Excerpt from "Torero"

We sipped our drinks in silence for a moment and that is when the atmosphere in the bar suddenly changed. There was a hush and Raquel caught her breath. I followed her gaze and saw that a new customer had arrived with a group of people. Judging by the way he carried himself and people’s reaction to him, he was someone important. He was about 5’10, with short, thick black hair, a square jaw and almost black eyes under surprisingly shapely eyebrows for a man. His movements had a quiet, graceful confidence about them that made it hard for me to take my eyes off him. He seemed to be having a similar affect on most of the people in the bar.

“Who is that?” I asked Raquel. I cleared my throat as the question had come out like a croak.

Raquel turned to me, shocked.

“You don’t know?”

I was surprised, although not very. Like I said, he seemed important.

“I should?”

“He’s only one of the top three matadors in the country!” Raquel scoffed. “His father was Nando, who was fatally gored about fifteen years ago. You know.”

Actually, I did. So this was Fernando Cortes Jimenez, the Spanish media’s darling. Due to my aforementioned lack of interest in bullfighting, his handsome face had passed me by. My loss, obviously; I saw that now. But it showed his extreme popularity with the Spanish people that even I had heard of him.

At this point I saw Raquel blush, which because of her dark coloring was only noticeable if you were sitting right next to her like I was.

“Hola. How are you?” she said.

I looked up. Fernando was standing at our table.

“Well, thank you. And you? How is Jaime?” he asked quietly. His voice was like treacle.

“He’s well. He has a novillada tomorrow in Cortes,” Raquel explained, having recovered herself admirably.

“That’s right,” Fernando nodded. “Maybe I will come and watch.”

“Really?” Raquel squeaked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. “Don’t you have a fight tomorrow?”

“No, I have this weekend off,” he answered.

“Who is your friend?” he asked, turning to me.

“Miriam Herrero Arias,” I said, getting up and proffering my cheeks, which received two kisses from very soft, dry lips.

“Fernando Cortes Jimenez,” he introduced himself matter-of-factly. I liked that he did not assume that I knew who he was.

“A pleasure,” I said with a smile.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he answered courteously.

I noticed that we had not taken our eyes off each other.

“Will you be accompanying Raquel to Cortes tomorrow?” he asked.

“I was thinking about it,” I replied, sounding uncharacteristically coy.

“I will see you there, then.”

He bowed his head.

“Buenas noches, señoritas,” he said.

Fernando went back to the group of people he had come in with. I saw one of the men crane his neck to get a look at Raquel and me. He looked worried about something, on his dark face a deep frown. He caught my eyes for a second but looked away quickly. I did not look away, however, so I saw him whisper something in Fernando’s ear as soon as he rejoined the group. Fernando’s face clouded over for a moment and then he shrugged irritably, at the same time turning to someone else in his party.

“Who is that?” I asked Raquel, discreetly pointing out Fernando’s moody looking friend.

“Oh, that’s Luis, Fernando’s banderillero,” she said casually. “They’re practically inseparable.”

“I don’t really like the look of him,” I said, not knowing why I felt that way.

“He’s a strange one for sure,” Raquel agreed. “I’ve sometimes wondered if he’s manic depressive – you never know where he’s going to be coming from.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“I try not to have too much to do with him.”

I reluctantly took my eyes off Fernando and let my breath out in a quiet whoosh. Raquel looked at me out of the corner of her eye. Her lips twitched and she whispered:

“He’s pretty hot, isn’t he?”

I nodded, not really able to put in to words just how good-looking I found him. I realized that for a moment there I had not felt Abuela’s absence so acutely.

“I’m surprised he’s not surrounded by press,” Raquel went on. “Usually he has at least a few photographers trailing him. Although to be fair they seem to leave him alone quite a bit in Ronda. Unless he’s with one of those beauties he dates.”

I felt a unreasonable and unexpected stab of jealousy. Oblivious, Raquel informed me:

“He just stopped seeing Carmen Rodriguez, you know; a “mees”.”

She meant a Miss España.

“So tell me about a novillada,” I said, to change the subject and keep my mind occupied.