Miranda (27 page)

Neither of us looked forward to the goodbye. New York had changed us. We needed each other. He was my dark side; I was his light. How could two forces in such opposition complement each other so well? Eliezer Clausell was the rock that would fall into calm water and release waves that would wake my sleeping demons.

“Drive carefully.” He broke the silence.

He opened the driver’s side door for me and I settled in the driver’s seat. He pulled the seat belt across for me, secured it, and closed the door. I drove off and was going down the avenue when the cell phone rang. It was one of his text messages.

Is it possible that I already miss you, Wise?

The confession gave me a big smile. I took advantage of the red light.

That can be solved, Clausell.

Within seconds, there was another message.

Even though it’s exciting to know that you also miss me, don’t send text messages while driving. It’s against policy.

I laughed, and then I got another message.

Even worse, I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you while you were thinking about me.

I smiled again, tenderly this time. Eliezer began to worry about me.

Don’t you think it would be a romantic way to die? Thinking about you?

The texts ended and the phone rang.

“You don’t like following orders, do you?” He was speaking in a scolding and teasing tone.

“Let’s say that I enjoy living on the edge, and I am not used to being given orders.”

“I’m not kidding, Wise.”

“Neither am I, Clausell.”

“I want you in my office at seven in the morning,” he said emphatically, “healthy and safe.”

“That’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“Be prompt, and don’t bring coffee, please. We don’t want any accidents.”

Annoyed, I sighed. Hearing him speak in that playful authoritarian voice drove me crazy. It made my mind do somersaults thinking about what that man could have up his sleeve. Does he have a plan for us? I wet my lips.

“Fine, Clausell. I’ll be there.” I ended the call.

***

I woke up before dawn. I had cramps that made me writhe in pain. Nevertheless, I got to Medika a little before seven in the morning.

7:15

Nothing.

7:30

And what if something happened to him?

8:00

Should I call him? What do I tell him? Margaret is there. Should I ask her to call him? No, I shouldn’t…”

8:30

To hell with waiting.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” he answered after the second ring, his voice dry and halting.

Silence.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m busy.”

My face twisted with confusion. Busy? Busy?!

“Oh! How nice! In other words, I’m interrupting. And here I am so worried…”

I hung up.

***

Eliezer didn’t go to Medika that day, nor did he call or leave messages, and much less did he come to my house that evening with a bunch of roses in his arms. As my dear Alex would say, “Eliezer Clausell,
missing in action
.”

The anxiety that Eliezer had caused in me was not pleasant. Who had I become? When had I begun to lose control of my emotions? When, exactly, did reason cease to be my guide? Why did I get used to that cold abyss that found its way into my heart?

Not one fucking sign. He’s going to pay
, I thought just before turning off the lamp on my nightstand.

***

The next day I didn’t go to Medika. I called Margaret to put her in charge of excusing my absence with the proper authorities. It wasn’t a day of rest or recreation. It was a day of vomiting, headaches, gastritis, and backaches. I spent most of the day in bed, watching cheesy soap operas on television.

It’s been many years since my stomach had been so upset. The last time it happened was when I began my adventures in Latin America where I drank unfiltered water and ate everything that was put in front of me, then over the years, I became immune.

What if it’s bacteria that I got in New York?
The thought made my eyes water. I didn’t want to fall ill. I didn’t want to be alone.
Why don’t I have anyone to care for me at times like this?
I cried a little. I also didn’t want to face the night alone.
Why am I suddenly in such need of human tenderness when I hadn’t been accustomed to having it before? And why do I only think about Eliezer?

If I died at home, no one would know and no one would care. Perhaps in a couple of days, someone would come, but not to cheer me up, no; rather to find out why I wasn’t getting my office work done. What a thankless life!

The night seemed eternal. Nothing helped me feel better, not even browsing the scrapbook that Norman gave me for my eighteenth birthday. Who knows what hurt me more: my soul, or my body.

***

I didn’t go to the office on Wednesday either. That day, Margaret insisted on sending someone to my house to take me to the doctor. I rejected the offer, but in half an hour, the doorbell rang anyway. There Alex was, Chinese soup in hand, glasses on his face, and a smile on his lips. I couldn’t contain myself.

“Alex!”

I threw myself in his arms. I almost made him spill the soup.

“You look terrible,” was his greeting.

I took his glasses off and looked at his eyes.

“You have no idea how much I missed you…”

He took the glasses back, and put them on again.

“Yes, yes, yes…” I nudged him and invited him in.

I took a shower after eating the hot soup.

Alex took me to Dr. Julio Gomez, my family doctor, the same one that attends Norman regularly. He was an agreeable man, but his secretary was something else. Every time she saw me, she would give me annoyed faces. She was never nice. I sometimes think that, secretly, she wished the doctor would give me bad news, the kind that would make people cry because they had little time left to live.

The doctor visit went by quickly. At least it gave us time to update each other on the latest news, except about Eliezer, and time for routine examinations. He concluded that he needed to give me some blood tests. That way he could eliminate various possibilities. He would also give me a prescription for gastritis medication.

Alex also accompanied me to the lab, thankfully, because hypodermic needles aren’t my favorite devices. After the bloody operation, I asked them to send the results to the doctor directly. I didn’t want to be responsible for any more. On the way home, I asked my good friend about the happenings at Medika during the past few days.

