I was startled out of my dreamy wine haze. He was really here. I gave my hair a quick toss in the mirror, no need to pinch my cheeks to add color, they were already rosy enough from the rosé. Was this such a good idea?? Even if it wasn’t… was there any way out of this now?! I took a deep breath, put on a seductive smile and unlatched the door.
There he was, as handsome as ever. Frozen in awe at his beauty, it took me a few seconds to notice that he was surrounded by a wobbly mountain of boxes, suitcases and miscellaneous bulging bags. Oh mon dieu! I didn’t realize he was coming with all of his worldly possessions…
I offered my sexy new roommate and his unfortunate moving assistant friend what was left of the rosé as we crammed his crap into various overflowing corners of my living room. It didn’t look too, too bad. The worn out mover left around 1:45 am leaving me alone with the Mexican. We opened up another bottle of rosé and he recounted his latest trials and tribulations. This was the most we’d actually talked in person, well maybe, ever. Our conversation rattled on late and he eventually started falling asleep. Poor little chico, he’d had a tough day, so off to bed we went… to sleep. He gently cuddled up against me the whole night, leaving me a little more relieved with having made such a rash decision to take him in.
But what was our arrangement? Were we sort of together? Would he be coming home for dinner at night? The answers to these questions remained vague. The first two nights I actually held off making other plans in case we would do something together. However, the Mexican was still a workaholic and even though the big project had been launched, he still had quite a lot of work to do for it, plus other projects in the works. So after his day job, he was always off meeting with his personal project team. He would return around midnight, sending me a text message in advance letting me know his approximate arrival time. Then I would keep him company, with a bottle or two of wine, as he finished working on emails and proposals. We would then chat, laugh and drink more wine before he would start to drift off… nothing terrible sexy had happened between us since he’d arrived. We would cuddle at night and he would kiss me before leaving for work. I was rather perplexed.
“He probably doesn’t want to impose too much or feels awkward that he’s staying at your place,” rationalized Pussycat. However, my other friends expressed more serious skepticism. Confused about it all, I was wavering in between both schools of thought, leaning more towards the skeptical side.
Friday came and he was going to stay at a friend’s who was away for a few days. Though since he wanted to start redistributing his belongings among his other push over friends, he said he’d come by on Saturday to get some of his stuff. He was late, forcing me to wait for him yet again. It was only noon so not really rosé time, so I needed something else to keep me busy. Just then, this little voice piped up in my head:
“Why don’t you have a little look through that open bag of files?” It was the voice of my friend, the Countess. She would have rummaged through each and every box and bag with 24-hours of his arrival. Hmmm… my too-nice nature wouldn’t normally have listened to such mischievous advice. But, he was late after all… what was the harm of a little peak? So I crept up to the vulnerable bag and randomly slid my hand between two file folders, leaning forward the first. There, all alone in front of the second folder, was a single sheet of paper, a handwritten letter (in French):
After spending the night crying out all the tears from my eyes, after even coming back to hold you close to me, to have your warmth and comfort […] I’m crazy about you […] You hurt me so much! […] Will I stay in your heart, or not?
My heart speed up, both from the anguish at what I was reading and nervousness that I would be caught. A heartbroken sorrow filled plea. Man, this little gem was too good to lose. I hurried over to my photocopier/printer and made proof of what my eyes did not want to be seeing. This guy was a serial heart breaker! I had no idea who had written the letter or when. However, the tormented girl added a few notes including her door and internet codes (hmmm so he’d also been staying at her place too?) and had added at the top:
I die without you. Starting right now.
I had been falling under the Mexican’s spell, but nowhere near the “dying” point! I knew, especially from reading that letter, that nothing was going to come of him staying with me, though my heart couldn’t quite let go. He knew just the right thing to do and say. In the end I let him stay almost another two weeks. Some action did occur (to dangle me along), but we spent much of our time together talking, me giving him advice and help, and bien sûr, drinking lots of wine (he was depleting my excellent stock!).
Eventually, I got a little fed up with the ambiguity about our situation. Coming home after dinner out with friends one night, I was determined to bring the subject up, but as soon as I sat down he started on this rant about how his going to be famous one day and it would all thanks to the people who’ve helped him. Oh brother! I couldn’t call into question our situation right then and there.
