitable encounters and solidarity rakes..., said Elena as we were going down the street towards some place where to go on talking. If we know that already, Emilio told her. Alfredo himself made an ambiguous and awkward gesture to us meaning to go away hurriedly, so as not to spoil him his business, but also meaning he is on your side, Elena said, and our Emilio said: capable of doing whatever... some wanking thinking of their sons-in-law and of their grandsons-in-law..., tonight about me, I'm sure, although they will never admit it, and we burst out laughing.
