Chapter 4
Cora was already waiting for me by the time I arrived.
She looked just like her photos, only fully dressed, her big breasts hidden inside a tight tank, and not blindfolded.
She was smoking a cigarette, sitting on a bench on the boardwalk facing the water, with her legs crossed and her back straight.
It was windy out and there weren’t many people on the bike path.
I crossed the street and gently tapped her shoulder.
She stood up (she was a good half a head taller than me).
When we shook hands, her long, possibly fake red nails scratched me slightly.
She wore makeup and colorful gym clothes: a neon red top and bright printed leggings.
She was incredibly beautiful, with olive skin and curly dark brown hair almost to her waist. She had a square face and prominent chin, a button nose, and full lips that gripped her cigarette.
Her smell was a mix of mint and Aussie conditioner.
“Are you hungry? I’m starving,” she said.
She stomped out her cigarette with her pink running shoe and took me by the arm like we were close.
There was something in the way she walked, the way she tilted her head and devoured me with her eyes.
We walked four blocks like that, without exchanging another word.
I didn’t know where to begin, but she must have been used to customers who didn’t say much.
We chose Galeto Sat’s, the rotisserie chicken place.
Without looking at the menu, she ordered the whole grilled chicken, farofa with eggs, broccoli rice, and a Coke Zero.
Then she grinned at me and said, “Dante … I like your name.”
“Thanks. I like yours, too.”
“I love my name. I took it from Cora Coralina, she’s from my hometown. You heard of her?”
“Yeah.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, like an actress preparing to go onstage.
“Inside me lives an old cabocla, with an evil eye, crouched by the hearth, looking at the fire. She blesses the bewitching. She casts spells … Ogum. Orisha. Macumba, terreiro. Og?, pai-de-santo…” she declaimed in a pronounced accent, waving her arms at me.
“That’s one of her poems. Cora was a poet, I’m a prostitute.
It’s pretty much the same thing. We seduce with few words. ”
I smiled back at her and looked at the waiter as he brought us our drinks. Cora raised her glass.
“It’s not for you, is it?”
“I’m gay.”
“I could tell when you arrived. But I dunno … I’ve seen it all. Old dudes, old ladies, priests, ministers. One time a drag queen wanted to go to bed with me.”
“It’s not for me.”
“Shame, I thought you were cute.”
I didn’t know if I should say thank you. I kept quiet.
“Is that an issue for you?” she asked.
“What?”
“Being gay.”
“No, not at all. My parents know, my friends know. Everybody’s cool with it. Why do you ask?”
“You just seem really uncomfortable,” she said, then squeezed my hands and tugged on my fingers one by one, like we’d known each other for years. “Hey, I don’t bite. Unless you’re paying me.”
“Sorry.” I didn’t want her to feel unwanted and made an effort to seem at ease. “It’s for a friend whose birthday is coming up on Monday. I’m pretty sure he’s a virgin.”
The waiter brought our food, and Cora’s attention was consumed by the chicken.
I watched her bring her face close to it, flaring her nostrils and taking a big whiff, grinning with satisfaction.
Without hesitation, she helped herself to a heaping portion of rice and broccoli and asked me if she could have the thighs.
“Sure.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” she said, dropping the spoon to pinch my cheek. She offered to serve me a plate.
“That’s enough, thanks.”
Cora ate a lot more than I did. She set my plate in front of me and unwrapped the cutlery.
“How old’s your friend?”
“Twenty-three.”
“And he’s still a virgin? You sure he’s not gay, too?”
“No, he’s not gay,” I replied, taking the first bite. “And he is a virgin.”
Cora didn’t ask for further explanation.
She didn’t want to know why he was a virgin; she didn’t want to know he weighed almost four hundred pounds.
Overcome with a voracious appetite, she leaned over her plate and opened her mouth wide, tucking into the chicken unabashedly.
Once she’d polished off her sides, she put down her knife and fork and picked up the thighs with her hands.
“It’s so good, isn’t it?” she said, tearing off chunks of meat with her teeth and sucking on the bones to get every last morsel.
“It’s funny … I used to work at a slaughterhouse back home in Goiás.
My dad worked on a ranch. I grew up sticking, bleeding, deboning …
That kind of thing. I’ve butchered more cattle than I’ve fucked people, you know.
