I was mesmerized. Nothing like it had ever happened to me before. Is this love? Mere infatuation? It’s hard to believe that I, who have always been the soul of reason, am the one who can’t get a man out of her head, and yet here he is, ingrained in my mind like a raisin in a plum cake. But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell it from the beginning.
María Roldan has been my best friend since high school. People have never understood our friendship; we are as unlikely a pair as any you will meet. María, though brunette, was a bit of what, back in high school, we called “a Barbie”. I’m exaggerating perhaps, but she was (and is) one of those people who always looks put together. You know the type: petite and pretty, not a hair out of place, good skin, the dress, the shoes, the stylish handbag, the seamless makeup, the accessories. I prefer being comfortable and don’t have time for primping. It’s not my style. Just give me a roomy sports shirt and jeans and sneakers and I’m ready for anything. María wanted to wax my eyebrows once. I gave her a look. She never suggested it again.
Closer than sisters, we have been through everything together: high school graduation, college gradation, failed relationships (mainly hers as I had few), the passing of our grandparents, and never ending jobs woes. Finally, at twenty-five, I landed a job in the Institut de Recerca Científica de Catalunya, an important Catalan research center in Barcelona. I love it. María was, at the time, working in the editor’s office of a local newspaper and thought it an important stepping stone in her literary career.
That year, María met José. He thinks it’s sweet that she calls him Joe. After four years they are still crazy about each other. He is a lawyer and was the first in his family to graduate from university. His humble upbringing shows in his attitude and in the slump of his shoulders. But he is kind and hardworking and good to María. I roll my eyes when they get sappy with each other which makes María laugh.
“Just wait until you find someone who makes your heart sing, Eva. Then I’ll roll my eyes at you!” she laughs.
María was hired by a French publishing house doing what was supposed to be a six month stint in the editing department. They liked her and one of the staff went out on maternity leave so she’s been there a year already. Hey, it’s Paris. Who can blame the girl? Last week María came back to Spain on vacation and she and José, invited me to a club I’d never been to before. I wasn’t much in the mood but María and I rarely spend time together with her working in Paris and me here in Spain, so I didn’t want to say no. It meant a lot that she’d asked, since José also lives here and their quality time together is brief and precious. Anyway, we went to this club and Dani showed up, also invited by my girl and her man. Dani is a friend of José’s. I know they do it so I won’t feel like a third wheel, but Dani? Seriously? He thinks he’s the smooth, casual type women swoon over, but, well, he isn’t. Every time I see him he asks me out; I always say no. Truth is, we only see each other when María and José bring us together for social events, so maybe he just pretends to make an effort with me for José’s sake. I suggested as much to José one day but he swore Dani told him he was into me. At any rate, not gonna happen.
After having something to eat the lights dimmed and the show started. María leaned over to me and whispered, “You’re gonna love this guy! Marty is the best!” I like jazz as much as anybody, so I relaxed and tried to get into the mood. Martin Shanks, I was told by my friend, was an up and coming trumpet player who was starting to build up a following with his four-man jazz band. He was tall and slender, with dark short hair parted on the side. He was attractive in an ordinary kind of way. But there was nothing ordinary about his music. When he lifted the instrument to his lips and started to play, I swear my heart stopped in my chest. During the 20 minutes or so his set lasted, I was transported to where there was nothing in the room but him, his trumpet, and me. With every note he was in my blood. When the music stopped and the applause roared in my ears, reality came rushing back into my consciousness, unwanted. People started getting up to meet the members of the band during the intermission and María pulled at me to go up with her. Still stunned, I didn’t answer so she grabbed me by the arm and I let her pull me behind her. We were getting closer and María yelled over the crowd, “Marty! Over here!” He looked over at María and waved, his face breaking into a smile of recognition. Keeping me at her side, María began to elbow people out of the way to get us nearer the stage. Up close, he was better looking. A lot better. His eyes were blue and intense and it made me stare. Suddenly, María was holding out her hand saying she had just come from Paris and how wonderful it was to see him again and how she’d brought a friend to hear him play… “Eva?” Oops, I was being spoken to. “Eva, this is Marty. Marty, my dear friend Eva.” I mumbled something incomprehensible about liking the show. He shook my hand saying something I couldn’t hear because at that moment there was an announcement asking everyone to return to their seats for the next set.
It proved to be the last set and the band didn’t hang around. As we left and began walking back to José’s car, María went on and on about how she’d discovered Marty in Paris a few months earlier and how thrilled she was to know he’d be playing in Barcelona just when she’d be home.
“A bunch of us would hang around after the show and sometimes he’d have a drink with us. I just knew we had to come!” she gushed. “He’s just amazing! Don’t you think so Dani?”
“Yeah, it was cool, I guess,” he answered, donning his this-is-all-so-slightly-boring act. What else was new?
“You’ve been quiet, Eva, what did you think?” María asked me.
“Great show.” I played it cool. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything quite like that. Will he be playing here long?”
“Only tomorrow night, if I’m not mistaken. Wouldn’t it be a hoot if we came back?”
I had to see him again.
“What a great idea!” Oh, God, had I said that out loud? My three companions started laughing hysterically. I laughed too, realizing they all thought I was kidding, but I had decided. I was coming back to see Marty Shanks play.
When the laughter died down I realized we had stopped in front of a store window. I looked at our reflections. I looked at María’s and mine. She looked lovely, as always, in a floral print dress that outlined her perfect figure. She was lightly but perfectly made up, her dark thick hair tucked up into a chignon. Her manicured hands were holding her clutch which matched her shoes. I looked as I always do, oversized sports t-shirt, baggy jeans, white running shoes, bushy brows, and air-dried hair. But I wanted Marty Shanks to look at me and at that moment, my reflection almost made me cry.