That Thursday was his last day at work (oh yes, homeless and soon jobless). We’d had a little late start to getting up (because he was looking for a little action…). Just before I had to leave for work, he said the dreaded “I need to talk to you,” and launched into how this had been nice and all but that he wasn’t looking to “build” anything.
He had really just been leading me on this whole time. And the coward! He’d grabbed me right when he knew that he wouldn’t have to get into a long discussion about it. I had an appointment so I couldn’t dilly dally and basically said well fine and left. What a terrible day! Barely salvaged by a wine-filled lunch with a work friend.
“Throw his stuff out the window!” She exclaimed, slamming down her wine glass. Alas, that wouldn’t work, I lived facing a courtyard, everyone would know the junk was from my place. Plus, I was just too much of a nice sucker to do something so awful.
I stupidly let him stay two more nights. He had to leave by Sunday anyway as I had another friend coming to stay. I bravely told him he couldn’t come back and stay with me after that. I also got up enough courage to tell him how he went about all of this was pretty crappy, and that he should think a little more about messy around with girls (or something like that). He didn’t seem very remorseful. I don’t think that he’s a truly bad to the bone guy, nevertheless, he could have been more honest from the beginning. I’m not the kind of person to hold a serious grudge, but I did deserve some sort of revenge, for me, but also all the other girls he’s led on.
I went off to Spain on well-needed holiday (stories about that later!), and he was once again drifting from my mind, though he did try to sneak back in, by texting to say he might come down for a few days, he never did (luck thing, that would have been complicated to explain to the Catalan!).
I saw him a few times when I got back, which was a tad painful, especially when he didn’t even wish me happy birthday, he’d even been invited to come out with us to celebrate. The next day, he came to get the rest of his things. Again, I was too nice to him, we had some wine and chatted. He hadn’t planned on taking everything, until I gave him the great idea of ordering a taxi straight to the door so everything could go.
“Don’t forget, there’s one more box under the sofa,” I said.
“Hmmm, I don’t know if it’s going to fit in my storage unit,” he replied, then noting my ‘oh, come on’ look he added,”that is, unless you really want me to take it…” Sigh! Am I ever going to get rid of him! Fine, fine, leave it!
I honestly did want him to take it, that way I wouldn’t have to think about him anymore. But for some reason fate had it stay…
I didn’t have too much time to brood over him this time because one of my best, best friends, Naughty, was arriving for the week. She’d lived in Paris before and we used to get into all kinds of naughtiness together.
“Jeez, what’s under your sofa?” she asked one night after having had trouble opening and closing the sofa bed.
“Oh just some of the Mexican’s crap.” And with that we gave each other the same sly look.
“Well, I wonder what’s in the box? Can’t be too important if he’s left it lying around…” she suggested oh-so-naughtily. In no time we were on our hands and knees hauling it out. It wasn’t even taped up! It was crying out as much as that open bag of files! Check me out! Have a snoop!
We flung off the lid and peered in. Books. Hmmm. We lifted them out one by one: some art books, some sketch books, a black bound book… We gasped. What was this? Only one way to find out… and with that we undid the first book’s strap.
Tues May 11, 2009 8:08 PM
I was dreaming about you. I can’t believe I lost you. In fact, yes, I can believe it. I have a tendency to lose everything. It hurts […]
Oh my God, Mon dieu and dios mio! Pages and pages of tormented heart wrenching feelings! I love this girl, no I love this other girl, no yet another one! And much, much more! He even admits to how he is a jerk to women!
Wow. What had I been—literally—sitting on? I thought long and hard about what I should do with the journal. Some friends suggested I burn it, keep it and leave a photocopy in the box, or throw the whole box out. Then one day, as I was finally deciding to start this blog, it came to me. The Mexican had abandoned his things chez moi. Fate had bestowed them to me. Well, it wasn’t really fair for me to keep this spectacular treasure all to myself. It was meant to be shared with the world.
Look out and get ready. Monday will have a new weekly feature called “the Mexican Minute,” excepts from the journal. An entertaining and enlightening way to start your week! We’ll all get to understand men, or at least the Mexican, a little better. Until then… hasta luego!
PS Photo Note: that is indeed the Mexican! Though not seated on my sofa, the Countess and I were doing some online snooping – you just never know what you’re going to find! I just cropped off his head, and by the way, he wasn’t tanned like that when I knew him, but he was just as sexy.