“Has our boss inflicted any other casualties?”

I was watching the cars going in the opposite direction through the window. That way Alex would not suspect that the real reason I was asking was to get information about a certain insensitive man.

“Not many. We’ve survived without you.”

I turned my head toward him, mouth agape.

“What is going on with the big chief?”

“It would be better if I didn’t tell you. He’s been insufferable for several days now. You need to put yourself back together and return to work. That way, he’ll take out his frustrations on you, and leave us alone.”

“Is he in that bad of a mood?” I asked, in the hope that he would say “yes,” and tell me, in passing, that his foul mood had something to do with me and my absence. I don’t know why the thought of it made me smile.

“You should do him a little favor.” He winked at me and made a vulgar gesticulation by drawing his fist toward his wide-open mouth. “I think he needs it.”

I laughed, as I would usually do, but we both noticed that my smile wasn’t natural. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t break out with his usual laugh that went along with his sexual comments. During the uncomfortable silence I thought:
I only hope that Donovan hasn’t said anything…

I know Alex so well that I know that he spoke again to avoid the crazy thoughts that snuck into his mind.

“I imagine that the bidding for El Salvador has you worried.”

He was repressing his voice with a more realistic and serious tone. I didn’t like him saying that, much less the way he said it. Something bad was happening while I was away: something that would change the future of Medika… something important, and no one had told me about it.

“What happened?”

Alex took one hand off the steering wheel and pushed the bridge of his glasses with his index finger. That meant that he was nervous. It was also something he did when he was upset at himself for saying too much.

“That means that you still don’t know…”

“Actually, no, Alex.” I paused. I adjusted my blouse that had bunched up because of the seat belt. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not supposed to know about this?”

Alex responded immediately. This time, he was the one looking through the windows at the opposing traffic.

“He ordered us to not tell you.”

“Who is
he
?”

The answer came in a murmur, as though he didn’t want to say it.

“Who else, Miranda? Our damned substitute chief, the grand Clausell child.”

He expressed that last bit along with ugly faces and gesticulations. I laughed a little. Alex always found a way to relieve uncomfortable situations.

“Who does he think he is? Allow me to remind you that I’m your immediate superior, so you better finish telling me, in abundant detail, about what’s going on.”

Alex, when he wants to, can be a man who speaks little but says much.

“They’re contesting the bid and they’re suing Medika at the same time.”

It was impossible to keep my gaping mouth closed.
This can’t be.

Alex spoke of an eighty million dollar bid. For the first time in twenty years, we had been able to take the place of a supplier that, for years, had prevailed through better scheming rather than better bidding. That is, they corrupted themselves to stay on top.

“We knew this day would come.”

My calm tone couldn’t elicit the same peaceful reaction in him. He twisted his lips in a grimace. Something else was worrying him.

“Let’s see, what would you do if I put my hand in your pocket and took the only eighty dollars that you have? Keep in mind that you don’t have any more.”

Another silence. After a few seconds:

“I would desperately do everything I could to make you give them back.”

We laughed. My headache intensified. I put my hand on my forehead in the hope of alleviating it.

“You are screwed,” he teased.

I explained myself better.

“Alex, now they are desperately doing everything they can. They are begging… not for eighty dollars, but for eighty million. And note that they are not begging Medika. No! They are begging some person in the government.”

Alex was pensive until he found the words to convey his cautious businessman strategy.

“I’m collecting information that has come out in the media, and I’ll update you tomorrow as to whether we have to take any action.”

“That seems fine to me. If you have something today, send it to me. I need to be up to date. These matters should not be left to themselves. And you, dear Alex, know better than anyone.” By the face he made, I knew that he did not appreciate the scolding. “Does Norman know about this?”

My friend shrugged his shoulders and stopped the car in front of my house. He removed his glasses and looked me in the eye.

“Stop worrying. Save that for tomorrow.” He got close and planted a kiss on my cheek. That smell of ostentatious cologne that he always wears got to my nose. I remembered, for a brief moment, that crazy night we had in college. “Miranda get out of my car and go rest. I need to go work. We’re not all lucky enough to be sick.”

I smiled.

“Thank you, dear.”

He made a joke without skipping a beat.

“I hope that you take this into account when you draft my year-end professional evaluation.”

I took his hand and kissed it.

“
You
weren’t the one who thought of their desperation strategy.”

I closed the door and made a gesture for him to get going.

Alex drove away with a smile.

The next morning, my eyes were heavy and my head was on the verge of exploding. I had not been able to sleep all night. I woke up to the ring of the cell phone under the pillow. I accepted the incoming call without even checking to see who was calling me at such an inappropriate time.

“Good morning. Miranda?”

At first, I didn’t recognize the voice.

“She’s speaking.”

“Miranda, it’s Julio.”

My fatigue and heavy-headedness subsided. I sat up a bit. I cleared my throat, out of which my voice oozed out almost one octave lower than normal.

“Julio?”

The doctor didn’t have time for games.

“How do you feel?” His voice exuded worry, he murmured, apparently trying to be discreet.

“Worse than yesterday.”

He didn’t seem to care about my answer.

“Can you come to my office?”

“Today?” It was more of a feeble whine than a question. I looked at the clock that hung on the wall in front of me. “What time is it?”