But I’ve never killed a chicken, can you believe it?
I don’t know why, never had the guts, I guess.
Chickens are different. I feel sorry for them. ”
“But you still eat them…”
“Of course. They’re delicious. I was raised on chicken soup. Here in Brazil we eat cows but not horses. In France, they eat horses, but they don’t eat dogs. And did you know that in India they eat dogs but not cows? To each his own. Truth is, eating meat is just too good to resist.”
Cora finished gnawing on the last bone and tossed it onto the plate. There was still some rice and broccoli left, but she was no longer hungry. She wiped her hands on a napkin. Her lips glistened with the fat from the chicken and her brown eyes seemed more alive, invigorated by the meal.
“You know, I get it,” she said. “This whole virginity thing, it’s complicated. It can scar you for life. I lost mine when I was twelve, to my dad. He taught me everything. It was important because he was someone I trusted. What’s your friend’s name?”
I found her ease in saying such outrageous things shocking, but I tried to hide it. I wanted to stay on track. “Piglet. That’s what we call him, it’s his nickname.”
“I killed a lot of pigs back on the farm with my dad. They make a terrible scene, squealing and hollering. That was no life for me. Nobody goes to rural Brazil to find a better life. I had to come to Rio to build my nest egg. Did I tell you I want to be a poet like Cora Coralina? I write my own poetry from time to time.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Take his virginity?” she asked, popping a mint in her mouth. It was like she never stopped chewing. “What’s the deal? I feel like there’s more to it. Is he a dwarf, one-legged, one-eyed?”
“He’s fat.”
“How fat?”
“Really fat.”
“How fat is really fat?”
“Like four hundred pounds, give or take.”
I knew she was going to give up right then and there. Cora propped her elbows on the table and brought her face closer to mine. She moved her tongue around so the mint clicked against her teeth. Her breath smelled like menthol and fried garlic.
“Look, Dante, here’s the thing, ordering an escort is like ordering a pizza.
There’s delivery, there’s à la carte, there’s all-you-can-eat.
If you want extra cheese, you have to pay extra.
A street hooker is like Domino’s, lots of people eat it and it’s pretty filling.
I used to be like that, now I’m gourmet, with stuffed crust. A pizza for a big person has to be bigger, to satisfy their cravings. Bigger is more expensive.”
“How much more?”
“Five hundred. And it’s no use arguing. That’s just the way it works.
For a fat person, five hundred. For gringos, I charge a thousand.
Do you know how much a Coke costs in Europe?
Twenty reals with the exchange rate. Can you believe it?
Twenty! For a Coke?! That’s why my rate is different.
I charge foreigners more because they make more, then come here thinking they can have cheaper soda. ”
“No problem.”
She grinned like a child. She glanced at her empty plate and lined up her cutlery. “So, does this Piglet guy know what you’re getting him?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Let the poor guy know. Buy some condoms, lube, and all that. I only bring the body, the talent, and the confidence. You pay for the taxi. If there’s any problem, you still have to pay me, okay?”
I thought about the four P’s of marketing: product, price, place, and promotion.
I thought about Five Steps to Success and The Modern Man’s Handbook.
Cora was like us, she’d come from a small town to try to make a living in the big city.
But from the looks of it, she was actually succeeding.
She was persistent, strategic, focused, self-confident, and persuasive.
“There won’t be any problems,” I said. “He’s a nice guy. He’s got a few religious hang-ups, but not all the time.”
“I don’t get all that. For me, the Bible’s like the search bar: I only open it to place an order.”
We agreed that she should get to the apartment around five o’clock on Monday, when Miguel, Hugo, and I would all be at work.
That way, they’d have a couple of hours on their own to fool around.
Cora jotted down the address and my number.
I paid the bill with the cash I had in my wallet.
She stood up exuberantly, attracting the attention of everyone in the room, and took me by the arm again like I was her lapdog.
We walked arm in arm until we reached the Chinese restaurant around the corner.
“Your friend’s going to love his gift. And for you, to pay you back for lunch, you’re entitled to a blowjob whenever you feel like switching teams.”
Cora gave me a kiss on the corner of my mouth then disappeared toward the beach.