4
As disturbing as the encounter on the subway had been, what awaited me in the office turned out to be even worse.
I stepped out of the company elevator with shaky knees and went straight to the coffee machine, trying to process the conversation I’d just had with my mother. The only explanation I could come up with was that it had been a hallucination: people didn”t just vanish into nothingness.
I poured two coffees and a third for Pedro and headed for his office, cup in hand. I needed to see him. I needed the embrace of another human being, if possible, someone who wasn’t ethereal and translucent. Pedro was the closest thing to a loved one I had in Madrid.
I knocked on his door, but he didn”t answer, and when I turned the door handle, it was locked. I peered through the milky glass and made out his tall figure, pacing nervously back and forth across the room, the phone pressed to his ear. I sighed.
Resigned, I returned to my desk and muttered a curt good morning to Martha. I turned on the computer as I did every day and set about scanning the mail for potential clients. Five people were interested in choosing the color of their casket in advance. People”s interest in arranging their funerals while still alive never ceased to amaze me, particularly when I didn”t even know what I would have for dinner that very night. I jotted down all the data in a file, mentally preparing myself for the disagreeable calls that I knew awaited me.
The sixth email, however, was different.
It came from an unknown address with a clearly made-up name.
Subject: You dug your own grave
From: Know-it-all [emailprotected]>
To: Vesna Br?ljan [emailprotected]>
Attachment: IMAGE_347
There was no text, just a photograph taken in the men”s bathroom just down the corridor from where I was sitting. It was dated two weeks ago. In it, two intertwined figures had been captured in quite unseemly poses.
One of them was Pedro. The other was… me.
I held my breath and looked around the office in dismay.
Martha was staring at the screen, pounding away at the keyboard with nails so sharp they would have given Cruella de Vil a run for her money. She didn”t look at me, but her evil smirk gave her guilt away.
In desperation, I sent a message to Pedro”s private number.
Vesna: “We need to talk.”
His response arrived right away:
Pedro: “Definitely.”
Vesna: “Let me in. It”s urgent.”
Pedro: “I have a meeting. Later.”
Three men in suits with varying degrees of baldness appeared in the doorway, followed by the receptionist. I bit my lip in frustration, watching them disappear down the hallway holding their expensive-looking black briefcases.
When I went out to get lunch, they were still in Pedro’s office, and he still wasn’t answering my messages. I bought an empanadilla from the bakery and nibbled on it, but I wasn’t hungry. I headed back to the office, praying that the damn meeting was over.
My prayers were answered because when I returned, the meeting was over. However, when I walked in, the entire Asemad staff was standing in the reception, surrounding Pedro and applauding.
“What’s going on?” I asked Patricia from home insurance.
“Shh, shut up. Hopefully, we can go home early...”
I looked at her, confused. It was two o”clock in the afternoon, and we didn’t close until eight. Pedro raised his arms, silencing his subordinates, and cleared his throat.
“So anyway,” he said, in what seemed like a continuation of a speech he had already begun, “as some of you already suspected, today I have the pleasure of officially informing you that...” He paused for effect. “I”m going to be a father!”
The sound of the champagne bottle being uncorked could have been a bullet straight to my heart. The cheers of my coworkers drowned out my sob of stupefaction. I stared at Pedro dumbfounded, hidden from his view amidst a sea of heads. I could not believe what I had just heard. I couldn’t believe that he’d seemingly taken advantage of my absence to give everyone the news.
I looked around and noticed Martha standing behind me. She must have been there for a few minutes already. Giving me a triumphant grin, she waved her cell phone in the air and showed me an open email that she was about to forward.
“Surprised, my darling Vesna?” she whispered in my ear in a devilish voice. “Well, this is nothing, believe me. Now the real fun begins!”
All the phones pinged at the same time, acknowledging receipt of that cursed message. Some opened it immediately, their eyes widening in astonishment and disbelief. Within seconds, everyone was whispering to each other, passing their cell phones back and forth, and glaring at Pedro and me in shock and more than a little revulsion.
Pedro, oblivious to the scandalized whispers, was chatting with a couple of salesmen who were congratulating him and helping him serve champagne and cake.
“You fucking bitch,” I snapped angrily at Martha. She sipped from her glass with a satisfied expression. “You couldn”t have picked a better time, could you?”
Ignoring the judgmental stares of the rest of the staff, I made my way to my table, gathered my things, and slipped away with what little dignity I had left. When I reached the street, the words “home wrecker” and “gold digger” hissing as I passed by, as if I were the only one to blame for Pedro”s extramarital affair, still echoed in my ears.
Just go.
I didn”t know where, but I had to get as far from here as I could. It would be a long time until I set foot in the office again.
I covered my face with my scarf and swallowed back my tears on the walk to the subway. I longed to meet my mother”s spectral presence again, just to see a familiar face. Suddenly, her idea of losing myself in my late father”s country sounded much more appealing.
Unfortunately, the carriage was crowded, and no semi-transparent woman came to sit next to me. I wrote another message to Pedro, but he continued to ignore me, so I returned Indira”s missed call and informed her that I would be arriving the next day at Valencia’s North Station. I then dialed José María”s number.
“Do you need another batch of Bartolillos?“ he answered at once, a spark of excitement in his voice.
“No, that”s not why I”m calling you,” I said with a sigh. “You told me you worked in a travel agency, didn”t you? I need you to get me a cheap plane ticket to Slovenia.”