Page 41 of That Last Summer

We watch her friend approach the DJ to ask for a song. Priscila looks kind of miserable. Could it be that my comment about the shoes affected her? To be honest, it’s hard to believe it. And also, I don’t give a flying fuck.

A new song comes through the loudspeakers; it sounds familiar, like something I heard a million years ago, but I can’t place it.

It’s a woman’s voice, very hoarse, high-pitched. The idiot takes Priscila’s hand, leads her to the middle of the pub and starts dancing, although there’s no dancefloor; in fact, everyone is staring at them. And there she is, dancing in her bizarre shoes, as ridiculously irresistible as ever. And as fucking tempting too. With that air of innocence, anyone would think she’s never hurt a fly. God, she looks so sweet and kind. But I know what’s behind that fairytale princess: the evil in the mirror. Because if this was a fairytale, Priscila would be evil personified.

There comes a moment in the song when the lyrics cease, replaced by drums and clapping, and the couple on the makeshift dancefloor imitate every sound, hitting their hands, legs, butts and hips. All at once. It’s pretty clear this is not their first time.

Okay, I got it—Roxette.

“Sleeping in My Car.”

Marc and I drink in silence. Priscila and her buddy keep dancing, brushing and touching each other with every single part of their bodies. I snort; this whole situation is too much; out of the corner of my eye, I see how Marcos stops looking at his sister and fixes his gaze on me. He’s going to talk about her, I know, so I cut whatever he was going to say.

“I don’t want to talk about your sister,” I warn him, without taking my eyes off her, even when I sip my beer.

“You never want to talk about my sister.”

“And what made you think this time was going to be different?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you haven’t seen each other in four years and we haven’t talked about that yet.”

“There’s nothing to say, Marc. Your sister is out of my life for good and she has been for a long time now.”

“I know. And I’m not planning on giving you shitty lectures now she’s back. I just wanted to thank you for the other day.”

“You already thanked me on the phone,” I say curtly.

He takes another swig of his beer. “And now I’m telling you in person. Thank you for saving my sister’s life.”

“I’d have done it for anyone, it’s my job. You know that, right?”

“Do you?” I turn my head to look at him warningly. He keeps going. “I don’t think anyone would’ve foreseen my sister was drowning before it happened. That’s why I’m thanking you.”

“Don’t bust my balls, Marco Polo.”

“But that’s what I do best.”

True. But there’s something in his voice, in his gaze. Even in his posture: despite the fact he’s leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand, he’s not relaxed at all. It bothers me. This is not my Marc. Something’s wrong.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“What do you mean?” he answers, looking surprised.

“You’re acting weird. Absent. Tense. More than normal, I mean. Is everything okay at work?”

“All good, Alex. Don’t be paranoid.”

“Good,” I say, but I’m not convinced at all. “If something happened to you, whatever it was, you know you can count on me, right?”

Marc looks at me, outlining a small smile. But it’s so little it’s barely noticeable.

“You’re my first person—if there was something to tell, I’d go to you first.”

“But there’s not?” I insist. I need to confirm, once more, that nothing’s wrong. And maybe, just maybe, this time I’ll believe him.

“Marcos! Come here!” Alicia’s shout interrupts us and we both look towards her. She’s dancing with Priscila and that other, waving her fiancé over to join them. Marc smiles and winks at me, then joins his girlfriend and his sister. He’s left without answering me.

Half an hour later Marc and Ali gather us at the bar to deliver the wedding invitations. They’re blue—as blue as the sea. So blue that I even like them. And after all the paraphernalia, after toasting the bride and groom, seeing them kiss amidst the cheers of the crowd and listening to a bit more shitty music, most of the guests go home. Only a few Cabanas and four more couples are left. But then Hugo’s cell phone rings and he goes to a corner, trying to find some quiet to listen. When he returns, he tells us he has to go—veterinary emergency.