6: The Phone

Mario was sitting on the sofa watching a film from the nineties — a habit instilled in him by Marcela Montenegro, his mother. When Manuel came in, he was watching a comedy with Sylvester Stallone and an adorable little old lady.
"Dad! How did the date go?" he asked eagerly as he watched him take off his coat.
"Mario, it was not a date. Please." Manuel seemed deflated.
"Come on, Dad." Mario got up from the sofa. "You had a lot to say about the CEO of GOZZE" — he glanced away as he got closer — "and not just about her company. You like that woman in every sense."
"Well, the feeling isn't mutual, son." Manuel took off his suit jacket and hung it over one of the high stools at the kitchen counter. "She turned her face away when I tried to kiss her."
Mario's eyes went wide.
"She gave you the dodge? That's rough, Dad — like Bisbal and Chenoa!"
"Mario, please don't compare a television spectacle with a business arrangement." Manuel felt a little stung. "I only have myself to blame for listening to you. How was I supposed to think someone like her would be available?"
"You didn't used to say that..." Mario moved closer and rubbed his father's back. "What do you mean by 'available'?"
"She's the same woman, but she isn't. Not tonight." Manuel stepped away from Mario and sat down in the stool where he'd hung his jacket. "Tonight she wasn't just attractive — she was radiant. Luminous. The kind of beauty that blinds you." He looked at Mario with a helpless expression. "And that, my son, can only mean one thing — there's a man."
Mario took a step back, uneasy with how certain his father sounded.
"Are you sure about that?"
"It's something men can see glowing from a distance. Women see it as a threat. Everyone notices it — except the two people involved."
"So what could you do?" Mario was looking at the papers on the table, and an idea came to him. "What if you put a fidelity clause in the marriage contract?"
Manuel went pale.
"What are you talking about?"
"Think about it, Dad!" Mario planted his whole hand on the papers decisively. "If that woman has decided to go through with the merger but thinks she can break your heart without it costing her anything — we put a clause in the contract citing potential infidelity."
"But that wouldn't be fair to either of us, Mario," Manuel objected mildly. "Not to her, and not to me."
"Unfair, Dad?" Mario put his arms around his father. "She's the one who wasn't fair to you — she got your hopes up and then goodbye."
"She never suggested anything, Mario. Don't be dramatic."
"Fine, I'll be generous with that correction — but I'm putting it in anyway."
"You'll hurt her with that."
"The way she hurt my dear old dad."
Mario pulled back slightly and pinched his father's cheek the way a grandmother pinches a chubby-cheeked child. Manuel looked at his son with a trace of resignation and extracted himself from the embrace without much effort.
"How can you be so sentimental about a business arrangement?" Manuel tried to laugh, but the sound died in his throat before it could form. "And what about you — any progress with that... Melisa?"
"No, and I couldn't care less!" Mario broke into a wide grin. "I've met someone else and she's driving me mad!"
Manuel smiled with a touch of sadness, though he was genuinely pleased by his son's happiness.
"You like her?"
"I'm crazy about her!" Mario radiated an almost childlike excitement. "She's funny without trying to be, she's intelligent without showing off, she's sexy even when she's telling me to shut up."
"I'm glad to hear you praising a woman for more than just how she makes you feel." Manuel smiled from one corner of his mouth. "Because the last one — you barely said she was like talking to a mirror with artificial intelligence."
"God!" Mario clapped his hand over his mouth. "Is that what I said about Melisa?" He showed every tooth, as though he'd just realised how badly he'd put his foot in it. "I was praising her critical thinking, not calling her artificial, Dad!"
"I know, I know — but that impulsiveness of yours is going to land you in trouble one day, you'll see."
Mario leaned over to kiss his father on the forehead, then flinched as his phone buzzed in his back pocket.
"I'm heading to my room, Dad. Get some rest."
"Thank you, Mario."
The moment he saw the number calling had no name attached to it, he grabbed his phone and hurried to his room.
Once the door was shut, he asked:
"Who's calling?"
"Is this Mario?" It was her voice. The voice that had held him spellbound the moment she said his name.
"It's you!"
"Oh, charming!" she replied with playful indignation. "Do you hand your card out to random people in the street, or what?"
"No, no, no!" Mario turned scarlet and stepped away from the door. "I would never do anything like that!" Then it dawned on him that Marta was joking. "That was a joke — sorry, I'm not very good with those."
"Let's be serious for a moment, Mario." He heard her clear her throat, somewhat awkwardly. "Why did you give me your card?"
"Because I wanted you to have my number." Mario said it straight, without hedging.
"And the message on the back?"
"I don't want anyone to walk away from me without knowing the impression they made." He said it easily, as though it were a mantra.
"Have you ever heard me laugh?"
"In my dreams."
"You sounded like a stalker on every possible level, Mario." Marta paused a moment to let his words sink in. "What dreams are you talking about? We didn't exactly sleep last night."
"Don't you ever daydream?"
"I have done, several times today," she admitted. "One time, I bit you."
Mario pressed his hand to his chest and twisted the fabric of his shirt in his fist. His legs gave way and he sat down on the bed.
The words were raw and charged. He pictured Marta barely grazing his hand with her teeth, and his trousers suddenly felt too tight.
"May I ask which part of me you were biting?" He was surprised by how low his voice had dropped.
"Your neck — but I think it's because of the chocolate." Marta was trying to make it sound casual.
"I don't wear chocolate perfume. It's my deodorant."
A burst of laughter came down the phone. Mario's heart swelled like a hot air balloon, and a quiet laugh escaped his own throat.
"It's deodorant? That's why it wouldn't leave the bed!" Marta finally surrendered to the obvious.
"I like you — and you have no idea how much, Marta." Mario surrendered completely, and the proof was in the low, steady pull of his voice.