5 Women Usually Shave #2
No one ever unloads your luggage from the car when you stay at a two-star hotel.
There’s only ever a German shepherd who can’t hold in his farts and responds to the name Sultan, who sniffs you from afar.
It was his custom with all the guests. After, overcome by the laziness of age, he didn’t pay them any more attention on the remaining days the guests spent in his modest hotel.
At this sleepy midday hour, the lobby smelled like sand from the beach and grilled calamari.
The receptionist, who had just as little charm as that lobby, desk, and room key, welcomed them without even looking up at them.
“Let me.” When Mark was able to use English, he was on top of things. “Granger. Reservation for two weeks. I paid for a room for one, but in the end there will be two of us. Is that a problem?”
“Can I get your identification, please?”
Gina grew worried. “For the two of us.”
“Only for the gentleman. The reservation is under his name.”
Mark took his passport from the back pocket of his pants, and he left it, open to the page with his picture, on top of the desk. Having ridden in the car from London to Salou, the documents now folded into a U-shape. He had a beard in his license photo.
“There’s only one issue,” said the receptionist impersonally, without a hint of irony. “Room 24 contains two separate beds.”
Mark and Paulina looked at each other complicitly. No big deal.
“No problem.”
“And one other thing . . .” The receptionist disappeared into an office and returned with a pair of towels.
“We only had you marked down for one person. We change out the towels every three days. Here’s one for the bath, the toilet, and the bidet.
You have a balcony with a clothesline and pins.
You can hang them up there. Room 24 is on the second floor.
The staircase is to the right, all the way at the end.
There isn’t an elevator. Breakfast is on the ground floor from 7:30 a.m. to 9:30 a.m. We lock the doors at 11:00 p.m. If you will be returning later than that, please let us know beforehand.
We hope that you enjoy your stay.” And here ends my eulogy, she practically added in her mournful tone.
They didn’t even take time to open the room window or even look at it.
It was dark outside, and with the curtain open, only a streetlamp vaguely illuminated their stay.
Not even in the repetition of the play, in slow motion, was it clear who threw themselves at the other for the first kiss.
Mark held Paulina’s face in his two hands; Gina, on her tiptoes, had her arms wrapped around him and held on to his shoulders.
From time to time, they came up for air, only to go back immediately with more desperation.
“Usually, for a first date, women shave, and men masturbate.”
“Excuse me?” She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly.
“It’s a saying in the East End. They don’t say that here?”
“No . . .” Gina did not back down from crude comments. “Well, I must warn you that I haven’t completed my end of the deal. What about you?”
“I didn’t know that the day would end like this, Paulina.”
“Of course . . . That’s what they always say. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“Shh, don’t underestimate me.”
Mark silenced her with another kiss. He loved Paulina’s moist and tender lips.
She undid his shirt, damp from all the driving.
The sweat from Lyon to Salou had stained and stiffened his clothing.
It looked like the Welshman had bigger breasts than she did.
While Gina washed up, Mark moved the nightstands, took the Bible out of the drawer, threw it under the wardrobe, and joined the beds.
Paulina, without showing off, came out with an ease wearing only one garment: her panties.
By the time they woke up, breakfast was over.
The sun had shone on their weary bodies for quite some time.
If they hurried to shower, they might be able to catch the very end of lunch.
They had hardly eaten in two days. They walked a bit, went down to the beach for a while in the evening to dip their toes into the water, and above all, they laid out their towels several times on the balcony that faced the cement parking lot of the Hotel de Franca de Salou.
During those languid days, Gina discovered that a body in its forties has a musculature, skin, and even smell that was different from any other that she had experienced until then.
Mark discovered that the young Paulina, so silent in her orgasm, liked giving more than receiving.
It worked in his favor. He—she didn’t know if this was particular to Welshmen—also liked receiving more than giving.
On the third day, while Mark snored to the high heavens, Gina decided she had had enough.
She didn’t want this lovers’ escape to turn into a honeymoon for newlyweds.
She thought about the revolving door, she feared ties to a stranger, she suspected that routine could fall apart in fifteen days .
. . and if she were honest with herself, she was tired of going by Paulina.
She didn’t like her mother’s name at all.
She woke Mark up, and told him that after breakfast she’d go back home.
He didn’t try to stop her. They took a shower together, made love one last time, and after eating breakfast, they said goodbye in the lobby of the hotel that, in the end, upheld its two stars with dignity.
“Mark, I have to tell you something . . . and promise me you won’t get mad.”
The Welshman raised his eyebrows. The lobby once more smelled like calamari. But when were they fried up? First thing in the morning?
“I’m leaving now. I’ll take the train and go back to Barcelona.
On the way to the train, I’ll think about these two days, what we laughed about, and what we did.
It’s been great, but it’s just a fling that we have to leave here.
It’s better to end it like this. Don’t come looking for me.
We don’t want to know everything about each other.
What we know now is enough. Keep the business card if you want, but don’t romanticize me or my name. Things happen, and that’s it.”
“We don’t have to explain ourselves to anyone is what we had agreed on . . .”
“Forget about me and be happy, you hear?”
“I promise.” The bus driver lifted his four-fingered hand as if to swear by the American constitution.
Gina hugged him and gave him one last noisy kiss. Sultan, lazily, opened one eye. He closed it again, and continued resting his snout on the floor, comforted by the cool tile.
“Are you going back to your parents’ house?”
He asked it in a practical tone, as if he obviously did not care that Paulina was leaving.
“No, I’m going to the apartment where you brought my boxes. I’m living in Sants with three friends from college. I hope it goes well. Did I tell you that I’m studying art history?”
“Are you that mad at your parents?”
“No, at least not at my dad. It was an excuse to . . . I don’t have a mother. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Oh man, I’m sorry. What was her name?”
Suddenly Gina noticed that her heart was beating a hundred beats a minute. She hid the sting of the moment and flashed Mark Granger the best smile he had ever seen. Immediately after, before leaving for the station, she decided to stir things up.
“Just like me. Paulina.”